#They were everything to me in middle school

[yuwuta]

you hook up with izuku drunkenly at someone’s birthday party and it’s not even that you regret it in the morning it’s just that your post nut clarity hits that you slept with the boy you’ve known since pre-k all because of a couple of drinks and when he wakes up you’re still freaking out and you make him pinky promise that this won’t mess with your friendship, “izuku do you hear me? we are NOT going to be that pair of sad best friends that fucks everything up just because of sex. sex is nothing. we’re never gonna do it again, so we’ll be fine right?” and the whole time he’s nodding along with wide, glassy eyes not listening to a goddamn thing you’re saying because he’s been in love with you since middle school, and last night you said you loved him, too. granted he was inside of you, and he said it first, but you said it back, and by that point it was well after one in the morning so the only thing you two were drunk on were each other. it’s probably why the very next day he is at your doorstep with a notebook in hand and a grin on his face that’s something right in between cocky and sweet when he says “i think we should sleep together again. and before you say no, i made a list about why 😁 number one: we’re really good at it. number two—”

[anyroads]

I can't convey the insanity of how fast this fire happened. If you grew up in Southern California, you know to be prepared for wildfire evacuations and earthquakes. A lot of people have go bags, and a plan for what to pack when you have to do so quickly. But the timeline for that has always been a few hours at least, if not a day, maybe even two. This fire spread so insanely fast that people went from clear skies and no warnings to having ten minutes, or even no minutes, to grab what they could and run. People lost pets, especially cats, because there's no way to get a panicking animal into a carrier when the flames are at your door.

Most of the headlines about the Palisades fire are about what celebrities lost homes already. So I need you to understand that while yeah, the Palisades has become an upscale area and the hills have expensive houses, it was a middle class neighborhood until about 20 years ago so a lot of its residents have been there for 50 or 60 years, when homes were affordable to middle class working families. A lot of residents inherited their home from grandparents or parents who bought them when it was an affordable area. There are (were. past tense now. were.) neighborhoods full of 2-3 bedroom houses that you could have afforded if you'd been born 30 years earlier and lived in West LA. Most of the people there aren't celebrities or multi-millionaires - those people lived in houses that were built more recently and in undeveloped areas. I also need you to understand that there are several fires around LA, most of which are affecting middle and working class people. I say this because the headlines care more about celebrities and places people know from movies but it's not reflective of the extent of the damage. I say this because I know how tumblr is and this is not the time for tankie bullshit and inhumanity.

In my 9th grade science class we learned about climate change. We learned about the projected changes and disasters that we could expect in the first half of the 21st century. Yesterday I watched on a live broadcast as the classroom I learned this in went up in flames, while right wing conspiracy theorists and Trump blamed everyone and everything except climate change. This fire happened because it hasn't rained in LA for 8 months, and the Santa Ana winds were absurdly intense this week, getting up to 75mph. The LA Fire Dept had funding cut to fund the police like OP said, and hydrants ran out of water.

Embers can stay live while carried in the wind for miles, and every area with dry brush and palm trees just needs a spark right now. I know this because I learned it growing up. I'm literally watching the horror scenes that kept me up at night in high school as part of an imagined future play out in real time. This is climate change. And thank goodness it happened while Biden is still president and could declare it a federal emergency which means FEMA resources and help are available now, which will matter to all the people who are already being told to fuck off by the insurance companies they've paid fire insurance to for years. Because I have no doubt that if this happened two weeks later, all that support would be withheld as punishment for California's election results.

Southern California is on fire

In 2024, L.A. Mayor Karen Bass defunded the LA Fire Department by $17.3 million.

The LA Police Department, however, got a $138 million budget increase.

Among the firefighters, 30% of them are inmate firefighters who are risking their lives for $2 an hour. Only for them to not be able to get a job as a firefighter once they're released.

There are now 4 fires burning across Socal. The one getting the most attention is the Palisades fire which has grown to over 11,000 acres. Alongside it is the Altadena fire (over 10,000 acres), Hurst fire (700 acres), and Lidia fire (50 acres).

Due to the unprecedented Santa Ana winds, which have blown to over 100 mph, firefighters have not been able to make a dent on these fires.

A thousand homes have been destroyed. Two people lost their lives from the Altadena fires.

Instead of showing sympathy for the thousands of victims, right wing conspiracy theorists on twitter are blaming the fires on LA Fire Chief, who is a lesbian, while Trump is blaming CA Governor Gavin Newsom for not removing water from a delta that would have endangered a native species.

Not climate change. Not the Resnicks, a billionaire couple who took control of California's water supply and now use over 150 billion gallons every year for their companies.

If you're in Southern California, please download the Watch Duty app. It brings up to date information on the fires along with evacuation zones. If officials tell you to evacuate, you do it. Make sure you look up shelters and mutual aid organizations where you'll evacuate to. If you have to abandon your car, please move it to the side or leave your keys in the car so firefighters can move it out of the way.

The consequences of this disaster will be catastrophic. It's become increasingly clear that our government officials will not protect us as they would rather fill their own pockets. Stick together. Protect your community as best as you can.

Please keep Southern California in your thoughts. We're going to need them.

[fyllophobia]

think fast! surprise trust fall

[sirenpearldust]

Broken Doll - Chapter one

series masterlist ⋆ Chapter two

Pair: Azriel x reader, Eris x reader

Word count: 7.074

Warnings: violence, jealous boys, possessive characters, reader is not nice, Elain slander

The music muffled the chatter of your classmates, but your focus was elsewhere. It was already 7:20.

You bit your nails nervously, waiting for him. He still hadn’t read your message, and he couldn’t afford to be late, not on the first day of school. 

You had math in the first period, the worst subject. Why did it have to be math on the first day of school?

You rubbed your temples, barely able to drown out the sound of your class monitor - Irina scolding Cass and Rhys, cutting through your earphones. Every year, it was the same, and every year, you wondered the same thing, how could they have so much energy, this early?

Turning away from the window, a familiar figure caught your attention.

“Why are you moping?” Eris asked, leaning in close with that familiar, cocky grin.

His freckles had darkened over the summer, standing out against his sun-kissed skin. His amber eyes studied you intently as you slowly pulled out your earphone. He smelled of cologne and an incoming headache.

“I thought gingers could only turn red. Whose skin did you steal?” you quipped.

Eris’s smile stretched into a wide grin before he reached over and ruffled your hair.

You smacked his hand away, hissing, “Fuck off!”

“You’re just a ray of sunshine in the morning,” he teased, clearly unfazed by your temper.

“I’m happier when I don’t see you,” you shot back, scowling as you tried to fix your hair. It had taken you an hour to have it the way you wanted and now this Gingerfuck had to ruin all your good work.

“Here, let me help,” he offered, leaning in with that smug grin still plastered on his face. 

Evil fucker you seethed internally. 

“No,” you said firmly, grabbing his wrist before he could try anything. You locked eyes with him, raising an eyebrow as if to say, I know exactly what you’re planning, and it’s not happening.

Eris rolled his eyes dramatically and let his hand fall.

Instead of leaving, he slid into Azriel’s seat beside you, his gaze fixed on you. His usual teasing expression softened as he watched you fussing with your hair. For a moment, a small smile played on his lips.

Before you could react, his hand reached out. 

Why did he have to annoy you so much? He knows Azriel doesn’t like it when he touches you.

You turned sharply toward him, ready to snap, but he simply tucked one stray strand of hair back into place.

“Thanks,” you murmured, still scowling. Fucker ruins it first and now helps.

Eris had missed you over the break, more than he wanted to admit to himself. 

For a few seconds, you both stayed like that, looking at each other. Time seemed to stretch as you got lost in his gaze, forgetting everything else around you. 

It was crazy how you had known each other since you were born. You went to the same elementary school, middle school, and now high school.  But there was still a small possibility he would be accepted into a different Ivy League than you. The thought of seeing Eris for another couple of years was starting to make you feel nauseous.

“Please don’t follow me to college,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Your intrusive thoughts had been louder than usual, and now you regretted speaking them aloud. You immediately looked at him, hoping he wouldn’t be mad.

“You do know that you’re the stalker who follows me around, right?” Eris said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“You were born after me, remember?” Eris teased, his smirk widening. 

“You cried until I was in the same class as you, and then you didn’t let me have other friends. You always wanted me to be your only friend.”

You felt your face heat up, your old childhood habits suddenly being revealed. 

“Eris, I was a kid, stop bringing that up.”

Eris leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eyes, his voice low.  “Oh, but you were so sweet back then. Always clinging to me like I was the only person in the world you trusted. And now, look at you. Still can’t get enough of me, huh? What would your boyfriend think, his enemy being stalked by his girlfriend?”

But before you could deny it, the door opened, and Azriel stepped in. He was accompanied by a girl who came up to his shoulders. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders, and her big, doll-like brown eyes were fixed on Azriel as he spoke to her. When he finally looked up and saw you, a smile spread across his face.

Your boyfriend looked absolutely handsome, mouthwatering, honestly, it should have been illegal for him to walk around looking like this in the uniform. His black hair fell messily over his forehead, still damp from the shower he’d just taken. The dark blue uniform pants hugged his thighs perfectly, emphasizing every inch of his toned frame. You couldn’t help but stare, your thoughts drifting somewhere they shouldn’t before you caught yourself.

Eris was still watching you, and he could tell from the happy expression on your face, the one you didn’t often show around him, that Azriel had arrived. 

Azriels eyes quickly shifted to the seat Eris was in, his seat. His smile faded slowly, his jaw tightening as his eyes narrowed.

Forgetting the girl, Azriel quickly walked toward you, an annoyed expression on his face. 

Eris stood up, slowly turning toward Azriel.

You sighed, watching the familiar tension build. They were always at each other’s throats, never able to let anything slide.

“Hi, babe,” you said, walking past Eris before leaning in to kiss Azriel on the cheek. His warmth engulfed you, he smelled of leather and cedar. He kissed the crown of your head before glaring at Eris again.

 Children

Azriel had arrived just before the bell rang, but now you feared both of them were on the verge of beating each other again. You did not need a repeat of last year.

Leaning forward, you were about to intervene.

Irina suddenly stepped between them, clapping her hands loudly.

“Try fighting again, and I might kill you both. Don’t test me,” she warned, cutting off any chance of Eris’s snarky remarks. Then, glancing over her shoulder, she glared at Cassian and Rhys, who were still making noises in the front, oblivious to the tension in the back.

 “Sit down, both of you! I don’t want to explain again how you two monkeys got into a fight!”

Both of them listened to her, knowing any backtalk would ensure that their coach would find out and that they would bench out on some games.

Irina walked toward the new girl, greeting her.

Eris nodded, moving toward his seat right behind you. You sighed in relief as Azriel slung his shoulder bag next to the table and plopped down into his seat, still a little annoyed that he had to see Eris first thing in the morning.

Eris, never one to shut up, added, “Also, we’re coming over today.”

You turned in your seat, confused. “What?”

“Yeah, my parents want to have dinner with yours because of the deal they’ve sealed,” he explained casually.

“Oh, great,” you muttered, though you couldn’t hide the surprise.

“You should look happier to see me again. There are girls who’d kill for this chance,” Eris teased, grinning at you.

Azriel coughed, loudly. 

Eris ignored him completely, still smiling at you. You shook your head, silently telling him not to add anything else to the conversation.

A few seconds later the new girl walked up to Eris, her big eyes on him as she asked, “Is this seat taken?”

“Yes,” Eris replied without looking up from his phone, ignoring her completely.

 Liar

Your face must have betrayed you, giving away your disbelief at his blatant lie. 

She turned bright red, embarrassed by his obvious lie and glanced at Azriel. 

You gave her a soft smile and pointed toward the front.

“There is a seat free next to the guy with the black hair. His name’s Calix.”

She thanked you quietly, then quickly glanced at Azriel again before heading toward the front.

The bell rang, and just as everyone settled into their seats, your Math teacher walked in, signaling the start of the lesson.

• •

“Azriel, you need to explain this to me, I don’t understand it,” you whined, frustrated as you stared at the page of notes in front of you. Math was the one subject you couldn’t quite wrap your head around, no matter how hard you tried. Luckily, Azriel and sometimes even Eris stepped in to help.

“Sure,” he replied casually, packing the heavy books into his bag. After the last person left the room and it was just the two of you now. He slung his bag over his shoulder, he leaned in closer, kissing your forehead. You were thankful he was this affectionate, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

 “You’ve got a little something right here,” he said with a grin. 

You blushed deeply, the intensity in his hazel eyes made your heart race. His thumb lightly brushed your upper lip, and your eyes fluttered shut, your breath catching as the moment seemed to linger in the air.

He gently cupped your face, his breath catching as he leaned in, his lips softly pressing against yours. He kissed you slowly and softly, his touch slow and tender.

The initial sweetness of the kiss deepened as you tilted your chin, a silent plea for more. 

You gasped as you both couldn’t ignore the hunger and need. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling your body into his. The world outside disappeared, it was only you two.

Your hand rested on his chest, slowly trailing upward until it tangled in his hair. When you gave it a gentle tug, he groaned, the deep sound vibrating through his chest and against your body. You clung to him, breathing him in, the familiar scent of leather and cedar stirring something warm inside you.

It was hard to believe there had been a time when this was just a distant dream, and now here you were, kissing him for real. 

Before you two could go any further, Irina interrupted, slamming the door open and standing in the doorway. 

“You two!” she shouted, making you and Azriel jump apart. 

“No fucking in here,” she added, her Finger pointing accusingly at both of you. 

Azriel and you blushed, quickly moving apart. Trying to explain yourselves you both stuttered.

She waved her hand dismissing your explanation, she looked unsurprised at catching the two of you making out, but there was stress written all over her face. Her ash brown hair was tied messy, and her uniform was disheveled, like she had just been in a rush. It was as if she had run straight here.

“Now get out. I need to lock the room,” Irina ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You both scrambled to gather your things and quickly walked out, hoping she wouldn’t lock you in if you took to long, something she definitely would do if given the chance. 

You and Azriel couldn’t meet her eyes, shame written all over your faces.

“Wait a minute,” she said sharply before either of you could make a break for it. 

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened, his whole body tense, bracing himself for yet another scolding.

She took a deep breath as she adjusted her disheveled uniform and smoothed her hair as she spoke.

“Coach wants to see you, something about the games and your scholarship.”

Azriel’s eyes widened slightly. “Did he look angry?” he asked cautiously.

“No, he looked happy as a clam.”

Azriel exhaled in relief, his shoulders relaxing.

“Also, Y/N,” she added, turning to you, “Miss Norton wants to see you about the upcoming art exhibition. Congratulations your art was accepted. You are the last person that had been added”

Azriel smiled brightly, pulling you into a hug. “You did it,” he whispered, his voice filled with pride. “I told you there was nothing to worry about. Your art is too great to not be exhibited ”

You felt your cheeks warm, blushing slightly at his words.

He leaned in to kiss you, and you returned it softly, but then gently pushed him away as your eyes darted to Irina. “Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling a bit awkward under her blank, unreadable stare.

“No worries,” Irina said a slight corner of her lips quirked up.

 “I’m glad you got in. Miss Norton and Calix spoke highly of your art.”

You blinked, surprised, warmth spreading through you. That was probably the nicest thing she had ever said to you.

“I better go before I get another scolding,” he said, quickly kissing you on the cheek.

Irina looked at you and you waved before walking toward the art room, the path opposite from Azriel.

• •

Standing at the same spot, Irina took a deep breath before calling out, “Eris, come out. I know you’re there.”

Eris stepped out from behind the pillar he had been hiding behind, his face slightly flushed.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he mumbled, meeting her sharp gaze, with his own.

“You mean stalking the girl you have a crush on and watching her kiss her boyfriend, who happens to be your arch nemesis?” she shot back, crossing her arms.

“Who said I have a crush on her?” he retorted quickly. “She’s-”

Irina cut him off, her tone firm. “ I see the way you look at her. Both of them. And I see how you watch Azriel too.” Her eyes narrowed, and her voice dropped into a warning. “Just a heads-up if you have another conflict with Azriel, Coach is going to kick you off the team. You’ve been causing him way too much trouble, and so has Azriel. Don’t make things worse.”

Eris looked away, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t argue. Irina gave him one last pointed glance before turning and walking off, leaving him standing there in silence.

Eris wasn’t a pervert he had been there because he needed to know, needed to test the theory if he really had feelings for you. He’d read more than once that jealousy was the clearest sign of feelings like the ones he thought he might have. And he did get jealous, it was the only time he would admit to himself that he was envious of Azriel.

He was jealous of the way you looked at Azriel, the way your eyes softened for him in a way they never did for anyone else. He was jealous of the way you kissed him, how you would let him touch you and the way you naturally leaned into his body like he was the only pillar you could lean on.

But what haunted him most were the sounds you made, soft, breathless, completely yours and the maddening thought of what sounds you’d make for him.

Would they be the same?

Or would they be even sweeter?

The questions twisted inside him, they burned like a fire he wasn’t sure he wanted to put out.

He was plagued by dreams of you for a few moths now, dreams so vivid they felt like memories of a life he could never have. He dreamed of you as his wife, your laughter filling the air as you leaned in to kiss him, your touch soft and familiar. He dreamed of a child, a daughter with your eyes and your smile, who looked up at him with unconditional love, something he had yet to experience.

