#anyway hi dropping off some art for a fic I love

[vriah]

Fuckboi Dream Was Forced To Experience The Mortifying Ordeal Of Being Alive And All He Got Was This Stupid Husband (by Fall Out Boy) by @dancinbutterfly

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+  ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off. 

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all. 

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it. 

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married. 

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags. 

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding. 

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times. 

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying. 

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance. 

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold. 

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income. 

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me? 

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.” 

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.” 

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you. 

“Yes, my lady?” 

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?” 

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps. 

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you? 

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness. 

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing. 

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home. 

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come. 

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly. 

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning. 

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags. 

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle. 

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and- 

“Do you like them?” 

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie. 

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him. 

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained? 

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.” 

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.” 

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.” 

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling. 

“Of course… Satoru.” 

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet. 

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies. 

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever… 

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.” 

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming? 

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.” 

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue. 

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?” 

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks. 

“Not tonight.” 

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch. 

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence. 

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone. 

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened. 

~  

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed? 

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense. 

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person. 

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all. 

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking. 

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver. 

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.” 

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.” 

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

~

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains. 

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in. 

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you. 

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again. 

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse. 

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas. 

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume. 

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.” 

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” 

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin. 

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.” 

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?” 

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.” 

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room. 

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough. 

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue. 

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.” 

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?” 

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?” 

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight? 

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you? 

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse. 

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone. 

~

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon. 

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare. 

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

~

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge. 

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

~

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he? 

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you. 

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right? 

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there. 

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”. 

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye. 

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.” 

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further. 

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages. 

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph. 

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe? 

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.” 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second. 

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.” 

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening. 

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.” 

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible. 

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru. 

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows. 

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense. 

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?” 

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.” 

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you. 

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further. 

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…” 

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you. 

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does. 

“About the estate?” he asks. 

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?” 

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.” 

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.” 

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-” 

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why. 

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him. 

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…” 

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch. 

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine? 

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?” 

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real. 

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point. 

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper. 

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in. 

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.” 

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him. 

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?” 

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.” 

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.” 

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight. 

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago. 

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?” 

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?” 

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be. 

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?” 

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe. 

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.” 

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?” 

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone. 

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin. 

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt. 

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.” 

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has. 

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less. 

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning. 

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long. 

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s 

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked. 

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity- 

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re– 

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature. 

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.” 

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper. 

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” 

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust. 

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb. 

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.” 

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?” 

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer. 

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?” 

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.” 

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod. 

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth– 

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing? 

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @keiva1000

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[vanillesuiker]

A mind blowing job (Percy Weasley/fem reader)

Tags: smut, blowjobs, lingerie, overworked Percy Weasley and just general deviousness >:)

A/N: hehe freaky. This was written for my oc, but I edited for an x reader experience. So it might not be the most neutral, but I tried!

Also, some Freaky art drawn by the lovely @bastaardsuiker !! It's not very... risque. So hopefully tumblr won't kill me idk how this works.

This is my first time posting fic on Tumblr (HI!), so if there's something I could do differently in terms of formatting and stuff, please tell me!

Alright now get freaky!

｡ ₊°༺ ☾✶༻°₊ ｡

“I'm almost done, I promise.”

She sighed, staring at the ceiling. Laying in Percy's bed all day while he sat at his desk working on reports for the ministry wasn't exactly what she had planned for today. He was supposed to have a day off, and it was just perfect timing, she just picked up a custom order from a little shop in Diagon Alley. She had planned to change into it quickly when he was clearing his desk up, but at this point it was hard to tell if he would ever get to that.

Instead of showing him what she bought (and hopefully enjoying how much he liked it), she had spent the day helping Molly clean the chicken coop, sitting at a garden table gossiping with Bill and Charlie, and listening in fascination with Arthur to Harry talking about mundane muggle things. And all this time, Percy was just writing away in his room.

The sound of his quill scratching against the parchment was like nails on chalkboard, his quiet muttering while he wrote becoming increasingly frustrating. She felt like a ghost, he seemed to barely notice she was there. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. A devious little idea.

She'd just have to make him remember she was here.

Without trying to be quiet (he wouldn't look anyway, clearly a report on who the responsibility of owl dropping falls to when owls deliver post was more important), she got off the bed, grabbing the brown paper package. Inside was a bundle of dark purple lace, with black ribbons and trims. 

Semi hidden behind a tall, crooked wardrobe, she changed out of her jeans (a new addition that her friends had insisted she looked good in) and Percy's jumper, slipping on the purple dress. It was short, cinching right under her breasts and flowing out from there, and almost completely see through.

She sneaks up behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders. He barely reacts, his quill pausing for only a split second before he continues writing. She leans over, head resting on his shoulder as her hands trail down across his chest. Now he freezes, ink dripping from the quill.

“Almost done?” She whispers, kissing right under his jaw.

“... Almost, I promise.”

She groans, moving her hands back to massage his shoulders. He sighs in response, dropping his quill.

“I've promised that a lot today, haven't I?” Percy mumbles, closing his eyes and letting his head tip back. He looked tired, exhausted even, and suddenly she wasn't angry at him.

Well, maybe a little bit angry at him. But mostly at the ministry, for overworking him so much.

The bags under his eyes were noticeable, his shoulders were so tense, his hair was messy and he somehow still looked so good. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, earning a soft smile from him.

