I think George would prob name his son Fred the Third obviously the first would be Fred (twin) so then when ppl would ask "who's the second there's only two in the family?" he gets to make a terrified face and stare at the person in horror and say "we don't talk about what happened to the second." and then when his son goes to school Fred the Third is also going "yeah we don't talk about the second Fred so idk what happened to him" George thinks this is the funniest running gag in the family ever
oh small annoyance when ppl will make videos like "how do I explain to my (blank) that-" and then they explain It clearly for the video they're making and it's like well you'd generally explain it like that bc that was perfectly clear
summary: you're scared of a storm and leave his room to busy yourself in the burrow
warnings: storms, breifly mentioned that george has an ear that doesn't work, so like hinted post war but in my post war world fred is alive so, george is a heavy sleeper, you've experienced a bad storm, lwk didn't proof read it kill me damn, tiny bit of negative self talk but it's really not that bad, George is cringe okay boom
George was a heavy sleeper. You could move all of his furniture and vacuum right next to his working ear, and he would not wake up. You weren’t exactly shocked that he didn’t wake up from the thunder outside the Burrow.
The Burrow was hardly ever quiet. Even when everyone was asleep, there was always some kind of creaking or settling from the house. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Usually, his room was so bright and warm that you never felt anything but joy.
Every other day of this summer break, you woke up to the sun peeking between the orange curtains Molly made back when George was still a toddler. You could always hear birds chirping and the rustling of leaves. In the Burrow, there seemed to be a whisper of laughter at all hours of the morning. You could hear screams of joy in the backyard and tinkering in rooms downstairs. You were never the first to wake up. There was always stomping down the stairs and running through rooms. That was comforting. This house was always so alive, you never had a moment to be scared of being alone. You were warm and safe with a loving family.
That much was not true this morning.
Outside George’s window was the rumbling of thunder and flashes of lightning. His room seemed frozen in time. Like the moment in a horror film where the evil is right behind the main character. You stared at the ceiling as you hoped the storm would stop now that you had rolled awake. The silhouettes of swirls and monsters covered the pale ceiling as the lighting lashed again. You could feel your heart squeezing in fear and your breath getting caught behind your teeth. You turned your head to face George.
His cheek was pressed to his pillow with his mouth parted. He was quietly snoring, exclusively because his nose was contorted into an uncomfortable position.
“George?” You whispered. A part of you wanted him to immediately wake up just from the psychological connection you had. Like somewhere in his dream, he could feel his lover uncomfortable. Another part hoped he stayed ignorant in his slumber. George continued to snore. You hummed in both approval and disappointment.
You carefully pulled yourself from his bed, tucking the blanket back around him. You hoped the warmth from your body was replaceable by the quilt. You quietly left his room.
Once you were out in the house, you felt even more alone. The storm outside seemed louder now. The twisting staircase that went straight down the house seemed to make the perfect tube to amplify the thunder. You leaned against the banister, tilting your head up. You hoped red hair would be peeking over the banister of another floor. But nothing but darkness greeted you. You slowly made your way down the stairs, careful to skip the ones that creaked. You weren’t exactly sure where you were going, but you knew you had to be moving to walk off the threat of the storm.
The first floor was even more desolate than the rest of the house. The usual tinkering of Molly’s knitting and simultaneous washing of dishes was absent. The house was too still for your liking. The kitchen was empty, apart from the unwashed dishes. You completely understood why Molly had formulated a magical way to wash them. With every head in the house generating at least three dishes a day, the sink started to overfill before the day even truly started. A flash of lightning outside the kitchen window made your eyes widen. You straightened your shoulders and turned on the sink. The storm would be here a while, and when you stop moving, the only thing you can focus on is the thunder.
It wasn’t really thunder or lightning that scared you. Those were distant things that could not reach out and hurt you. It was the strength of the storm that truly scared you. It was bad enough that it could tear apart whatever building you were in and you. It wasn’t entirely impossible either. You had already experienced sitting alone in a house as it was torn apart by a storm. Although that time it was mostly exterior damage. You were never harmed, but the fear still settled inside your stomach.
You weren’t horrified by it either. You weren’t exactly rocking back and forth in tears. It was more just an extreme discomfort that you couldn’t sit through. It was easier to handle with other people around you, but you weren’t going to wake George. He was soundly asleep, and you could handle it on your own. As you were doing now. Doing just about anything pulls your focus to the task rather than the storm. Which gave you much less guilt than waking up George. If you did, he’d be quite tired tomorrow. Although tomorrow would really be today, as it wasn’t truly the night anymore. You weren’t sure he’d be much comfort anyway. If you woke him properly, he’d be kind and gentle. But George was the type of sleeper who could have an entire conversation in his sleep. He’d just half wake up and tug you back into bed. He’d be no more comforting than a brick.
You flicked the water off your hands as you placed the final mug onto the absurdly large drying rack. Now the issue was finding what else to do. Cleaning was beneficial to everyone. So you could clean, but in the Weasley home, nothing was truly clean. Everything seemed to be covered in clutter. Loved clutter, but clutter nonetheless.
You wandered into the living room and began by folding the throw blankets. You replaced the few strewn about books onto their home shelves. A few picked up so much dust that you sneezed. You found a half-full glass of water on one of the side tables. You groaned quite loudly before remembering some people were still trying to catch a few hours of sleep. You still hated whoever left it there. And you hated that now you had more dishes to clean. You ignored it as you set it in the sink. It took much less time than you expected to finish the living room.
By the time you finished cleaning off the table, you had worked up a bit of a sweat. You had completely forgotten about the real reason you had left George’s bed. You even cleaned all the extra dishes you found when cleaning. Though you grumbled the whole time.
You flung yourself onto the couch as you looked out the window. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon. The storm was still rumbling, but it was much calmer now than it was before. The sky was now an odd sort of orange-gray that you didn’t particularly like. You startled at the sound of shuffling footsteps. You looked up to see Molly in a patchwork housecoat. Her hair was wild, framing her face with a mess of tangles. She paused at the sight of you, raising a brow.
“Morning, darling.” She mumbled, glancing out the window to check the time. You awkwardly waved.
“I couldn’t sleep with the storm.” You explained. Though now that it had settled down, you felt a bit ridiculous saying that. I couldn’t sleep because of the drizzle.
“It was actually much louder and heavier earlier, but it’s-”
“Where’s George?” Molly asked, turning her head to look behind herself. Your eyebrows shot up at the extra-large knot at the back of her hair. You wondered if she always woke up like this or if tonight was a particularly bad night for her.
“Oh, he’s asleep,” you answered. She snapped her head around, her hair swinging around.
“You didn’t wake him?” Molly asked. You shook your head.
“I didn’t want to bother him.” You muttered. Your face was starting to feel a little too tight and warm for your comfort. Molly pressed her lips into a tight line and hummed. She glanced around the living room, noticing the folded blankets.
“Did you clean?” She asked, picking at the lint on top of a chair. You nodded.
“I couldn’t sit still with the thunder, so I picked up a little. I washed the dishes and stuff, so don’t worry about that.” You answered. Molly grumbled. You furrowed your brows, wondering what could be frustrating her.
“That’s very sweet, my dear. Though next time, you should wake someone to keep you company. I wouldn’t mind, I actually enjoy storms. It would be better for your energy.” Molly’s tone was soft, not reprimanding. You frowned.
“Well, I just wanted to make myself useful.” You countered. Molly shook her head, looking into the kitchen.
“You’re useful without working yourself to the bone. You'd best head upstairs and catch the last few hours of sleep before breakfast.” She said, jutting her head towards the stairs. You didn’t bother arguing with her; you had seen her scold Ron before, and that was a fire you did not want to play with. Just as you thought you were in the clear, she called your name. You paused on your step, turning to face her.
“And wake George up, Merlin’s sake,” Molly muttered before walking to the kitchen. You nodded and started your trek up the stairs.
By the time you finally reached George’s door again, the storm was a distant worry. George did not lift his head at the sound of you opening the door. You didn’t bother closing it quietly. He would sleep through it. You pulled at the blankets, tucking yourself under them. You shoved George’s shoulder, making him tip onto his back. He stirred finally, peeking his eyes open. You patted his face to wake him up more. George lifted his head off the bed, rubbing at his eye.
“Breakfast?” he slurred. You shook your head.
“The storm woke me up.” You explained. George whined, pulling you closer to him. He pressed your head to his chest.
“I’ll drink all the rain, it won’t get you,” George muttered. You scoffed.
“You suck at this.” George petted your head. He shushed you like you were being petulant.
“Shsh- I’ll protect you, don’t worry.” He whispered in your ear. You rolled your eyes, letting out a small laugh. George snorted. He craned his neck to press a pathetic excuse for a kiss to your forehead.
“See, made you laugh. Can’t be scared when you’re laughing.” George mumbled, dropping his head back onto his pillow.
“That’s not true.” You said, lifting your head to glance down at him.
“Is,” George answered, before definitely falling asleep. You sighed, laying your head back down and realizing he might be partially right. You were still grinning, and there wasn’t any fear left rolling in your stomach.
Summary: you think he's cheating and you have a rlly big argument
Warning: angst, no happy ending, toxic relationship at least a little, big argument, suspected cheating, open ended really, touya pulls on your arm, he throws ur coat at u, you both lwk suck tbh, cursing, anger, mad mad mad mad, i think thats it
It wasn't extremely frequent that you and Touya blew up at each other. Sure fights happened but you both avoided raising your voices at each other. Your usual arguments happened in one room with them ending in understanding and I love yous whispered to each other. This was different.
You’d been nursing this frustration for three days. Yes, you should’ve told him but it just felt like something you could shake off. He made an off-putting comment over dinner one night, posed as a joke that just made you raise a brow. It wasn’t something like approving of cheating or insinuating you slept around but something about it made you feel like the butt of the joke. Something about your cooking and suddenly you were squinting at him across the table. He tried to reverse the damage, saying that he was kidding and stacking more into his bowl. You didn’t say anything, chuckling it away.
Then he was late coming home one night. It wasn’t like he came home every day just as the sun came down but he was usually in your bed by the same time. Around the time the moon was feeling particularly bright and shining through your curtains was the latest he would come home. So when he came home long after the usual time. You sat on the couch and watched the front door like a hawk. Your face was pinched and screwed into something terrifying and stirring with annoyance. When his loud boots and unruly hair finally slipped through your door you felt your jaw clench. He flicked on the living room light, jumping at the sight of you. He explained it away, something about work. You stared at him, unbreaking and unmoving. Touya stared at you back, raising a brow in question. You hummed and stood up. You left to the bedroom as he tugged his boots off and hung his coat onto the rack. You didn’t say a word to him as he settled into bed in his sleeping clothes. Of which there was little, having a built-in furnace made clothes sweltering. He pressed his lips to your shoulder over and over again in an attempt at a further apology. You didn’t say anything, considering the probability of it just being work. Finally, by the time he was waking up the next morning, you decided to let it slide.
Then you made plans, date night. You waited for hours on the damned bench you both had met at many times, this same date night was starting to produce a ritual. You bought drinks from a nearby cafe and waited on the bench with them. He met up with you after going to get snacks. You didn’t mind that they were probably stolen, it didn’t plague your mind at night. Then you both walked around the sidewalk, taking in the views in the cold night air and talked. It was simple but easy. You’d met there probably a hundred times over your years of dating and living together. So when you were sat waiting for hours on end, shivering in the cold, you finally felt the final straw placed. You tossed his drink and walked yourself home, wishing you had taken a thicker coat. You often didn’t need a thick one, you had him and he was plenty on his own.
You found the apartment void of his presence and felt your anger grow. You could maybe understand accidentally falling asleep after work. Maybe getting the dates mixed up. Not even being home? You were pushed to your limit. You sat down on the couch, a book in your lap, coffee on the end table next to you, and got ready to stay up until that asshole wandered home.
You got through six chapters before you heard his key finding the lock. You kept your eyes on the page, though you stopped recognizing the words. Touya entered your home, shoving the door closed and pulling at the laces of his boots.
“What are you doing up, it’s the asscrack of night right now?” Touya muttered as he dropped his boots next to the door. You looked at the treads, trying to decipher what he was up to. They were moderately clean, not like he cleaned them but he hadn’t been treading any mud or dirt very much. Touya shrugged his coat off, hooking it onto the rack. He shoved his hands into his pockets dumping his belongings into the tray on the small table next to the rack. You bookmarked your page and set your book on the end table.