He didn’t know where this was coming from. Sure, he’d always been attracted to you, your confidence, your wit, the way you carried yourself, but this?

This was something entirely different. It wasn’t just attraction anymore, he could say it was an obsession. You had rooted yourself in his mind and no matter how hard he tried to push the thoughts away, they kept returning, stronger than before.

• •

You walked in silence, feeling a bit nervous as you approached the art room. The closer you got, the worse the feeling in your belly became. It twisted and churned, a mix of unease and anticipation that you couldn’t shake. Something was wrong, you could feel it, even if you couldn’t explain why. 

Before you could open the door it swung open, you were greeted by a wild-eyed Calix, who stood in front of you, his black eyes so dark and angry.

“Good, you’re here,” he said quickly, his voice tense. You were confused. 

What is happening?

Stepping in, you watched as Miss Norton smiled warmly at the new girl, laughing loudly at something she had said. She absentmindedly rubbed the new girls shoulder. When she noticed the two of you standing there, her eyes quickly shifted to you.

“Oh, thank God you’re here,” she said, adjusting her glasses.

“I’ve got some great news for the exhibition, but let me first introduce my guest,” Miss Norton began, her excitement evident, ignoring the angry look from Calix. 

She gestured to the girl beside her.

“This is Elain Archeron.”

The girl gave a shy smile, her big brown eyes never leaving yours. 

She blushed deeply as Miss Norton continued, “Before Elain switched schools her artwork was kind of famous I would like to display it at the upcoming exhibition.”

“Miss Norton this is impossible!” Calix interrupted, his voice sharp. He clearly wasn’t amused or excited about the news. Your expression was a mix of confusion and frustration, as you glanced between Elain and Miss Norton. 

You were equally shocked. Everything had been organized over the summer, and if you were accepted, everyone already had their spot. 

Miss Norton then turned to you, saying, “YN, you’ll need to share your corner with Elain , as you have submitted your art last.”

Calix spoke up, his tone firm. “I’m sorry, Miss Norton, but Elain’s art is way more different than the pieces that are meant to be presented for the exhibition.”

You felt your cheeks heat with anger.

How could she do that? You had worked hard on your own art, and now you had to share your spot with someone who wasn’t even part of the original selection. 

Miss Norton turned red, clearly flustered by the unexpected critique.

“We can make an exception this time, it would be a good idea to introduce her like this to the school,” she suggested, trying to smooth things over.

Calix chuckled frustrated, shaking his head, before fixing Miss Norton with a sharp, unwavering gaze.

The room fell into silence Calixs’s anger was evident to everyone by the way he huffed and puffed, he usually was quiet and kind, never one easily to anger. 

“I don’t see why you are so angry Calix I decide who is to display their art and I don’t think y/n minds sharing her spot. Right y/n? “ 

You couldn’t help but stare at her. Was she even right in the head?

How bold of Elain to take over your half of the space without a second thought and how could she speak to Calix like that?

He was the one who had to organize, book, print, and handle so much more work, work that she conveniently left for him while she lounged around like it wasn’t her responsibility. The audacity left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Calix answered for you. “She’s not okay. Nobody would be if things were changed last minute. Miss Norton, there are other exhibitions she can be a part of.”

“Calix, my word is final,” Norton said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Nothing is going to change my opinion.”

You caught the subtle quirk of Elain’s lips, a self-satisfied smirk that made your stomach twist. You had thought she’d just been dragged into this mess. But now it seemed she was far more of a bitch than you’d initially believed. That smug look on her face, the way she seemed to revel in the chaos, it was clear she wasn’t as harmless as you’d assumed.

“And now you two leave,” Norton continued, her sharp gaze cutting through you both. “I didn’t call you here to hear your opinions.”

Without another word, you followed Calix out, swallowing down your frustration. 

As soon as the door closed behind you, you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“You saw her smirk too, right?” Calix asked, his voice low with irritation.

You nodded, still fuming. “Is her art really that good?” you asked, needing to know if there was any justification for the favoritism.

“It’s good,” he admitted, but then added quickly, “but I still think yours is a way better fit, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He said taking out a cigarette to smoke.

His words soothed you a little, but the tension in your chest didn’t entirely fade. Elain’s smug expression was burned into your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the end of it.

• •

You cried a little in the bathroom, the frustration of it all finally catching up to you. How could this even happen? It felt so unfair.

Once you stopped crying, you stepped out of the stall, dried your mascara-streaked cheeks, and carefully fixed your makeup. The process was almost therapeutic, and by the time you were done, you felt a little better, lighter, even. Your eyes were still slightly red, but a few drops of eyedrops worked their magic.

Grabbing your bag, you packed up your things and made your way to French class, feeling a bit more composed, ready to face the day again.

You were eager to tell Azriel and your friends what had just happened.

As you opened the door, the sound of laughter spilled out. Mor, Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel were gathered inside, chatting with her, Elain.

You stopped in your tracks as soon as you saw her, Elain, sitting in your seat next to Azriel, her fingers lightly brushing against his arm while laughing. 

What the hell was she doing there? It was supposed to be your spot, your place next to him, and now she was acting like it was all hers.

“Hi,” you greeted the others, deliberately ignoring Elain as you placed your bag on the table in front of her, where her things were already spread out. Morrigan’s eyes met yours instantly, and without saying a word, you both understood-later. She could tell something was off.

Azriel, oblivious to the tension, immediately grabbed you into his lap, kissing you softly before nuzzling into your neck. His hand rested gently on your waist, pulling you even closer, as if he felt your need for his warmth and to ease any unease.

“ Now I miss Emory,” Morrigan said with a wistful smile, her voice light but her gaze still focused on you.

“If you haven’t met her, this is Elain,” Azriel said, gesturing toward the bitch with a small smile. “She’s new and the reason I was late this morning.”

You shot Elain a sharp smile. “We already met,” you said, your voice cool and laced with tension.

Elain met your glare with one of her own, not backing down. The two of you locked eyes, a silent battle brewing between you, neither willing to yield.

Cassian and Rhys sat next to each other, completely dumbfounded. They exchanged confused glances, clearly caught off guard by the strange atmosphere between you and Elain. They were unsure of what had happened to cause such an icy atmosphere.

Morrigan, sensing the tension and eager to defuse it, chuckled and said, “I don’t think Cassian told you about his crush, guys.”

Cassian’s face immediately turned red, his eyes widening as he shot Morrigan a look of disbelief. You and Rhys burst out laughing, while Azriel raised an eyebrow in amusement, completely oblivious to the situation that had just unfolded.

“Oh, here we go,” Rhys said between laughs, nudging Cassian. “This ought to be good.”

Cassian groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You better not say a word, Morrigan.”

But Morrigan only grinned, clearly enjoying every second of his discomfort. “Oh, I’m not saying a thing. But maybe someone should tell us who this mysterious crush is?” She shot a teasing look at Cassian.

Cassian leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. “Well, I have someone in mind.”

“Who’s the poor woman?” you teased, the others chuckling along.

Cassian smirked but didn’t answer. “Not gonna tell you. You’ll just see me kiss her, and then you’ll know.”

“It’s probably Irina,” Azriel said with a smirk, glancing at Cassian.

“That’s why you keep annoying her,” you added, high-fiving Azriel as you shot Cassian a teasing grin.

Cassian’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“You two are the worst,” he muttered, but the laughter from the group only made it worse.

Morrigan grinned,  “You could just ask her on a date instead of annoying her. We’re 18, Cass, not 6.”

Rhys smirked and added, “Guys, he’s already planned their future together.”

Cassian’s face turning an even deeper shade of red as he threw his hands up in frustration.

“I’m not planning anything!” he protested.

Azriel chuckled, watching his friend squirm. “Maybe it’s time you stop talking about it and actually do something about it, Cass. It worked when I did. ”

You kissed his cheek.

Cassian sighed dramatically, slouching in his chair. “You guys are the worst.”

Elain smiled at Cassian, her voice saccharine. “She probably will like you. You’re so nice and funny, who wouldn’t like you?”

Cassian awkwardly muttered, “Thanks,” clearly flustered by the attention.

Morrigan and you exchanged a look. Rhys caught it too, his smirk widening as he picked up on the tension, he enjoyed the drama. You glanced at your watch, realizing you only had two minutes before your next lesson.

“Elain,” you said, your voice calm but firm, “Could you sit somewhere else? I’d like to sit next to my boyfriend.”

You knew she couldn’t refuse without drawing attention. With a quiet sigh, Elain gathered her things and wandered aimlessly, asking people around the room if she could sit next to them. You watched as Elain’s face turned red, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she awkwardly searched for a place to sit. 

She looked flustered, rejected by the group she had so confidently tried to insert herself into. It felt satisfying, seeing her brought down a notch. She deserved it after everything, the smug looks, the attitude, the way she’d tried to claim space that wasn’t hers and the way she dared to touch your Boyfriend.

She finally plopped down next to Irina, who shot a quick, knowing look at Calix. It seemed she was told about what had happened.

You settled down next to Azriel, feeling a small sense of relief wash over you.

He was blissfully unaware of the silent victory unfolding in your head. You couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at your lips, one that Morrigan mirrored.

But you knew a snake like her would strike again.

• •

School finally ended, you and your group strolled out of the school together, the sun still high in the sky. You were lingering by the gates, waiting for Azriel to finish his advanced chemistry class so you could drive home.

As you leaned against the railing, you told your friends what had happened.

“Damn,” Rhys said, shaking his head. “Seems like you’ve got an enemy.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t know her before?” he added, raising an eyebrow.

“No, Rhys, I didn’t,” you replied with a sigh.

“She’s a bitch,” Morrigan declared flatly, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall.

“Mmh,” Cassian muttered absentmindedly, his attention focused elsewhere. He was turned slightly away from the group, scanning the area, searching.

“You searching for Irina?” Morrigan teased.

Cass ignored her and frowned instead. “Since when are Eris and Irina friends?”

“Huh?” you all turned toward the gate at his words.

There she was, Irina, walking and talking with Eris. The two seemed friendly with eachother, their laughter carried by the breeze. Irina playfully shoved him and Eris, for once, didn’t look annoyed. Instead, he spoke with animated gestures, his face lit up in a way you rarely saw.

It was so different from the usual guarded, cold demeanor he wore like armor. Both of them were at ease, carefree, and it stirred something unfamiliar in your chest. A tug, faint but undeniable, made your stomach twist slightly.

You couldn’t look away, even as you told yourself it didn’t matter. It wasn’t your concern. And yet, the sight of them laughing together lingered in the back of your mind.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the strange feeling. Why did seeing him like that with her bother you so much?

“Babe,” Azriel called, breaking through your thoughts.

“Huh?” you blinked, realizing he’d been trying to get your attention.

“I called you multiple times. Let’s go,” he said, his voice clipped as he grabbed your hand, leading you toward the car.

• •

After dropping off the others one by one, the car grew quiet, almost uncomfortably so. It was just you and Azriel now.

He hadn’t spoken much the entire ride, only offering polite nods or brief words as he said goodbye to your friends. 

You stared out the window at the passing scenery, but your mind wandered back to the earlier scene with Eris and Irina. Something about it still lingered in your chest.

Azriel’s silence, however, soon pulled your attention. You turned to look at him, taking in his features, the sharp angle of his nose, the perfect bow of his lips, the long dark lashes that framed his striking hazel eyes, and the dark curls that fell messily over his forehead. He was gorgeous, as always, but it wasn’t his looks that drew your focus.

His posture was tense, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, and his jaw ticked with barely restrained frustration.

He was angry.

“Az?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away, his lips pressing into a firm line as if he was weighing his words. The tension in the air was thick, and it made your heart race in uncertainty.

“Nothing,” Azriel muttered.

“Please, did something happen?” you pressed, your voice soft but insistent.

He shook his head, his jaw tightening as he pulled the car over to the side of the road. Turning to face you, his hazel eyes burned with emotion. “Why did you stare at Eris like that?”

You froze for a moment. He noticed. Shit.

“Because of Irina,” you explained quickly. “He was talking to Irina, and Cassian asked if they were friends. That’s why.”

Azriel stared at you, his expression unreadable. He was clearly thinking it over. You reached out and took his hand in yours, squeezing gently.

“Azriel, I only love you. You know that, right?”

He sighed, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “I just don’t like the way you two are so close. It’s hard to ignore.”

You shook your head, your voice firm yet reassuring. “Azriel, I wish I could avoid talking to him altogether, but our parents are close. His mom has even slept over at our house before, our dads golf together and our Brothers are in the same clubs. I don’t like it either, how he talks about you, or our relationship. He’s arrogant, obnoxious, and so damn annoying.” You paused, your lips quirking up into a small smirk.

“I only love you. You don’t have to worry about the ginger.”

Azriel let out a laugh at that, a genuine sound that made your chest warm. You watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he chuckled, and your breath caught. He was stunning when he laughed, his worry fading away. 

He noticed you staring, his lips curving into a shy smile. “What?”

“Can I kiss you?” you asked, your voice soft.

Azriel nodded, his cheeks slightly pink. 

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his, and the kiss deepened quickly. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

It grew hotter, more intense, as his free hand gripped your waist, and your fingers tangled in his hair.

You pulled away from the kiss, and Azriel let out a low whine. It wasn’t a sound you heard often, and it sent a shiver through you. His hand bunched the fabric of your white shirt, pulling you closer as he tried to capture your lips again. Both of you were breathless, his lips glistening with spit, and his eyes locked onto your mouth.

“Azriel, wait,” you managed, gently pushing him back.

He ignored your words, instead dipping down to press kisses along your neck. You gasped softly but pushed his hard chest.

“No hickeys, Az. I have to see my parents later.”

He groaned in protest, biting down lightly but just hard enough to make you gasp again. “Azriel,” you warned, your tone sharper now.

Suddenly, a thought struck you. “Azriel, is your mom home?”

He stilled, lifting his head to look at you. “No,” he said slowly, his brow furrowing. “Why?”

“When will she be back?” you asked, brushing your fingers gently through his hair.

“About six,” he replied, still confused. “Why?”

“Think, baby,” you said, caressing his scalp, your voice teasing but patient.

It took a moment, but realization dawned on him. His eyes widened slightly. “Oh.”

You nodded with a playful smirk. “Yes, Azriel. We can go to yours for a few hours.”

His lips twitched into a grin, and he leaned in to kiss your cheek as you laughed. 

He drove, his excitement now focused on getting home before the clock ran out.

• •

You were late. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

How could you forget?

Your mom had called you multiple times, you knew you were in trouble. Thankfully, your sister had covered for you, telling your parents you were at the library.

Slipping into the house as quietly as possible through the back door, you silently crept upstairs.

From the hallway, you could hear your father and Eris’s father laughing loudly downstairs.

Your heart raced as you tiptoed toward your room, opening the door slowly and shutting it behind you with a soft click.

You turned around and nearly screamed.

There, sitting at your desk, was Eris. His long legs, in black pants, stretched out comfortably as he leaned back in your chair, a painting of yours held delicately in his hands.

His golden-red hair caught the faint light from the desk lamp, but his amber eyes were focused on the artwork.

“Eris, what the fuck are you doing here?” you hissed, your voice low to avoid drawing attention. Fucking psycho! How did he get in? Why was he even here?

He didn’t respond right away. He held one of your more personal pieces, a ballerina staring at her  reflection in a broken mirror. Her red, tear-filled eyes glared back at herself, mascara and tears streaking down her face. Bound in her hair were white feathers. Immense rage in her expression. It was a piece that helped you remember your pain and how far you’d push yourself to reach perfection.

“It’s beautiful,” Eris whispered, his voice softer than you’d ever heard.

Your heart hammered in your chest, faster than before. “Put it down,” you said, though your tone lacked conviction.

“Is it you?” he asked, finally looking up at you.

“Yes,” you admitted hesitantly.

Eris turned the painting back to study it for a moment before meeting your gaze again. There was something in his eyes, something vulnerable, something you didn’t expect.

“You’re incredible,” he said, his voice so soft it almost didn’t register. 

For a moment, you forgot to breathe. The words were simple, but the way he said them, the sincerity in his tone, made your chest tighten.

No one had ever said that to you before, not about your art. Azriel hyped you up sometimes, but mostly saw it like your parents, a silly hobby you could enjoy to keep you entertained. Even Miss Norton had pushed you away for Elain and saw it less then hers. 

But art was more than that, it was a lifeline for you, it was like a diary where you expressed your emotions.

You never showed anyone your personal pieces, not even Azriel. This painting, raw and emotional, was yours alone - until now.

Licking your dry lips, you asked, “How did you get in here?”

Getting up, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, Eris began to walk toward you. One hand slid out to push his hair back before ruffling it slightly. He chuckled softly under his breath, a sound low enough to unnerve you.

It was the quick shift in his demeanour, the way he was always unpredictable, it made your stomach tighten.

Even as you took a step back, he didn’t stop. His strides were slow but purposeful, his presence quickly filling the space until your back hit the wall.

Your heart raced, but you tilted your chin up, meeting his sharp gaze head-on. You straightened up, you weren’t afraid, it was your house after all, he could not intimidate you.

“I opened the door,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural, normal thing in the world.

You scoffed. “Why?”

“I wanted to see the reason,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “The reason why your art is tucked away in some insignificant little corner if it’s not worth looking at.”

He lightly tugged at a strand of hair that had fallen in your face. Your jaw clenched, the anger bubbling beneath your skin. Every instinct was telling you to punch him, to push him away.

