#I’m just so fucking tired all the time I want to sleep I want to not wake up I want to be a concept I don’t want to be like this man

[ladykailitha]

Murder in the Heartland Part 1

Here it is, the most wonderfully insane idea I've ever come up with and I've had some whoppers (Steve in a mental institution and Vecna's Timeloop from Hell for example). This is still the wildest. Only that's a twist that's coming up way down the line. My wonderful discord peeps @forgottenkanji, @dreamercec, @bookworm0690 know all, but you'd have to join my discord to be in on the secret (there are other lurkers there who might know, but they might not *shrug*).

Summary: When a serial killer strikes Hawkins, the police zero in on Eddie Munson. But when the last would-be victim Robin Buckley says that it Jason Carver who was trying to kill her and not Eddie, the police are further put in their place by an anonymous tipper who did all the work they should have done instead of going after clearly innocent Eddie. So Eddie becomes a PI to find this anonymous tipper. Featuring Mystery Writer Steve, who will play into the later plot. ;)

You will see snippets of Steve as the story goes on, but it will be Eddie's story for about 2/3 of it. It is also set in canon time for reasons that will become clear as the story goes on.

~

Interviewer: I’m here with Steve Harrington who has put just put out his seven novel in the thrilling Joe Keery books, ‘The Hollow Promise’. How are you this morning?

Steve chuckled: I’m tired. I’m a writer, I spend all my nights writing and my days sleeping, so this is a little outside my normal waking hours.

Interviewer: Gosh I wish I could do that, but I chose to have a morning talk show instead. Won’t you tell the listeners about your latest book.”

Steve: It’s about a series of murders in a small town and our hero comes to town to investigate and finds a bigger mystery than he anticipated.

~

Eddie’s life went to hell the day Steve Harrington blew town. Not that he would find that out until years later. But then again people were more preoccupied with Robin Buckley swearing up and down that Jason Carver who had been trying to kill her and not Eddie than remember a kid being thrown out of his parents place for being gay so... yeah.

Well, okay, so his life had been hell a little bit before Steve blew town. But that wasn’t as interesting an opening as the day Steve blew town. So he still had a flare for the dramatic, sue him. After all it was that flare that made him become a private investigator in the first place.

When Chrissy Cunningham had been murdered just after Eddie dealt her Special K, that made him the prime suspect in her death.

Which, rude.

She had been dealing with some pretty fucked up shit. Like being queer in a small town levels of shit on top of her mom being constantly on about her weight and her boyfriend pressuring her wear a promise ring. In high school.

Then another student died. A boy on the basketball team, Patrick McKinney, who someone else claimed had bought steroids off Eddie. Which couldn’t have been true, not if it was performance enhancing drugs. He had offered to sell them to high schoolers when he first started dealing, but Rick assured him he already had someone for that.

Then another girl died. Someone Eddie hadn’t known. He knew of her. But she wasn’t even in any of his classes, in any of his senior years. She also didn’t do drugs. Hell, Molly Masters was a known Straight Edger. She wouldn’t have gone near Eddie unless she wanted to throw hands.

Which is why he was blamed for her death, actually. They insinuated that she had finally had enough of his drug dealing ways and had gone after him.

He even had an alibi for that one, not that it mattered. Playing in front of five random drunks and a stingy ass bartender wasn’t exactly as air tight as it could have been. Because as far as witnesses go, they were pretty shit.

Then Barb Holland died. And that was a kick in the teeth. He knew who she was but only in a tenuous ‘best friend of the girlfriend of the most popular boy in school’ kind of way. Eddie was starting to see the pattern, even if the cops didn’t.

Then the final one which ended in the death of Jason Carver, Chrissy’s boyfriend. Only Robin Buckley was still very much alive.

But for the those first three days, she was in a coma. So the police spun the narrative that Eddie had been trying to kill her when Jason had interrupted them; saving her life, but losing his in the process.

Until she woke up and blew the whole investigation out of the water.