“It was supposed to be your day off today, remember?” Her hands drop from his shoulders again, shamelessly feeling his chest through his dress shirt. “I had plans, Percy.”

He opened his eyes at that, his look of confusion quickly turning into disappointment at himself when he caught just a glimpse of the purple fabric.

“Is that new?”

“Yes, I told you I got something new.” She walks around the chair, and he instinctively pushes it back, making space for her.

“Looks good.” He wanted to hit himself for being so plain about it, but his brain was just fried. She sat down in his lap, straddling him with her hands interlocked behind his neck as she pressed kisses along his jawline.

“You should take a break.” She whispered in his ear, popping one of the buttons of his shirt open. It breaks him, and he finally kisses her.

It's so desperate, from the way he kisses her to the way his hands cling onto her. The entire time he was working, he was so focused on that stupid report that he didn't even realise how tired he was, let alone how badly he needed this. But as soon as her hands made contact with his shoulders, he suddenly couldn't think of anything else.

She opens another button, and then another, kissing down from his jaw to his neck, leaving a trail of red marks down to his chest. Manicured nails rake across his back and he just can't stand it anymore.

With the strength that only desperate Percy has, he picked her up, accidentally knocking against the desk. Something falls over, but he doesn't care, too focused on getting them both to his bed, her giggles muffled by his kiss.

On the bed, she quickly climbs back on top of him, unbuttoning the last buttons of his shirt. Sitting up on her knees, her eyes trail across his body, seemingly not satisfied with the buttons she hadn't undone yet. Before he realised what she was doing, the button of his trousers was popped open, completing her collection.

“Wait…” He whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You don't have to do anything, I was kind of a dick today.”

“My love is unconditional, Percy.” She said proudly, tugging at his pants. “And I want to do this, now lift your hips before I Evanesco these.”

Who was he to refuse that?

All he could do was lay there, watching as she kissed up his thigh, and he almost vanished his boxers himself with how long she was taking. She finally pulled them down, and he was quick to lift his hips again.

For a moment, she just stared at him, hands gripping his thighs. He wasn't sure if he wanted to look away, slightly embarrassed at how easily he got excited by her, but the look on her face was one he'd think about for months from now.

She wraps one hand around him, slowly stroking him while the other hand slid underneath his tank top. His eyes screw shut, giving her the perfect opportunity to take him into her mouth.

He jolts up, hands digging into the mattress as she slowly bobbed her head up and down. His breathing is ragged and his face is completely flushed, the hickeys she sucked into his neck already starting to colour purple. A whimper escapes his lips when she swirls her tongue right around his tip.

She looks at him, a sparkle in her eyes that he knew too well at this point, and slaps a hand over his mouth as she speeds up. A warm hand pushes his hips firmly against the mattress, the other wrapped around him tightly.

“Fuck…” Percy hisses, tilting his head back. “...I don't think I'll… I won't last much longer…”

She only seems to take his warning as a sign to do more, hollowing her cheeks out as she sucks harder. He's already a moaning, sweaty mess, propped up on one elbow as every curse word he ever held in fell from his lips.

His hips struggle against her hand and his teeth dig into his lip as he tries to stop himself from alerting the entire house of his orgasm. He half expects her to pull away, but she just takes as much of him in as possible, continuing to suck him off until he collapsed onto the bed, weakly tugging at her hair to get her mouth off him.

“Please don't stop, I'm so- fuck, I love you, just don't stop, just-”

With what little strength he has left, he glances at her. Her hair is messed up, one of the straps of her dress hangs off her shoulder, and her lips are red and puffy, something white dripping down from her bottom lip.

“Merlin, I think you've killed me.” Percy mumbles, summoning a cup of water from his desk to her with a lazy wave of his wand.

He lays on his bed motionless, too overstimulated to notice the people outside of his room until the door swings open.

“Guys, mum says we're gonna have dinner outsi- Oh my God that's disgusting!” George makes a grossed out face, turning away from half naked Percy and the literal cum dripping from her mouth.

“I'm so telling mum!” Fred stands in the doorway for just a second longer before slamming the door shut and running down the stairs.

“I wish you could've actually killed me.” Percy groans.

She swishes some water around in her mouth, making a grossed out face when she swallows.

“Yuck, you need to drink less coffee.” She sticks her tongue out, setting the cup down. “And your mum is absolutely going to kill us when the fucking chastity squad reports us.”

Percy chuckles a little, too fucked out to really process the consequences. She lays down next to him, nuzzling her face into his neck. It's a peaceful moment, almost picture perfect if it wasn't for the messed up bed and Percy’s pants on the floor. The cracked open window lets in the calm sounds of the countryside, like the wind rustling the grass and the yells of his brothers who just heard what the twins walked into.

“They were doing WHAT?”

[slowdrawl]

Shear Luck | joel miller x f!reader | {18+ minors DNI} [masterlist]

{TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!}

|part 5| You Better Shape Up | 3.4k words|

Joel Miller, a single dad, came into your salon for a haircut, but he never expected to leave with a crush. Sarah's alive, tension's are high, the jokes are bad and the chemistry is crazy!

Fluff ?✔️ Slow burn? ✔️ Age gap? ✔️ Puns? ✔️

sprinkle in a little bit of smut 🔥 and dbf!joel energy and BOOM. You got this sweet-feel good fic.