Before you could react, his hand brushed your throat.

Eris didn’t seem fazed, his gaze still locked on you, unblinking. He smirked slightly, clearly enjoying the way he riled you up.

“But,” he continued, softly brushing against of your neck, “it turns out it’s the best I’ve ever seen from any artist. Way better than that Archeron kid’s work.”

Your eyes widened as you grabbed his wrist, your pulse hammering beneath his palm. His tenderness was a stark contrast to the way he spoke to you and watched you. It was as if he was trying to see every emotion, every reaction from you, how far you would let him go. It was too intimate.

It made your head spin, he was testing your boundaries, and the next, his touch was almost considerate. 

It left you feeling unsettled, confused, angry at how easily he seemed to have the upper hand, how easily he could shift the power dynamic, the way he asserted control.

“How do you know about that?” you demanded, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Irina,” he said simply, smirking.

Of course. That’s why he was talking to her. He probably already knew about Cassians little crush on her and thats why he made her laugh for him. 

Manipulative fuck

“But don’t worry,” he murmured, his thumb still stroking the sensitive skin of your throat. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What?” you asked, confused and uneasy. His words sounded more like a threat than reassurance.

“Eris, what do you mean?” you demanded.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, his smirk deepening.

“Worry about the marks your boyfriend left.”

Your heart skipped as his grip on your throat tightened ever so slightly. The room seemed to shrink around you, his intense stare rooting you in place.

Eris’ gaze darkened, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips.

“Maybe you should Take a shower before your parents get suspicious of why you smell like that,” he said, his tone a little too sharp.

“You wouldn’t want them to find out about what you’ve been up to, would you?”

You clenched your jaw at his words, irritation bubbling inside you. “Don’t worry about me. Take care of your own issues. I’ll handle mine.”

“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” he taunted, pushing you further over the edge.

Without thinking, you slapped him hard. His head snapped to the side, his cheek turning bright red, and the sting of the slap echoed in the air.

Furious, you slapped him again, pushing him backward until he fell onto your bed. You crawled over him, straddling his waist as you glared down at him.

“Why do you keep pushing me, Eris?” you spat, your voice low and tense.

“Why do you always make fun of me or threaten me? What do you gain from it? I’m not a toy, and I’m not scared of you.”

You placed your hands on his throat, the anger in your chest burning hotter. But before you knew it, he had pinned you beneath him. His body pressed between your soft thighs, your skirt pushed up around your waist, and all you could feel was his weight, his part touching another and the heat of his breath against you lips.

You were beyond furious now, you pushed him again. Your hands gripped his shirt, your nails digging into the fabric. You heard the fabric rip as you tugged harder, buttons were flying, you were unable to stop yourself. You scratched him leaving red marks on his chest. 

He grunted, his eyes narrowed, his posture shifting to overpower you. You fought back, not willing to give an inch, your breath coming in sharp bursts.

The confrontation had escalated, your bodies tumbled down. His hand gripped your wrists, his touch firm as he tried to gain control, but you weren’t backing down.

“I won’t be treated like this,” you spat, words dripping with anger.

He stared at you, lips curled in a mocking half-smile. “You think I’m the problem here?”

“I don’t care what you think anymore.”

His grip on you tightened as he leaned in, pushing his hips into yours from behind, his voice low and controlled. “You started this, not me.”

Before you could headbutt him, the door suddenly swung open. Both of your parents stood there, frozen in shock, their eyes wide. Both of your mothers gasping loudly, the sound of it echoing through the room.

Main Taglist: @bubybubsters @lilah-asteria

Broken Doll Taglist: @historygeekqueen @bubybubsters @lilah-asteria @onebadassunicorn @anainkandpaper

[theorderisgone]

ꕀ ﹒Under the Same Sky

PAIRING // KARASU TABITO X GN!READER

SUMMARY // Amid years of playful rivalry, Karasu Tabito subtly reveals his long-held feelings for you during a rainy walk home, leaving you questioning the true nature of your relationship.

CONTENTS // oneshot, fluff, academic rivals to lovers, pre blue lock, ooc (??) karasu. wc 681

Karasu Tabito had always been good at keeping secrets. His talent for masking emotions was as sharp as his instinct on the soccer field or his knack for solving equations in record time. But there was one secret he couldn’t shake, no matter how much he tried: he’d liked you since middle school.

Not that you’d ever notice.

You were his academic rival, after all. The one person who could make his blood race for reasons he’d never admit. Since the day you walked into his life—head held high, confidence radiating like the sun—Karasu had been hooked. Not that he’d ever let it show. Instead, he let the rivalry take center stage, a perfect excuse to keep you close without revealing too much.

It was late in the evening after school, and the two of you were stuck in the library. Finals were around the corner, and neither of you would back down from the unspoken competition of who could study harder—or longer. The rain pattered against the tall windows, the only sound besides the occasional rustle of pages and the rhythmic tapping of your pen against the table.

“Do you always fidget when you’re stuck on a problem?” Karasu teased, leaning back in his chair. His sharp eyes flicked up from his notes to you, a smug grin tugging at his lips.

You shot him a glare, tapping your pen harder just to annoy him. “Do you always run your mouth when you’re pretending to study?”

“Pretending?” he echoed, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m a genius at multitasking.”

“You’re a genius at being obnoxious.”

He chuckled, kicking his legs up onto the empty chair beside you. “That too.”

By the time the library announced its impending closure, the rain had only gotten worse. You gathered your notes and textbooks, trying to figure out how to make it to the train station without ruining all your hard work.

Karasu slung his bag over his shoulder, lingering as you struggled to balance everything. “You really gonna walk in this storm?”

“Do I have a choice?” you muttered, double-checking that your notes were safely tucked away.

He shrugged, his usual smirk replaced by something softer. “Guess not. But you could let me carry that.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Why? So you can hold it over my head later?”

“Nah,” he said casually, but his tone was surprisingly genuine. “Just thought I’d help.”

You hesitated, but eventually handed him one of your textbooks. “Fine. But if you drop it, I’m never letting you live it down.”

“Deal.”

The two of you walked side by side under the dim glow of streetlights, the rain soaking through your shoes as Karasu balanced your book in one hand and held his bag with the other.

“You know,” he said after a long stretch of silence, “we’ve been doing this for a while.”

“Doing what?”

“This. The whole ‘rivals’ thing.”

You glanced at him. “What about it?”

“It’s just...” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s kinda funny, isn’t it? How we’re always trying to one-up each other.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Funny how?”

He shrugged, staring straight ahead. “I dunno. Guess I just... don’t mind it as much as I used to.”

That made you pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Karasu tilted his head, smirking down at you. “You’re sharp, aren’t you? Figure it out.”

You frowned, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. But before you could ask, he changed the subject, his voice light and teasing again.

“You know, I’m still gonna beat you on the next test.”

“Oh, please.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Keep dreaming,” he said with a laugh, but the faintest hint of pink dusted his cheeks as he glanced away, hiding his expression.

And for the first time, as the two of you walked through the rain, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind his playful words—something he wasn’t quite ready to say aloud.

author's note // idk how to feel about this one lowkey. kinda wna write a rin version of this, but we'll see how it goes!!

[for-hunger]

This was the WORST MOVIE I'VE EVER SEEN (and I watch ~10 movies per month)

Literally everything about it was offensively bad, and I have to write this out somewhere.

Despite it being a "musical," there was not one single moment that someone sang in tune. Instead, it was this strange singsong rap-like speaking, often seemingly intentionally off-key. The lyrics were google-quality translations and inexplicable turns of phrase ("free like her scent"?). I've heard a few reviewers describe this as "operatic" in style, which is frankly a huge insult to opera. This has nothing in common with sprechstimme or any other actual musical forms.

The lead character's "redemption arc" as a former cartel boss was having her start a nonprofit that found victims of the cartels, funded by corrupt politicians. For anyone who has read even like, one thing about the complicated nature and history of the drug trade, disappearances, and femicide in Latin America, it's deeply offensive to imply that this shit could be solved so simply, and with the involvement of the government, and wild that you would choose the character of a former cartel boss (with no character development or holding her accountable) as the one to do it.

THEY HEAVILY IMPLIED THAT EMILIA SOLVED ONE OF THE MOST NOTORIOUS CRIMES IN MODERN MEXICAN HISTORY, THE AYOTZINAPA DISAPPEARANCES. This is where I started yelling at the tv. A woman comes up to Emilia in a market and tells her about her missing son who was a teenager training to be a teacher and went missing on a school trip and then it cuts to Emilia's workers digging up a mass grave

They presented Emilia post-transition as a woman who has her angry man self living inside her. When she gets angry at her ex-wife, she "regresses", yelling abuse at her and physically attacking her. She lapses into her strange husky pre-transition "man voice" and facial expressions. She continues this affectation for the next handful of scenes. Btw the actress does not pull this off because she's obviously a glamorous older bougie Spanish lady

The narrative was deeply uninterested in the characters, to the point where it felt like the movie was just a series of expositionary plot points. For example, when they gave Emilia a girlfriend, there was no information on why they came to be involved, either of their lesbianism, etc.

Emilia meets her girlfriend because her nonprofit finds her husband's body, but he was abusive, so this woman shows up scared and ready to defend herself. Just kind of wild to be like "oh yeah but some of the people disappeared weren't innocent either lol"

When they presented Emilia pre-transition, they put these strange prosthetics and fake beard on her, seemingly partially to make her look less white lmao

The "cartel" scenes were of all of them partying outside, children playing in the dirt, couch outside in the middle of the desert??, despite the boss having unlimited wealth. It was very like, Hollywood Al-Qaeda

No one spoke Mexican Spanish. Selena Gomez slurred her words unintelligibly whenever she tried to act emotional. Really adding insult to injury when it comes to the lack of Mexican involvement in the film

When Zoe Saldana finds a doctor to do Emilia's surgeries, he's randomly transphobic and she has to talk him into doing them by making a speech about "society"?

Emilia gets top, bottom, and FFS, all at once, and in Tel Aviv. Which first: that's not how you do that, and second: given the timing, I'm pretty sure this was sponsored by the Israeli government

I'm not even going to go into the vaginoplasty song. That was honestly the most fun I had the whole movie.

The movie ends with Emilia dead in the trunk of a car. She's locked in there for the entirety of the last scene and says basically nothing of substance before that. Just really bothered me that you throw your protagonist out like that.

To be fair, after the scenes of her nonprofit started (2/3 of the way in) I mostly watched like the first 30 seconds of every scene and then skimmed through because it was getting physically painful

The fact that people actually think this is a movie worth watching is really evidence of how fucking BAFFLINGLY stupid people are. I'm glad the backlash is already starting to ramp up, but I need to see this shit buried.

SAY IT LOUDER FOR THOSE IN THE BACK 🗣️

[lady-lostmind]

NOT SICK!

Written for @steddiebingo Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Sick Fic

Rating: T | WC: 856 Thank you @oh-stars for betaing!!

Eddie watches as Steve slowly sniffs and coughs his way through his morning routine and stumbles into the kitchen with a groan. 

Eddie flashes him a bright smile. “Morning. How’re ya feelin’?”

Steve sniffs loudly, grabbing a mug out of the cabinet. “I’m fine.” His voice comes out all garbled from his stuffy nose.

“You sound sick.” He leans forward with his elbows on the counter, resting his chin on his hands.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not sick.” He promptly sneezes into the crook of his elbow.

Eddie raises his eyebrows pointedly at him. 

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not sick! I have to go to work.”

Steve gets close to Eddie, trying to grab the canister full of tea but Eddie grabs his wrist and pulls him in close. Eddie sticks his hand on Steve’s forehead, ignoring his groan of protest. “Sweetheart, you have a fever.” 

Steve swats his hand away and grabs the tea. “It’s just hot in here.”

Eddie sighs, letting him go and crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t go to work like this. You’ll get all the kids sick.”

Steve slumps, leaning on the counter. “It’s the first day back from break. I can’t miss today!”

Eddie leans forward and presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek and puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “I know how much you miss the kids. But you’re sick. And they need time to get a sub so you can’t do your denial dance much longer.” 

Steve sighs, letting Eddie pull him in for a hug. “I’ll call the school.”

Eddie pats his back and nods. “I think that’s probably a good idea.”

Steve grumbles again and makes his way back upstairs. While he calls the school, Eddie starts gathering supplies to bring up to their room. Box of tissues, bag of cough drops, nyquil, Steve’s abandoned tea, his book from the living room, and his favorite blanket. He sets everything up on Steve’s bedside table just as he comes in, back in his pajamas.

He huffs in annoyance as he climbs back into bed. “You didn’t have to do all that. I can take care of myself.”

Eddie sighs. “I know you can, baby. But let me help.”

Steve yawns, snuggling down into the bed, his face softening when Eddie leans down to kiss his forehead. “Sorry. I just hate being sick.” 

Eddie huffs out a laugh. “Really? I never would have guessed.”

He looks up at Eddie with big, pleading eyes. “Do you have to work today?”

Eddie sighs, putting his hands on his hips. “For a little bit. I have that draft due in a few days.”

Steve pouts. “Can you work in here?”

“I don’t want to keep you up, sweetheart.” 

Steve shakes his head. “I’ll still nap. I promise.”

Eddie sighs. “How about I cuddle with you until you fall asleep, then I’ll go work in my office?” 

Steve nods, flipping the covers over so Eddie can climb beneath them. He scoots in close to Steve, pulling him against his chest. “Go to sleep, baby.”

-

Eddie is hunched over his laptop a few hours later, so close to finishing a scene he just needs to focus a little long–

“Babe?” 

Eddie sighs, quickly finishing the sentence he was in the middle of before making his way down the hall to their room. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Steve shakes his head. “I woke up and you were gone.” 

Eddie smirks at him and walks to the edge of the bed and pushes Steve’s hair out of his face, letting his hand linger on his forehead. “You’re still warm. Did you take anything?”

Steve groans and shakes his head. Eddie sighs and huffs out a laugh. “Of course not.” 

He grabs the cough syrup off the table and pours it in the little cup, holding it out for Steve. 

Steve pouts and looks up at Eddie with big, sad eyes. “I hate that stuff.”

Eddie nods. “I know.” He puts it closer to Steve’s mouth with a pointed look.

Steve sighs but opens his mouth and lets Eddie pour the liquid in as he grimaces and whines about it. Eddie rolls his eyes and sets the cup back on the table. “I’ll go make you some tea.” He leans down and kisses Steve’s temple before turning to leave. 

Steve grabs his wrist and Eddie turns back with a smirk. “What, baby?”

Steve looks up with pleading eyes. “Will you put some honey in it?”

Eddie chuckles. “Of course I can, sweetheart.”Steve grins and rubs his thumb over Eddie’s wrist before turning over and snuggling into the pillows. Eddie heads downstairs and to the kitchen. He grabs a mug from the cupboard, Steve’s favorite tea, and– “Shit.” Eddie stares at the empty spot on the shelf where the honey usually sits. “No fucking honey?” Eddie shakes his head and walks out of the kitchen, down the hall to the closet in the entryway to grab his coat and stuff his feet into his shoes. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs and calls up to Steve. “Be right back, baby!”

[sngj08]

[Not so Quiet Boy] Sunghoon x fem!reader

summary: your friend tries to set you up with an old acquaintance of yours in hopes to get him a girlfriend by the end of his senior year

genre: crush to friends, friends to lovers, crush to lovers, high school romance, after school and outside of school hangouts, mixed signals, friends playing cupid, friends not saying everything, obvious flirting but protagonist doesn't see,

warning: profanity

author's note: all of this is from true experience and none of them were altered besides names.

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Part 1: Disney

A few months into the next school year, there was a trip for the performing arts branch of the school to go to Disney California Adventure for a workshop. You had a workshop at 3pm till 6pm so you had planned the rest of the day to enjoy the park. Initially planned to go with your friend, Winter but as you were waiting for her at the park entrance, she messaged you she had swimming practice that day and would be arriving by lunch time.

You sighed as you saw the message, someone screamed your name. “Yn!” You looked up to see another friend of yours.

“Eli!” You said as she went towards you.

You and Elisa go back since freshman year when you were by yourself in the dance room during office hours.

You had no other place to go for office hours so you decided to stay at dance room. There were a handful of people there but it was somewhat quiet. Everyone had a group of friends quietly working on their dances while you were at the corner by yourself until you heard people very noisy come in. You quietly looked up to see a girl and a guy chatting as they put their bags down. As time passed, you noticed that they were learning a dance together but in the middle, the guy needed to go somewhere and left. Thats when she noticed you at the side of the room by yourself.

"Hi!" She went up to you as you stood up to greet her back. It ended up you both had a lot in common so you decided to keep in touch every now and then knowing she was a grade older than you.

"Who were you with just now? He's the only guy that went in here besides the teacher next door." You asked her out of curiosity as you quickly get used to her presence. "Oh that's Sunghoon. He's the only guy who dances here. I knew him from tech theater... But why so curious?" She playfully raised an eyebrow and nudged you a bit as you two laughed it off.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Elisa asked you, making you remember your alone at Disney situation.

“Winter was going to be with me today but she has swim practice this morning. How about you, are you going around with someone?” You explain while asking the same thing back to her.

“Oh yeah I’m looking for Jennie and Sunghoon and they said they’re already here but I can’t see them.” She said as she looked at her phone, waiting for a notification, then looked back to you.