“Touya, how long have we been dating?” You asked face pinched like it was a night ago. Touya paused, looking away from the tray. He stared at you a moment before opening his mouth.
“Coming up on four years next month. Why-“ he let out a chuckle like it could relax his nerves. He could feel his heartbeat in his stomach. “-you think I forgot our anniversary?” You kept your eyes on him, watching his movements like they could explain what exactly he’d been doing the past few nights. He stayed at the doorway, hands held together like a kid waiting on their parent to hand them back their broken toy.
“How long have we been living together?” You asked, tone flat to not automatically come off as the offender. Touya shook his head lightly, throwing his hands up.
“I’m not sure, maybe three or so years?” Touya said. You hummed and looked away from him, picking at the couch arm. Touya finally took a step forward. It was small, maybe five inches forward. “What is this about?” You pulled your eyes from the couch.
“Where have you been these past few nights, Touya?” You asked, watching his face scrunch and flicker. You nodded like that was plenty of your answer.
“Work, I told you that.” He answered. You pushed your lips together into a bitter smile. You stood from the couch, pulling your empty cup from the end table.
“Is that right?” You muttered, heading for the kitchen. Touya unfroze, following you automatically. You never trained him, you never even told him. Maybe something about you seemed worth following to him. Maybe he just thought wherever you were headed, he needed to be too.
“What the fuck is going on with you?” Touya said, staring at the back of your head as you leaned over the sink. You set your empty cup into the sink and quickly rinsed it out. You turned the sink off, turning around to face him.
“Where have you been, really?” You asked, eye twitching as you stared at him. Touya shook his head, flinging his hands up.
“I just fucking told you, work.” You stared at him, feeling your heart burn. He had to be cheating. You couldn’t think of any other option. He’d been having late nights, coming home at late hours. He was starting to slowly make sly negative comments towards you. This must’ve been going on for a while and you’d just been ignoring it. Your boyfriend was cheating on you. You wanted to fill the sink with cold water and dunk your head in. You wanted to scream. You wanted to reach out and yank one of his damned staples out. You wanted to pull plates from the cabinets and fling them at him. You wanted to slap him, call him something that would haunt him every time he took his clothes off for someone else.
Just as you were thinking of all the ways you could hurt him, he held his arms out and started slowly approaching you. He looked like he was advancing on a wounded dog. His frustration had eased from his face, truly trying to get a hold of you. You scoffed, swerving around him to head towards the bedroom. He let out a half-assed growl, chasing after you. You pushed open the door, reaching for the bed.
“I just don’t understand why you’ve been acting the way you have been. Long nights, rude comments, you haven’t taken your pants off around me in over a week which is new for you. Extremely new. So why can’t you tell me where you’re going?” You chided, shaking your head around furiously. You tugged his pillow from the bed, his light top sheet following after. He didn’t exactly need blankets if he even used the sheet. Touya entered the room after you, tugging his hand through his hair. He stared at the blankets in your arms, a wrinkle creasing between his brows.
“I’m telling you. I was at work.” You pushed past him, moving around him in the door frame. You flung his pillow and sheet onto the couch, looking back to watch him join you in the living room.
“Yeah? I called Shig. You know what he said? Said he hadn’t seen you stay past 10 in years. Sounds to me like you’re hiding something.” Touya’s face fell, staring at you with his mouth open. He moved forward, yanking the pillow from the couch.
“Now you’re fucking calling people behind my back! What the hell? Since when did we act crazy over little shit? I thought we talked shit out! Like you’re always on my ass about!” Touya yelled. You pulled back a little, setting your brow. You reached forward and yanked the pillow from his hands, throwing it back on the couch.
“Fuck you! You’re the one going behind my back! I don’t even know where you are anymore! You’re fucking forgetting dates now! You’re insulting me and hiding! Touya this isn’t you, what is going on?” You yelled back, leaning forward and pointing at his chest. Touya looked down at your finger, shooing it away.
“You’ve got to be losing your fucking mind! I never insulted you! I’m sleeping on the damn couch because you can’t pull yourself together!” Touya shouted, pulling the pillow front he couch again.
“Are you cheating? Don’t lie!” You watched his face extremely, trying to catch any micro expression like you might know what they mean. Touya reeled back, his head shaking back and forth like the ground was spinning.
“What!” You huffed and headed back for the kitchen, though you weren’t sure what for. You just needed to walk away from him. He followed. You turned around in the kitchen, leaning against the fridge and watching him.
“Are you?” You asked, shrugging one shoulder like it was no big deal for you. Touya waved his hands around the air like he was trying to feel for your reasoning.
“Do you really think so little of me that I’d cheat on you!” he yelled, pressing his hands to his chest as if you stabbed him multiple times. You stared at him, for a moment too long. Touya scoffed and flung his hands up.
“You’re fucking kidding right?” He asked, still watching you like you were some animal with rabies. You scoffed, pushing yourself off the refrigerator.
“You’re avoiding the question.” You muttered. Touya groaned, running his hands down his face and pulling at his skin. You worried he’d pop a staple, speedily wetting your hand with the sink and flicking the water at him. His hands dropped from his face, growing more frustrated.
“Fuck you.” You finally decided on where you were going, out of this damn house. You started for the door, heading past Touya. He followed. You pulled your shoes from the floor, slipping one on before the other. As you stood up, dipping your hand into the tray for your keys, Touya felt like he was watching you walk out of his life just like that. He reached forward and held onto your arm. His fingers dug into your skin as he yanked on you, jerking you around to face him.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Touya yelled, his breath hitting your face. He froze the second he saw it on your face. The same look his mother had with his father was looking back at him through his partner’s eyes. He felt his anger slip away as you stared at him with your open mouth. You looked between him and his hand on your arm, like they were detached. You had to trail your eyes from his wrist to his face to make sure it was even his hand on your body. You felt something stir behind your ribs, something that made your joints feel tight. You needed to move and move quickly. You pulled your anger back up over the fear, yanking your arm from his grasp. You leaned forward, pointing your finger at his face.
“Don’t you ever. Lay your fucking hands on me like that again.” You didn’t bother to look at his face, didn’t bother waiting to see the effect. You spun around and pulled the door open. Touya felt his hands move before his brain did. He snatched your coat from the rack, making it wobble. He flung it at you.
“Take your fucking coat!” It landed in your arms with a thump. You stared at him with the anger he was showing you.
“Oh go fuck yourself, Dabi!” You yelled before slamming the door behind you. It shook the wall, making the framed picture of you with his arm over your shoulders shake. He stared at it as he felt himself slowly freeze up. You hadn’t used that name for him in years. The solidity of his actions slowly set in. You were pissed, beyond, and not horrifically in the wrong. You called him Dabi. He was a villain in your eyes again. That was terrifying. He was used to the name Touya now. It’s who he was. He wasn’t Touya, Enji’s eldest son. He was Touya, your lover. Now he wasn’t so sure what he was.
You needed space. Touya gave you a forty-five-minute head start before he pulled on his coat and boots. He slipped out the front door and chased after you. Wherever you were going, he was coming. If he had to follow you to the end of the earth to earn back your trust and love he’d do so. This wasn’t the end, just a spat. That’s all, a simple spat.
I just watched The Other Bennet Sister and does Mary have terrible taste in colors? yes! but she's so happy and such a kind person I overlook it that red and green dress is ugly as hell but she feels so confident in it she LOOKS so confident in it it looks amazing on her bc she's glowing with pride
how hard is it to write a modern day romance novel bc at this point I'm seeing so many books about love with AI and blue collar werewolf mafia kings and I'm like how hard is it
Oh, great heavens! There's a monster in the mirror!
barbie dolls: Dean Winchester x gn!1/2 vampire!college!reader
word count:2.5k
summary: on a demon hunt a younger dean meets you (whomst has a vampire father) and likes what he sees
warnings: out of character earlier season dean bc def would've killed you, based off a dream i had two years ago, pro choice agenda suck it replubs idgaf, it's really just cheesy its not even crazy, demon stuff ig, also i wrote this a long time ago so be aware this is not an accurate representation of my current writing abilities i'm just genuinely only now getting around to editing it, also j fyi vampires can be seen in modern mirrors okay back up off my plot hole, also edited this while getting ready for prom j fyi
Your father, Viktor, was a vampire; he’d told you the story many times. So many times, it was practically engraved on your brain. His coven was very strict. If a member broke any rule, small or not, they were kicked out.
The coven left for a hunt, individually stalking around the night streets for a human to lure back to the nest. Viktor unfortunately, wandered into a diner in the hopes of coming across a wary traveler. He plopped himself into a booth and ordered a plate. He had a guilty pleasure in human food. That’s when he met your mother. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, at least that’s what he told you.
She slid into the booth across from him and asked him his favorite milkshake from the diner. After fumbling through a conversation with her, he landed himself a date.
Months flew by, and their newborn love was kept a secret. It was against the rules of the coven for a vampire to love a human. Yet love he did. Then your mother found out she was pregnant with you, Viktor was shocked, of course, could vampires reproduce like that? Viktor was scared, your mother was scared, you were scared, and you were just a clump of lifeless cells.
Viktor came clean to the coven. He was kicked out of the course, but it didn’t matter to him. He was going to elope with your mother. They ditched town, they ditched the state, and they found a little stone cottage with a dead garden out front.
As they settled in, the garden was planted with new flowers. Viktor found a job in town as a professor at the town’s public college. It was a fine job; he loved it. Your mother stayed home and decorated the house. Your bedroom was packed full with pretties before her stomach was even peaking from her shirt. Their life was beautiful, and it was about to get a whole lot more beautiful when you arrived. They were both ecstatic; they would raise their baby together.
All good things have an end, and your mother died in childbirth. Your family was cut in half, and your father felt like he was on the edge of getting sucked into a black hole at all times after that. Every time he felt like he was going to explode with despair and anger and disgust and all the bad feelings stirring in his stomach, he stared into your tiny baby eyes, and the world felt safe again.
All said and done, you were doing pretty alright. You were going to the same college your father taught at. People thought he was a little strange, sure, but he was your loving father. He dressed in all black and never left the house without a parasol. He left the house every other weekend to drive to a different town to feed on cattle. Viktor stopped feeding on humans once he was kicked from the coven. Just felt wrong. he lathered you in sunscreen every time you even thought of stepping outside. You knew about Vampires and demons, the whole nine yards. You even knew about hunters, and the best thing to do when you met one was to run. One way or another, they’d want you dead. You may only be half vampire, but to a hunter, that made you a monster. Your family was just strange.
You settled into your second class of the day, flopping into your unassigned-assigned seat. As you were shuffling through your bag for your textbook, you heard an unfamiliar voice next to you.
“Hi.” You looked up, finding a new student. He definitely wasn’t from around here; you’d remember him. You sat up, setting your book down, and raised an eyebrow.
“Hi?” You responded, opening your book to the page you shoved your notes in. He smirked at you, tapping his pencil against his lips. He stuck his hand out towards you.
“I’m Dean. I’m new.” He said. You glanced at his hand. Yeah, you weren’t shaking that. You pushed his hand away with a finger before wiping your finger off on your pants. You gave him your name while setting your notes down.
“Thought so, I’ve lived here my entire life, and I’ve never seen you.” Your eyes dropped to his bag. A pentagram was stitched into the fabric with white thread. Your left eye twitched. You pointed your pencil at the bag. Dean looked down before meeting your eyes again.
“Uh, it’s for protection. It’s a family thing.” Dean said, kicking his leg out to hide his bag with his foot. You scoffed and set your pencil down on your textbook. Dean gave you a small smile, awkwardness seeping between the two of you.
“Yeah, I know what it means. You said you’re new? How long are you planning to stay here?” You stared at him as he gave you a light shrug. He dropped his pencil to his chin, tapping it in thought.
“Oh, not for long. I’m traveling around, but I’m staying here for a little while, to, uh, stick with my brother. He lives around here.” Dean said. You didn’t believe a lick of it. You wanted to ask if he was on a hunting trip, but then that would disclose that you knew of that world. Which would raise brows and likely get you killed. You smiled and nodded.