“It’s not just about the sex. Not about haircuts and humour. No, not anymore. This is real, breathing, something taking root." |A/N I want to thank you all for the love you've shown for this fic and these characters. this chapter is going to be where we let them rest for a while, not forever; I truly love them together so I won't be able to give them up but... I do have some other stories to work through. love uuuuu

Warnings: more at the end of the fic. SMUT, explicit language, alcohol use, flirting, fluff, puns, age gap (Joel's 38, reader's 23). the knee thing, alcohol use, YEARNING, unprotected sex, spanking.

You both finish your second glass of wine.

Joel twists and sets the guitar down again, scooting his chair closer a little to you. You lift your legs and drape them across his lap, he starts rubbing soft, languid strokes up and down your shins, you just sit there for a while, comfortable, watching the fire flicker, letting the subtle buzz settle into your chest.

He pulls your legs off his lap, swinging them to the ground, “I lied, one more thing. Dessert,” You watch as he opens the back door and heads towards the kitchen, “wait here, be right back.” You hear him clattering around in there for a bit, when he comes back he’s holding a pie in one hand, and a pint of vanilla ice cream in the other, just two forks—no plates in sight.

He places the pie down in front of you, it’s some kinda mixed berry, and the pastry draped over the top of it looks a lot more like a Rorschach blob than it does lattice. “You get this from a blind baker or somethin?” you say, holding back a laugh.

“Sarah, actually. I’ll be sure to tell her you were impressed, jerk.”

You scrunch your face, instant regret, “You know what, I deserve that. I feel like an asshole.” you say, shaking your head, looking down with your forefinger and thumb pressed against the bridge of your nose.

Joel smiles and starts to laugh, “S’okay darlin’ she said that it was like edible art.”

You let your shoulders relax, Joel picks up a fork and breaks into the middle of the pie like an absolute animal, you look up at him slack-jaw, astonished. “Who the fuck does tha—” He cuts you off, shoving the fork into your mouth, he’s giggling with that stupid smirk on his face. “Where is she anyway?” you ask, mouth still full.

“Tommy’s got her for the nigh—Taco Tuesday.”

You hum, grabbing the tub of ice cream and scooping some out, dropping it right in the middle of the pie before grabbing the other fork.

“She could open a bakery, this shit is good!”

You sit and eat the pie, talking about anything and nothing for a while, any silence filled by crickets and the distant hum of traffic. It’s still so easy, comfortable. It’s probably nearing 9 now and you don’t want the night to end. You make your way back into the house, flopping down on the couch leaning against him. Joel picks up the remote and starts scrolling through movie titles, “You ever watch Grease?”

“Uh, maybe when I was younger, not sure.” You squint, pulling out your phone. “Let’s check it out shall we?” You google it, scrolling. “No way, you’re telling me people believed these grown-ass adults were teenagers in this movie? John Travolta must’ve been, like, what…Your age here?!”

“You’re a pain in my ass.” Joel huffs, “Olivia Newton-John was my first celebrity crush, thank you very much.”

“I can’t believe you’re suggesting we watch a musical, didn’t think you were the type, I imagined more..Top Gun, or old westerns,” You lean closer, smirking. “Startin’ to think you’re just tryin’ to Netflix and chill me, Mr. Miller.”

“There somethin’ wrong with that?” He looks confused, brow furrowed.

“No fuckin’ way—you really are an old man.”

He just stares back at you, face blank.

“Sex—it’s code for sex Joel.”

“Oh, we could do that too, f’you want, I don’t usually put out on the first date, bu—”

You crawl into his lap, straddling him, ending his sentence with your mouth on his. His hands grip into your sides hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer. He slips his hands under your dress, callouses meeting your bare thighs as he kisses you, hungry and desperate. He slides his tongue into your mouth, he tastes like wine and berries. You nip at his lower lip just to hear him groan, low, rumbling, vibrating through you. It doesn’t take long before you feel him stiffen, and you roll your hips, slow and teasing, smirking against his lips.“How you holdin’ up old man? Past your bedtime yet?”

He looks at you, eyes flashing dark, narrowing, that dimple twitching like he’s fighting back a grin.

Yup, got him.

His breath is hot against your skin as he growls, “Call me old one more fuckin’ time—I dare you,” into your neck before biting at the pulse point there. His hands continue to explore your body, one spreading out across your lower back as he matches the way you’re rocking against him, chasing friction. You laugh, taunting and tipping your head back as he trails kisses down to your collar. He slides his hand to the crease of your thigh, finding the hem of your underwear, barely slipping a finger under the fabric and you moan softly, the contact and anticipation sparking low and sharp.

You look down at him, defiant—pushing him just a little further. “Just don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He replies by biting down harder against your throat. You gasp, grinning at him, the sting of his bite pulsing hot on your neck. Then he shifts, fast; flipping your positions so you’re pinned under him, your back hitting the cushions with a thud. Joel looms over you, one hand braced on the couch's armrest, caging you in, his knee wedged between your thighs, pressing just enough to make you squirm.

Your dress is still around your waist, skirt flipped up, bare skin brushing his jeans as he gets closer, you feel him—harder now, thick and heavy through the denim, sending your pulse racing. "That all you got?" you taunt, voice low and teasing, your lips grazing his jaw as you nip at his stubble. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, pressing hard against your center, causing you to jolt and buck your hips into his knee. Needy and pathetic. It sparks something in him, something nearly sinister flashes over his face.