“Oh yeah and wait! My mom said to show her proof of life. Can we take a selfie to send to my mom?” You remembered as she looked down at her phone as you explained to her your mom’s words this morning.

“I got you!” As we both posed for the selfie, Wyn’s phone started ringing so you took a quick shot and made her answer the call.

“Yo Sunghoon where your asses are at?!” She screamed to the phone as she answered it.

“Oh ok” She suddenly spoke calmly as she nodded and placed the phone down.

“They’re already inside. Are you going to be going inside anytime soon?” She asked you as she was looking at you worriedly.

“I was planning to go in by myself but now that I think of it, can I join you guys? Winter won’t be here till 12.” You said while scratching the back of your neck in embarrassment.

“Yeah of course! I’ll just tell them you're joining us when we get inside.” Elisa said as we both headed to the entrance.

As we both went in, we could see Sunghoon and Jennie going to us. I waved to both of them as Jennie waved back and Sunghoon just gave us a small nod of recognition.

“Can Yn tag along? She was going to join Winter but she’s not going to be here till 12." She explained the rest of the group.

"Yeah of course!" Jennie said as they all nodded in agreement while looking at each other.

"What ride should we go on first?" Elisa asked openly.

"Let's go to the Guardians of the Galaxy one!" Sunghoon finally had said something.

taglist: (open) @enhacolor @beigerin

[royal-chandler]

temporary/maybe permanent title is winter interlude. written for the lovely @caressthosecheekbones ✨

--

Henry is certain that he's only just fallen asleep when he’s nudged awake, Alex’s soft scratched voice at his ear and his hand giving Henry’s wrist a slight squeeze. Henry’s answer to his name is a long groan. 

“Hen, baby. Can you wake up for me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

Henry groans once more and burrows further into the pocket of warmth that’s been conjured from sleep, their thick cloud-like duvet, and Alex’s arms. He keeps his eyes shut and silently, drowsily wishes for Alex to concede. And of course, no such luck.

“I’ve got an amazing idea.”

“That for some ungodly reason can’t wait until morning?”

“It’s uh,” Henry feels Alex slightly shift away, imagines that he’s checking the nocturne glow of their bedside clock, “one thirty-six right now so technically...”

“Don’t even bother finishing that sentence.”

“Come on,” Alex draws out. He shakes Henry some more, as if he can transfuse enthusiasm through vibration or using Henry like a ketchup bottle that’s been sitting too long. “Come on, we’re losing starlight. Let’s get a move on.”

“Christ, Alex, what for?”

“It’s stopped snowing. We should go sledding.”

Henry snorts, incredulous in the quiet. “Fuck off.”

Clearly Alex has gone bonkers because there is no way on earth that Henry is dragging himself out of bed to charge down a hill of snow on a plastic death trap in freezing temperatures in the middle of the night. 

*

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Henry says, trudging through snow that’s at least twenty five centimetres deep at the rear of the White House. 

At Henry’s side and tugging him and his sledge the last bit to the crest of the hill, Alex says, “It'll be fun.”

“Ah, yes.” Henry nods. Editorialised with bone-dry sarcasm, he continues, “Whenever I think about fun, frostbite is the first thing that springs to mind.”

“It is nowhere near cold enough for that.” Alex brings up their joined hands. “Plus, you’ve got your little cute gloves on. You’re good.” 

The Aztec patterned gloves are secondhand from Alex, dug out of a closet cubby as he had pointedly made sure to mention that they were a gift from his abuela when he was thirteen and no longer fit. 

Alex had also emphasised that Henry didn’t need to give them back. That it was a transfer of ownership. And they are very nice, the fingerless sort that convert into mittens. The yarn stretches comfortably and the pouches slip over Henry’s fingers just right. 

“Everything will be fine,” Alex promises. He reaches out and clicks on Henry’s headtorch. His already lit grin is brilliantly illuminated. “Trust me.” 

“There’s no question of that,” Henry returns. “I only ask why this couldn’t wait for the daytime? You know, how it’s normally done.”

Alex simply shrugs, his grin gentling into something flagrantly affectionate. “Because right now it's like the world is just us.”

And fuck, what is Henry supposed to argue against that?

*

“How are you winning?!” Alex drags his sledge behind him with one hand and wildly gestures with the other. “You didn’t even want to do this. I did not plan on you winning.”

Above him and at the top of the hill already, Henry props an elbow on his now vertical vehicle that’s planted in the snow, watching Alex with amusement. His boyfriend is exceptionally precious when he pouts. “My being reluctant to sledging doesn’t mean I’m not skilled at it.”

“Best of seven,” Alex huffs upon arrival. 

“You have a problem. The terms were already agreed upon.”

“You scared?” 

Alex then proceeds to emit the noises of a fowl.

“Resorting to primary school tactics, are we?”

Alex only lifts his brow, his expression dancing with challenge.

“I'm going to need some proper motivation, darling,” Henry says, sliding on a smirk.

“I could be a victim of clichés and offer mind-melting sex if you win but you get that all the time anyway.”

Henry breaks into helpless laughter and agrees when he finds the cold air to do so. 

“So, instead, how about the next time I’m at the palace I take you up on those horseback lessons finally,” Alex says. 

“Truly? You’ve always seemed—uncomfortable around them.”

“Well they are huge, intelligent beasts that can buck me off and launch me god knows how many miles an hour into the air.”

“Dramatic." He pauses, shaking his head. "Really, Alex. You don’t have to.”

“You love it and it’s something we can do together. I’d like to try it out,” Alex says and he sounds sincere. “If I don’t enjoy the experience, I won't be shy about it.”

“And if you win? What do you want?”

“Here’s where I do get pervy."

"Of course."

"I win and you let me buy you a pair of cowboy boots and a Stetson and you wear them for me.”

“Nothing else, I’m assuming.”

“Anything else would get in the way, Henry.”

“You’re on.”

*

Minutes and minutes later, victory is Henry’s and he graciously accepts Alex’s request for a final run, plopping down on the front of Alex’s sledge when he makes a grabby motion for Henry, his legs open. Their combined weight rips them downslope, easily the record of the night. They’re a powdery pile at the bottom when they come to a stop short of the treeline with a sharp turn and tumble off the sledge. 

“You alright?” Henry asks. 

“I should be asking you. You’re the one who cushioned my fall. Am I smothering you?"

“It's all fine for now, love. You’ll be nursing my aching bruises later.”

“Obviously.” Alex animates the line of his brow. “Just call me the love doctor.”

“Won’t be doing that, thanks," Henry comments. Using his teeth—due to most of him being trapped under Alex—Henry yanks back the pouch of his right mitten. He assesses the snarled wreckage of Alex’s hair that’s been freed of the headtorch and clumsily combs through it with chilled fingers. There’s a small scratch by Alex’s temple. Henry thumbs away the paper-cut thin trace of red and finds Alex’s perfect eyes. “You didn’t let me win, did you?”

“Me? Never. I lost,” Alex insists, sweetly leaning his head into Henry’s touch. His adoration is spotless if not his honesty. “Life rolls on.”

Henry considers calling Alex out but a shiver distracts him, stalls his tongue. 

Alex’s arms around him tighten and with their physical arrangement, it’s plenty awkward. It’s also loving. He ridiculously presses a kiss to Henry’s wintry-wet palm. “Cold?”

Spellbound, Henry murmurs, “A bit, yeah.”

“I’ve got a way to get you warm,” Alex shares quietly. 

*

Henry moans and licks at his lips, chasing the flavor off his mouth. “This is sinful.”

“I know,” Alex says after a long sip from his UT mug. “Nothing beats Mexican hot chocolate.”

“And the amaretto? Ugh, chef’s kiss.”

“Discovered that little addition four Christmases ago.”

Henry smiles at him and eats another mini marshmallow. “The man’s a genius.”

“Yeah, my ideas aren’t all shit that will have us needing Icy Hot the next day,” Alex replies, his gaze dropping to where their sock feet share the spindle of a kitchen stool.

Henry lightly kicks him. Kicks him again to get his full attention. “Tonight wasn’t shit.”

“No?”

“No.”

Alex sighs, abandons his drink to rub at his stubbled jaw. “Snow felt like—like a fresh start. A renewal, I guess. Getting rid of yesterday. I know it’s not that easy, that it doesn’t work like that and it’s fucking stupid—”

His heart sore and swollen, Henry closes the distance that parts them, hushes Alex’s doubt with a slow and open kiss. He kisses past the cling of sugar and spice, until it’s clean. 

“I love you,” Henry says. His words are only a fraction of what he means but he knows Alex can read the spaces between. Thank you. It helps. You help.

“Love you still. Love you always.” Alex curls into him, his hand over Henry’s knee. 

He’s there. He’s there, Henry knows because he can read Alex’s spaces just as well.

--

please forgive any mistakes. i read over it but it was written very quickly. also, i’m fairly sure there are no hills behind the white house. the grounds are pretty flat but for some reason this fic insisted on being there.

[ernmark]

Okay, so:

When I was little, my mom would pop me and my brothers into a little wagon and walk us over to the public library, and she'd come back with a bunch of VHS tapes of pretty much anything that looked kid-friendly that didn't make her lose her mind. It kept us occupied, but also helped us to learn English outside of school (for my older brother) and before we started school (for my younger brother and myself).

Two of these tapes were the Rankin Bass Hobbit and Return of the King.

Now keep in mind, I was also watching home-recorded VHS tapes that we brought over from Germany, and I remembered a lot of those more clearly than the American tapes that got cycled out every time my mom took us to the library.

Fast forward a decade or so, 2001, when the Fellowship of the Ring hit theaters. But we didn't have a ton of money, so seeing a film in theaters wasn't a priority. But everybody was talking about it, so I started reading the book. And it seems familiar, but... not. And I can't put my finger on why.

Later that year, my middle school English class read the Hobbit-- and again, weirdly familiar. Like, really weirdly so. And then at the end of the unit, we watched the Rankin/Bass Hobbit film, and I thought oh! That's why! I've seen this film before!

(Except there were songs I kept remembering that obviously weren't in the film, so maybe I saw a different cut? Maybe I dreamed it? And clearly Bilbo had all ten fingers to the end credits, so that was a weird thing to misremember.)

Then the DVD of the Fellowship of the Ring comes out, and one of my friends has me come over to watch it. And same as with the book (I hadn't yet made it past the Two Towers), and still these little details kept popping into my head that were wrong, but in ways I couldn't articulate. Maybe they were details from the book that got cut? Didn't Gollum, like, jump on somebody's shoulders at one point? Weird how he didn't actually confront them. And I kept remembering that Frodo had Nine Fingers, but he clearly didn't, we kept getting very clear shots of Elijah Wood's hands, so that didn't make any sense at all.

But I really enjoyed the movie, and I was really hyped for the next one, and so I started digging deeper into it. And my friend discovered that there WAS, in fact, an old cartoon that dealt with Frodo et al: the 1978 Lord of the Rings (which, weirdly, cut off during the Two Towers), and that was just frustrating-- nothing looked like I remembered, and nobody was singing, and everything was rotoscoped, and Frodo still had all his fingers???

I cannot describe to you the surreality of spending more than a year chasing a half-remembered film that simultaneously is and is not all of these other iterations and being unable to articulate why-- or the giddy vindication I felt when I finally got my hands on another copy of The Return of the King and finally proved that I hadn't hallucinated the entire thing.

All of which is to say:

The poll is missing an option.

[thehelltingvilleclub]

Matt Montgomery - Closet Geek & Closet Freak

An Adult in Eltingville that actually acts like an adult???? WHAT???

Matthieu "Matt" / "Mattie" Thomas Montgomery [02/16/1978] Not Affiliated with TEC - Known Tournament winner amongst Jerry's MTG players. Cosplayer and College student in Manhattan. AOL / Online Users: [MTM_cosplay] | [GoblinHoarder] Theme Songs: Talk talk - Charli xcx | Move Along - All American Rejects | Somebody Told Me - The Killers

Favorite Shit: Trading Cards, Puzzles, Sports cards, Cosplays, X-Men, Monsters, Kaiju, Robots/Mecha, Dr. Who, Rubicks Cubes, Hard Cover books, YAPPERS, Movie Marathons, Beast, Wolverine, MTG, D&D, Cosplay Contests

I don't know how tf to describe this man other than tired and done with everybody's shit and he hasn't been awake more than an hour. He's three years into his bachelor's degree, essentially has 3 full time jobs between cosplay, tournaments, and all of his school work PLUS TUTORING, homie barely has enough time to breathe let alone deal with the TEC. However, that doesn't mean he won't find a way to weasel himself in-- even if its.... by unconventional or rather... *unexpected* means.

Guys I have like no art of him SORRY

Mattie generally only gets introduced very sparingly during 1999-2005, essentially in passing by Jerry or Josh, but he's still present and alive during this time, obviously. Him being friends with Jerry is what gets him to recognize Josh later.

Matt is studying for a Bachelors in English Comp, specializing in Journalism.

Speaking of, Josh and Matt work together at the editors office for the Comic Book News site in the epilogue. It's how they find each other again after Matt graduates and moves back home.

Matt is from northern Vermont, around the Canadian border, and has a bit of a Canadian accent because of it.

Everyone picks on him about it except for May and Jerry, (yes, even Josh, but it eventually becomes endearing to Matt.)

MATT. LIKES. YAPPERS. He doesn't talk much, he doesn't have much to talk about. Books and papers and trying to explain gymnastics routines isn't exactly the most interesting thing in the world, y'know.

He also doesn't have the time to really subject himself to the extreme absorption that Josh and Bill can get with their comics and shows, so.. Tell him about them!

He didn't get access to a lot of the more nerdy, pop culture side of things because of his parents. They had a significantly stronger iron grip on what he and his sister were exposed to, so he never really...

well, he didn't get to express his love for the more geek-y side of life until he moved to NY for college.

He became a professional cosplayer via his roommate forcing him to post, invited to events and photoshoots for his live floor routines he'll do in character, though he almost always wears a full-face mask or enough make up that you can barely tell who he is.

he can't have his sister finding out he dresses up as a blue demon freak in his spare time, yknow? (god she'd bully the shit out of him if she did--)

He's been in gymnastics since he was in middle school, and he's actually quite good; he's on a scholarship at his university, for pete's sake.

unfortunately a bad fall broke his clavicle and made it so he can't do vault anymore, but he enjoys his time doing floor routines and fucking around on the pommel horse from time to time.

Matt also.. is weirdly envious of TEC's... closeness? The fact they barely get along and yet they're all still together, they all still try and see each other or keep in touch..

He's never had that, and it makes him horrifically jealous, but he keeps it to himself-- smile and wave, swallow it down like normal, hm?

please subject him to a movie marathon. Infodump on him everything about whatever you're fixated on. He likes listening to people's voices, so please, just do it. It doesn't bother him at all.

This man has a TEMPER. His mother and his sister have this too, and it is BAD. Matt, however, learned ways to keep his temper at bay and calm down. to an extent. Bill, however, always manages to get his blood to boil by just the mention of him, so maybe... don't

Also, Matt and Pete absolutely bicker. A lot. Matt is constantly showing off that even though he's only an inch taller, he's able to do soOOSOooo much more! and Pete is convinced that Matt isn't actually gay and is trying to steal May away (guys Pete is such a fucking jealous goober I hate him)

Meanwhile literally the only person Matt wants is Josh. Pete should open his eyes maybe but like it's fine.

HOLY SHIT GYUSY

Okay UHM Hi Matt probably won't be talked about much but if you see me Vermont Honey posting it's because I need my comfort ship back okay THanks Also the NSFW cut is coming guys It's gonna have em all And I'll draw Jane and Matt's little sister soon, as they go to school together (Jane absolutely hates her guts OOPS unfortunately she's a bitchy cheerleader so you bet Jane has a voodoo doll of her somewhere in her room).

[sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan]

Introducing…

Ex!BSF/BF!Matt x Reader

Warnings/Contents: fluff, mentions of characters being hurt – physically, mentally, & emotionally, internet trolls, break up, ANGST !

Note: This is an original idea of mine. Please inbox or personal message me if you'd like to use any of these characters as 'inspiration' of some sort !

(If any of this seems familiar, like you've already read it before – you most likely have! I took bits and pieces of a previously written work called 'Silently Suffering' and either copied it or edited it to fit the background information of this introduction)

To read more about this au, click here !

I do NOT give permission for my work(s) to be copied, translated, or re-uploaded to ANY site !

Want more like this? Visit my masterlist !

Taglist: @forgottxen @ariastur9z @watercolorskyy @daniel-is-bae

Comment, personal message, or ask via my inbox to be added to my taglist !

Reblogs are always appreciated, but never needed :)

The divider is by a random Pinterest creator

Enjoy 💜💙🧡 ☆ :) $

How It All Started

Reader and the triplets all grew up together in Somerville, Massachusetts – going to the same school and everything.

One day while at recess, little kindergartner Reader was simply swinging on the playground's swing, minding her own business.

Meanwhile, the triplets were kicking and passing around a soccer ball – their mom had wanted to sign them up for soccer that evening.

All of a sudden, Nick made a bad pass to Chris. The ball went flying – straight into the back of Reader's head.

She looked around the playground, trying to find the reason for her now throbbing head. She picked up the ball and marched over to them, angrily ready to tell them off.

Her anger faltered, confusion glazed over her expression just slightly. It appeared as if she were seeing triple. Three same faced, slightly freckled dirty-blonde boys stood in a row, eyeing her sheepishly.