“Oh, cute.” You turned back to your work and ignored his presence for the rest of class. You went about your day. Everything went according to plan. You were off to your third class without another peep from Dean. After your third class, you were going to share lunch with your father and whisper to him about the chance of a hunter being in town. Possibly two if the 'brother' story was true.
You turned the corner to the hall for your third class. A man was holding another student up by his neck. The student’s feet were dangling in the air, and his jaw was unhinged. You slipped back behind the corner and watched as the man choked the student. You stared at the man’s eyes, trying to get a better look. He tilted his head to the side, watching the student’s life leave his eyes intently. Black, completely black.
You turned and quietly but quickly left the hall. You slipped out the door and started running. You flew through the courtyard, heading for your father’s classroom. He’d know what to do. Surely he would, right? Viktor would probably tell you to go home. Which, all things considered, sounded pretty damn good right now. You slithered through a crowd of students standing in the way for no damn reason and glided down a set of concrete stairs. You pulled open the door to the building you needed and swung around the corner to your father’s hallway. You glanced over your shoulder to make sure the demon hadn’t spotted or followed you. You skid to a halt when you head straight into another student. Their hands flew to your shoulders, holding you in place. You tried to catch your breath as you found their eyes.
The hunter. Great! Behind you was a demon who wanted you dead, and in front of you was a hunter who wanted you dead.
“Hey, what’s the matter? What happened?” Dean asked. You looked over his shoulder, seeing another man waiting awkwardly by the wall. You shook your head, trying to focus on the task at hand: getting to your father.
“Can’t say. Nothing. Nothing. I have to go.” You sputtered. You stared at the door just a few feet away, hoping that Dean would just let go. Dean shook your shoulders lightly, dragging your attention back to him.
“Tell me, please.” He pressed. His eyes were kind, and you hated him for it. If you weren’t you and he wasn’t himself, you’d tell him. You shook your head again.
“Can’t!”
“Why!”
“You’re a hunter!” You sucked in a breath as the words slipped from your mouth before you could catch them. Dean’s face fell, and he furrowed his eyebrows.
“How do you know what that is? Are you a hunter?” Dean asked. The man behind him pushed off the wall. You shrugged.
“You’ll kill me. Just let me go, and you won’t see me ever again. I promise, just please. Don’t kill me.” You tried to pry his hands off your shoulders, but Dean wanted to finish the conversation.
“Why would you think that? You haven’t done anything wrong.” You slipped from his hands finally, and ducked under his arm. You scampered into your father’s empty classroom. Your father was at his desk at the bottom of the classroom. You sprinted down the stairs, the footsteps of the hunters behind you. Dean called after you. Viktor raised his head from his work, standing at the sight of you running from two strangers.
“Get your things, Dad. We have to go, I feel sick. Must’ve been some fucking garlic or something.” You said, waving your hand around at his desk. When you reached his desk, you started pulling his papers together into a stack. Viktor pulled his briefcase from the ground, opening it for you.
“What’s going on?” Viktor asked. You shook your head.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” You stuffed the pile of papers into the briefcase and ducked behind his desk.
“Please, just tell me what’s going on. We can help.” Dean said, having reached the final floor level. You stood up with your father’s parasol in hand.
“No, you can’t. You wouldn’t understand.” Dean shook his head. The man behind him joined Dean at his side. You stared at him as he looked between you and your father.
“You’re vampires.” He whispered. You swallowed and handed Viktor his umbrella. You slammed his briefcase closed and closed the clasps. You tugged on your father’s arm, trying to get him to leave. Viktor shook his head and stared at the second man.
“And you’re hunters. A tale as old as time.” Viktor reached for your hand, rubbing the back for comfort. The other man gave a short nod.
“Is this a can of worms you really want to open, boys?” Viktor asked. You held your breath as you looked at the hunters. Your father surely knew what he was doing. He had been up against hunters before. With a coven, but you were his coven now. Maybe you two could take them down, but it wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do on a Thursday afternoon.
“We don’t want to kill you. We’re not even sure you two feed on humans. We’re here on a demon case, not a vamp one.” Dean said, holding his hand out. It reminded you of what you saw in movies when they asked if someone trusted them. You furrowed your brow, dragging your eyes up the length of his arm to his eyes. They weren’t cold and deceiving, like you expected. They were soft and kind. You closed your eyes and swallowed down the feeling that crawled under your ribs and wrapped around your heart. Viktor patted the back of your hand and pulled the parasol from your hands.
“There, see, Darling? You have no reason to be so scared; these two seem to be level-headed hunters. A hard combo to come by, I must admit.” Viktor mumbled as he returned to his seat at his desk. The two hunters stared at you, watching you as you awkwardly stood there.
“This is my brother, Sam. We heard about two murders in the area. It was suspicious that they couldn’t figure out the cause of death, but we’re pretty sure it’s a demon. A really weird one. We’re not going to hurt you just because you’re Vamps. We really only have a problem with Vamps who eat humans mercilessly.” Dean said, chuckling through his own words. You looked to your father for help, finding him staring at Dean inquisitively.
“I haven’t had human blood since I met my wife over twenty years ago,” Viktor said in a tone that reminded you of how he described your mother’s smile. You turned back to the hunters, giving them a smile that you hoped gave a similar light as your mother’s.
“I haven’t had a taste for blood.” You muttered. You tipped your chin upwards to show your confidence in your ½ vampire-ness. Dean’s lips tipped in a smile that might whisper a pull of attraction. Sam stepped in front of Dean just enough to break eye contact.
“You were running from something. What was it?” Sam asked, sticking his hand out like he was keeping a hold of you. You sighed.
“A man picked up this student and was choking him. The man’s eyes were black. Pitch black. That’s what you’re hunting, aren’t you?” You asked, glancing around Sam to see Dean again. Sam looked back, nodding at Dean. You told them where you saw it, and they left without another comment.
A day passed before you saw him again. On your walk to your first class of the day, you spotted him leaning against a parked car. It was stopped on the side of the road leading to your college. He perked up at the sight of you approaching.
“Hey!” He shouted, calling you over. You added pep in your step to reach him faster.
“Hi,” You whispered once you finally reached him. Dean’s hands were hidden in his jacket pockets.
“We’re leaving town. We handled the whole black eyes thing; your town is safe again. I promise,” he said. You did feel a weight lifted from you. You had trouble going to sleep last night; the thought of someone breaking into your home set your heart pounding. You nodded, glancing down at the ground.
“Thank you. For taking care of it, and for you know- not killing me.” You huffed out a laugh. Dean shook his head, his face turning down in disgust.
“No. I wouldn’t do that.” A silent and serious moment settled between the two of you. You only heard the leaves of the trees whispering against each other. There was a particularly loud bird squawking above you. There was chatter from a small group of students walking by. A woman in a pencil skirt and a button-up blouse answered the phone as she stepped out of her car.
“I won’t pretend that I’m not attracted to you,” Dean stated bluntly, making your shoulders tighten. You pulled your gaze from the woman.
“I wouldn’t want to leave town without your number. I think another case may arise again, and I'll have to rush in to save you. Might as well keep in contact with you.” Dean continued. A cheesy grin was pulling at his lips. You felt your skin growing warm with amusement. You hummed.
“Yes. I think it is totally possible that I’ll need saving from a terrible, terrible monster. Might even find one in my mirror.” You teased, yet still pulled out your mobile to let him enter his number. He chuckled, tugging his hand out of his pocket to take it from you.
You were a little sad to see the '67 Impala leave town, but you were overjoyed to hear your phone ring that night.
Barbie dolls: Billy bonney x gn! pyshic medium!reader
word: 2.4K
summary: Billy drops in your carnival tent to connect to his ghosts
warnings: you can embroider, ghosts, tarot, oracle, yada yada, where do you live in the city do you have a house apartment own or rent rent, joe's teeth are unclean but its the wild fuckign west bro, billy cries, thats it bruv, edited this while getting ready for prom btw
As a child, you made friends easily, although they were usually metaphysical and dead. It’s quite normal for children to be odd, but once you surpassed puberty and still saw dead people, it wasn’t considered quirky anymore. You packed up all your belongings and joined a traveling carnival. Most people considered you and your new family pathetic, but truly, you hadn’t felt more comfortable in your entire life.
Your tent was smaller than some of the others. Most booths were games, some had acts like the woman you shared breakfast with being a real-life ‘mermaid’. You helped sew the scales that fell off her fabric tail every night. Your tent had a small table with a chair on either side. Your chair had an extra cushion because lord did it hurt your ass to sit so damn long. You didn’t bother finding a crystal ball; you didn’t want to risk catching anything on fire. Your table had a small, embroidered tablecloth that you did yourself. Next to you was a small box, which had two sets of tarot cards and an oracle deck. A lit candle was set in the center of the table. The smoke added a bit of haziness to your dark tent. It was the ambience. You weren’t a trick pony. You were the real deal. Whether or not your customers believed in you on their way in, they did on the way out.
You could connect with the dead and clearly describe loved ones to the carnival goers. When you read cards, you can see their past, present, and future clearly. Some days, people were giggly and thought your whole job was just silly. Some days, people stared at you in shock, completely astonished that you knew what you did. You were gaining traction. You had a few newspapers write about you. The carnival made sure to keep you because your name on their posters brought in more and more tickets. Plus, they liked you. You were funny, and they liked it when you pulled your cards out during family dinners.
You could hear a child squealing outside your tent. The sun was shining less through the fabric. You were going to take a break soon, and you did enjoy watching the sun slip down while you ate your dinner. You ran your hand over the candle’s flame, watching it twist to follow you. A hand pulled at the fabric door of your tent. You straightened up, watching the new customer reveal themself.
A man dipped into the smoke, his hand pulling at his hat. He lifted his eyes from the ground, meeting yours. They were strikingly blue. You took a moment to sweep over him. Scuffed boots, gun belt, perpetual dust embedded into the skin next to his eyes. He took up space, but he stood like he wished he didn’t. His shoulders were tilted in, his chin pointed down.
“You see the dead?” He whispered. You nodded, gesturing to the chair across from you. When he stepped forward, he had an odd gait.
“You ride horses for a living?” You asked, scooting your chair closer. The man paused with his hand on the back of the other seat, staring at you.
“I do.” He responded hesitantly. You wanted to laugh at him. So many people were shocked when you could read them almost as well as your cards.
“Scuffed boots, cowboy’s gait, and a gun on your hip. You in a gang?” You raised a brow expectantly. The man settled down into the chair and chuckled.
“I was.” You hummed. You liked it when you were right.
“Not anymore?” He shook his head, placing his hat in his lap.
“Didn’t like it.”
“What’s your name?” You ventured. He raised a brow at you like he was shocked you didn’t know.
“Billy.”
“Oh, please, spare me the speech. You’re overwhelming me with all these words.” You mumbled. He snorted. You laid your hands on the table, palms up.
“You want me to speak with your dead?” You clarified. Billy sat up straighter, staring down at your table.
“Yes, but I don’t have much to give you for payment.” He said, staring at your face seriously. You nodded.
“That’s fine, place your hands in mine.” You closed your eyes, feeling for the chill that was always connected with you. Billy’s hands settled on top of yours. They were callused, clearly from riding horses and labor. You felt a chill go down your spine, your skin going frigid. You waited, trying to feel how many spirits were following him. There was a shorter presence closer to you, standing next to your box of cards. A taller presence was behind Billy; you could hardly make out much about them. You slowly peeled open your eyes, looking next to you.
A boy who looked hardly older than 12 was staring at you with wide eyes. He had the same blue eyes as the man across from you had. Only this boy had the sheen and dark under eyes of the sick. He reached out towards you and gripped your forearm. The room’s coldness amplified, making you shiver again.
“There’s a boy here. He couldn’t be any younger than 12 or older than 15. He’s got your eyes.” You thought about telling him about the clear sickness pulling at the boy’s eyes, but you decided against it. You kept your eyes on the boy.
“Joe?” Billy asked. The boy’s head snapped towards Billy, staring at him. You let out a breath of air.
“Yes. He looked at you when you said that.” You mumbled. Joe looked back at you, squinted at your face.
“You see me?” He squeaked out, his voice rough with illness. You nodded. Joe leaned closer to you, poking at your face. He stood on his tiptoes. His breath on your ear was so cold you could see your exhale.