“Not quite, baby, but it’s about all I’m gonna give ya till you smarten up.” He grins down at you, mean and smug, “Go on then, take what you want.” He taunts you, voice dead serious, eyes glinting with a challenge.

Joel leans in close, his breath hot against your ear, “Ain’t gonna do it for ya, darlin’. You’re gonna work for it,” his voice a low, commanding rumble as he hovers over you, pinning you with his weight. His knee stays firm between your thighs, denim rough against your skin. He locks eyes with you, a smirk tugging at his lips as he dares you to move, his hand grips the armrest, keeping you boxed in. He doesn’t budge an inch, just stares down with that cheeky glint, forcing you to take over while his presence smothers you, heavy and unyielding. “Gonna make me do all the work?” you say, smirking up at him.

“C’mon, sweetheart—show me what you’ve got. Don’t get shy on me now,” he says, voice thick with control and a hint of tease. He grabs your hips to drag them once against him before letting go, making you do it yourself. You hesitate, a soft whine slipping out as you try to shift away, but he presses his knee harder, holding you still. “Oh, don’t pout now, you’re too damn cute when you’re tryin’ so hard,” he murmurs, his tone patronizing but warm, leaning back just enough to watch, steadying himself on his knees now. He rests his hands light on your thighs, making you do it yourself while he savors the show.

You grit your teeth, defiance flickering, and start to rock your hips upward, reluctant at first, but the friction builds quick, soon you’re grinding harder, needy and whining despite yourself. “Worth it yet, or you still watching?” you gasp, voice trembling, hands clutching his shirt for leverage. He chuckles, low and pleased, his gaze dark, proud. “That’s it, baby—fuckin’ gorgeous like this, bein’ so good f’me,” he says, voice softening with praise as you unravel, trembling and desperate. “Knew I’d be able sort out that attitude of yours,”

He quickly brings down his free hand and splays it across your lower stomach, forceful enough to pin you into place to stop the movement. You whine in protest, trying to reach your head up to his mouth, he just leans back further away as a low laugh leaves his chest as he starts to slowly drop toward you “Not so tough now huh?.” He juts out his lower lip, pouting at you, smug, cooing “ fallin’ apart and I haven’t even touched you yet.” He punctuates every word of the last sentence with a kiss, following an invisible line down your sternum. “Don’t flatter yourself old—“ “What did I fuckin’ say bout callin’ me old” He snarls, “That’s it.” He yanks you upright, cutting your sentence off as he jumps to his feet. Before you’re able to process anything, let alone protest he’s picking you up like you’re weightless, hoisting you over his shoulder in a fuckin’ fireman carry. “Joel!” leaves your lips, in a half-laugh half-shout, you’re hitting him on the back and kicking your feet as he moves you through the living room into a dark hallway. Your dress is still around your waist, skirt flipped up, cool air hitting your barely clothed lower half. The house becomes a blur of drywall and flannel.

“Gonna have you screamin’ so loud the cops get called, you little fuckin brat.” He growls as he places a firm smack on your ass—hard enough to leave a welt, the sound echoing in the hall, sending heat straight to your core. He kicks his bedroom door open, stomping over to the bed and suddenly you’re airborne for a moment hitting the mattress, springs creaking as you bounce. You’re sprawled out, breathless and laughing, dress bunched up around your hips.

He’s shedding layers fast, trusty flannel tossed on the ground behind him.

You lift yourself up onto your arms and watch as he tugs his t-shirt over his head, exposing his chest, strong and broad, your eyes fall to the sparse dark hair trailing down his stomach. You move forward reaching for his belt buckle eagerly, but he stops you, one hand gripping both of your wrists, throwing you back down on the bed; pinning your arms in place above your head.

“Nu-uh, you’re gonna keep your hands to yourself till’ I say you can touch,” he says, voice dark and gravely, pressing his weight down onto you. He starts to pepper open-mouth kisses down your chest again, breath hitching when reaches your breast, his hot mouth pauses overtop of the cotton of your dress before biting down gently—still enough to sting, forcing a whine out of you.

“Joel—fuck, please.”

“Oh so now you got manners?” He drawls, sarcasm thick. He shoves your dress up to your chest, leaving you exposed, he hooks into your panties pulling them down rough. His mouth crashes onto yours, fervent and dirty, tongue claiming you as he tastes the remnants of your earlier kiss—salt, wine, you, all mixed into something filthy and intoxicating. He pulls back, finally releasing your wrists, only to grip your thighs, bringing you down towards him as he settles between you on his knees. His jeans are long gone now, you watch as he pulls his boxers down, his cock springing free. Your eyes go wide and your breath catches in your throat, you knew he was big but now, in all of its glory, it’s honestly a bit fuckin’ intimidating. His cock is heavy and leaking, he moves forward, leaning closer to drag himself through your slick folds, teasing your entrance till you’re writhing, whining for it, dress still twisted under you like a rope.

“Please—need you” you plead, hips lifting, voice breaking, and he chuckles, low and mean, eyes locked on yours as he presses the tip against you, just enough to make you ache. “Beggin’ now huh? Thought you were tough,” he says, voice faltering as you both let out a breathy moan when he finally pushes forward. He leans into you, moving down, sinking in slow, inch by agonizing inch, stretching you so full it’s almost too much, burning just right. He pauses when he’s buried, letting you feel him—thick, pulsing, pinning you to the mattress, his weight heavy and unyielding.