She tossed the ball onto the ground as she spoke sassily, "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to hit girls?” One of the boys at the end spoke up, "It was an accident, we swear!"

She had rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest with her foot, tapping the mulch angrily. “Well, I expect an apology because that hurt!” Her eyes had drifted towards the boy standing in the middle.

His eyes stared back at her with this look of intensity in them that caused her stomach to churn with butterflies. "I'm sorry about that. Our brother, Nick, isn't very athletic like Chris and I,” the boy had said, pointing to his brother on one side, then at his other before holding his hand out for her to shake.

"I'm Matt, by the way. And yes, before you ask, we are triplets,” she couldn't help but laugh at his words. She was sure they were constantly getting asked that.

She took his hand in hers, shaking up and down once before quickly letting go. His hand was warm, presumably from working up a sweat playing soccer. Hers were clammy too from gripping the handles of the swing. “Wanna play with us?” Nick had offered.

She quickly agreed, kicking and passing the ball around with the three brothers. From then on, the four of them remained close. Like a tight-knit group of friends.

How They Got Together

Throughout elementary and middle school, they all remained good friends. That was until around sixth or seventh grade, when Reader caught feelings for Matt.

Sure, he was attractive and pretty to the eyes, but that wasn't what drew her near to him. It was the kindness of his heart. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about one of his interests. It was his smile. The one that made her heart absolutely melt anytime she saw it.

She always kept her feelings to herself. Not wanting to ruin the friendship between her and him. Or even mess up the dynamic between her and his brothers.

But anyone could see it. The way she stared at him, like he was the only person in the room. Even if it was crowded, her eyes always looked for him.

When freshman year of high school started for the four of them, that's when it all changed. Matt had finally noticed her – in more than a friendly way.

It was soccer season again. Matt and Chris never dropped the sport they grew to love in kindergarten. Nick and Reader did though. They were in the photography club together. The only two.

Because Nick was Chris and Matt's triplet, he had to go to their games anyway. So he thought, 'why not take photos of the team for the school's yearbook?'

Of course, being the only other person in the club, as well as being best friends with the boys, Reader had decided to tag along to assist with the photos.

The rain was pouring down hard during a particularly close match. Matt was a striker along with Chris. He was about to score, a good strong pass from a midfielder aiming straight towards him.

Until he slipped. He ended up landing oddly on his ankle. Reader ran onto the field, ignoring the protests of the people around her or the way that the rain was beating down onto her skin. All she cared about was making sure Matt was okay.

When she got to him, he was lying on the ground, groaning out in pain. She dropped to her knees, gently placing his head in her lap. She held his cheeks as she looked down at him with worry.

Matt smiled up at her, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears. Reader couldn't tell though. It was raining too harshly. His hand weakly reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face, staring into her eyes lovingly.

That's when it happened. Matt had leaned up, connecting their lips in a soft, tender kiss. He tried putting all his emotions into it. Reader was shocked at first, and did not kiss him back. His confidence faltered – 'had I been reading this wrong the entire time?' – so he tried pulling away.

Only to be met with her lips right back on his. Her pent-up emotions – the frustration of having to hold back how she truly felt for so long, the love and desire to be his, the longing of wanting, needing to be his, all of it – seeped into the second kiss they shared.

When they pulled away, they were breathless and smiling. MaryLou and Jimmy had rushed onto the field with Nick following closely behind. Chris was too busy goofing off with his teammates, telling them all about how he just knew Matt and Reader would be together.

Where It All Went Wrong

When the triplets had started their group socials, Reader had created her own. About the same time that the boys were going viral, so was Reader. They were featured on each other's platforms quite often in the early parts of their careers.

They each told the viewers from the beginning – Matt and Reader were together. They loved each other dearly.

When the boys moved to LA, so did Reader. Matt and his brothers bought their house and had a manager oversee everything, while Reader maintained her things by herself.

Reader had an apartment not far from the Sturniolo's new home. A five-minute drive – if that. It was within walking distance. Which Matt and Reader both enjoyed and took full advantage of.

The first few months with the four of them in Los Angeles were going well. They were thriving, living their life exactly how they had always dreamed.

Until, five months into their new lives in LA, things went downhill. Fast. Madi, their manager's daughter, had started to receive extreme hate from the triplet's fanbase. As was Reader.

Reader couldn't take it anymore. So she broke up with him. She broke up with Matt, much in the same way she got together with him.

It was a rainy day out, the sky a dark, sad, shade of gray that fit the mood of the Sturniolo Triplet's home quite well. Reader had told Matt that she couldn't – wouldn't – handle all of this negativity from his fans any longer.

Matt's reaction was heartbreaking. He was upset, and understandably so. The love of his life wanted to walk away. Wanted to call it quits. He couldn't deal. His eyes showed the pain he was feeling. The way he was hurting.

As Reader walked out the door for the last time, Matt broke down. She didn't spare him a final glance like he'd hoped. She was done. Done with the relentless hate that she was receiving, simply for loving and being Matt's partner.

They were both broken. Both hurt. Every social media post, every video felt empty without the other by their side. Not only had Reader and Matt lost each other romantically, they had also lost each other in a friendly way too.

Reader didn't even talk to Nick or Chris anymore either. All communication, all ties leading to the triplets, had been cut off. Permanently.

What Are They Doing Now?

It's been three months. Three painful months of not having the other by their side. Three excruciating months of having to act like they are fine. Like their worlds weren't crumbling to the ground. Neither Matt nor Reader was okay.

They tried to hide it. Tried to pretend that they were fine. That there was no hurt. That there was no anguish. But that's a lie. Not only are they lying to themselves, but they are lying to those around them as well.

Reader and Matt made other friends in LA. Other influencers and people besides each other. Reader had these other friends besides the Sturniolo's. But it wasn't the same. The connection wasn't the same.

Reader missed Nick's sass. Reader missed the way he wouldn't be afraid to call someone out about something, no matter what the situation may have been. Reader missed the way they were able to tell each other anything. Like how in high school, Reader was one of the first people Nick came out to – even before his own brothers.

Reader missed Chris's goofy personality. Reader missed the way he was always able to make her laugh, no matter what the situation may have been. Reader missed the fact that he was the first person to support the relationship between her and Matt. Like the time Matt took Reader to New York just a month before they broke up. It was just the two of them. Chris immediately supported the idea.

Most of all, though, Reader missed Matt. Reader missed everything about Matt. From the way that his hair fell into his eyes when it needed to be cut to the way that he drank his coffee. She missed it all. Everything. Every detail, big and small. She missed it. She missed him.

The boys had missed her too, but it was Matt who sat up in his room at late hours of the night. Wondering where he went wrong. Wondering what he could've done differently to make her stay. Wondering who exactly was to blame for their separation. Wondering when these intense feelings of hurt and pain would end. Wondering why the world – specifically the Internet – had to be so cruel to push away the love of his life. Wondering how he could possibly fix it, possibly erase the damage.

It was frustrating. Watching the other pretend on a screen for their millions of fans watching. Watching the other pretend that everything was fine. Watching but not talking. Watching but not touching. Watching but not holding. It was frustrating.

There was no going back. Not attempting to make up for the lost time from the past three months. The days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds – all this time that had passed. None of it would be taken back. None of the wreckage – from their hearts, their minds, or even their souls – would ever be mended.

People could tell. People could see. People could notice. People were aware of just how miserable Reader and Matt truly were. But neither ever said a word. Neither ever told anyone how they were truly feeling inside. Inside their minds. Inside their hearts. Inside their souls.

[sturniololuv08]

TreeHouse Chapter 4

"A gentleman always pays for the date."

Summary: Sienne gets more than she wants from her date with Matt

"The halls of high school may echo with love, but the future is rarely paved with it."

⚠️This Fic Series will NOT be for people with triggers. This Fic Series will have very descriptive moments of abuse.⚠️

Please Read At Your Own Risk.

Sienna's POV:

The basketball game tonight was on the outside courts because the weather was decent. Julia insisted I wear something super cute to impress Matt. I let Julia dress me up, unsure of what would impress Matt. She put me in the most uncomfortable skirt. The skin-tight long-sleeve shirt wasn't as bad, but the amount of cleavage it showed was unnecessary. The best part about the outfit was my black high-top boots. They were comfortable, and they were actually mine.

"I don't see Matt."

"Nick, either." AK was also looking.

"Are you sure you're not -"

"Everyone knows Nick is one inch taller than Matt." Both Julia and I stopped and looked at him with the same expression.

"Everyone?" We both said in unison.

"He's the oldest too. Did you know that?" He ignored our judgment.

"Anyways... Keep looking for Matt." We went back to searching for him. He seemed to be all about me, but Julia was all about finding him. He was cute, and Nick was cute. I didn't know either of them well, though, other than whatever rumors were spread around school that I chose to listen to.

"There they are." The pair walking in was like a movie scene. Almost everyone was watching them, and Nick slowly threw his head back in laughter while Matt had a hot smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The only thing missing was if people were taking pictures and flashing lights on them.

"Matt!" Julia was quick to get his attention in our direction. He head nodded at her, and she gasped.

"Julia, he's not a celebrity." Once he saw me standing in the bleachers next to her, he held up a single finger. I couldn't help but smile. He and Nick stood in the middle of the entryway with the concessions, talking for a minute, and then Nick headed to the stand while Matt headed towards us.

"Hey Sienna," he immediately grabbed me in a hug. His smell was fresh and clean, and I wondered what soap he used in the shower. I quickly reprimanded myself for being weird and broke the hug apart. "You look amazing," he looked me up and down. I suddenly felt self-conscious.

"Thank you." I blushed and looked down slightly, letting my hair cover it.

"Where is Nick?" AK wasn't subtle about his concerns.

"He is getting us all snacks. Might need help carrying them." Matt pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

"Peace." AK started walking down the bleachers. The three of us sat down.

"So, you like basketball?" I asked Matt, trying to figure out something to talk about.

"Yeah, it's not bad. I could never play, though. I'm the worst." I giggled at his joke.

"I'm pretty good maybe I could teach you a thing or two?" I tried to be flirty. Having thee Matthew Sturniolo's attention was the best way to gain popularity in school. Not that I wanted it or cared but I knew Julia was hoping for a seat at the cool kids table so to speak.

"You play?" He leaned back to look at me.

"Yeah, I play a lot of sports." It was true. Whether I was good or not was a different story. I was pretty much mediocre at all of them except swimming. I have won a few awards from competitions at our school and outside organizations where I competed. Swimming was a freeing feeling. Being under the water, everything stopped.

"That's pretty cool." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and I saw Julia start to freak out. Nick and AK came back, holding everything haphazardly.

"Drinks. Candy. Popcorn." They started dishing it all out.

"You didn't have to buy us anything." I started saying.

"Of course I did. A gentleman always pays for the date." He smirked that intoxicating smirk.

"Date?" Julia whispered behind us while looking at AK.

"Thank you, Matt. That's so sweet of you." I glared at her since she wasn't very quiet. The game started, and Matt paid more attention to that than me. I wasn't complaining, though; his attention made me nervous. He stood up and cheered when someone's shot went in. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom." I stood up and looked behind me at Julia. She nodded and stood up to come with me.

"He is so into you." She gushed as soon as we were further down the bleachers.

"I know, but... why?" I asked, holding the door for her.

"You are so cool and hot. Maybe Ms. Williams did you a favor." She had a smug grin.

"I still hate you for that."

"Hey, Matt doesn't seem to mind," she winked as she came out of the stall. As we washed our hands, I looked at myself in the mirror. I just didn't feel like myself. I felt like I was forcing it, whatever it was. "Coming?" she asked by the door. I looked down at the water running over my fingers, with no visible soap left.

"Yeah. I'll be out in a minute." I forced a smile. I dried my hands and scrolled ConNext. I let out a sigh and smiled at myself one time in the mirror. Matt was so attractive that there was no point in being with me, but we would see how the night went. I pushed the door open and started walking down between the brick wall and the gate around the sports complex.

"Hey." Matt approached me, meeting me in the middle.

"Hi." I smiled and flipped my hair over my shoulder.

"You enjoying the game?" He looked fidgety.

"Uh, yeah." I lied. I didn't really enjoy watching it as much as I did playing it, and I couldn't stop wondering why he was suddenly showing interest in me the whole time, so I was just distracted all around. "What about you?"

"It's good. Wish we could talk more." He leaned back against the wall.

"About what?" I asked, skeptical.

"Just in general. I wanna talk about anything." He shrugged.

"Okay, let's start with why you are suddenly interested in me." The words left my mouth before I could make them sound flirtatious.

"Oh." He straightened up. "I guess I always kinda had eyes for you. You're really nice, and I like your style." He looked me up and down and wasn't afraid to make it obvious. I felt my cheeks get hot at his actions.

"Really?" I asked, a little shocked. I had no idea I had been on his radar for a while or even at all.

"Of course." He stepped closer to me and tugged me into him. "Why not?" He whispered. He pulled me into him, and I didn't hesitate. I felt his lips press on mine, and I melted into the touch. He was definitely experienced. His motions were swift and sensual. He moaned a little as his long fingers worked their way down into my skirt from my hips.

"No." I pushed back a little. He gripped me and pulled me in. Gripping me tightly.

"No?" He asked, looking into my eyes. His eyes gave me that sense of comfort again, but I knew my own personal boundaries.

"N.. no..." I stuttered. I was sure of my answer but unsure of his harsh actions holding me still.

"Come on." He started sucking on my neck, and his fingers played with my underwear band.

"No, Matt." I pushed myself off of him again. I made it free from his grip and marched back to Julia. Matt wasn't far behind me.

"Hey." She was unaware of what had happened. Matt awkwardly put his arm around my shoulder again, holding me close to him. I didn't want to ruin the mood for the rest of the game, so I didn't say anything then, but I planned on telling her everything tomorrow.

A/N I accidentally posted Chapter 3 instead of Drafting it like I wanted to and then @chriss-slutt was so so sweet tonight I decided why not just post the next chapter for her too?

TreeHouse Taglist:

@trevorsgodmother @mintsturniolo @wysmols @chriss-slutt @middlepartmatt @blushsturns @shadowtheism @fratbrochrisgf @forgottxen

This fic is TAGLIST SPECIFIC, meaning in order to be tagged in this, you HAVE to be on the list. I'm doing this because of TRIGGERS.

REBLOG INSTRUCTIONS: I don't mind just please stress the trigger warnings so no backlash comes back to me!

Enjoy Matt and Si cooking 😏😘

[f1nalboys]

What Happened to the Cat? ; Randy Meeks

Ghostface!Randy Meeks x Fem!AFAB!Reader

a/n: long time no see! thank you all for being uber paitent with me as i deal with some irl stuff, i appreciate it and the kind words you all have sent into my ask box so much!!!! any and all thoughts are welcomed; lmk how you guys enjoy this take on ghostface ray :D

WORD COUNT: 9,434

WARNINGS: smut, DARK MATERIAL AHEAD, MAJOR DUBCON bordering on noncon tbh. just tread carefully. ghostface!randy, incel!randy, degrading and misogynistic language throughout, knife play, pain play, choking (unsexy kind), costume sex, predator/prey dynamics, primal-esque behavior from randy, coercion, chasing, stabbing, blood, wound fingering (you’ll see), oral + fingering (afab receiving), threats of anal, missionary, randy is actually so fucked up and evil in this one i apologize but not really, cliffhanger-esque ending, proofread but its me.

“Let me lick your pretty piggy cunt, Y/N.”

The ever-familiar modulated voice crackles in the receiver, the hair on your neck standing up on end even as you recognize where the phrase is from. You’re standing in the middle of the hallway, front and back door on either end, dread building in your gut. Ghostface. Every iteration of the son of a bitch has been haunting you for years now, from high school to college and beyond, destroying everything you have known about yourself, your loved ones, and the world, all in the palm of his gloved hand. And here this one was, quoting fucking Black Christmas to you like this was all a joke.

The realization that you had rewatched the movie with your roommate, Randy, last night hits you like a ton of bricks. This fucker had been watching you.

“Fuck you, you freak.” 

“Touchy, aren’t you?” He says with a sharp laugh. “You won’t be sayin’ that when I’m fucking you with my knife, now will you, bitch? Sticking your fucking nose in where it doesn’t belong, right? Looking into shit you should’ve left alone.” His tone cuts through you and you whip around, heart pounding in your ears. Of course this had to happen tonight. It was a rare one where Randy had left to go to dinner with some of his friends. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

There’s a creak behind you.

Your head jerks to the side, the flash of black fabric and white plastic darting down a hallway making your stomach flip. Your body is one second behind your brain. You’re screaming at yourself to run, to get to the back door and follow the foot path around the house to your car, to get to the house phone and call for help, to get the fuck out of there. Just as your foot finally begins to move, your head twisting to face forwards, a hand is grabbing your collar and yanking you backwards. 

The wooden floor under you is slick, your feet flying forwards as you hit the ground. Pain shoots up from your tailbone as you yelp and the edges of your vision turn black as his hand moves from your collar to your scalp. “Let go!” You shout, hands coming up to grab at his wrist as his fingers tangle into your hair, the feeling of the strands being pulled from your scalp nothing compared to the ache in your skull when he slams your head back down onto the floor twice.