“I’m telling you Jason Carver was trying to kill me,” she said for the tenth time to a motley crew of Hopper, Powell, and Callahan from her hospital bed.

“Now why would he go and do a thing like that for?” Powell huffed. “Jason was a good, upstanding young man. Captain of the basketball team. He loved Chrissy. He wouldn’t hurt her. Not for anything.”

Robin let out a long sigh of frustration and buried her head in her hands. She looked up at them, weighing her options before she finally snapped, “Because I’m a lesbian!”

They stared at her blankly.

“Apparently Chrissy was too and that’s why he killed her.”

“You telling me that Jason Carver, all American boy next door was a murderer killing queer kids?” Callahan huffed in disbelief. “There’s no way.”

“And I’m telling you it’s true,” Robin hissed. “Plus whoever saved my life and killed the rat bastard wasn’t Eddie Munson.” She crossed her arms over her chest and settled into the bed, grumpy.

Hopper pinched his nose. “Let’s say we follow this line of inquiry, why do you believe Eddie Munson wasn’t involved at all. You keep saying you never saw your rescuer’s face.”

She looked up at him like he was stupid. “Because the guy that took the bat to Jason’s head was wearing a short sleeve shirt.”

The cops all looked at each other in confusion.

Robin threw her arms up in the air. “No tattoos, assholes! Eddie very famously has bats on his...” she looked at her own arms for a second, “right forearm. And whoever this Jesus with a bat was, he didn’t have any tattoos on his arm.”

“Robin!” her mother admonished. Melissa Buckley was there to ensure that the police didn’t try and twist Robin’s words into saying something that wasn’t true.

Robin just shrugged, unrepentant. They were being assholes and someone should tell them to their faces.

“Well, shit!” Powell snapped, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. “If it wasn’t Eddie then who the fuck was it?”

Just then the door to Robin’s room burst open, startling all those inside. Officer Glenn Daniels came running up to Chief Hopper, a large envelope in his hands.

“Florence got this this morning,” Daniels said, panting for breath. “And we wanted to verify its authenticity before bringing it to you. So me and couple of the other officers looked into it.”

Hopper opened the envelope, his eyes growing wider the more and more he looked through it. “And how much it of is accurate?”

“All of it.”

“There is no way,” Hopper growled, slamming the envelope on Powell’s chest. “No evidence is that air tight. There must be some kind mistake or error in there somewhere.”

Powell took the envelope and looked down into it. His eyebrows shot up. “There are actual fucking writings by Carver in here. Where the hell did they find those?”

Daniels just shook his head. “Whoever found this shit was meticulous. There are no other fingerprints than Jason’s on anything. But there is a letter.”

Powell went searching through the envelope and pulled it out, handing it to the Chief, who read it, mumbling to himself.

“Well, as much as I would like to say the bastard is wrong,” Hopper said with a resigned sigh. “He’s not. Or she or whatever. They’re not wrong. The victims wouldn’t have gotten justice, not with them being queer. Jason would have been lauded a hero and paraded in the streets for taking out the trash.”

“‘To the police,” Powell read out loud. “I am sending you all the evidence you failed to collect when you were too busy trying to pin these murders on an innocent man. It didn’t take a lot to realize the true connection the victims had. I’m just sorry I was too late to save Molly Masters. She didn’t deserve to die in that horrible way.

“Once I figured out who it was, I knew that there would be no justice for these kids. Not when Jason Carver was who he was, and why he was killing his peers. So I quietly compiled all the evidence I could. His journals. His distinct lack of alibis for any of the murders. His emotional connection to the first victim, his girlfriend, Chrissy Cunningham.

“I’m just glad I was able to stop him from killing that final girl. But if she did die later, I hope Carver rots in the hell of his own making. No one deserves to die because of who they love.

“-Jason’s Executioner.”

“Well, that ain’t creepy as shit,” Callahan said sarcastically. “Well it’s not as though we could have used any of this evidence anyway.”

“And when is Eddie Munson being released?” Melissa huffed, pulling herself up to her nearly six feet of height.