“The city sleeps.” He whispered to you. You hummed in confusion. Joe took clear aggravation to your confusion, scoffing.
“And the country sleeps.” He added, waving his hand in front of him. He was demanding that you continue.
“The city sleeps, and the country sleeps.” You repeated, glancing at Billy. You stared at the sight of another ghost behind him. Billy furrowed his brows at you, tilting his head.
“I used to read that to him, Walt Whitman,” Billy mumbled. You nodded.
“There’s a woman behind you.” She perked up at that, stepping a little closer towards the center of the tent. She had his eyes too, and his stance. She shrank her shoulders in and waited to be addressed. Her curly hair trailed down her back, a few short pieces floating around her face. She pressed her hand to Billy’s shoulder.
“My son.” She mumbled. You felt your heart squeezing. His family was following him, their spirits guarding every move.
“It’s your mother. She’s by your shoulder. She has curly hair that goes down her back and bright blue eyes.” You don’t bring up the cough she sputters into her elbow. She reaches for Billy's face, attempting to press her hand to his cheek. Billy doesn’t feel it, glancing at the wrong shoulder. You stare at the woman as she lifts her head and looks to you for help.
“Tell him there’s still good in him. I see it, and I feel it every day.” She said, clearly giving up on the idea of her son hearing her.
“She’s asked me to tell you there's still good in you. She sees and feels it every day she’s with you.” You repeat, glancing at Joe next to you. He smiles, showing off his unclean teeth. You would be disgusted, usually, but it only tears at your heart that this boy didn’t get a moment to wash his mouth before he died. Billy hung his head, his face leaving your view.
“Tell him he still owes me a dollar,” Joe demanded, a giggle already shaking through him. You would’ve laughed if you weren’t so damn cold. The woman next to Billy started up.
“Joe.” She scolded, leaning over the table to point her finger at him. “That’s completely inappropriate." You snorted, making Billy lift his head. His eyes were welling with tears, his face contorted to hold them back. As far as he could tell, you were laughing at his cries.
“Joe says you still owe him a dollar.” You said, grinning at the absurdity. Billy let out a wet laugh. Joe giggled next to you, happy to make Billy laugh.
“He thinks this is really funny.” Billy grinned at that, nodding gratefully.
“Tell him to stop drinking.” The woman said. She jumped as she remembered something. “And that I love him.” She added. You glanced at her before looking back at Billy.
“Your mother says you need to stop drinking.” Billy snorted again, staring down at his lap. “And that she loves you dearly.” The top of Billy’s head bobbed as he nodded.
“I think he stinks,” Joe whispered to you, patting your cheek to remind you to tell him.
“Joe says he loves you, too.” You added. Joe scoffed, reeling back from you.
“I did not. Tell him what I said. Say it.” Joe scolded. You really had to hold back a laugh.
“And you stink.” Joe nodded in approval. He ducked under the table, bumping his back against it as he spouted out the other side. The candle jumped just barely. Billy slipped his hands from yours, wiping at his face. The warmth of your tent came flooding back, making you shiver again. The spirits were gone. You pulled your arms from your table, rubbing at your skin. Your cheek was still cold from Joe’s hand. Without the ghosts talking to you, you could hear Billy’s sobs clearly now. He pressed his fingers to his eyebrows. His shoulders shook as he cried into his lap. You waited patiently. It wasn’t infrequent that people cried in your tent.
After a long few minutes of staring at your candle’s flame, Billy lifted his head. He wiped at his eyes, sniffing and settling his face into stone. He clenched his jaw, making him look threatening even with his bloodshot eyes.
“I apologize, I shouldn’t've cried in here.” He muttered. His voice was rougher than before. You shook your head.
“You don’t need to apologize to me. Crying is perfectly understandable. Especially in this tent.” You replied. He hummed and stared at the tablecloth. A moment of silence passed between the two of you. You often felt like you needed to tell your clients something comforting or prophetic before they left. With this man, you just wanted to sit with him and do nothing.
“I thought when I came in here, there would be the ghosts of people I hurt attached to me.” He whispered. He was almost too quiet. You would have missed it if you weren’t entirely zoned in on the sound of his breathing. His breath caught again, a shuttering exhale as he steeled himself again.
“I hadn’t considered it being my family at all.” He mumbled, glancing up to stare at the space beside him. You nodded.
“Joe’s a real funny little guy.” You responded, immediately pressing your eyes shut. You could read people like cards and talk to ghosts, but you’d be damned before you figured out how to talk to alive people. Billy snorted. The wall of your tent was patted three times, the fabric caving in. Billy stared at it in confusion.
“It’s closing time.” You explained. Billy stood. You stood with him, following him out of your tent. The sun had settled. You were partially sad you missed the sunset, but the man in front of you was a nice view too. He turned around to face you right outside your tent. He kept his hat pressed to his chest.
“How long are you in town?” He asked. You smiled. You thought he would lead you down this line of questioning. A small laugh sounded from you. Billy parroted your amusement.
“What’s funny?” He asked, tilting his head to force you into eye contact.
“We’re leaving tonight, Mr. Billy.” You answered. His shoulders shrank, a frown pulling at his lips.
“No.” You scoffed at him.
“Yes.”
“Let me take you out before,” Billy said, his eyes watching you seriously. You shook your head.
“Not possible. We have dinner, and then we start packing.” You replied.
“I’ll follow the carnival. I’ll take you out at the next stop.” He pleaded. You were terribly amused by his stubbornness.
“You would have to ask Leroy. He’s the so-called ‘Ring leader’.” Though most people you knew just called him Pa. He made sure everyone was fed and cared for. And he gave you your money. Billy nodded, settling his hat back on top of his head.
“Then point me in the direction of Leroy.” He muttered, a small smile pulling at his mouth.
“You are relentless.” You chuckled. Billy nodded.
“Would you like me to leave?” He asked. You scoffed, glancing over your shoulder. You could see Leroy helping the mermaid out of her tank. You sighed, avoiding Billy’s eyes. He was grinning too brightly. You didn’t like that he knew he was right.
“Leroy’s over there.” You jutted your head towards the tank. Billy nodded at you, tipping his hat as he walked away. You turned as you watched him.
Leroy glanced at him, dipping down to settle the mermaid into a nearby chair. Leroy placed his hands on his hips as Billy tore his hat off. You didn’t catch a word, but Leroy seemed taken aback by the question. Leroy looked to the side, catching your eye. He raised a brow in question. You nodded animatedly, giving him your approval. Leroy raised his brows in surprise, shaking his head. He ran a hand over his head before muttering to Billy and waving him away. Billy came stalking back to you, far too much confidence in his strut.
“I’m following after you.” He declared, smiling brightly at you. You pressed your lips into a thin line. You sighed through your nose.
“What a shame, I thought I could shake you. Don’t you have connections here or something? A home? A friend? You’re following a stranger across miles.” You stared at him. He shook his head. He glanced at your tent. Billy grinned as he looked back at you, like he was giddy to spit out a joke.
lowkirkenuinely I'm thinking Abt that criminal minds ep where spencer gets kidnapped blah blah blah but he signs to the team using the alphabet and now walk with me
spencer and reader both know just a little bit of sign not enough to be fluent but enough to be conversational and enough that applies to working in the BAU so now you're communicating with him on the field and across the bull pen like rubbing your fists together to ask him for coffee while you're still at your desk and hes shaking his fist up down saying yes
and then in the field you can silently check on each other like flicking your hands up from your shoulders saying what's up what's wrong and he's holding his spread fingers over his chest and stomach saying he's scared you're shaking your head shaking your hands out it'll be fine
telling each other I love you without a word as you put on your vests
him raising his hand to his chin and pulling it down good? and you slamming two clawed fingered hands on top of each other over and over again harder.
summary: Dusty butts takes you home for thanksgiving :p
warnings: You're majoring in theater for costumes, got nothing to do with me, mentioned lit once that you dont like nonfiction, Dustin has braces and oh boy do i mention it bc i think its hot okay cool thanks i like you guys, mentions of your family being toxic😼, sex mentioned a few times, omg they kiss, with tongue!, don't look at me like that fix your fucking face, you eat a burger, brief mention of considering having kids but! it doesn't really say how, It's like the briefest conversation ever heres a reenactment: "have you thought abt it" "nuh too much vecna in my childhood" so i think you'll be ok, I love gay men! I considered myself one for a few months, my identity has changed since, I have a gay uncle! trust trust, byler, janey loml she's a weirdo and also alive fuck you duffers, quick aside ik dustin is from the midwest not the south so ik its a different kind of cuntry culture-wise but uhhhh i've never been so get off my back maybe idk, breif mention of Cults bc tbh an outside person leaning abt Dustin's childhood would definitly think hes in a cult, You're kind of okay with it so shoot me if you must ig, baby nickname used, theres a playful moment where dustin is like bleh no sex and you keep kissing him but like it's not in a concerning way i think i think they're just being silly goofy, dustin calls his mom momma cuz its cute, Carlton mentioned, brief mention of ACAB and shooting ppl, uh i tink thats it!
An: so thanksgiving... I just wanted to make sure my opinion on thanksgiving is not misconstrued with this fic. And you may be thinking "well Friend, why write the fic about thanksgiving when you don't like thanksgiving?" And to that question I answer; I was listening to a lot of country music when planning and writing. I really wanted it to feel like MERICAN but like in the liberal way. does that make sense? I personally live out in the middle of buttfuck nowhere in texas so like I have a very complex relationship with the country vibes yk? like fires in the backyard and nicknames and the quiet loudness all that shit and then theres like confederate flags and that ugly fashion thing with cheetah print and teal letters with something like 'God Bless Y'all!' and thats like evil. Okay so what I'm saying is I hate thanksgiving because it spawned from pure hate and colonization in this country. And that hate is still present today with how our country treats Native Americans and their communities. But... I also think Thanksgiving is a strong part of American culture. I don't think it's impossible to enjoy the holiday as a family love kinda thing while also recognizing the hate it grew from. That is also how I feel about the south in general. I can love the beautiful parts of it while also hating all the disgusting parts with all my heart. I hope this feeling is mirrored in you when you read this. I focused more on family than the actual holiday, if we can call it that. If you, as my reader, find this too positive towards Thanksgiving (or even if you think I just handled it poorly) please let me know and I'll change it to like Christmas or some shit which has its own controversies but less hate I think maybe...
Your college in your hometown wasn’t exactly the place you dreamed of. Although a few months in, you realized you found peace in it. You had found people who loved the same things you did. You found people with the same calluses on their fingers from needles. You found people who sat with you as you both slowly made your way through hand stitches. You found yourself a place to grow into someone a little more sturdy. A little less snippy, a little more giggly, a little less angry, and a little more carefree.
The Library was rarely ever silent. There was always at least one small group whispering in conversation. Pages were always being flipped, pens scribbling, the loud keys of the one singular community computer clicking, and the door squeaking. Despite this, you quite enjoyed spending some of your free time between classes reading in the big wooden chairs of the library. Most of their tables were too big. The smaller ones could fit six comfortably, and the largest could fit eight.
You loved the six-seater by the windows overlooking the courtyard. You loved it so much because you could still make out just barely the sounds of nature and students through the glass without ever having to swat away a bug. As the table was in the back of the library, it was rare that anyone was near you. It wasn’t even possible to see the table without entering the nonfiction area.
You weren’t a big nonfiction reader, but because neither was much of your campus, its solitude was alluring. You preferred plays, dressing the actors in your mind. You thought of all the fabrics and versatility you could make. A skirt that turns into an apron in a quick change. A slit in the side to hold the dagger prop needed halfway through a scene. You could picture all the people in the audience falling in love with you without ever looking at you because they stepped into your mind for just a few hours. They don’t make good casual reads, though. So rather than read another script, you buried yourself in fiction.
A man stepped into your view, pulling your attention from your pages. You shouldn’t stare. It is rude. But…
It was really his fault. If he didn’t want you to stare, then he should know he can’t go about town looking so delectable. He had curly brown hair that reached just barely past his ears. He pushed back the sides so all the length was in the back. A small backpack was slung over his shoulder, and a stack of two books was in his hands. He wasn’t wearing anything special, but the way it hung on him made you sick with attraction. His pants were almost too tight around his thighs, like no clothing brand ever considered a man with such-
“Oh, sorry.” Your eyes shot up to his mouth, trying to pretend you hadn’t been looking.