You’re dazed, eyes squeezed shut as you groan. Your hands cradle your head, fingers warm and sticky with your blood. By the time your vision refocuses, he’s on top of you, knees digging into your side and his knife pressed at your throat. “P-please! I’ll do anything, please don’t kill me!” You manage to choke out, going silent when you feel the blade dig into your flesh as you swallow heavily. He says nothing, just cocks his head to the side. 

“Anything?” He repeats and your eyebrows scrunch together for a brief moment; the voice you were hearing now was familiar. It was kind, soft, an edge of something darker to it, but missing the distinct crackle and depth of the voice on the phone. For a second, you wonder if this is a prank that one, or more, of your friends were trying to pull on you. But then he’s pushing the knife closer to you, nicking the thin flesh of your throat, free hand planted by your head. “I knew you were a fucking slut.”

Suddenly the knife is tossed to the side and his gloved hands are wrapping around your throat, cutting off your oxygen. Your hands instantly reach for his wrists, trying to pull him off of you, your eyes widening in fright as his grip doesn't loosen. Inside your chest, your heart beats at your ribs, overcompensating for the lack of oxygen in an attempt to keep your body going. When his grip tightens further, and your eyes feel like they're beginning to bulge out of your head from the pressure, you change tactics. 

Your mouth is opening and closing in a desperate, fish-out-of-water way to get air as you begin to punch at his chest. Your actions grow more desperate as the seconds tick by, the only sound you can hear being your own heart beat and his grunts as his thumbs dig into your trachea. The sight of the white mask, the dark all consuming eyes, begins to grow fuzzy as your hands punch and claw at any part of him you can reach. The man behind the robe is not particularly large, but he’s stronger. Couple that with catching you off guard and it was no wonder that you were here, trapped under the mysterious figure, the life being choked out of you. 

Clutching at his robes, you stare into the blacks of the mask where the eyes are and you think about Randy coming home and discovering you dead on the floor. You can imagine him dropping to his knees beside you, grabbing ahold of your shoulders and shaking you, his hands trembling. Your fingers begin to loosen around the fabric, shaky hands reaching up and clumsily tugging at the mask. 

He shakes his head a few times, jerking it out of your touch with an annoyed grunt, his grip loosening every so slightly. You manage to grab a hold of the chin and pull it off, determined to see who was killing you and make them look you in the face, really look you in the face, while they were doing it. Maybe you could somehow manage to leave a clue behind to their identity for-

“R-Randy?” You choke out, voice hoarse and nearly unintelligible. The mask hits the wood floors with a soft thud, his grip tightening as you say his name, but you don’t fight back. You stare up at him, right into his blue eyes. 

His hair is tousled, wet with sweat. His pink lips are parted, his chest heaving as he blinks down at you, tanned cheeks flushed pink. “Don’t fuckin’ look at me like that.” Your vision grows blurry again as you realize Randy, your roommate and best friend, the person you had been tracking down Ghostface with, was Ghostface. He was the one killing you. 

He lets go of your throat. 

“Fuck!” Randy says, grabbing the knife and holding it just above your throat as you gasp and sputter underneath him, eyes squeezed shut. The oxygen burns as you breathe in, coughing, black dots swimming across your vision. You try to blink through the blurriness; you can see the bright pink hue to the apples of his cheeks, a bead of sweat rolling down the bridge of his nose as he narrows his blue eyes at you in accusation. “Why the fuck did you have to do that for?”

It’s almost enough to make you laugh. Here he is, a knife to your throat, and he’s mad at you. 

Your mouth opens, cracked lips parting to tell him to go fuck himself, but all that leaves your throat is a choked noise. Pain rips through your esophagus and you flinch, stomach churning at the realization you can’t speak. Your eyes blink back the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks once more as you swallow, looking at Randy. 

His eyes are searching your face, and it’s clear to you even now, with the knife against your throat, that you seeing his face had taken the wind out of his sails. He’s nervous, head cocking to the side every few seconds and his jaw rhythmically clenching as he stares down at you. 

“Fucking bitch.” Randy finally spits, his face morphing into disgust. “You fuckin’ ruined it all. Nosy cunt, just had to stick your nose into shit that didn’t concern you.” His voice is low, gravelly, and spit collects at the corner of his lips as he speaks. You’ve never heard him speak this way; a crude joke here and there, sure, but never something this vile aimed at you and you alone. “Is this what you wanted, huh? To make this harder for me than it already is?” 

His voice cracks and as the fuzz on the edge of your vision begins to go away, you can see a tear slide down his cheek. Randy angrily wipes it off of his face with the back of his gloved hand. Wetting your lips, you brace yourself for the pain. “R-Randy,” you start, voice hoarse and cracking. He’s breathing hard, shoulders heaving with effort, but he remains silent. “...Why?”

It’s the most you can choke out right now and thankfully he decides to answer right after scoffing. “Why?” Randy’s head cocks to the side, searching your face, his knees digging into your ribs. You let out a small whine of discomfort at his weight on top of you. “You were gonna figure it out, you know.” The change in his voice makes you still, eyebrows scrunched together at the softness in his tone, as if he were sad about what he was saying. “I knew you would. I couldn’t let that happen… you’d tell everyone.” 

“Wouldn’t… I wouldn’t…” Talking still hurts but lessens as the minutes tick by. “I… I wouldn’t have told anyone.” Randy tsks, shaking his head. 

“I’m not an idiot. I know you.”

“Please, please just let me go, Randy.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Fresh tears prick at your eyes, lips thinning slightly as your chin quivers. Randy grunts, averting his gaze for a moment. “Stop looking at me like that.” He says sharply, digging the knife back against your throat. All the blade does is spur your tears on. “Jesus Christ, stop crying!” The knife is pulled away and you suck in a blubbering breath before the crack of his palm meets your cheeks. 

You yelp, hand coming to press against the swelling flesh as he leans down, hot breath ghosting against your cheek. “Do you want to live?”

The tone of his voice makes your blood chill. Sharper than the knife in his hand and just as cold. You sniffle, your chest tight as you nod. A small sob escapes your lips and he smiles. “Please don’t kill me, Randy.” Begging seems redundant at this point but you realize there is nothing you can do but try. “Randy, fuck! Fuck, please don’t kill me, I don’t want to die!” You sob, a blubbering fucking mess underneath him. 

He tilts his head to the side slightly, an amused smirk on his face. “You wanna know something?” He asks, ignoring your tears and dragging the tip of the knife down your cheeks carefully. “I’ve always imagined you underneath me crying. Knew you’d look pretty.” He sighs softly, wetting his lips, pulling back as his eyes search your fear-stricken face. “Anything?”

“W-What?”

“You said you’d do anything,” he repeats, shifting his weight back, a wild look in his eyes you’ve never fucking seen before. It’s enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end and a wave of nausea hit you. “You wanna live that bad?”

Something in your gut tells you to say no, to fight and struggle and to die with some fucking dignity. But it’s Randy. Your best friend, your roommate, the person you trusted more than yourself. An hour ago, you never would have thought he was capable of this. You nod your head once, a tear sliding down your warm cheek as his smile grows more affectionate.

“I knew it.” He says, pulling the knife away from your neck where it had been loosely pressed. He tosses it to the side, the clang as it hits your hardwood floors making you flinch. His gloved hands are suddenly all over you, leaning down and harshly pressing his lips to yours. His teeth smash into yours as you grunt in surprise, his tongue forcing its way in, a parasite finding a host.

You’d be a liar if you said you never thought about kissing Randy before. Of course you did! He was a sweet, funny, goofy guy you had been through terrible tragedy after terrible tragedy with; it was hard to not think of him in that light. You never made a move, and, like always, he didn’t either. You would often lay in bed, eyes closed, knowing Randy was in the next room over, and think about what kissing him would be like.

It’s rougher than you imagined.

Randy moans, pulling back from you to suck in a few harsh breaths, a string of saliva connecting you two. “Fuck,” Randy moans, his voice thick. His blue eyes darken, his lids heavy as he stares down at you. “God, you’re a good kisser, you know that?” His familiar goofy smile spreads across his pink face and you do your best to ignore the flipping of your stomach.

“Y-You are too.” You say as your voice cracks slightly. His smile grows further and you wonder briefly if his cheeks hurt. A wave of disgust washes over you as he brings his gloved hand up from your side to cup your cheek, and you turn your head to the side. “Are… are you done?”

Randy blinks. “Done?” He asks, a laugh bubbling up in his chest. You grunt, face feeling warm in embarrassment and nervousness as his knees dig further into your ribs. “Nah, I’m not done yet.” He finally says, his smile twitching. “I mean, I can get the knife if you’ve decided you’re done…?” He motions to the blade just beside him, watching your eyes lock onto the steel. “If you’re feeling brave, though, you can try and fight me off.” 

“What?” 

“I said,” he grabs the knife with one hand and your wrist with the other, shoving the handle into your shaking hand. “If you’re feeling brave, try and fight me off.” There’s a light to his eyes you’ve only seen when he talks about his favorite movies, a kind of glee that you had a hard time not teasing him about previously. Now, however, there was nothing fucking funny about it. The knife is heavy in your hand, weighed down by the souls it’s taken already.

Your eyes widen, glistening with unshed tears as you look at him. “I… I don’t want to fight you,” you say shakily. “You’re my friend, Randy.” He scoffs at this, snatching the knife from your loose grip and the mask from beside you. He stands, towering over you, and panic hits you as he goes to put the mask back on.

He was going to kill you unless you convinced him otherwise, and Randy was very stubborn. There were only a few things he loved, and, thankfully, you knew them all. 

“W-Wait! I’ll do it!” 

“You’ll do what?”

“I’ll… I’ll fight, or whatever. That’s what you want, right?” You ask, staring up at him as he pauses, your heart thudding in your chest. He could put the mask back on and sink the knife into your gut without a single word; you just had to trust he wouldn’t. “Y-you always say the chase is your favorite part.”

Randy cracks a smile. “That’s why I like you,” he says, crouching down beside you. “You always got me. Really got me, in ways the others didn’t.” It’s true, you realize. While Randy was popular and had lots of friends, he had told you time and time again how it seemed like you were the only one who actually heard him. It used to make you feel good. 

Now all it does is make you feel sick. 

“You must really want to live, don’t you?” He asks, voice dark as he peers down at you. Shakily, you nod, swallowing down the bile that steadily felt like it was crawling up your throat. Randy grins as his eyebrows raise, tucking under the wet strands of hair sticking to his forehead still. “Alright, fuck it. I’ll chase you and you can try and escape. You make it out the front door, and you can live. You can run off to the cops and tell them everything. But,” his grin sharpens. “If I catch you… I get to do whatever I want to you.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Depends on how worked up you get me.” Randy smiles, wetting his bottom lip as his eyes trail down your figure beside him, still frozen on the floor. The heat behind his gaze makes your skin crawl and your gut swirl, the two sensations twisting and turning inside you. “I’ll probably do something else first, though.”

Randy’s hand reaches out, grabbing at your tit through your pajama top. His grip is rough as he squeezes the fat between his fingers, letting out a growl-like moan at the feeling. You let out a shudder, turning your head to the side as you squeeze your eyes shut and press your lips together. He huffs, letting go of your breast and grabbing ahold of your chin, forcing you to look back up at him with a scowl.

“Get up. I’m giving you five seconds, and if I catch you, I’m fucking you until I decide to kill you.” 

His voice is void of all emotion, roughly letting go of your chin as he stands, and his words make you scramble upwards onto your feet. You stumble down the hallway, mind reeling as you try to think of what to do. 

“1…2…” The back door is too far. Randy was quick on his feet, he’d reach you before you got the deadbolt undone.

“3…4…” Randy tugs on the mask, voice muffled as he counts. The knife is held tightly in his hand, robe loose at his ankles. Your only option is upstairs. The steps are just to your right and you sprint towards them, feet hammering heavily against the wood as you hurry up them. You could lock yourself in your room, or maybe get to the attic with enough time to pull the door down. 

“5… Ready or not,” Randy watches your figure disappear up the steps, a wild grin on his face under the mask as he starts after you, thundering up the steps two at a time. He uses his free hand to click the modulator on again. “Here I come, bitch.”

You’re at the landing, turning down the hall to sprint to your room, when you see the ghostly white mask staring up at you. Randy swipes the knife at your feet as he stomps up the steps and you narrowly avoid it, letting out a yelp as you haul ass. Slamming the door shut behind you and locking it, you look around for anything that could help.

He’s at the door in seconds, his fist banging against the wood as you run to the opposite side of your dresser, grunting with effort as you try to push it in front of the door before he can break through. “Let me in, you fucking cunt!” He snarls, now throwing his body against the door. He’s growling with each hit, the sound  of splintering wood making your palms slick with sweat. “I just wanna see what your insides look like!”

The dresser scrapes against the grain of the floor, ignoring the pleas and curses spilling from your lips faster than you can think. After an agonizing few seconds, you manage to get the dresser in front of the door just as Randy begins to break through. You scream, stumbling backwards as his hand, holding the knife, pushes in through the split in the door he caused. 

The knife swings wildly, blade glinting in the light of your lamp. His arm retreats and he’s back to slamming his body weight against it, the dresser loudly scooting further from the door each time. Your time was running out. In a few seconds he’d be in here with you and that would be it.

You rush to your desk on the other side of the room, throwing things off as you search for something, anything, to protect yourself with. The sounds of Randy forcing his way in grow muffled, like you’re underwater. Your hands wrap around the metal scissors as he finally breaks in, and you turn around, wielding them in front of you with shaky hands. 

“Look at this.” He steps inside the room, standing with the knife in front of him. His shoulders are heaving with each breath he sucks in, and though he wears the mask, you can almost see the grin he’s giving you. “I didn’t think you’d get this far, if I’m being honest.” He steps forwards and to the right, hugging the wall as you side step him, keeping yourself at the same distance away, moving to the left. The two of you slowly, carefully, circle the rug. “I mean, you’re smarter than most girls, but I figured you’d be a pretty easy kill.”

“Fuck you!”

“There’s that fire!”

“This isn’t a fucking joke!” You snap, eyes narrowing in anger. The room is thick with tension, a standoff between a fawn and a wolf. You tighten your grip on the scissors, jaw clenching at the slickness of your palms. Your hearts beating against your ribcage, your stomachs in your ass, and yet, even with the thick sludge of fear that is coursing through your veins and weighing you down, there’s another feeling. It’s deep in your stomach, buried under the rubble, but it’s there.

Lust.

Randy laughs, head cocking to the side as he continues to move, slowly, carefully. Each movement he makes is calculated, directly reflecting your own. You wish he didn’t have the mask on, that he’d stop being a fucking coward and let you see the extent of his enjoyment for torturing you. “I know it’s not a joke, Y/N. I’m taking this very seriously.”

He lunges forwards slightly, knife shallowly stabbing into your gut. You yelp and stumble backwards, hitting into the wooden post of your bed frame as you clutch at your side, watching the blood soak into the fabric of your pajama top. For a few moments, all you can feel is heat. You had never been stabbed before, but you had imagined it to play out like the movies. Instead, the piercing pain comes in quickly, and you let out an involuntary shudder as your free hand presses into the wound. All you want to do is drop to the floor with a whimper, the edges of your vision riddled with dancing black dots, and beg Randy to leave you alone. 

Instead, biting your tongue hard enough to draw blood, you ignore the pain rippling through your side as he laughs. He returns to his place near the wall. The two of you are still circling slowly, one foot after the other, unable to take your eyes off of him for a second. 

He could have brought the knife to your other side in a second flat, gutting you. You can almost imagine him standing over your body as you desperately try to hold your organs inside your belly, warm thick blood oozing from the wound in buckets, soaking into the rug Randy had helped you pick out before you collapsed to the ground, coughing up blood. Why hadn’t he? 

“Doesn’t this just get your fuckin’ heart racing?” He asks, the scratchy tone of the modulator making you swallow hard. “Not knowing if your next step is your last, if you’ll even make it out of this fucking room…it’s exciting!” You continue your carefully placed steps, your back now to the door. The dresser was still in front of it, but if you got an extra few seconds, you could squeeze through the gap between the wall and dresser and make your way out into the hall.

If you could do that, you could make it down the steps and to the front door before Randy made it to the landing. Your car keys were right next to the door where you always left them; you could do it. You had to do it. You had to do anything you fucking could to get out of here. The other option was dying.

Randy turns his head to look behind him and you take the brief opportunity to lunge forwards, squeezing your eyes shut as you sink the scissors into his shoulder. You cut through robes, shirt, and flesh. As the blade makes a sickening squelch noise, you expect him to scream, collapse to the ground or stumble back like the villains always do in those shitty movies he likes. 

Your eyes widen and you take a shaky step backwards, scissors stuck in his shoulder as he whips his head around to face you, a low growl emanating from under the mask. His gloved fingers wrap around the metal handles, yanking it out with a hiss. The steel is covered in dark red blood. It drips onto the carpet opposite of the puddle of your own blood that was growing underneath you. The robe where the stab wound was is sunken into the cut, the fabric bunching together and fraying into the wound. 

“You forgetting something, Y/N?” He questions sinisterly, gingerly holding the scissors in his hand. He swings them side to side, taunting you. “Did you seriously think a little stab would stop me? You think none of the others put up a fight like this?” He scoffs, his anger at you clear even through the modulator. “You all think you’re the exception, that you’re the final girl. Well guess fucking what? You’re not… and I think you want me to catch you.”

“I don’t!”