Hopper blinked at her for a moment. “I’m not sure I understand the question, ma’am.”

“That boy is innocent!” Melissa said sternly. “And what? You’re going to just sweep this all under the rug and leave Jason Carver’s reputation intact?”

“That’s not what I said,” Hopper replied, low and dangerous. “And I don’t appreciate you putting words into my mouth.”

Melissa crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down.

“He is innocent of the murders, yes,” he said, “but he still sold an underaged girl ketamine. And last time I checked that was still very much against the law.”

“I don’t believe you actually have proof of that,” Melissa said with a winning smile.

“He confessed,” Powell said in confusion. “We have it on record of him confessing to selling the drugs.” He put his hands on his hips. “There’s no way he’s not going away for the drugs.”

“Under duress,” Melissa said smugly. “Which any lawyer worth his salt will get tossed out in a heartbeat. You have nothing on the boy and you know it.”

Robin grinned up at her. “Isn’t she so cool? And she’s my mom!”

“Stop calling him a boy!” Callahan hissed. “He’s twenty! He knew full well what he was doing and I’m not going to stand here and let you pretend otherwise.”

Melissa scoffed, eyeing him up and down with a raised eyebrow. “I’d call your dog to heel there, Chief, we wouldn’t want me to scream police intimidation, now would we?”

“Don’t make me arrest you, Mel,” Hopper growled. “Again.”

Melissa grinned up at the chief. They had been on very opposite sides of the Vietnam War. Him having been in the army and her having been in the protests against the War. Hawks and Doves.

“And just what would be the charge this time, Chief?” she asked with a wink.

Hopper squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them slowly. He let out a long exasperated sigh. “Eddie Munson will be released without charges by the end of today.”

But before his underlings could protest he held up his hands. “It’s either release him and sweep under the rug that some rank amateur or we don’t release him and Melissa here goes to the press about how we put away an innocent man and get the national media up in our business.”

They stared at him for a moment before they grumbling agreed. Hopper bid the Buckleys goodbye and then led his officers out the room.

So how did Eddie know all this? He talked to Hopper, Daniels and the Buckleys and while some details varied they pretty much confirmed that how it went down and how Eddie got out on a ‘technicality’ as the cops were calling it.

When he stepped out into the fresh air outside of the jail with Wayne waiting for him, he took a deep breath and let it go.

“I don’t know how you can stand living in this hell hole,” he groused as he hopped into Wayne’s truck.

“Can’t afford to leave,” Wayne huffed and started the truck. “If I could scrape up the money to get out of here, I would and I’d take you with me.”

Eddie gave his uncle’s shoulder a squeeze. “Maybe I’ll be able to get a job and get enough money for both of us out.”

“If wishes were horses,” Wayne said ruefully as he pulled out into traffic. “I’m just glad you were released without charges.”

“You and me both, old man,” Eddie huffed. “I was sure I was going to be Reading, Pennsylvania, Short Line and B&O railroaded.”

“Good thing Melissa Buckley was there when they interrogated her daughter,” Wayne growled. “Or you might still be sitting in that cell.”

“I hope you sent her flowers,” Eddie said. “She certainly deserves it.”

“Delilahs and some of my grandma’s shortbread,” Wayne confirmed. “I even offered to help out any handwork they may need in the future too. And if I were you I’d offer your way around an engine too.”

Eddie saluted. “Aye, Aye!”

Wayne snorted. “If the way she tells it is true, some rookie wannabe detective is the one that provided the most damning evidence against that Carver kid.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Eddie said with a snort. “These backwater cops wouldn’t know their ass from their elbow.”

“Still it makes you wonder who it was...” Wayne said softly as they turned into the trailer park.

“It certainly does that,” Eddie agreed. “It certainly does that.”

~

I am ridiculously pleased with the railroad joke. It still makes me smile every time.