He pulls out nearly all the way, dragging slow so you feel every ridge, every vein, then slams back in, hard, knocking a cry from your throat. He sets a brutal, deliberate pace—slow, torturous drags out, rough, claiming thrusts in, possessive as hell, every move calculated to unravel you piece by piece. His hands grip your hips, tilting you up so he hits that spot every damn time, relentless, grunting with each snap of his hips, sweat beading on his brow, dripping onto your chest, mixing with the sheen already coating your skin. Your legs shake, nails clawing at his back, leaving red trails he’ll certainly feel later—a reminder. Your moans turn to screams, high, broken, raw chants of his name. You’re dizzy, vision getting dark at the edges as he pushes you higher, higher, ruining you with every slow, punishing stroke.

“I’m gonna—fuck Joel, I’m gonna come,” you manage to choke out, the coil in your belly desperately close to snapping.

He gets close to you, breath hot and ragged against your ear, stubble scraping your jaw as he nips at the soft skin there, sucking hard. “Let go f’me then—let me have it baby,” he says, pace picking up just enough to hold you on the edge, hips slamming hard, skin slapping skin, the wet, obscene sound filling the room. You’re a mess. Body trembling, thighs quaking, voice cracking as you practically sob his name like it’s the only word you know. The coil snaps.

Heat. Waves. No breath. No control.

You’re shaking. Sobbing. Oversensitive. Wanting more He keeps going, dragging it out, each thrust pulling more from you till you’re whimpering, wrecked, clinging to him. “Can’t talk back when you’re screamin’ like this huh?’” he groans, drawl out in full swing. You try to respond but he’s right, a pathetic whine escaping when you open your mouth. He grins, smug as fuck, hips still rocking slow, savoring every twitch of your body around him. “So pretty, takin’ me so good’” he praises, voice syrupy, hands sliding up to your thighs, spreading them even wider, giving him more room to work, his thumb finds your clit, rubbing merciless circles. He pulls out slow again, so slow you feel every inch of him leaving, your body clenching involuntarily to keep him, and he groans as sinks back in, like he’s claiming every last piece of you.

His thrusts are deliberate and punishing. A heavy, measured grind, his hips rolling hard against yours, pressing himself as far as he can go, stretching you till you’re whimpering, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming. His breath’s gone ragged now, chest heaving, sweat glistening as he leans down, forehead pressing to yours, eyes locked on you, dark and wild. “Fuck—where do you want me” he rasps, voice breaking, his cock pulsing inside you, stretching you past your limit. Your nails dig into his shoulders, gasping, and he groans louder, a raw, desperate sound, his control fraying at the edges. You’re already embarrassingly close to coming again, warmth pooling low in your belly.

“Inside. Please, Joel—cum in me,” you beg, lifting to meet him, urging him on, needing it, needing him. His breath catches, and his hands grip tighter, bruising as he moans, undone by your words.

“Say it again,” he rasps, voice thick with need as he teeters on the edge. “Please—cum in me Joel, I want it,” you whimper, voice breaking, hands clawing at his back, pulling him closer, and that snaps him. He groans—loud, guttural, a sound that rips through him. His hips slam hard one last time, burying himself so deep it knocks the air from your lungs, you’re seeing stars as your orgasm crashes through you. He spills hot and thick inside you, a long, shuddering release, pulsing wave after wave, his body shaking as he grinds against you, claiming you completely.

He collapses half-on you, chest heaving, breath ragged against your neck, one hand still gripping your thigh like he’s not letting go, the other braced on the mattress to keep from crushing you. He stays there, buried, softening inside you, breath hitching as the last shudders fade. “Fuck—still think I’m an old man?” His voice is hoarse and spent, lips brushing your ear as he grins, sated. You’re a puddle—dress twisted, skin slick, heart racing—giggling through the haze, too ruined to answer. Sleep threatens to pull you under, tangled in his heat, the weight of him grounding you.

“Stay put,” he murmurs, voice soft now, pressing a kiss to your temple before sliding off the bed. You’re still catching your breath, body limp and buzzing, as he moves to the bathroom. He’s back in seconds, a damp washcloth in hand, kneeling beside you. “C’mere,” he says, gentle but firm, nudging your thighs apart again. You whimper, oversensitive, but he’s careful—warm cloth soothing the raw ache between your legs, cleaning up the mess he made with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. His hands linger, soft on your skin, tracing your thighs as he works, eyes flicking up to yours with a quiet intensity.

He tosses the cloth aside, climbing back onto the bed, pulling you into his chest without a word. His arm wraps heavy around your waist, pinning you against him, his heat grounding you. “You doin’ alright?” he mumbles, voice low and rough, lips brushing your hair as he tucks your head under his chin. You nod, giggling softly, too wrecked to form words, and he chuckles—a deep, warm sound. His hand slide up your back, rubbing circles that melt the last of your tension. “Fuckin’ brat,” he whispers, affectionate now, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

“Sleep,” he says, voice a quiet command, his breath evening out as he holds you close, one hand resting possessively on your hip. You’re already drifting, tangled in his warmth, the steady thud of his heartbeat pulling you under fast, safe and sated in a way you didn’t expect.

You wake to your alarm, sunlight streaming through the blinds, his arm still heavy over your waist, pinning you to the sheets. He’s still out, breath slow and steady against your neck, hair mussed across his forehead. You grin like an idiot, kissing his face all over, the ache from last night softened by the warmth of him against you. “Mornin’, trouble,” he grumbles, voice heavy with sleep, eyes cracking open as he shifts, that dimple flashing in a lazy grin. His hand slides up your side, possessive but gentle, pulling you closer as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple; like he’s still savoring you.