“No?” He taunts, cocking his head to the side. You wonder if, under the mask, his lips are squeezed into a thin line with a furrow to his brows. That was the face Randy always had when he was pissed. You take a step backwards towards the door. “So you’re really trying? You ran up the steps. You let me in your room. You gave me your fucking scissors! Just admit that you want me to fuck you, even if I gut your ass after.” The excitement in his voice has your heart sink.

This wasn’t Randy anymore; this was Ghostface.

Realizing there’s nothing you can do here to save yourself, you make a mad dash for the door. Squeezing yourself between the dresser and wall, you watch as Randy walks over to you, tossing the scissors behind him as his grip tightens around the knife. You’re halfway there, your hands flat against the dresser as you shove it forwards an inch to allow you to squeeze through, when Randy rears his foot back and kicks it.

“FUCK!” You scream as the dresser is violently forced into the door and you, slamming you back into the wall. Your ankle is bent uncomfortably, your leg turned outward and stuck at the bottom of the dresser. Randy lifts his foot once more. “Wait, no, don’t-” you plead, your heart hammering in your chest as you continue to move, nearly out of the room. He ignores you, his foot planting on the edge of the dresser as he kicks it forwards. Your foot is the last thing in the doorframe.

The pain is blinding. Your vision goes white as a fiery warmth crawls up your leg. As your vision returns, so does your hearing; you were letting out a blood curdling scream, your throat raw, and your free leg gives out on you. You collapse backwards, sobbing as Randy grabs the dresser and yanks it back, freeing your foot. 

Looking down, groaning in pain, you try to move your ankle. There’s resistance and an electrical shock shoots up to your knee. Not broken, but there’s clearly something wrong with it. You try and move it again, grunting as you press your foot flat to the ground, attempting to stand. The pain is too much. Fuck. If you can’t move it, you can’t walk on it, let alone run. You look up and see Randy standing in the doorway of your room, your dresser overturned behind him and your door half hung on its hinges. He cocks his head to the side and then takes a step forwards.

You scramble away as best you can, using your hands to push yourself towards the stairs. You can’t catch your breath, your pain and fear mixing together and suffocating you as you try desperately to breathe. Pain erupts from your ankle and your side, the involuntary noises you were making as you crawl away from your best friend making you sound like a wounded animal.

His footsteps are slow, taunting, consistent. Step… step… step. You keep your head up and forwards, eyes glued on the steps, your only possible solace. He allows you to make it to the top of the landing before he’s on you again, grabbing your shoulder and turning you over onto your back. “No! Get off of me, Randy!” You say, punching at his chest and squirming as he straddles you. He huffs from under the mask, grabbing at your wrists and pinning them to your chest with one hand, waving the knife over your face with the other. 

“Ah, ah,” he coos as you fall still, still blubbering. “You’ve really entertained me tonight, Y/N, you know that?” The tip of the knife is pressed to your cheek, digging into your flesh until a small bead of blood bubbles up. You whimper, chin quivering. “You’ve really got the spirit of a final girl. I’m almost sad I have to kill you now.”

He brings the knife up, clutching it in two hands.

“Wait!” You cry out, using your free hands to cover your face. Your brain is scrambled, your heart is pounding, and everything hurts, but there's only one thought in your head. I don’t want to die. “I-I thought you wanted to fuck me?”

If he notices the fear and desperation in your voice, he doesn’t mention it. Randy goes still above you, knees digging into your sides, inadvertently pressing into your wound. “What?” He asks, and the incredulous tone that seeps through the modulator is almost enough to make you laugh. 

“You… you said you’d fuck me.” You repeat, voice cracking. Disgust washes over you in droves, nearly choking away your next words. “I want you to.” Your eyebrows crease together as you swallow down the bile rising in your throat. He says nothing, the knife coming down to his side as he stares at you. You can just barely make out the glint of his eyes through the mesh. 

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is quieter, less sharp. 

“I’m not.” You reaffirm, staring up at him, trying to keep your face straight. Shakily, you reach your hand up, hesitating as your fingertips brush against the latex of the mask, half expecting him to lash out and plunge the knife into your head. Randy’s breathing is ragged, but he doesn’t move. 

Carefully gripping the material, you move the mask off of him, a far cry from how you had done it just a few minutes before. Randy’s face is sweatier now, redness expanding across his freckled cheeks to the tips of his ears. His eyes dart away from yours and he swallows hard, his adams apple bobbing. He almost looked nervous, which, all things considered, is funny. 

A smile twitches at your lips despite it all. “I’ve always had a crush on you.” You say quietly, feeling your own face grow warm. Your pain has dulled into a throbbing and hot heat. Your ankle feels like sand, too heavy to move. Your side is still burning, ripples of pain traveling up your ribcage as you move your arms. His eyes snap to yours, eyebrows scrunched together in annoyance.

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.”

“I don’t believe you.” He says, watching you drop the mask onto the ground beside the two of you. “You just don’t want to die.” 

You sigh slightly. “I don’t want to die.” You say, eyes flicking between his, watching them lighten ever so slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m lying about this. If I have to die… might as well get the truth out there, right?” You try and force a laugh, squirming uncomfortably before hissing in pain. 

“You… really? On me?” He questions, wetting his cracked lips when you nod in confirmation. There’s a beat as he studies your face, trying to determine if you were lying, if he was a fucking idiot to believe a word out of your mouth. “I have to kill you.” He says finally, voice quiet. “You’ve seen my face. You’ll tell.”

“I know.” You confirm quietly. You’ve gone completely still by now, the adrenaline and fight rushing from your body in an instant. Tears prick at your eyes again and you turn your head to the side, staring at your broken bedroom door. Briefly, you wonder how expensive it’ll be to fix it. You bite back the unamused laugh that bubbles up in your throat at the realization it doesn’t matter; you won’t be the one paying to fix it after you die. “I just don’t want the last thing I remember about you to be… to be this.”

Randy doesn’t say a word, but you can feel his eyes glued on you. “I wanted it to be different.” He finally says, breaking the thin silence that had settled between you two. When you look back up at him, his eyebrows are threaded together. “Always thought it would be, you know… romantic.” Randy almost looks shy above you, like he was caught shoving a love note into your locker instead of a knife into your throat. “You really want to?”

You nod. It was true, in some strange way. Maybe it’s from the concussion he had surely given you when he smashed your head into the floor downstairs, or maybe it was from the shock slowly overtaking your body from your stab wound and fucked up ankle, or maybe you were, deep down, just as fucked up as Randy. You weren’t sure of the reason, but you were sure of the fact that you wanted him. Swallowing heavily, you nod again, more confident. “I do.”

He hesitates for only a moment, his eyes flashing with the uncertainty you had come to know and love. But you watch him take in your disheveled appearance, his eyes darkening, his throat  bobbing as he swallows. “Take your shirt off.” He orders you quietly, and you listen without thinking. Randy wets his lips again as you awkwardly pull your top off, hissing as the fabric peels away from the wound.  Your side is covered in blood, and you have to turn your head away as blood pulses out, covering the wooden floor underneath you.

You toss it to the side, shivering at the cold wood underneath your exposed skin. His hand comes and cups your breast carefully, gloved thumb running over the thin fabric separating him from your nipple. He hums as he sees it harden, the corner of his thin lips twitching upwards as he repeats the motion again. You sigh, your body relaxing under his touch, your eyes closing as you focus on the feeling and not the circumstances that led you here. 

“I love your tits,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, his grip tightening as he squeezes. “God, the amount of times I’ve jerked off thinking about them, about you…” Randy lets out a small, breathless laugh. You whimper, squirming underneath him and wincing at the ripple of pain. You do your best to ignore it. He tosses the knife to the side, dipping down and kissing you hungrily, pressing his chest to yours.  

He wanted to kiss you hard enough to fuse together, to become a blob of unrecognizable mass writhing in pleasure. You kiss back this time and he groans, his tongue pushing its way past your lips, sliding over yours. “Randy,” you say breathlessly, shuddering when he pulls your bra up past your tits, freeing them before you feel the cool leather envelop your flesh. His right hand is slick with blood, a mix of yours and his, smearing it across your flesh. You squirm under him again, pushing upwards against his crotch, pulling a grunt from him.

“You really want it bad, don’t you?” He questions hurriedly against the flesh of your neck as he nips at your pulse. “I bet I don’t even have to touch you and you’d find a way to cum, wouldn’t you? Yeah, I fuckin’ bet. But it wouldn’t be enough, would it?” His words send a shiver down your spine, your head swimming as his nose brushes along your neck up to your ear, his breath warm. “I can hear you when you fuck yourself at night, y’know? When you think I’m asleep, and you let yourself get a little louder, a bit more brave.”

“R-Really?”

“Mhm. Hearing your little whimpers, the sound of you cumming…” He lets out a low groan, pulling back as he works on shifting his weight, tugging your pajama pants and underwear down to your knees. “Let me see her,” he mutters, mostly to himself, as he pushes your knees apart. He ignores your hiss of pain as his pupils enlarge, eyes trained on your now spread cunt. You can feel your face grow warm. “Holy shit. Look at you.”

Randy reaches a gloved hand out, carefully dragging a finger up your slit. You swallow back a whimper at the feeling, your eyes widening when he holds the finger up to show you your wetness. You shouldn’t be wet right now. Waves of disgust recede briefly only to crash back over you, time and time again, drowning you. “Look at this… fuck, I didn’t know you’d get off on this too.”

His smile is large, stretched across his skin to the point it looks like it hurts. He dips his head down, hands on your thighs, nose hovering above your pussy, and he breathes in deep. He moans - whimpers - and wastes no time, his pink lips wrapping around your clit and sucking. 

“R-Randy!” You moan, your thighs attempting to close around his head. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, holding you open for him. “Oh shit,” you groan, your eyes squeezing shut as you do your best to focus on the quick-building pleasure in your gut rather than the ever-persistent pain in your side as your body involuntarily moves against his tongue. 

Randy moans against you, letting go of your clit in favor of flicking his tongue back and forth along your slit, tasting as much of you as he can. “So fuckin’ good baby,” he mutters, his nose bumping along your clit as he pushes his tongue in your hole. It makes you gasp sharply and he hums, eyes opening to look up at you through heavy lids. He wasn’t lying when he told you he thought about this moment a lot, late at night in bed, hand wrapped around his cock. “Tell me you like it.”

His voice is muffled by your cunt and you don’t register it, your mind reeling with your situation as your orgasm steadily began to build. It hung heavy in your gut, growing thicker and bigger with each passing second, with each flick of his tongue and bump of his nose. Your pussy hurt, throbbing with need, desperate for release. And then, finally, you’re right there, toes beginning to curl, dots of color dancing in the dark of your closed eyes, when he stops. “What the fuck?”

He snorts at your meak and confused protest. You force your eyes to open, chest heaving, and involuntarily you glance down at the puddle of blood under you. It’s only grown, and the realization nearly takes the wind out of you. You felt tired, cold, exhausted.

“I told you to tell me you like it.”

“I-I didn’t hear you.”

“I know. Too caught up in how good I was making your pussy feel, right?’ He asks, voice soothing. “Couldn’t even be bothered to pretend to hate it.” You look up at him and he smiles, the corner of his lips curling upward. “Dirty fuckin’ bitch, huh? Is that what you are, Y/N?”

You shake your head and he laughs. “I’m not.” You say, trying to have any ounce of conviction in your tone, but it only serves to amuse him further. His stupid shit-eating grin makes a flash of anger course through you. “I’m not.” You say again, nostrils flaring. Your fight dies down as his smile drops and his eyebrows stitch together in annoyance. 

“No?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. Without breaking eye contact, his left hand moves from your thigh to your pussy, pressing against your clit to an almost painful degree. The pressure makes you jolt, a groan being pulled from your lips. “You’re not getting off on how much I’ve hurt you?” Randy questions casually, taking his fingers and moving them down to your pulsing hole. 

Whimpering as you feel him prod at your opening, you simply squeeze your eyes shut in response. You wouldn’t give him the fucking satisfaction. He’s not deterred by your stubbornness; he’s been friends with you long enough to know that it was all a facade, a way to keep control when you had none. It was one of his favorite things about you. 

“You might not like it,” he says, humming as he begins to press the leather-clad finger into your cunt. You hiss at the slight stretch, face screwing up at the strange sensation of the leather sliding along your walls. There’s only a brief second of resistance before your body lets him continue. “But she sure does.” He purrs, breath hot against your bare thigh as he begins to pump his finger inside you. “Let me right in, didn’t she? Imagine how she’s gonna react when I finally give you my cock.”

You whimper; it’s involuntary, an accident, maybe not even from pleasure, but it doesn’t matter. The noise is encouragement, a golden stamp of approval, for Randy. His finger picks up speed as you cream around the digit, the sound of your wetness increasing with each pump. Another finger is pushed in and you whimper. “O-ow!” You whine at the stretch. 

“Shut up,” he hisses, his blue eyes narrowing. “You think my cocks not gonna hurt when I fuckin’ shove it in here?” He follows his question with a third finger, the added stretch of the leather sending a shiver up your spine. You suck in a breath, shuddering with each pump, your own arousal loud enough for you to hear it. “You should see your fuckin’ pussy right now, baby, I mean… fuuuck. Creaming around my fucking fingers. Your clit’s throbbing; bet that hurts, doesn’t it? It’s all achey, desperate for me to touch it?”

You don’t want to answer his mocking words. A part of you is screaming at you to do something and get the fuck out of there, to get his hands out and off of you, to hold onto some of your dignity before your death. It’s not loud enough. “Y-yes!” You grunt, your eyebrows threaded together. “It hurts, Ray, fuck, j-just, please!” Your voice is whiny, cracking in the middle of your begging, your hips trying to push forwards in a desperate attempt for friction. “I’ll cum, I swear to god I will!”

He hums, his fingers curling inside you. The pleasure, while good, spreading throughout your whole body, isn’t enough. “You’re tellin’ me if I touch your clit you’ll cum?” Randy asks, amusement clear in his voice. You nod desperately, meeting his eyes. His cheeks are tinged pink with exertion, a hungry look in his eyes. He leans forwards, eyes flicking down to your clit, and you expect him to flick his tongue against the throbbing bud or suck it into his mouth. 

Instead, he lets out a small breath, the cool air focused on your clit, and you cum. 

“There you go, baby,” he says, watching you with a lopsided grin as your body shakes, legs attempting to close around his shoulders, pussy clenching rhythmically around his fingers. A low groan slips past your parted lips, ending in a pained whimper as the pleasure ebbs away, making way for the ache in your side. “God, I knew you were gonna look beautiful cumming.” 

His voice is soft, sweet. In another world, he would have said that to you in your bed, the two of you surrounded by plush pillows and warm blankets instead of blood. You blink a few times, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, a warm tear slipping down your face to your ear. You sniffle as you feel him move from between your legs, pulling his fingers out slowly. He presses them to your lips and you don’t need him to tell you what to do. 

Your mouth parts, your eyes closing as he presses his fingers past your lips. “Fuck.” He breathes as your face screws up slightly at the metallic taste that accompanied your own arousal, remembering how your blood had covered the leather before he began touching you. “Almost done sweetheart, I promise.” He murmurs, sliding his digits over your tongue, pressing down a bit before pulling them out. 

You watch as he bunches the fabric of the robe into his hand, pulling it up enough to reveal his jeans, his cock pressing against the fabric. His free hands fumbles with the button for a moment before he huffs, his face growing a darker shade of red in embarrassment as he drops the robe, using both hands to unbutton and shove his jeans down. 

“God, maybe I’ll make you take my cock in your ass.” He says, groaning as he wraps his blood-and-cum-covered hand around his cock. He strokes himself once before pausing and spitting into his gloved palm, looking down at you, a sadistic glint in his eyes as he watches a ripple of fear go through you. “Never had one there, have you?” He shakes his head, answering his own question. “Nah, too respectable, aren’t you? You’re not a slut when you bring home another fucking douchebag. You just let ‘em fuck your mouth a bit and then your pussy, right?”

“Randy-”

“No.” He snaps, his face screwing up into a snarl. “Just shut the fuck up, alright? For years I’ve been sitting by, watching asshole after asshole get to touch you, get to flirt and kiss and fuck you. And I sat back like a good friend, like a fucking gentlemen, cleaning up their fucking mess with no reward.” He moans, his hips bucking forwards into his hand. A bead of sweat rolls down his nose, dripping onto the robe. “Fuck that. I might as well have my fun.”

Leaning forwards, he smashes his mouth against yours. He ignores your whimper of pain, the tears that had steadily built up and fallen during his rant. His tongue forces its way past your lips and Randy moans at the feeling of you kissing back. At this point, it didn’t matter to him if you really were enjoying it; what mattered was that he was able to be with you in the way he’s been dreaming of since you had met. 

With one of his hands, he lines his cock up to your entrance, swiping the leaking and swollen tip through your folds as he pulls away from your mouth to straighten up. The both of you let out a noise of pleasure, and he grins, pleased at your lack of fight. It was fun during the chase, but now he was fulfilling a fantasy. “Ready?” He asks, pressing his hips forwards a bit, prodding at your opening. You feel so fucking warm against him that he shudders, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to stop from cumming then and there.

You’re not. You are, actually, but you don’t want to admit it. Sniffling, you shake your head quickly. “N-not yet,” you say, watching his expression soften as he meets your eyes. He bends down again, his pink lips pressing soft kisses along your jaw. His other hand runs along your side, goosebumps raising on the exposed skin in his wake. 