Tag List: TEN SLOTS OPEN

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[getoistic]

I’ve had a sleepless night, and all I can think of is fucking soft subby sleepless roommate Gojo to unconsciousness. (1.7k words) (18+)

art by me, referenced art donaldson from challengers | artblog: @wrtchdrtt

“Oh, you poor baby, insomnia strikes again, huh?” Your voice drips with derision as you enter the living room in the wee hours of the morning.  It was a rare occurrence for you, but Satoru, on the other hand, seemed to live on the couch, rarely using his room.

During the day, he pesters you. He yaps mindlessly as he sits on your bed, content with your noncommittal hums in response as you work on your desk.

You found yourself drawn to the living room at the most inconvenient times, half in deep sleep, half aware of frustrated pacing and soft murmuring outside your door.

As a result, you found yourself growling at the man-child as he pouted to the sun and back.

And yet you were close to breaking, your sarcasm thinly veiling the truth. You wanted to take care of him.

His lips were puffy and abused, he was anxious— he chewed on them when he got like this. His wide, pretty cotton candy eyes pleaded at you. He was so sweet that your teeth ached just from looking at him.

He wanted something—pouting and whining like a cat denied cream. 

“‘M so tired, ‘n I can’t sleep.” He grunted. Still holding a wall, not knowing if it was safe to break.

Your bare feet padded against cold marble floors, sleep shorts sliding up your ass. You slid your hands out of the pockets of the zip up hoodie you had stolen from him. “Want me to fuck you to sleep?”

He frowned, on edge. Eyes shifting all over you, settling on your cold gaze. “Don’t fuck with me.” His pout soured.

“I’m not. You have all this pent-up anxious energy about you, and it’s putting me on edge to see you so tense. We’re friends. Let me help you relax.”

“You’re serious…” his lips twisted to the side, contemplating your offer. “If I say yes…I know it can become a requirement for me to sleep; I am needy like that.” His cocky grin was sweet, and you couldn't wait to see it wiped clean, to hear him whining with pleasure..

“Then we can just consider ‘fucking to sleep’ as part of our night routine. Now come on, the night is running away from us.” You turned and pranced to your room, knowing he would be quick to follow. Not having to turn back to feel him beside you, unnaturally silent footsteps and all.

His eyes shifted as they anxiously flitted about the room as if it was the first time in your bedroom. He was nervous but you had been prepared for that.

He had been your roommate for years, friend for longer, so you knew what it was like for him to be fully hard. Right now, he was at best half-mast.

He needed to lose that chip on his shoulder. Needed to let go. You yanked on his hand, cocking your head to get him to sit on your bed. He stayed put. 

You pursed your lips as you slid onto the bed, slipping your legs behind you, flimsy shorts not leaving anything to the imagination.

His eyes locked on your lap, gaze intense and transfixed. He was a proud man. “Why are you so tense? Come on, Toru, you’ll never sleep like that. Let go— it’s just us here. No one’s watching but me, pretty boy. What are you so afraid of?”

He sighed, his shoulders drooping with exhaustion. You watched with rapt attention as he slid off his shirt in one swift movement before crawling to the edge of the bed. Holy fuck. His stomach pressed against the mattress, legs curled around the bed’s edge, his upper body sprawled next to you. Your hands quickly slid into his scalp, fingers threading through his soft, light hair, nails scratching his sensitive skin. He whimpered, back arching in response, sleep pants bunching around his hips and thighs. His head shifted to rest completely in your lap.

“You are so beautiful, Toru. I’m so glad you trust me with this.” ou gently curled your fingers around tufts of his pale hair, pulling his head back slightly. Your other hand glided gently, stroking down the side of his head toward his cheek.

He complied with the movement, turning his head and raising his gaze to meet yours. Your heart clenched with need. You loved him—your roommate, your close friend—and you needed him in ways that went beyond the platonic and sexual— you needed to make him yours. “Pretty boy… Look at you, so soft for me. Tell me, Toru, how long has it been since anyone has had you like this?”

He sighed in response.