“I didn’t realize this was your space.” He smiled just barely as he said it. Maybe he was a little embarrassed. You startled yourself, pulling you back to planet Earth.
“No worries. It’s a public library.” You replied, looking back at your page. You knew you wouldn’t be able to catch a single word while he was still standing in your view. He hovered like a bee with conflicting morals against stinging humans. You watched him in your peripheral vision, waiting. Just sting me.
“Can I-uh-sit with you?” He finally spat out, too cluttered and rushed. You lifted your head, meeting his eyes. What a fucking dork. A hot dork, unfortunately.
“Yeah, of course.” You smiled, hoping your offer would settle some of his nerves. His buzzing anxiety was rubbing off on you, making your own heart stutter. He quickly dropped into the seat on the other side of the table, dropping his books next to him. He scratched at his nose, glancing repeatedly at the cover cradled in your hands.
“What are you reading?” He pressed, dropping his hands from his face. You lifted the cover, too excited to talk about your book to actually read him the title.
“So far, I like how the author is writing about pregnancy. If she goes in an unsettling direction, I think this book will be one of my favorites. I am worried she’ll write about it, somehow giving all the character’s purpose and being a beautiful thing. Which I don’t think it can't be, but it’s not what I want to read. If it is her intention, I think she’s writing it poorly.” You started, chomping at the bit to spiel about your read. A massive grin broke out on his face. It took over his eyes, squeezing his cheeks. Peeking out from his lips were tiny rainbow rubber bands pulled over his braces. He was almost too excited about your book. It was cute that you hadn’t had someone this interested in what you were reading for a few years.
“That’s fascinating.” He muttered, beating down his smile. You felt a compliment on the tip of your tongue, but the fact that you only met this man two minutes ago made you bite down.
“Thank you.” You said instead. Maybe you should’ve said it because now the conversation was broken, and you didn’t want his voice to leave you yet.
“I’m Dustin.” He whispered, drawing you back in. You gave him your name as you pulled your bookmark from the table. You pressed it between your pages, closing it. Look at all the respect you give to this stranger! You even set the book to the side, giving him all your attention.
“What’s your major?” Dustin asked, fiddling with the pages of his books. You felt a bashful grin pulling at your lips. You were a theater kid, but if this stunning man left you out of fear of a musical breakout, you might have to change your career plans.
“Theater.” You replied, waiting for his response. God, he couldn’t be fucking happier. Why is he so tickled all the damn time? His all-consuming smile returned, a blush warming his face. He chuckled, almost too loud. Dustin nodded, glancing away from you to fight down the red in his cheeks.
“Actor?”
“Costumes.”
“Ah.”
You waited for him to tell you that’s a bit odd. He might even call it useless. Who cares what the nerds on a big stage wore? You glanced down at the titles of his books. Math, physics. Dear god, the next words out of his mouth will crush you. He’ll say something about you never passing algebra and always needing a tutor. How he will know that information you haven’t decided, but certainly he did.
“That’s like- really cool.” He giggled through his sentence like he was astonished you were even telling him about it.
“I’ve only seen a couple plays, but that’s got to be really fun. You can build a whole world before anyone has said a word.” He mumbled off like he was working through a long equation under his breath. You hated that your chest swarmed. You felt like the library was brighter. College was worth all the debt if it meant you sat in this chair at this time for this boy to sit next to you and say those words.
“Yeah.” It came out too close to a deeply in love moan. You immediately looked away, glancing over your shoulder out the window. A student fails at a cartwheel, fumbling into the green spring grass. You looked back at him, glad he was still sitting next to you. He was grinning. You almost wished to disappoint him to make him frown and learn the color of his eyes.
“Yours?”
"Engineering.” You nodded. The math.
“I’m not very good at math; I've always been terrible at it.” You whispered. No, it didn’t matter if you were good at it; your degree had basically nothing to do with it. Why did you tell him that? What was he going to do with that information? His hand pulled the back of the chair next to him, hopping over to sit across from you. You almost wanted to giggle like he was your middle school crush who said you were “alright”.
“That’s fine. I can teach you. I’ve never been good at sewing.” He replied, leaning forward on the table. He was too close. You didn’t know him; he should be further away. So why did you love the warmth of his breath in your face? You almost wanted him closer so you could examine more of his details.
“That’s fine. I can teach you.” You parroted. Dustin’s too-tickled giggle returned.
Months later, you were deep into a relationship with Dustin. You hated that he hadn’t run into you before. You wished you had more time with him. It wasn’t like you were nearing the end of your future. If you had been born in the same hospital and made tiny baby eye contact over the plastic rims of your bassinets, tied together for the rest of your lives, you’d be over the moon. Even if it had been moving into the same neighborhood and catching glances of each other as you both bounced on trampolines, peeking over the fence. Maybe even later, joining the same club in middle school. Even a few years after that, if you bumped into him on the way to 9th-grade English. You also thought neither one of you would be who you were.
Thanksgiving in your home was less of a heart-warming family gathering and more of a war zone with enemies wearing your face. So when Dustin suggested driving you to his hometown, you packed your bags. When you skittered out of your dorm with your bag dragging behind you, you beamed at the sight of him. He was leaning against his pale blue-gray convertible, the top pulled over. He was staring down at his watch, pushing his sunglasses up with his thumb.
He glanced up at the sound of your footsteps, grinning. He pushed off the car, immediately taking your bag from your hands. He walked around to the trunk, dropping your bag next to his. He slammed the trunk closed as you settled into the passenger seat.
It was only a day's drive. That was if you kept going and never stopped for over 15 hours. Dustin decided it would be best for the mental well-being of both of you if you stopped halfway through at a hotel. He had made a big deal of it, offering to get a room with two beds if it would make you the most comfortable. You wanted to call him stupid, but when he stared at you with his wide pleading eyes, your words died. You convinced him you were more than comfortable sharing a hotel bed with the boyfriend you fucked before. Dustin still grumbled about it, saying past sexual relationships didn’t mean jack about current comfort level. You shut up his complaints with smacking kisses over his face.
You were by no means a novice at United States Roadtrips. Back home, a three drive was a cakewalk. Your family was the kind to push the limits of the human body if it meant saving time on the road. You had barely beat the limits of your bladder to a truck stop bathroom. You had slept on the highways of boring flatlands just to push your hunger back another hour. You were used to things being done a certain way.
Dustin seemed almost born to break you out of the questionable traditions of your family. Anytime you sighed in the slightest, he was pulling over for a stretch break. He slipped into one of the ditches, and you almost wheezed yourself into a new pair of pants. When you readjusted in your seat a few too many times, he found the nearest gas station. You wiped your hands on your back pockets, ridding them of the last water drops the dryer missed.
Dustin was staring at the pamphlet wall, plucking a few out and adding them to the small stack in his hands. You slid up next to him, pressing your chin on top of his shoulder. He startled before quickly releasing the tension in his body.
“Planning to stay in Missouri long?” You asked, turning your head to stare at the side of his face. He pressed his lips together and let out a sigh. You pulled away from his body, putting a small breathing distance between the two of you. Where is his embarrassment coming from?
“My mom likes to scrapbook. She- uh- kinda got me hooked on it.” He muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the bearded trucker walking behind him. You smiled, thinking about him meticulously decorating a page for your road trip. You hummed tauntingly, looking at the pamphlets in front of you.
“Unless you don’t think that’s cool, then I don’t do that. But if you do think it’s cool, then I do do that.” Dustin rushed out, taking your silence as judgment. You plucked a pamphlet with tiny white flowers tracing the border. You stuck it out to him, looking at his eyes, slowly tracing your movements.
“That one has a nice border, could frame a picture maybe.” You turned away from him, heading straight for the chips. You were not leaving this stop without a snack. Dustin was quick to join you, a dopey grin covering his face. He had changed the rubber bands to orange for Thanksgiving. You wanted to chuckle at his enthusiasm, but you hated to laugh when Dustin was smiling. He had been particularly open with you about the surplus of bullying he received as a child. You snorted at the back of a chip bag, making up an excuse about the brand’s mascot.
Dustin also made sure you were properly fed. Well, as well as one can be fed on a road trip. He kept snacks in a zipped bag in the backseat and stopped at drive-throughs and fast-food restaurants for breakfast and lunch. You both sat down for breakfast, sharing pancakes over sticky floors. For lunch, you both went through a drive-through, getting burgers. He told you to wait before sinking into your lunch, and drove you all the way to a park. He parked under a big tree, its shade offering you both the perfect spot for a makeshift picnic. You both settled on the hood of his car. You sat in almost silence, letting the screaming kids climbing on the playground do the talking. Your burger paper crinkled as you sank your teeth into your meal. You kept your eyes on a particularly loud little girl as she sprinted between the seesaw and the swing.
“Have you thought about it?” You asked, your words coming out a little muffled. Dustin hummed and cleared his throat. He smacked his lips, staring at the little boy trying to climb up the slide.
“Not really.” He answered. A part of him wanted to feel shame for not having his entire life planned out since sixth grade, but the second, stronger part of himself wanted to let himself breathe. You didn’t respond, your eyes still glued to the little girl. She reached for a big rock on the ground, winding her arm back. A loud yell of her name from the other side of the park made her drop it.
“I didn’t really get to be a kid, for a while I was pretty sure my friends and I were the only ones holding the Earth back from damnation.” He muttered before taking another bite. You chuckled at that. Middle school really is like standing on the edge of the universe and then someone behind calls you a slur and now you're thinking about jumping. You lifted your eyes from the murderous girl, finding Dustin staring at you seriously.
“It does feel like that, doesn’t it?” Dustin shook his head.
“No, I’m serious. I killed like Demogorgons and shit. I think I actually saved the world. Partially at least, I did probably a quarter to a third of the work.” Dustin’s tone was flat. He wasn’t kidding; there wasn’t even a tiny hint of a giggle in the back of his throat. You slowed in your chewing, raising a brow at him. What the hell is a demogorgon? His tongue darted out to lick at the small drop of sauce trapped on the corner of his mouth.
“I thought I should probably tell you before we get to Indiana. One of my friends will probably bring it up. Lucas likely. Maybe Mike, he’s got terrible tact.” Dustin said, snorting at the thought of his childhood friends. You swallowed quickly, glancing over your shoulder to see if someone was recording this prank.
“You think you actually saved the world?” You asked, feeling a terribly mean laugh bubbling up. Dustin nodded casually, as if you were verifying his favorite color.
“It’s less crazy than it sounds. In middle school, my friend went missing, and then we found his body in the lake, but it actually wasn’t him. It was a double; he was stuffed. And then we actually found him in the Upside Down, which is basically our world, but like on the other side, and everything is terrible. In the process, we met this girl, Eleven, and her real name is actually Jane. She’ll be there at the Thanksgiving dinner. She dated Mike for a bit, but the whole time, Mike was gay for Will, so that was a whole problem. They’re all chill now, though, which is good. Jane is really dope, she has this habit where she-”
“I think I’m going to be sick-”
“Oh no, it’s not bad at all. There’s really no bad blood in between any of them, strangely enough. Even though Will is kinda Jane’s twin and also her brother. Mike’s a twin hopper. Not the only one in town, by the way. There was one girl in high school who-”
“Seriously, Dustin, I need a breather.” You whispered, peeling yourself off the hood of his car.
The ride to the hotel after lunch was particularly talkative. You had a million questions for Dustin, who answered each one without hesitation. By the time he was returning from the hotel desk with your keycards, you had a fairly solid grasp of his childhood. He was almost too surprised that you didn’t want to leave him. You were partially sure he had some level of insanity, but you were willing to believe him. If he were truly this committed to believing such a fantasy, you would accept that. This man was probably the love of your life, or at least the love of your college life, so yes, you’d believe him when he told you he saved the world. At least to some extent. Worst case scenario, you get indoctrinated into a cult and have an absolutely wild story to tell the neighborhood kids as an old wrinkly bastard.
You flopped onto the hotel bed, not even bothering to kick your shoes off. Dustin went and got pizza for dinner. You both were quiet as you ate over the box. There were no plates, and to be honest, you wouldn’t have used them.
“You’re definitely a little crazy, baby.” You mumbled before taking a bite. Dustin raised his eyes from the greasy pizza.