Your eyes close and you imagine yourself in bed with him, comfortable and safe. The warmth underneath you is no longer your own blood, but the heated blanket you had for the winter. The metallic smell a candle, the robe tickling your bare stomach a blanket. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” He murmurs against your cheek, tilting his head back to look at your face. There's a dazed look in your eyes, but when you nod again in confirmation, he grins. “Good girl,” Randy says as he begins to push inside you. “It’ll feel good, I promise.” He dips his head down to kiss you as he pushes past your body's natural resistance, moaning hot into your mouth just as you did. “H-holy fuck!” Randy shudders, his voice cracking as he bottoms out. “S-so fucking tight, and warm, fuck!”

His cock is thicker than any of the guys’ you’ve been with before, stretching and filling you up with every inch he pushes in. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, your head burying into his shoulder. Your side throbs with pain, but you’re able to ignore it and the blood still spilling from the wound, your head growing cloudy. Part of it you can blame on blood loss, on survival, on instinct. The rest of it is purely you. “Fuck, Randy! O-oh my god!” You gasp as he pulls out, the tip of his cock the only thing left in your cunt until he shoves every inch back inside.

Your fingers scramble to grab at his shoulders as he pistons his cock in and out of you when you accidentally dig your finger into his stab wound. “Fuck!” He yells, his movements stalling, and you remove your hand instantly, your heart nearly stopping in fear. Your apologies come quick, nearly incoherent, but he shuts you up with a grin. “Fuck, do that again.” He says, his hips moving again. 

“W-what?”

“Do it again.” Randy repeats, a glimmer in his eye as he grabs your hand, his fingers awkwardly pressing yours into his wound. You grimace at the feeling of your fingertip pressing into the warm and bloody hole. He grunts in pain, his face screwing up into a grimace, but he doesn’t let you pull away and his hips dont stop fucking into you. “F-fuck. Oh god, your pussy is so fucking good.” He moans, pressing your finger in deeper, to the first knuckle. “Jesus Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight. You like this don’t you?” 

Randy grunts, keeping his eyes trained on you, before he pushes your finger into the wound further. The hole is warm and you can feel the flesh throb around your finger. His cock is throbbing inside you, and you’re not sure how much is from your cunt and how much so from this. He yelps in pain again, finally letting your hand go.

It drops back to your chest as his thrusts speed up, his free hand coming down to rub at your clit. “Oh, shit!” You moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Randy, oh my god, I-I’m so fucking close!” Your whimpers only spur him on, his thrusts bordering on painful as his hips snap against your own. Your ankle is still throbbing but you can move it with only a brief moment of sharp pain. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Y/N,” Randy whines, his voice cracking in pleasure. “Been dreaming, shit! Been dreaming of fucking you, god damn, and it’s so much better than I could have imagined.” His head tilts back slightly, eyes closing as his hips begin to sputter. “Come on, cum on my fucking cock, alright? Be a good girl for me, don’t hold back, alright? I want it, fuuuuuck, please? Please let me feel you cum on my dick, Y/N. Don’t you wanna cum one last time, baby?”

His words cut through you in an instant. A choked whimper is all you can manage as you cum, tightening around him and making him shudder. His thrusts are so fucking sloppy now, his mouth hung open and panting, drool building at the corner of his mouth. He hurriedly thanks you, telling you how good your fucking pussy feels, how he’s going to cum inside you and make sure you feel how much he loves it. You can’t focus on anything other than the words ringing in your ears. 

“Don’t you wanna cum one last time, baby?”

He was going to kill you. You knew that; he told you as much. A naive part of you thought that maybe, somehow, he’d fuck you and then decide to let you go. 

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum.” Randy says, his cock throbbing with each thrust. His face is screwed up in concentration, hands digging into the flesh of your thighs. “I’m gonna fucking cum inside you, Y/N!”

You bring your hand up and dig your thumb into his shoulder as far as it can go. 

Randy screams in pain, falling backwards in an attempt to get away from you. You follow him, hovering above him on your knees as he thrashes under you, ignoring your own pain. “FUCK!” He screams, finally shoving you backwards away from him. He sobs, his hand clutching his shoulder, heat traveling up and down his arm. “You stupid fucking bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” 

You don’t waste any time. You’re not even thinking anymore, your body taking over to save itself. You shove your pants and underwear back up, tugging your bra back down over your tits as you stumble to the steps. The sharp pain in your ankle is back tenfold, nearly blinding you, but the sound of Randy struggling to his feet keeps you going. 

Clutching the handrail, you drag your body down to the steps. You’re sweating, cold and hot all at once, the wound on your side steadily dripping blood down your thigh. “Get the fuck back here!” He’s at the top of the steps as you reach the bottom, hauling ass to the front door. 

Everything hurts. You aren’t sure if you’re even breathing as you struggle down the hallway, grabbing onto the wall to drag your body to safety. Every step you take knocks the fucking wind out of you, spots in your vision, but the adrenaline is keeping you going. You had a chance and your body knew it. 

Randy is thundering down the steps, his cock straining against his unbuttoned jeans. Not only had you hurt him, you had denied him the one thing he wanted from you. “You fucking bitch,” he screams, spit flying from his lips. He reaches the bottom of the steps and turns, watching as you reach the front door, grabbing your keys from the dish. You look backwards and spot him, knife in hand, his teeth gnashing in annoyance. “I’ll fucking gut you for this.” He shouts as you unlock the door and stumble outside and off the porch, straight into the arms of campus police.

“Jesus!” The uniformed man grunts, catching you in his arms. “Are you alright, miss? We got calls about some screams.” He peers down at you, moving his hand and seeing it covered in your blood. He curses, grabbing his walkie talkie and calling for backup. You’re sobbing still, heart thumping and beating at your ribs, shivering against him. It was cold, and the heat from your wound only seemed to spread when Randy was on top of you. “Miss,” he says, repeating it a few times until you finally lift your head to look at him. “A few more officers are coming out to help, but I need to know what happened, okay? Who did this to you?”

You turn to look back at your house, staring through the opened living room door. Nothing. Randy was gone. You can see the open back door further down the lit hall, the breeze making the drawn shade move gently. He was gone, but he’d be back. You turn to look back at the cop, your breathing uneven, and you blink.

“Ghostface.”

[epickiya722]

You know what the reactions to the epilogues to JJK and MHA taught me?

That certain cues that people who clearly feel some kind of way about certain ships can only be romantic for their ships and their ships only and said cues are only "romantic" for them and they get off feeling "right" and actually just enjoying whatever they have.

I'll explain.

There was a time that a ship had to be canon if they kissed or got married onscreen. If not that, them being canon will be stated by the actual creator themselves.

Regardless, that wouldn't stop shippers of shipping who they wanted because, at least for some of us, shipping is fun. It should be.

Shipping stemmed from characters, regardless of gender, having intense moments, or acting a certain way around another character they wouldn't with others, and sometimes even their character designs and traits will tie into another character's.

Those kind of things is what some would say a ship is implied. It could be canon, it could not be.

Implied, I say, because at the end of the day the creator didn't confirm anything and even still said cues like that can be seen as romantic or platonic.

But this also those same cues don't have to mean anything. They could just be mere coincidences because hey, sometimes the creator doesn't keep track with everything when creating characters and writing stories. (I would know.)

"Implied" cues don't just stop for same gender ships. This goes for different gender ships, too.

I'll say it, I feel like nowadays, people confuse "implied" with "canon".

Oh, yes, MHA and JJK fandoms, I am saying those ships to me feel more implied because of the openness of them.

See, what's funny to me is I have seen people say a certain green haired MC with freckles blushing at any other time will mean nothing with other characters, but with a certain pink themed space girl and I'm not talking Ashido it means something romantic.

That is entirely unfair to me. So it's only romantic for just you and your ship, but not it can't for any other ship and someone else? Why do you get to dictate that?

Personally, I see blushing as just a physical reaction with multiple meanings. It's the meanings of that blushing that may get me to go "Oh, see how he/she/they are around this character". But at the end of the day, that doesn't mean for me my ship is canon because no matter it's status, if I like it and it's my preference, I'm shipping it.

"They held hands!"

So did green boy and boom boom boy and y'all didn't say they were anon! So did green boy and glasses class president! Does that mean they're canon? Trying to figure out why holding hands can mean your ship is canon, but not for other ships.

"They got married at the end and had kids!"

First off, grandkids. Not kids. We don't know how many kids that sword-wielding, don't get no sleep, wore skinny jeans and high tops guy had. We just know he had at least one kid to who then had children of their own.

Second, if that was canon, I'm sure the mangaka would have mentioned the grandmother. But we didn't even get a hint.

"But the grandson looks like---"

Ah! But who said it was through the grandmother though? Couldn't the kid's mom or father been a distant relative to that family? Or even there just happen to have been someone unrelated to that family, but happens to have similar physical features?

"Can't believe the mangaka would betray us like this."

But how? Did our pink haired MC expressed romantic feelings at all for her? No. Not even in the middle school flashback.

Honestly, it's gotten to the point that whenever someone says a ship is "canon" regardless if they hate it or not, it's annoying.

Over the past few months I have felt nothing but disappointment. Not surprised by anything, but felt disappointment.

"Implied" is a word that does exist. And "canon" shouldn't stop you from having fun with your ships.

And people, just because your ship is "canon" doesn't mean you have to act like a complete asshole to others. You just look like disgusting, frankly. And you don't look happy.

See someone who is happy about their ship wouldn't harass and laugh at people. They would just rejoice and post cute little edits and art and whatnot.

You harassing someone like "Ha ha, my ship is canon and yours is not" is you being childish and feeling insecure about your ship. You had that fear of your ship being canon when whether or not it was you should have just enjoyed it. You harassing someone is just you being more satisfied being right than the actual ship itself.

[write-it-like-disaster]

I wouldn’t say that I’m old exactly, but I will say that I’m probably quite a bit older than the average tumblr user, so my fan fiction experience is a bit different.

I come from a time (“it’s been 84 years…”) when there was very little LGBTQIA+ representation in media, and the characters that were around tended to be minor, with limited background and development (I sure did love Maggie Doyle, though. Can I get an ‘amen’?). The gayest thing on TV up through my high school years was probably Will & Grace and Tara and Willow from Buffy.

Like, seriously, that was it. The L Word didn’t even come out til my second year of college. And it wasn’t until after the Clexa debacle that media eased up on the ‘bury your gays’ trope and we finally started to get lasting, fully developed queer characters.

So, what I’m saying is, is that for a very very long time queer folk especially had to create their own content, based off of subtext and lots of imagination. And even then, there wasn’t an amazing database to go to, to pull up whatever pairing for whatever show you wanted. It took some digging. I remember logging on to the AOL (dial up mind you) and somehow stumbling across a Spice Girls vampire AU fic on someone’s personal website when I was in middle school and just being COMPLETELY OBSESSED with it, scouring the internet for Buffy/Faith and Maggie Doyle fanfic, consuming everything I could find. And this made me feel normal and not so alone, because I knew there were other people out there reading this stuff too.

I wrote fanfic when I was in high school, but never even considered sharing it, too afraid I’d be found out somehow by people in real life but also because I didn’t think my writing was good enough for others to read. I couldn’t even fathom that anyone would want to read my gay little stories (though I have to say, several of them were probably better than some of the stuff I’ve written as an adult). And then I just stopped. Life got busy and fanfic just wasn’t an outlet that I had time for.

I didn’t start to consistently read or write fanfic again til a couple of years ago (so that’s a 20+ year gap, yikes) but it’s been awesome to have that sense of community and belonging again. And this time around I felt comfortable enough to actually share my work with others, it’s been so nice, especially hearing that something I wrote resonated with a reader or gave them goosebumps or just impacted them in some way. I never thought my writing would be able to do that!

So, knowing how much it can mean to an author and how much work goes into writing a fic, I always try to leave positive comments on works I read and like. I guess because I don’t take it for granted, having all these amazing stories at my fingertips, and I’m incredibly grateful.

What does fanfiction mean to you?

I'm asking this question because today I came across some ugly, mean-spirited, catty behavior towards a fic author that I haven't seen in a very, very long time, and I think it's important we discuss it as a community.

Y'all know how long I've been doing this? Fanfiction, that is.

Eighteen years.

I've posted across different platforms, on different handles, in different ways for a long, long time. More than half of my life at this point, from fourteen years old.

Fanfiction is how I personally engage with fandom the most. It's THE most important thing to me, frankly, because it is the common thread between each and every single fandom I have ever participated in.

It's self-expression to me. Folk art. Collaborative and fun. I truly hope that most people who engage in fanfiction learn what it is to beta for someone even if you don't write yourself. It can be a fantastic experience in and of itself. Being the backboard to someone else's ideas, watching as they take genuine joy out of spinning a story together to put onto the page, seeing it come to life before anyone else and feeling almost as proud as the author themselves after they finally post it.

It's ultimately why I decided to make this post far more positive and productive than the angry, grumpy, blood boiling rant that I initially was churning over in my mind after the horrible posts I saw earlier.

I'll detail them here purely for context because I think it's important to recognize toxic fandom behavior when we see it. And speak out when we stumble across it.

The first post lauded itself as an 'honest review' of a popular fanfiction in a community I am a part of. That honest review was nothing more than a pop-critique filled with a sort of catty, snarky write up that is so popular nowadays online purely to gain clout more than to act as actual, constructive criticism. It was unnecessary and acted as though the fanfiction author was a professional, New York Times Bestseller rather than someone devoting hours of their free time and effort into a hobby that is ultimately meant to be fun and pleasant.

The second post by the same person claimed that their friend had challenged them to write their own version of the premise of this fanfiction under a read more cut. It spent some time applying a thin veneer of so-called respect to the original author, but was merely nothing more than contempt really. I simply fail to see the need to ever do this while publicly attaching an author's name and work title and arrogantly parade your own work as superior to their own. Why tear down someone else?

I pushed back against them directly on this post, they took it down, but not before childishly trying to excuse their actions and claiming that 'if someone is publicly posting, then they should be able to handle vocal criticism.'

But you know what? One, what that person was doing was not constructive criticism. I think back to the beta session I had with a friend right after this incident and I think to myself, how sad must it be that this is what this person thinks is valuable criticism. That this is the way they chose to engage with the fanfiction community and thought they were in the right to do so.

Two, and perhaps even more importantly, people are accountable for the things that they post. The things that they say. It would have cost this person nothing to never make those posts in the first place. To never risk an author coming across a mean-spirited and malicious teardown of the work they put hours into and risk harming their self-esteem, mental health, or confidence in their own writing.

Because we do not know who these people are behind their handles. We do not know if they're new to writing. If they are experienced but going through a tough time. There are real people who write the content you choose to consume.

Fanfiction is a collaborative process. Writers provide the free content, and it is the reader's responsibility to know when their input would be valuable.

Is what you have to say helpful? Is it kind? Is it necessary?

If the feedback you want to provide does not hit at least two of those things, what you have to say does not matter. Period.

And I daresay that in the vast majority of cases, kindness should be considered mandatory out of the three.

In return, writers will often throw in ideas they've read out of reviews, they'll reach out to their most ardent followers for things like beta-ing or joining a discord server nowadays. There's always been a give and take in this community.

Fanfiction is a cornerstone of fandom for a reason. And it is particularly important in the queer community, going all the way back to actual physical magazines in which people mailed in their KirkxSpock fic decades ago. Over time we've experimented on the process, moved to countless different platforms, survived collapses of all sorts of communities, only to rally over and over again around each other to be able to tell the tales we wanted to see but were not getting as queer folk amongst mainstream media.

And in that time, it's been long agreed on in this space that you do not tear down another writer to build yourself up. Ever. Period. This has long been the only thing in fanfiction that has been aggressively policed, called out, and nipped in the bud when experienced members of this community come across it.

It will not be tolerated.

I shouldn't have to make this post, but I suppose this is the changing of the guard, so to speak. We have a new generation of fic writers and readers coming into the space daily and while so many of you are wonderful, creative, and welcomed members of this space that has been here long before me or anyone of my age, there are some who do not know how to act in the fanfiction community.

And it is up to us to make it clear in no uncertain terms that they will need to either get with program or be pushed out.

To become the best version of yourself as a writer requires hours of work, of posting again and again, of experimentation, of putting hints of your own life and experiences onto the page. The vast majority of us will never be published, and that's just fine for most of us. We engage in this hobby because of how joyful it can be to write something dear to our hearts, share it with the world, and be validated that others enjoyed the work that we put in.

Frankly, readers will always owe it to us to respect that process and work. To be respectful and kind when interacting with authors. Constructive criticism can be welcomed but perhaps ask if the author is open to it and do not take it personally if they are not. And if they are, then learn how to give it with the writer's best interest in mind rather than your own ego.

I don't ordinarily request reblogs to my posts, I rant into the void and it doesn't matter to me if anyone really interacts on an ordinary day lol. But today, I want to ask that people share this message out in your fandoms, because I will be tagging it in the fandoms I interacted in, both past and present. Because fanfiction is a common thread that unites so many of us, and I think this is an important reminder on how we need to be respectful and kind to one another in this space.

If you feel comfortable, I would also love to hear how fanfiction is important to you. How you got into it. Why you love to either read, write, or beta it.

This is hobby that is meant to be fun, so let's have fun.