You both lie there for a few minutes in easy silence. Golden light spilling onto your skin, seeping into your chest. You can feel the heat of his hand resting on your side, steady and solid. It’s the kind of easy silence that doesn’t demand anything, but still somehow makes your chest tighten, a subtle reminder that things have shifted.

It’s not just about the sex. Not about haircuts and humour. No, not anymore. This is real, breathing, something taking root.

You can feel the change in the way your body presses into his, like it knows something you’re still catching up to. The weight of it, the unspoken agreement between the two of you—there’s no going back now.

You stretch a little, the sunlight wrapping around you like a promise, like the future, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself relax into it. You glance over at Joel, who’s still watching you, a soft curve at the corner of his lips. For a second, it feels like nothing else matters. No regrets, no past mistakes. Just the two of you, here.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, voice low, but with that unmistakable certainty.

And maybe for the first time, you let yourself be sure too.

“Neither am I.”

warnings!!: creampies, brat tamer joel! knee grinding, lowkey posessive sex,

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

I don't know if you ever received this ask or had this idea before but here goes nothing Since Ghost already met Jade's family, what if she meets his? ....angst material. Sorry not sorry.

Oh my God... Anon... You sparked something in me, and I cannot go to sleep now without posting this. Thank you so much for the idea.

(I think I'm gonna make a full on comic out of this, and I will make an art at some point for this fic, but let's use this lovely GIF of Ghost first)

She's The One

Jade meets Ghost's family.

Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin (OC) Word Count : ~ 1.8k words Warning : Medium to heavy angst and mentions of death, but ends with a full on fluff because you know me mate I want Ghost to be happy ok.

Title and story inspired by the song 'She's The One' by Robbie Williams

"...How's your family, Simon?" 

Jade asked Ghost. They had been having a small outing, which included watching the cinema together and going around the streetside shops to find new wardrobes for Ghost to wear. He initially thought that it was unnecessary, but as Jade insisted, he went anyway – as long as he could spend his off-duty time with her.  

He'd met her parents, and though he was apprehensive about it at first, they turned out to be pleasant and strong people. It was such an unfamiliar feeling for him, to have a family to come home to, a supportive family and kind and can take care of their own. He's foreign to that concept.

Ghost just stayed silent to her question, his expression which was usually unreadable turned sorrowful, his eyes gazing down at the pavements they walked. She thought she should change the subject before Ghost muttered,

"You want to see them now?" 

Jade opened her eyes wide in surprise, not expecting him to say anything about meeting his family this fast, and the way he said 'now'...

The woman knew Ghost wouldn't ask her that question if he was adamant as he was a straightforward person. And so, she answered, "Of course, if you don't mind it." He then proceeded to enter his car that was parked not far from where they just watched a movie in a cinema, not forgetting to open the passenger door for Jade beforehand. 

They drove for a full 30 minutes of silence, save for the sound soft songs on the radio. As Ghost drove, Jade looked out the window and understood that they were going to a familiar place that she had passed by a few times in her life. He drove to the nearest available parking area, parking his car flawlessly before stopping the car engine, leaving the both of them in complete silence. 

Jade felt the atmosphere around him grow heavy, his hands still on the steering wheel as if he was still pondering whether or not he wanted to get out of the car. He let out a soft sigh, took his keys and got out of the car. Jade got out of her own and looked at the surrounding area.

Cemetery.

The sun had disappeared behind the heavy grey clouds that constantly covered the England skies. Tiny drops of water had touched her cheek, in such a way it reflected Ghost's inner thoughts right now. 

The man looked at her, "Over here." He walked with Jade following right behind him. After about 10 minutes of walking and treading through the tall grasses, Ghost stopped in front of a group of gravestones, four of them, which were placed more tightly together than the other. The grasses were tidily short, a sign that the keepers attended to these graves properly.

Jade then looked down, reading the engravings on the stones, and her heart shattered to pieces.

"Susan Riley, November 17th, 1965 - December 24th, 2017"

"Thomas Riley, July 21st, 1990 - December 24th, 2017"

"Elizabeth Riley, May 8th, 1991 - December 24th, 2017"

"Joseph Riley, March 19th, 2013 - December 24th, 2017"

It was his mother's birthday. 

She looked up to find Ghost's eyes gazing down at the names as well, noticing that the ground he was standing on was right at the front of his mother's grave. No tears in sight, only sadness, and as an MI6 agent of two decades, she could deduce an expression of regret. Jade didn't need to wonder why, as the dates of their deaths were all the same - the reason he hid his identity, lived as no one, avoided any relationship with anyone, and the reason why he was adamant about meeting her parents – His past came to haunt, and it's target was not him. 

Jade couldn't say anything. What could she say? That she's sorry this happened? She knew Ghost hated that phrase the most, of someone pitying him, that they wished things could be different. But what use is it to wish? It happened. His entire family died because something happened during one of his missions, and his family paid the price for it.

As if on cue, she heard a small sniff from him the same second the raindrops started to grow more frequent, falling harder, creating white noises and wet spots on their clothes. Being the Londoner she was, knowing that sunny days were never really sunny, Jade fished out her floral purple umbrella, holding it above Ghost's head beside her, making sure to cover his broad shoulders fully as her left shoulder grew wet. 