“But I’m still ‘baby’. That’s a good sign.” Dustin replied, making you almost choke while you giggled through your bite.
“Is your mother going to like me? Are your friends?” You could almost make out the twinge of fear in the back of your throat. You ignored it as you enjoyed the pepperoni. Dustin rocked his head from side to side. You wanted to drop your jaw in surprise, but you still chewed. Instead, you jerked your head.
“My mom is going to love you. My friends…” He trailed off, tapping a greasy finger to his chin. You rolled your eyes, setting your pizza slice down.
“This is concerning.”
“No, it’s fine, they’ll like you. They will. I’m just worried you won’t really like them. They’re kind of…” He paused and stared at the beige wall. You waited. If they were even half like him, you’d love them.
“For lack of a better term, nerdy losers.” Dustin finished, picking up another piece. You grinned at the opportunity, letting evil take over your body.
“Well, I like you, don’t I?” You asked. Dustin’s shoulders drooped, his jaw dropped. He scoffed and turned his nose up at you.
“Rude.” You sat up on your knees, leaning over the box to messily kiss his cheek. You were going to make him wash his face tonight, or he was definitely breaking out because of your pizza mouth. You pulled at his shirt, keeping him from pulling away. He tried to shake you off, grunting about being ‘terribly offended’. You tugged him closer, prodding at the corner of his mouth with the tip of your tongue. He tilted his chin up, making your mouth land under his jaw.
“Don’t do this to me. I promised myself we wouldn’t sleep together in this dirty ass hotel.” He whispered, his strength on the subject matter already weak. You nipped at the edge of his jaw, making your way to his mouth again. Dustin did not have the willpower to fight your advances again, meeting your lips properly. His hand found the back of your neck. You were always gentle when you kissed Dustin, partially because of his braces and partially because Dustin was a careful man. He took everything sickenly slow, but it still somehow set your skin on fire. You slowly leaned back, tugging him down with you. Dustin pulled back, slipping his hands away from you. He shook his finger at you like you were a cat that ripped through a roll of toilet paper.
“Finish your dinner.” He stated, picking his slice back up. You sighed, sitting back up.
“Later?” You asked hopefully. Dustin paused, thinking through his plans.
“Maybe. Probably not in my childhood bed.” He muttered.
The next morning, after getting breakfast, you started the second half of your trip. Dustin was just as attentive, stopping for lunch and bathroom breaks anytime you needed them. There was a mood shift in both of you as Dustin started recognizing the roads. He cranked up his music, the tape blasting out to the cows you passed. The road was mostly empty, save for the random car going in the opposite direction every once in a while. Dustin had let the back down, opening up the convertible to the warm weather. When the sun was on you, you could feel a sweat coming on. With it hiding behind the trees, you could feel the air coming from the speed you were driving. It made Dustin’s hair fly away from his forehead and showcase his sunglasses in all their stupidness glory. The sun was hiding behind the wall of clouds, a few stray rays peeking out like a slipped nip. Miles and miles of crop fields flew past you, their bright green leaves and peeking yellow glowing. You pressed the button of your seatbelt. Dustin turned his head at the click, investigating.
“What are you doing?” He yelled over the whipping wind. You ignored him, pulling yourself from your seat. You slowly stood in the car, holding onto the windshield to keep your balance. You were careful, as careful as such a risky move can be. The wind ripped at your face, pushing around you. It stung just barely, but it wasn’t a feeling you wanted to give up. The sun was warming your skin, already breaking a sheen on your forehead.
You raised your arms, spreading your hands out above your head. The fresh air blew the fabric of your clothes back, right against your skin. Dustin’s hand pressed into your back, scared you might fall out or worse. You laughed, loving the taste of the new air. Dustin’s hand left you as he turned his music louder. He found the edge of your pants, gripping tight onto the fabric. You looked over at him, your arms still raised high above your head. Dustin glanced up from the road, grinning at you with all his tiny orange bands visible.
Dustin gave you the freedom you weren’t sure you ever had. You weren’t sitting at your family table, staring at the grain as the newest headline was brought up. You were flying through the countryside of Indiana, headed straight for your boyfriend's childhood home. You held onto the edge of the windshield, tossing your head back. You screamed as you leaned back, finding your voice even over his loud music and the howling wind. Your shirt caught the wind, flying up your stomach. A small part of you wanted it to distract Dustin. You wanted it to pull his eyes from the road and make him swallow just a little too hard. You also did not want to crash into a cornfield. His hand left your pants, holding down the hem of your shirt instead.
“Can’t focus on the road!” He yelled in explanation without taking his focus from the empty drive in front of him. You felt an evil grin take over you, still with your head knocked back. This was bliss, and when you died, you hoped it was only this for years and years. You finally opened your eyes at the end of the song, settling back into your seat. Dustin let out a sigh when you clicked your seatbelt again. You leaned over the stick shift, kissing his cheek. Dustin pressed his palm against your chest, gently pushing you back.
“Let me drive!” Dustin laughed, turning his music down just barely. You propped your arm against the edge of your car door, resting your head in the crook of your elbow. You smiled lovingly at the passing plains. Every second of this trip was worth it.
You held your hand over your eyes as you stared at the buildings Dustin spent all his young years in. Hawkins was bigger than you expected. You thought it’d be a post office and three homes. You thought their elementary, middle, and high schools were all held in the teachers' shed in their backyard. They had buildings and shops. Come to find out, they even had a movie theater. He refused to pull the cover up, still letting you hang your head in the wind. He had turned his music down to just a whisper. In town, traffic was much slower, so slow that people started recognizing him. One girl called his name four times before he even heard her. They waved to each other as he drove past. He muttered a name to you when you lifted your head in curiosity. It was something with an R, but you were much more intrigued by the man in cowboy boots and thigh-high shorts. You stared at him as you passed by, trying to send him telepathic questions. You haven’t mastered that skill yet.
Dustin’s driveway was packed. Two cars were lined up behind the garage, their noses almost hitting it. Two more were behind them, hairs away from being bumper to bumper. You imagined the faceless relative of Dustin’s barging into the dining room, demanding to know who parked behind their god damn Dodge. A car was lined up by the side of the Hendersons’ yard. Dustin slowed to a stop in front of his home, staring at the overflowing home. You turned your head, staring at him over your shoulder.
“How many people are here?” You asked, and an intense fear of being talked over and ignored the entire time washed over you. Dustin opened his mouth before closing it again, giving you a half shrug.
“Some of these bitches have to start riding bikes,” Dustin muttered before pulling away to wrap back around. It took three tries, but you finally found a parking spot a little too close to the neighbor’s yard. Dustin led you away from the car, shoving his keys into his pocket. He was the first to the front door, checking over his shoulder that you were behind him before pushing it open.
It was loud. Louder than you expected. Music was playing in another room. It wasn’t classical or even rock. It was country. The singer had a twang that made you glance at Dustin out of the corner of your eye. You could hear people laughing and yelling, but you couldn’t make out a word. Certainly something someone said was funny, though. The front door opened into the living room. Despite the name, there was not a single breathing soul. Dustin closed the door behind you, slipping past you. He was already grinning. He turned the corner, reaching behind himself to find your hand. You gave it to him, and finding around the edge of the wall was an abundance of people.
The kitchen was separated from the dining room by a waist-high wall that only went halfway into the room. A woman with big, puffy blonde curls had her back turned to you both, working over the stove. Two men were at the dining room table, chopping at their own respective vegetables. The one with shaggy hair that inched into his eyes was slicing potatoes next to the pile of peels he had resting on top of a newspaper. The one who was pointing his finger into the kitchen, yelling through a laugh at the other woman, had corn. The only other person in the kitchen was a woman who was staring at a Jell-O cake in the fridge.
“You step away from my Jell-o right now! I’ll cut your fucking fingers off! You think I’m kidding, Nance, but I'm fucking not. I spent good time on that.” The corn man said, shaking his head and looking back at the corn. Potato giggled, keeping his eyes on his knife. Jell-O glared as she shut the fridge.
“Please, it's Jell-O. It’s not exactly difficult." Jell-O rebutted. Blondie looked up from the stove, pointed an orange-painted nail at Corn.
“Watch your mouth, Stevey. I’ll send you home.” She threatened. Corn straightened up, immediately squaring his shoulders and turning back to his work.
“Sorry, Mrs. Henderson. Won’t happen again, Mrs. Henderson.” He muttered. Claudia must’ve caught a glimpse of Dustin, her mouth falling open in a gasp. She abandoned her station at the oven, holding her hands out for Dustin.
“Dusty!” She yelled, holding his cheeks in her hands. Dustin smiled so big you thought his face might burst. The others in the kitchen looked up at her excitement, immediately cheering at the sight of your boyfriend. You felt awkward standing next to him without anyone really knowing who you were. You looked between the three faces, all watching at you, hoping simultaneously that no one would ask you anything so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself, but also that someone would talk to you. Claudia squished at Dustin’s cheeks, shaking his head back and forth.
“Look at you!” You ignored her screams, still looking at the vegetable men for emotional support. They gave you questioning glances but nothing else.
“Momma!” Dustin groaned, leaning back to pull away from her hands. You knew where he got the matching his braces to the holiday thing, his mother had the same idea for her nails. He took a step back, his shoulder bumping yours. When her eyes fell on you, you felt like one of those rabbits that turned its head to the side and finally caught the coyote a step away. Her mouth opened wider, her smile taking over every part of her. Dustin wasn’t the only person in his family who smiled with their whole body. She reached her hands out, quickly cradling your face as she had with Dustin.
“Oh, look at you! Aren’t you just cute as a damn button!” She exclaimed, tilting your head from side to side. Your eyes went three times bigger as she tugged you into a bone-crushing hug.
“Language, Mrs. Henderson!” Corn yelled over Mrs. Henderson’s giggles. She pulled back from you, glaring over her shoulder. Corn stiffened again, turning to his vegetable. She looked at you, rubbing her thumbs over your shoulders. You wanted to melt into a puddle at her feet.
“Dusty has told us all about you. Every letter he talks about you. You are just so cute!” Her words devolved into squeals, shaking you around a little. Dustin pulled you from her hands, pressing you into his side.
“Momma, you can't shake my partner around like a damn rattle.” Dustin muttered, like he didn’t even want to scold his ‘momma’. You wanted to mock him a little. Your mother was just ‘mother’. The thought of a miniature Dustin chasing around a younger Claudia, giggling about catching his ‘momma’, made you swallow the teases. Claudia would be Momma until Dustin lost his tongue. Even then, he’d write to her.
“Oh, fine. Johny and Stevey are cutting up the veggies, Nancy Pancy is over there. Obviously. All the kids are in the backyard, and Jane’s been here for hours. I don’t think she knows why we put times on invites yet. Joyce and Hopper got stuck in terrible traffic, but they’ll be here just in time for dinner. I can feel it.” Claudia rambled, waggling her finger around the house. The names flew by you, and you hardly caught any. Dustin nodded.
“You need any help?” He asked, glancing around at the four-man cook team. Claudia kissed her teeth, getting the tiniest swatch of lipstick on her front tooth. She shook her head, swatting at Dustin’s shoulder.
“Oh, we’re fine, I’ve got the silliest little chefs. I don’t need any more hands.” She said, jumping at the sound of a chicken clucking. You followed the sound, finding a tiny chicken timer sitting next to the oven. She spun around, heading straight back for the oven. Dustin tugged you to Stevey and Johny.
“Henderson. Good to see you.” Stevey said, slapping Dustin’s shoulder. Dustin ignored the knife in Stevey’s hand, ducking in for a hug. Stevey glanced at you over Dustin’s shoulder before wrapping his arms around him. Stevey patted Dustin's back with his empty hand, keeping his other hand hovering. Dustin pulled back, giving Johny a nod. Johny shook his hand out.
“This is them, huh? Well, it’s great to finally put a face to a name. Dustin has been running through pens and phone bills with how much he talks about you.” Stevey said, finally greeting you. Dustin nodded proudly, his chest puffing out as he slipped his hand into yours.
“This is my partner. They’re majoring in Theater. Costumes, specifically.” Dustin was so proud he might as well have been tugging in a national treasure to his family dinner. Stevey nodded, a cheesy grin pulling at his face. Johny was more subtle in his grin but still not unkind.