“I need a verbal answer, baby.” You gently swiped your thumb against his cheek, amused at his pout. 

“No one, I don’t trust anyone but you, you know that.”

“Yes, but it’s nice hearing it from your pretty mouth. Come here, let me kiss you. Let me kiss those beautiful lips of yours…”

Your hands ghosted over smooth, flushed skin. His muscles shifted as he moved, taut with tension. He knelt beside you. You hummed in pleasure as his arms wrapped around your waist, your own around his shoulders, pulling him close.

He tasted sweet like you knew he would. You licked into his mouth, tugging at soft hair strands. He shivered, your kisses prompting soft dulcet sounds from deep in his throat. 

His grip was tight on your waist, his fingers skimming underneath the large hoodie— touch needy and warm— clenching and unclenching against your skin.

“You can— mhm— touch, you know?” You panted between kisses, giving him all the permission he needed to slide long fingers up your sides, body shaking when his hands found your bare breasts. You felt his hips jerk beside yours. You sighed in contentment as rolled your nippled between his fingers, swell of your tits supported by his palms.

“Fuck— please!” He chants your name like a prayer. And ever the benevolent lover, you take heed to his pleas. You force your weight on top of him, bracing your hands on his shoulders and sliding one thigh over his lap. 

“Arms up, pretty boy.” You slide your fingers under his cotton shirt, pulling it over his head and pressing his back against the mattress. You focus on the next task, curling your fingers under his sleep pants and sliding them down his long, lean legs. 

His pretty flushed cock is finally yours to touch. Your ass resting right above his knees, you have him spread out in front off you like an offer. You brace one hand on his hip, the other closing around his cock. His hips buck up, and he lets out the most delicious, needy sound. Your cunt clenches with need, cotton panties drenched through by that point. 

Precome dribbles from his tip, and your thumb swipes at it, smearing it over his cockhead, fingers curled tight around his length. If this is what it takes for him to writhe under you, hands curling around the bedsheets…

You shift forward, resting your clothed core against his erection. His body jerks, hands flying toward your hips. Your whole weight falls on his cock, and you knew it would be good, but

“Please, please— move” Words accompany his needy groans of pleasure. His hips buck up against you. You throw your head back as you roll your hips. The friction is so good. But you need more.

You lift your hips, his eyes flashing toward you with betrayal, you quickly ease away with a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. 

You slowly unzip the hoodie, letting it fall from your shoulders. He licks his lips, hands rejoining your nipples. Next you crook your thumbs under the waistband of your shorts and panties, sliding them off, you hear his breath hitch in response.

Your hips hovered over his, his voice is soft and whiny, “So beautiful. Those shorts haunt my dreams. I— please,”

 You smiled softly at your boy, “Needy Toru. You should know I wear those shorts just for you.” You didn’t give him time to respond, gripping his length, aligning it to your center and pressing down. Your boy was huge, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you plunged down. Jaw slackened as you sank into him fully. “God— fuck— Toru— mmh…”

You still for a moment, adjusting to his size. Your boy is impatient, his hips jerk softly, hands kneading your breasts.

He stares up at you with wide dilated eyes. So pretty. Your own are hooded. You begin to move slowly. Your moans and his pleas echoing through the room.

“Please, please, fas— faster!” Hands moving from your moving tits to your ass, prompting you to move faster, hands planted on his chest, you moved your hips up and down, head thrown back, you let yourself feel. God, it was heavenly; it was bordering on painful how he split you open.

You felt him move, didn’t care enough to open your clenched eyes, until— fingers pressed asgainst your clit. Your hips stuttered, cunt clenching around him. He whined loudly.

“’S so good, you feel so good…” His voice came out in broken segments.

Your pace grew frantic, chasing the precipice. He moved again, back lifting from the mattress. Lips searching your neck, he kissed your collarbone harshly, before lapping up your neck, his fingers moving fast against your clit. Your limbs locked as he pushed you off the precipice pussy clenching harshly around him, he panted against your neck following your fall. This time, when his back slumped against the mattress, you lay with him, chest to chest.