She saw his face, and it was enough reason to stay silent and let him grieve. She didn't know if this was the first time he'd visited their graves after years or if he always come here at some time every year, but no matter which one the answer was, if she could see one thing, it was that his tears never seemed to run out, even after years.

Jade let him cry, the sound of his sobs completely drowned by the white noises of the heavy rain. 

She knew that he wasn't a big fan of any physical touch, nonetheless, she lifted her other hand softly and rubbed at his back, going up and down in an attempt to soothe his sorrow. And after a minute of him not flinching away from her touch, Jade mustered up her will to slowly encircle her arm around his own on his side, their sides touching as she rubbed his bicep, and going even further as she leaned her head to touch his shoulder. 

Ghost's shoulder still shook for a few minutes as he cried his heart out, Jade kept doing what she did as he let his sorrow out. 

Soon after, another surprise hit her when she heard and saw that the rain started to slow down, albeit still going down on both of them. Her other arm started to grow sore after moments of holding the umbrella high to accommodate his height, yet what alleviated the pain was the fact that she felt a small weight on her head, realizing that Ghost had eased his cries, now only soft sniffs, and that he leaned his head on top of hers as well.

He still stayed silent, not a word spoken ever since they arrived, but she knew that this was a good sign that he knew that she would be there for him, even when he was vulnerable.

"Happy birthday, Mrs. Riley." 

Jade muttered softly, the man beside her still looking down on his mother's grave even though he was slightly dazed at her words. 

"This is our first meeting, but I can tell that you were a kind person, and an even more amazing mother and grandmother."

He then glanced at Jade as she continued, "Your son is a very skilled and intelligent man, traits which I assume he got from you. He's confident, a great leader-- oh! And he's handsome as well, so that's a plus." 

That prompted a scoff out of his mouth. Nevertheless, she went on. "He's not much of a social person. He's a little bit intense and stiff - We can work on that. He shot my hand once! I have the scar to prove it. His choices of words are sometimes foul, though, again, we could always work on that." Jade joked lightheartedly, seeing him softly smile above her.

"But if there's one thing about him that I love, is that he's a strong man with a warm heart, and I don't have to assume to know that he got it from you." Jade continued. "Your son is the strongest man I know, and I will stop at nothing to protect him and make him happy."

Ghost looked down at her, astounded at her words. "Thank you for bringing him into this world. Happy birthday, Mrs. Riley." 

As she finished her message, Jade looked up with a soft smile, "I'll be sure to bring some flowers the next time we visit, and every year after that." 

She thought he was going to say something, until the arm that was intertwined with hers moved, though nervously, gliding across her back and found its home on Jade's shoulder, before lightly pressing and pulling her towards him. Jade blushed, not only at the warmth of his body but also at the fact that he initiated the touch. 

"Thank you, Lottie." He muttered in his deep voice, "So much." 

"Anytime, Love." 

After about 15 minutes of standing in front of the graves, the rain had stopped, and the sun showed up to light the rest of the day as the sky turned orange. Jade had stored the wet umbrella back in its container and hung it on her wrist before she walked back to the car per his request. Jade figured he wanted some alone time with his family, and so she obliged.

"How's she, Mum? She's a beautiful bird, isn't she?" 

Ghost finally spoke, his hands tucked inside his pockets. He then glanced at his brother's grave, smirking. "What about you, Tommy? You think she's the one?" He asked no one, not expecting any answer anyway, yet he just wanted to let it out.

"I thought I'm gonna bite the dust on some fucking rathole somewhere, and that was what I wished at some point, but..." Ghost sighed, shifting his weight on his hip, "I kind of want to die an old man, after living my life to the fullest with her-- Fuck, I can't believe I'm saying this." Ghost chuckled at his own words, not expecting it to be this heartfelt. "I'm arse over tit for her. Yeah, you're gonna laugh at me for this Tommy, but at least I didn't laugh when you said the same thing about Beth." 

"And Mum, knowing you, I think you'd like her. She's a bit like you, in a way." Ghost confessed, still eyeing her name on her gravestone, "She cares too much. In a good way, and I find it endearing." He suddenly recalled the memories he had with Jade, from the first moment they met to this moment, replaying them over and over and being surprised about how much she reminded him of his mother. 

"I want to protect her with all my life. I love her, Mum."

And with that, a burden on his shoulders felt like no more. He'd never said those words to anyone, and he might be insane to be in love with someone considering how he'd lived his life, but he'd made a promise to protect her, and if he'd be a fool, then a fool he would become.

"Anyway, she's waiting back there, and I'm hungry. So I'm going to leave you now." Ghost then stood up straight, his hands still in his pockets. He glanced at every single one of the gravestones, before looking at his mother's.

"Happy birthday, Mum." 

-----

(All of the Riley's birthdays are entirely made-up. Their date of death was also made up, but I remembered there were something with Christmas, so I'll just place December 24th to make my heart hurt more) ಥ_ಥ

Anyway, thank you for reading, and hope you love this! (❁´◡`❁)

[melliehart]

wip wednesday

shoutout @marviless for tagging me (and torturing me with her mcd fic ow), going to tag @littlefreakbuckley and @sonofatoasterwaffle if they have anything they want to share:) i am trying something new and writing a set of interactions between eddie and buck's significant others over the years. this is ali's

Death & Co, Arts District, 2019

Eddie is like, totally gorgeous, don't get her wrong, but he's not her type. He's closed off, always put together, and that one time she tried to break the ice by making a joke that he’s actually the one who saved her during the earthquake, Eddie barely cracked a smile. It did, fortunately, get Buck to cackle and loudly protest, but Eddie’s expression only ever turned genuine when Buck knocked his shoulder against Eddie’s and said, “Shoulda dropped her!” with a wink. He'd thrown his arm around Ali, after, and damn does Buck have some great arms. It’s amazing, getting to be with a guy who makes her feel small. Like, she can wear heels around him. And don’t even get her started on what else he can do with all that strength.