“Oh, we’ve heard, Dustin.” Johny teased, rolling his eyes. You started to feel like you needed to check what Dustin was telling people about you.
“What is he telling you, Johny?” You scoffed through a giggle, hoping he answered at least partially. If he gave you just enough information to settle your nerves, you’d be okay. You waited as the table went silent, smiles twisting into confused lines. Johny shook his head, glancing at Dustin like he could reel you in.
“It’s just Jonathan.” He said sternly. You felt your stomach drop in embarrassment. Cool. So Claudia set you up for failure. Awesome. What’s next, Stevey isn’t Stevey?
“And I’m Steve-” Fuck off. “That’s Nancy,” Steve said, pointing over Dustin’s head at the Jell-o woman. You nodded gratefully, not daring to open your mouth and fumble again. Dusitn seemed unfazed by the embarrassment, smiling through the conversation.
“Well, it was good meeting you,” Jonathan said, finally, breaking the chains of silence.
“Yes, you too.” You replied. Dustin took the hint, dragging you out of the kitchen and into the connected laundry room. He dropped his hand onto the only other door in the room. You pulled on his arm. Dustin ducked his head into your personal space, his ear hovering towards your mouth.
“That was embarrassing.” You mumbled, almost even more ashamed that it affected you as much as it did. Dustin pulled back, shaking his head.
“They weren’t judging I promise. My mom just loves nicknames. She’s a total freak about it.” Dustin whispered back. The bright pink walls of the laundry room and the rumbling of the dryer behind you felt even more private than a confessional.
“Are you sure?” You stared at the ground, refusing to meet Dustin’s eyes when you were being particularly picky about the impression you left with his family. Dustin tilted to the side, forcing you to look at his face.
“I swear on my fucking life, they were not judging you for getting their names messed up,” Dustin said sternly. There was no space for questioning; you just had to accept it when he said it so solidly. He could be a mountain.
“Ready?” Dustin whispered. You nodded, and he pulled open the door. Laughing was the first thing you heard. He stepped outside, letting you stand next to him as he closed the door behind you. It was reaching dusk, the sun slipping into a dark orange. It felt terribly fitting for the holiday. Dustin's backyard was practically empty. There was a garden shed in the back corner. That’s where the infrastructure seemed to stop.
The tiniest circle trough was in the center, filled with burning firewood. Surrounding the fire were seven fold-out lawn chairs. Each one of them seemed to be over 200 years old and aching for a deep clean. They weren’t dirty, but there was a look of age to the lawn chairs that almost made them seem dusty. Five of the chairs were filled.
One woman was sitting next to the two empty ones, nursing a glass she definitely took without Claudia looking. Next to her was a woman with fire for hair. Her knee was thrown over the man’s thigh next to her, his face glowing orange. Next to him was a man who seemed to be all limbs, and still learning what to do with them. He had one leg tossed over the arm of his lawn chair and the other stretched out in front of him. His curly head of hair was resting on the shoulder of the man sitting next to him. That man was sitting on the other side of the empty chairs, back to the door. Dustin led you into the circle, sitting next to the first girl. You settled into the chair next to the hidden man, finally looking at his face. There was a mole above his lip, and he couldn’t be grinning bigger.
“Dustin!” The redhead screamed, tossing her arms over her head.
“Max!” He yelled back. The woman with a drink leaned forward, her finger breaching past Dustin’s lips. She prodded into his mouth, his hand flying up. He pulled her back by her wrist.
“Orange.” She muttered.
“We talked about the mouth thing, Jane,” Dustin whispered scornfully. You started writing the names down in your head, hoping these weren’t nicknames.
“Last time they were blue.” She added, like it’d change his opinion on her poking his mouth.
“I changed them for Thanksgiving,” Dustin explained, settling back into his chair. He leaned into your ear as the group’s conversation continued. He muttered each name to you, pointing. Lucas was with Max (red head), Mike, and Will were the Limbs and Mole. Though you hadn’t quite figured out which was Mike and which was Will.
“So, let’s address the elephant in the room-” Lucas started, getting cut off by Limbs-Mike-Will.
“You know about the Upside Down, right?” Limb-Mike-Will spat out, staring at you with such intense eyes you felt a chill even with the fire going. Your mouth fell open, silence settling over the group.
“Michael.” Mole-Mike-Will seethed under his breath. You glanced at Dustin, but his eyes were focused on the fire. You turned back to Mike.
“Yes. He told me on the drive here.” You answered, earning disappointed murmurs from the group.
“Seriously, Dustin?” Max groaned. Dustin startled out of his trance, looking up at Max.
“What! It’s fine! I got nervous. Damn, a man can’t have shit anymore.” Dustin muttered, rolling his eyes at Max. She snarled, her teeth flashing in the orange light of the fire.
“You trapped them; it was practically kidnapping,” Max complained. You shrugged.
“I decided it was worth it. Getting trapped in a cult would be okay if it’s Dustin’s cult, I think.” You smiled gently, like you were talking about your favorite candy. Max stared at you blankly. She slowly turned her head, sending Lucas a message silently.
“True love.” Jane sighed, her face warming with a giggle. You nodded.
“Someone gets me.” You pointed at her, pulling another giggle from her.
“Well, at least you aren’t running for the hills, unlike some people,” Will muttered, glancing at Mike. Mike shot his hand up, pointing his palm at Will’s face. Mike turned his nose up like whatever thought Will brought up made him sick.
“Do not bring him into this. He should’ve run sooner, in my opinion. As a matter of fact, I think he should’ve been buried alive before he even met you.” Mike growled, shaking his head in disgust. You looked away from them, watching the way Lucas kicked his feet closer to the fire, warming the rubber soles of his shoes. The sun had already slipped away completely, and the only light around you was the fire and the kitchen seeping in through its window. The door to the house swung open, and Nancy stepped out.
“Dinner!” She twirled back around and went right back into the kitchen. Her head of curls cast a shadow into the backyard through the window. Mike was the first up. He shot out of his chair, the floppy metal and fabric falling backwards. Mike fumbled over it as he ran towards the back door, his too-long limbs flying in ways that made you sick. You pictured the baby horses who had more legs than body and bungled around on the ground until they found their mother. When he finally reached the door, he leaned into it like it could hold him better than his legs. Mike disappeared behind the door, taking all his legs with him. Will sat frozen, turned around in his chair to watch his boyfriend make a mess of himself. He turned back around, taking in the hanging jaws of his friends.
“Someone is going to have to teach him to walk one of these days,” Lucas mumbled, pushing Max’s leg off of him. He stood, sticking his hand out to Max. Max smacked his hand, the slap startling you. She stood up, stalking off before Lucas could catch up.
“I just wish Karen and Ted had the will to do it before he reached his teens,” Will whispered, jogging to catch up with Lucas and Max. Lucas held the door open for Will, looking back at the friends still waiting.
“Don’t let the bugs in!” You heard Steve yell from somewhere in the house. Lucas abandoned the hope of his friends joining him. Jane stood up, taking her drink with her.
When she walked, she seemed almost like she was waiting for the wind to pick her up. Like she’d float to where she needed to be. She wasn’t rushing at all; there was even a bounce in her step that made you wonder if she really was going to start flying. Jane paused about halfway to the door, turning around and staring at you and Dustin still sitting in your chairs.
“Are you hungry?” She asked.
“We’ll be there in a moment, Janey,” Dustin said, picking up the habits of his mother. Jane turned around, leaving you both in the backyard without another word. Dustin didn’t speak up as the crackling fire filled the absence of his friends.
You stared at the flames licking at the wood, knowing somewhere on certain nights of the week, but usually on Wednesdays, a desire for Dustin licked at your heart in the same way. Maybe partially it was just the way his hands fit so perfectly around you, or the way his mouth made sweet music against your throat, or maybe it was the way he giggled at your bad jokes and remembered every important thing you muttered in the dark, wrapped in his dorm sheets.
You also thought that all those things weren’t mutually exclusive. His fire warmed you because he giggled and, at the same time, because he knew where you wanted him, even when the only light he had was the soft moonlight seeping through his curtains. The smell of smoke would stick to your skin when you went inside. Everyone would know you sat out by the fire. In the same way, you knew the grin showing off your teeth would tell them all you sat next to Dustin. They would know how much power he had over you. Even if he didn’t want it, he did. That’s what love did to you, you’d let Dustin lick away at your skin like fire on logs. You’d let his words warm you like the fire on your legs. You’d let the smell and pure possession of his love take over you like smoke. He was yours. He smelled like you. His chest puffed when your name was brought up. His cheeks got bright. His hands ached for a pen every time you smiled to write home and tell his Momma.
They smiled at me today, and I felt my damn heart stop.
You tilted your head, staring at him in the dark. Only one side of his face was warm with the light of the burning wood. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His face got too close to your personal space. You thought of the shitty cartwheel from that student and the colors of the math books he had. You didn’t want him to ever think this was too close. You didn’t want him to ever slip from you and think your personal space wasn't his to press into. Your breath was all his for the taking. Dustin tipped forward, pressing his lips against yours.
You surged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your hands hung over his back. Dustin buried his hands into the back of your shirt, clutching the fabric so hard you worried about the stitches. A sigh left his nose. Your lips parted at the noise. You’d been with him so long you almost knew his tells as well as you knew the smell of a sewing machine’s motor. Dustin slipped his tongue into your mouth, treasuring the sound that left the back of your throat. You weren’t sure if he or the fire was making you hotter.
Dustin’s hand ran up your back, taking a shiver with it. Your skin prickled. He cradled the back of your neck. Dustin tilted your head back as he tipped forward in his chair. He licked into your mouth, his thumb soothing the side of your hot face. You moaned at the warmth of his tongue.
“Harrington! Is that you, boy! Who’d you drag home now?” A deep voice yelled from behind you, startling you both away. Dustin leaned to the side, looking around you at the person who dared to interrupt your precious moment. A large man was standing by the back door. He was hardly lit by the fire, but you could tell his shoulders looked bigger than Texas. The man looked to be too tall to even fit in the Henderson home, so how he made it all the way through that kitchen, you hadn’t the foggiest.
“Henderson!” The man said, startled by the identity. Dustin stood, holding his hand out for you. You took it, following after him.
“Hop? What are you doing back here?” Dustin asked. You both stopped in front of the man. When you were closer, you found that he was taller than you thought.
“Henderson, shit. I didn’t realize you uh-” He paused, his mouth turning down. The man shrugged.
“Didn’t realize you were old enough to date.” He finished, earning a groan from Dustin.
“I’ll have you know that I can legally drink since last May, so maybe you need to keep up, old man.” Dustin snipped. Hop, if that is his real name, smacked his lips.
“I’ll shoot you.” He raised a thick brow.
“Not a cop anymore, Hop. They punish you for it now.” Dustin quipped back. You held onto his hand tighter, worried they might start swinging. Hop glared at him, stepping aside from the door.
“Watch your tone. I didn’t realize you were bringing someone home.” He switched topics like Dustin hadn’t just said something that would get dishes thrown in your home.
“I told Will,” Dustin replied.
“Will didn’t tell me.”
“I told Janey.”
“Jane didn’t tell me, either.”
“Well, it’s not my fault you don’t talk to your kids.” Dustin rolled his eyes and swung his arm over your shoulders. His chest puffed up again. His eyes disappeared behind his smile, showing off every meticulously added orange rubber band.
“This is my partner, Hopper.” Dustin declared, jutting his chin up like he’d become bulletproof. Hopper, a suspicious name, nodded slowly. He gave Dustin a tiny smile, patting his shoulder.
“They uh, know about the family history?” He asked. Dustin sighed, his shoulders drooping.
“Is that all anyone cares about these days? Can’t even save the damn world and enjoy myself.” Dustin complained, his arm dropping to your back. You stared at Hopper, giving him an uneasy smile.
“He told me on the drive here.” You answered. Hopper's mouth parted, his eyes flickering towards Dustin.
“Are you kidding? I thought I raised you better than that.” Hopper mumbled. Dustin scoffed, throwing his hands up.
“Okay, I get it, damn. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some fucking turkey to eat, Hop. You should consider joining us. It’s really good.” Despite his words being a compliment to his mother, he spat them out like bile on Hopper. Hopper leaned forward towards Dustin’s face, having to hunch his shoulders.