It took you a few moments to come down. You kissed him in the glow, he tensed underneath you.

“We forgot a condom…” His voice was breathless, and you could read his barely-hidden, pleased tone. You laughed.

“I’m on birth control, and you know that dummy.”

“Damn—guess I’ll have to find another to trap you into being stuck with me.”

“Idiot, you’re mine now. No take backs, we signed a lease.”

He hummed pleased, yawning loudly. No need for round two then.

And he was so sweet, finally asleep underneath you. Now that you finally had him, there was no way you were letting him go. He was yours, whether he liked it or not.

He did. He really, really did.

[sickkandstonedd]

rambling because i can’t sleep

thinking about a post fall hannibal and will, hidden away someplace in europe from hannibal’s past, doing their best to replicate domesticity. and maybe one day it somehow gets brought up in conversation, if they do eventually talk at all, or they’re cozied up one night and hannibal decides to tell will about his childhood; everything that made him into what he is, even if he doesn’t view it that way. and maybe after a long, long time of working things out, in whatever messy ways they need it to be done, stability settles into place and possibly love could be a little less violent between them. i see it as with time, it’d erode and wear and get softened at the edges, expressions of said love both morbid and typical can coexist. pack hunting, indulging each other in their reasons for murder. cooking and eating together. sleeping in the same bed, touches growing more gradual. i don’t know. i’m reading hannibal rising and i just want hannibal to have everything he’s ever wanted and more and i’m too tired to go more into detail and get all philosophical about it and talk about all of hannibal’s trauma and how his specific needs can be found and met in will past his understanding of hannibal and how they could find balance eventually even though a lot of their relationship is built on instability and hannibal’s inability to love correctly without being violent and manipulative because that’s all he knows but he so DESPERATELY wants to be loved and thought fondly of by will and ugh! i just want them to work out and be happy and stable while still being able to be their true selves and build a life together and and and. banging my head on the fucking wall rn

[disappointeddyke]

I think I’m starting to burn out

[blushy-tigerrr]

vent in tags sorry

cw: mention of loss

[kuiinncedes]

akdbdndjshdf

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

I try not to dwell on the serious negative impact having bronchitis 5 times in 5 years has had on my life but the odds are pretty high for me getting it a 6th time right now and I’m not thrilled to say the least

[lovelyisadora]

it isn’t the end of the semester but i’m already having my end of the semester breakdown oh my GOD I am going to have a heart attack. sprite save me

[okcoolthanks]

I feel like my family’s getting sick of me

[brokebark]

who let me have both chronic fatigue and the curse of adhd horrible constant energy and inability to stay still

[seventh-district]

.

[minakoainosupremacy]

I’m sad, I’ve had a bunch of fun cool ideas sitting in the back of my head since like new years which I wanted to use for rare pair week, but like life has been kicking my ass so I didn’t have time to even start anything and now it’s over :( guess they will just keep living in my head until next year

[ghoul--doodle]

I’m going to tear down the walls brick by brick if i dont start to feel rested soon i swear to fucking god

[wriokitty]

“Did you know—”

“I don’t care,” Sukuna interrupts, wholly disinterested. It’s half past three—(which is, of course, his fault, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less tired).

But you, wholly uncaring, promptly ignore him. “—That some female spiders eat the male ones after mating?”

“What do you want me to do with this information?” He looks at you irritably, glaring at you from the corner of his eyes. You flash him a grin—it’s a mischievous little thing, your lips curled in a cheeky, flirty way that warns him silently that he’s about to risk popping another vein. He seems to do that around you quite often, and it certainly feels like it’s underway once more.

(And, as it always is, his intuition would be right).

“It’s a warning,” you hum.

He snorts, raising a clearly disbelieving brow as he hums, “oh yeah? For what? Are you gonna—wha-hey!”

Not a lot catches Sukuna off guard. You giggle as he barks out a surprised yelp of your name, harshly shoving you away from his chest. There’s a nice, fresh, very crystal and very clear outline of your teeth marked right on the flesh surrounding his nipple.