“I will enjoy it. I love your mother’s cooking.” Hopper growled. Dustin’s face twisted in disgust.
“Good. You better not be out here smoking. You told me you quit.” Dustin gritted, snarling his teeth. Hopper dug into his breast pocket, pulling out a small stick of brightly colored bubbles, and slapping them against Dustin’s chest.
“I’m not. Joyce has me on bubbles.” Hopper spat, his eyebrow twitching with a look of hatred.
“Good. I don’t want you to die.” Dustin grumbled, stomping into the house. It took you a moment to even slightly catch up, staring blankly at Hopper. His fake hatred melted away when he looked at you.
“It’s good to meet you.” He said, his tone completely genuine and soft. You nodded gratefully. You still stood there and waited as the one thing you actually wanted to know rested on the tip of your tongue.
“Is your real name Hopper?” You asked.
“It’s my last name.”
“That doesn’t make it any more believable." You replied.
“You’d believe that Dustin stopped the end of the world before believing that my real name is Hopper?” You wanted to tell this massive man no. No, his name is so believable. But you weren’t going to lie more than you had to.
“Yeah.” You finally answered. You probably should’ve given him more of an answer. A few more words, but truly, you didn’t think you had to. You loved Dustin. Why wouldn’t you believe him? Now Hopper? Who even is that?
“I respect that.” He mumbled. You didn’t wait any longer in the dark with Hopper, slipping into the house. You left the laundry room to find Dustin in the kitchen. You slid up next to him. The dining room table was filling up quickly, arms reaching over each other to reach the food. Claudia had the chairs pressed into each other to fit everyone. They didn’t match; you suspected a good handful of them were pulled from the garage or attic. They looked like they hadn’t seen light in years. Dustin glanced over his shoulder at you.
“Hey, I was wondering where you went.”
“Where you left me.” You replied. Dustin frowned. “I think Hopper likes me. I did it. I infiltrated your family.” You celebrated, a massive grin breaking out over your face. Dustin snorted, pecking your cheek.
“Yes, you did.”
Dinner was amazing. It was something you had never experienced in your entire life. The conversation was loud, but no one was angry. People would turn to you and ask you what your thoughts were, and you wouldn’t get cut off. The food was perfectly warm and healed a part of yourself you didn’t realize was askew.
The party didn’t end after the plates emptied. Hopper and Joyce were the first to leave, groaning about how exhausted they would be if they spent another minute awake. Nancy left 20 minutes after them, with the excuse of getting a head start on her research essay.
There was a couch that sat three people in the Henderson living room. Two armchairs on either side of it and a beautiful coffee table in the center. An orange oval rug is in the center. You became more and more impressed with the holding space for people in this home. Somehow, 10 people were able to find spots to sit. Jonathan sat in the first armchair, lying across it horizontally. Will sat on the edge of the couch, leaning against the arm. Mike was sitting in front of him on the floor. He stretched his legs out in front of him, almost bumping into the side of your calf. Steve was sitting next to Will. He had pulled up one foot to the couch cushion, pressing his knee against his chest. Max was on the floor in front of him. Despite never moving, she complained about his feet almost touching her. Jane was pressed against her side, pulling her hair into braids. Lucas had his legs hovering over Jane’s shoulder, with his feet crossed on top of the coffee table. Claudia was sitting in the other armchair. You and Dustin stole seats on the other side of the coffee table, facing the couch.
You played so many rounds of cards that you actually lost count of how many times you lost. You usually would rather stab all your competitors than lose, but you felt sleep encroaching on your passion. You leaned your head against Dustin’s shoulder, staring down at his cards. Dustin scoffed, pressing the faces of his cards to his chest.
“Cheat.” He muttered into your forehead. You shook your head, groaning a protest. Claudia leaned forward, slamming her last card down. She held her hands up, showing that she once again won. She cheered and stood from her chair. She groaned as she got up, almost like every bone creaked on its own.
“I’ve got to hit the hay; you’re all welcome to stay up. Just keep it down, please.” She declared as she started heading towards her bedroom down the hall on the right. As she passed behind you and Dustin, she leaned down to press a kiss to Dustin’s hair.
“Goodnight, Dusty.” She turned to you, petting the back of your head like she was itching to kiss your hair too.
“I set up the guest room for you, it’s by the bathroom. Dusty can show you.” She turned and left, slipping towards the hall. Claudia stopped just before she reached the tiny hall.
“Don’t stay up too late, tiny babies.” With her final words, she tucked herself into her bedroom. Steve was next to leave, patting Dustin’s shoulder on the way out. As the night started to stretch on, the mood became quieter and gentler. Whispered arguments over who really won the last round of speed, and the curve of Dustin’s shoulder felt more and more like a pillow.
Dustin called it quits when an entire game passed by without your eyes opening once. He dropped your stack of cards on the table and mumbled to the group about tucking in. You startled awake, shaking your head. You wanted to impress all his friends and make them think you could keep up. You tried to pry your eyes open and gather your cards again, but Lucas was already shuffling for another round. Dustin pulled you to your feet, leading you towards another hall. It was near the laundry room in the layout, but you partially wondered why they didn’t knock down that wall. There were so many corners in this house. So much brown carpet.
You thought of a life in a few years. Claudia was standing at the oven, her blonde curls bouncing as she wiggled to her quiet music. The fan over your head makes a tinking sound every seven and a half seconds. It’s the small ceramic pull tapping against the metal when it rocks. The brown carpet is surprisingly soft against your cheek while you drift so close to the edge of sleep. You run your hands over the shag, feeling the curls rub against your palms. You hummed, complete peace settling over you. You feel Dustin join you next to you, his hand pulling yours from the carpet. He intertwines your fingers.
“Baby, please. I need you to focus.” Dustin whispered, trying to pull you into the guest room. You pulled your mind back into the moment, tilting your head as you followed him into the bedroom. He yanked the blankets back, patting the mattress for you. You flopped onto the bed, wrapping the blankets around yourself.
“I like your carpet.” You muttered into the floral pillowcase. Dustin paused, dragging his fingertips over your hairline.
“Thank you.” He replied before slipping out of the room.
Despite your exhaustion in the living room, the second he left you alone, you felt all your energy return. You thought it was the position, so you switched to your back. When that didn’t work, you turned onto your side. And when that one didn’t work, you tried the other one. When your eyes still wouldn’t close, you spun around on the bed so your head was at the foot of the mattress. Then you tried every position all over again. Yet, you were still awake. You huffed and sat up, turning on the bedside lamp. You slid off the bed, taking the top sheet with you. You wrapped it around your shoulders, letting the back trail behind you.
You could hear them giggling in the living room. You’d have to pass by them to get to Dustin's room. A part of you wanted to leave the bedroom and settle right back into your seat like it was nothing. You wanted to be there in case an inside joke was started tonight, and then you would have your foot in the door. You’d be included in the group dynamic. But they weren’t your friends like they were Dustin’s. You couldn’t walk out there and slip in without eyebrows raised. They were your friends out of proximity. Like the person who sits next to you on a plane crash. Or the person who pulls you up from the ground when you totally eat dirt. Not the kind that really misses you when you’re out of sight.
You could just walk past with your head held high as you slipped right into Dustin’s room. At the end of the day, you knew who you were, and you knew you wouldn’t even get close to that. Instead, you started to search around the room for something to do. Claudia loved her son. It was extremely evident with all the hugs and kisses she gave him. Truly, the most damning evidence was that not a single wall in this house didn’t have a picture of Dustin on it. There were four in your room. All things considered, it is a little odd for a guest room. There was one by the light switch of a maybe four-year-old Dustin, digging his hand into a jar of peanut butter. His mouth was already caked with it, and his absolutely evil grin made you chuckle.
The second was over the dresser. He looked about nine and dressed in orange swimtrunks with green rounded flowers on them. He was surrounded by three other little boys, each in their own swimsuits. One had the same dot above his lip as Will, with yellow shorts and a green t-shirt. One had the same haircut that Mike had now, with his blue shorts and swim floaties on. He was definitely too old for them, but no one seemed to mention it to him because he was grinning so wide you could see that he was missing a tooth. The last one was trying to climb onto Dustin’s back and had the same dark skin as Lucas. They had to be out in the woods, swimming in a lake they probably shouldn’t be. In the back was a woman standing over a grill, her hair pulled back. It was definitely Joyce, you could tell because it appeared she hadn’t changed the length of her bangs in over 12 years.
The third was definitely him at the beginning of high school. His cheeks were full, and his features hadn’t warped yet with maturity. He was holding up a certificate for all A’s, grinning wildly with his braces on full display. The last was on the wall opposite the door. It was of a baby, definitely Dustin, as A- he’s an only child and B- the baby had the same curls Dustin had sticking up in odd directions. The baby was wearing a tiny blue bib that had an embroidered duck on it. He had on tiny frilly shorts with ruffles covering every inch of the fabric. Why on earth Claudia had put him in it, you had no idea, but he sure was cute in it. He was pulling his foot to his mouth, slobbering over his hands. Dustin looked frozen in the middle of a giggle, his mouth wide open and his eyes squinted.
You spun around at the sound of your door creaking open. Dustin slipped in, pressing his back against the closed door. You stared at him from across the room, taking in his pajamas. They were not the ones he packed; these were a little too short for his legs. His ankles were showing, the small hint of hair peeking out from under the hem. The shirt was a little too tight around his arms. They were definitely from his childhood dresser.
“Nightmare?” You asked. Dustin shook his head.
“No, I can't sleep. I don’t really know. It’s not like this is a new place, I’ve lived here my entire life for fucks sake. But…” He trailed off, his eyes slipping from your face. He stared at the floor, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He dropped his head back against the wooden door. His head was tilted up, showing you the vulnerable area under his chin. He sighed, pressing his eyes shut. He took a moment, just breathing, before he shook himself out of it, staring at you from the door again.
“I just keep thinking about how you’re in here, and I’m in my room. I just kept waiting for you to sneak into my room and curl under my blankets. Or for everyone to leave, and we accidentally meet in the living room. I just wanted to be next to you. It’s so weird. It’s not like we haven’t spent a night apart, but this is different. I just need you, right now.” Dustin rambled, keeping his voice low so it wouldn’t be heard in the room next door. You doubted his friends would be eavesdropping.
You settled on the edge of your bed, lying back on the mattress. You patted the spot next to you, watching Dustin as he walked across the room. He fumbled into the spot next to you. He laid his head down on your chest. He tucked his leg in between yours, burying his hands in your shirt. You reached behind yourself, clicking the lamp off. Dustin sighed.
“I couldn’t sleep either.” You whispered. Dustin nodded against your chest. You brought your hand to his head, gently scratching at his scalp. Dustin turned his head, burying his face into your chest. His breath warmed you under your shirt as he exhaled. Dustin’s mouth moved as he mumbled something. It came out completely unintelligible.
“Huh.” You replied. Dustin pulled his head up, pressing his cheek into your chest again. He refused to look at you, staring at the darkness in front of you. You gently pulled your fingers through his curls, hoping he didn’t get too annoyed in the morning when his hair was messy.
“I said, I love you,” Dustin whispered. The empty room was deafening in its silence. Your hand paused in his hair. You hummed. You knew he did. You doubted you brought people home who you just liked, but the word itself had not been said. You hadn’t told him, but you thought it every time he grinned at you. You thought it when he pressed you closer in the dark. Or when he heaved gasps against your throat. You thought it a lot the entire trip.
You wished you had been the first to say it. You should’ve said it when he held up a big towel to hide you from the empty highway when you pissed behind a bush. You should’ve said it when he tugged your shirt hem down. You should’ve said it when he ladled mashed potatoes onto your plate. You should’ve said it when he brought you pizza when you didn’t want to leave the hotel bed. You should’ve been the first, so he would get to be the person with swirling butterflies. He should’ve been the one holding their breath and hoping it was all real. In the same way you knew you wouldn’t sneak past his friend group and into his room, you knew he would always be the first to say it.
“I love you, Dustin.” You mumbled against his temple. Dustin sniffed, burying his face back into your shirt. You craned your head up, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. His hair still smelled like the fire in his backyard.
crazy longer than i thought it would be apologies also inspired by the song Sex on Fire by kings of leon or wtv not promo
2087
jbbartram-illu
kianamaiart
tangentwithtanner
blakekathryn
dededos
germansingergirl