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asks incredulously.

You let out a soft, amused little giggle that sounds through the room before he feels your weight shift and fall onto him, making him grunt as his arms steady you and his eyes stare up at your hovering face with an agitated purse of his lips.

“I’m eating you,” you say cheekily, “see?” For emphasis, you leave an equally as shocking bite to his bicep, your head leaning down to get a mouthful of his bare arm. He lets out a low, startled grunt before one large and very firm hand grabs the back of your neck and yanks you off.

“Have you completely lost it?” He hisses.

“We just mated—”

“Who on Earth talks about sex like that? We are not animals who—”

“—And now I’m going to eat you after mating. Like a female spider.”

“If you’re going to be weird, just go the fuck to sleep,” he grumbles lowly.

Sukuna is tired.

(And yes, the reason is partly because he’s a bit inexhaustible once he’s felt the velvet heat of your walls, and yes, it’s technically his own greediness that’s worn him out so physically for the night. But that’s all been the cost for something of greater benefit to him. Something he doesn’t exactly mind draining his energy for.

Bur your odd, unsettling, abnormal and very plainly weird schemes are not a part of the list of things he’s willing to sacrifice his energy for. There isn’t much pleasure in entertaining your nonsense most of the time.

If anything, there’s pain—the stinging bite marks on his skin can attest to that.)

“I’m not tired,” you hum.

“Then let me make you tired,” he offers smugly, lips tugging into a cocky grin as he looks up at you.

“If you didn’t manage that the first time, what makes you think that’ll work the second?” You tease.

He doesn’t seem to like that very much, because with a growl, he pushes the back of your neck until your face falls into the crook of his neck, a strong, bulky arm wrapping around your waist and keeping you in place against his body.

It’d be awfully intimate, and awfully sweet if he didn’t mumble, “I love when you sleep because it’s the only few hours of the day I get to hear you shut the fuck up.”

“Maybe if you’d just appreciated my fun fact—”

“You bit my fucking nipple.”

“I could bite the other one, too, if you want,” you pipe up with an excited grin. He can feel it pressed against his skin as your face buries deeper into the space between his neck and shoulder.

Sukuna is tired. Most of the time, it’s because of you. All of the time, he chooses to allow it because he likes having you around for a good fuck.

(And, of course, there’s all that bullshit about love and affection, too. But that’s just that odd stuff you like to babble about—that odd, unsettling, abnormal and very plainly weird emotional part of you that somehow ropes him into being the same way every once in a while.

He doesn’t like it.)

“You need a lobotomy,” he mutters, wincing when you bite the skin of his neck in response. Not in a manner he likes, either—very much in a manner that makes sure he feels the sharpness of your incisors.

“Don’t be rude,” you scold, “I’m biologically meant to be your predator.”

“You biologically give me fuckin’ migraines.”

You grin—it’s a smile that’s easy. Smooth. Maybe a little giddy, too. It comes out only around Sukuna. Him and his gruff, rugged way of accepting your affection, and his double as rough and crude way of giving it back. His callused hands and toughened knuckles that brush along your cheeks carefully. His crass and undignified words that are carefully thought out enough to never cross the line. His downturned lips and narrowed eyes that only ever soften at the sharp corners around you.

“Next time, I’ll eat you for sure,” you murmur, settling against his chest and getting comfortable. He wraps both arms around you, warm and tight enough that you almost think you can forgo the blanket altogether. “Assert my dominance.”

“You can’t even open the pickle jar.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s only a matter of time until natural selection gets you,” he snickers quietly. You huff, biting back a smile as he yawns.

Gently, with a kiss over the bite mark you left against his neck, you say softly, “goodnight. Love you.”

“Night.”

“I love you.”

“For the love of—love you too, holy fuck. Go to sleep.”

[floral-hex]

So this is my thing now, I’m afraid to go to sleep. This is kinda bullshit, brain.