Anyway, they’re out at this cocktail bar that Ali picked out–she’s been loving a dirty martini lately–and it’s a good time. She and Buck aren’t particularly serious, but they could be, if they give it a while. They mostly spend time at her apartment when she’s in the city, but she’s broached the subject of getting him a place downtown, (anything would be more mature than living with his older sister), and she might be able to convince him to swap out the Jeep for something classier next.

The guy’s a little raw, but he definitely has potential. Room to grow.

They’d invited Eddie, although when Ali had suggested it to Buck she’d sort of been expecting it would be a double date, but Buck brushed that off. She knows something wild was going on between Eddie and his wife (ex-wife?) but Buck was shockingly tight-lipped about it, wouldn’t tell her any details. Like, she’s just curious! Can’t a girl want to gossip with her boyfriend? Whatever. He did say they were back together for real now, which is why she’d been expecting the wife to come, but it’s fine.

Like she said, Eddie’s always perfectly polite, and they’ve had a good time together the few times they’ve all gone out. The three of them even made a pretty good team during the earthquake, if she does say so herself, even if she stopped to chug a few mini liquor bottles on the way down. She’d challenge anyone to watch their misogynistic pig of a boss fall to his for real, actual death and not want a drink.

She’s two drinks in when Buck leaves them to go get another round–thanks, babe–leaving just her and Eddie at the table. Eddie takes a long pull of his beer, draining it before setting the empty bottle on the table with a clink. He’s not looking at her, his dark eyes focused on the wall behind them as he starts picking at the label. The silence is just this side of unsettling, and Ali’s never really been great at being quiet, so she decides to do the safe thing and ask about his son–Christian?

“Christopher”, he corrects, pulling out his phone. “I’ll show you a picture.” She’s not huge into kids herself–maybe in a few years, when she makes director and can afford to settle down a bit–but that’s not the kind of thing you say to a not-single dad. He swipes for a moment, then shows Ali a photo of not just his son but the three of them, Christopher, Eddie and Buck, in front of the fountain at the mall. They look–honestly, they look like a family, framed like this. There’s something heavy about the way he’s watching her, judging her reaction. She smiles at him brightly, cooing a little because that’s what you do at a cute photo, and he tilts the phone back. 

She’s not really sure what he’s getting out of this interaction–is he trying to scare her off? Stake a claim? Or is he just–like that? His face is unreadable as always, unlike Buck who is, thank god, sliding back into the booth. He gently places her martini–Hendrick’s, two blue cheese olives, extra dry and porn star dirty–in front of her, smacking a kiss to her cheek before roughly sliding a beer across the table. Eddie snags it without blinking, tipping it towards the two of them–Buck, really–in thanks. 

Now that Buck’s back, the tension in the atmosphere has dissipated; Eddie perked right back up the second Buck's attention landed on him. She doubts Buck even noticed the switch-up, and she's sure as hell not gonna piss Eddie off by calling it out.

They slide back into joking around, but Ali can’t quite take her mind off of it. She absolutely needs to get the ex-wife (wife?) here next time to figure out what to make of these two.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

WIP Wednesday ~ WIP File Game

Um hi there. *waves nervously* Soooo over the past two months, I've been tagged multiple times by different people to partake in various WIP Wednesday posts and WIP file games. Sadly, I haven't had as much time for fandom as I would have liked recently, and I've just let those tags sit there unanswered. Thank you for thinking of me @mega-aulover, @unnamednarrator, and @thesweetnessofspring.

I'm going to use this post to answer both types of tags, and the people I tag in turn, please choose which version you'd rather play, play both!, or play neither.

First... a snippet from chapter 40 of Spellbound:

“Peeta! Let me go!” There’s the metallic thunk of a heavy round. Hands yanking on my wrists. I stare at the body. His jaw blown off, silencing him forever. Eyes empty. Hollow. Gone. “Peeta?” That’s when the trembling starts. I blink and the shadows recede. His face gone, replaced with Haymitch’s skull gleaming oddly in the flashlight on the cave floor. The jawbone fallen at an odd angle.  Fingers dig into my wrists. Deep enough that it hurts. The pain in my wrists and my knee somehow grounds me. Pulls me away from that day in the sun baked streets and back into this one. “Peeta?” Katniss asks. I can barely make out her shape in the gloom, and I shake my head. Who dropped the flashlight? When did we wind up on our knees?  “I’m fine.”

And now for the more difficult part. Here's a list of my current WIP files. If it's listed as a story on AO3, I hope to finish it this year. If it's listed as not yet posted to AO3, then I'm hoping to start posting it/finish it this year. The third list is a bunch of random ideas that may never see the light of day, but I've included them for funsies.

Feel free to send an ask to receive a snippet if I have one, a summary, a long winded excuse for why it's still not done yet... I'm working tonight but I have tomorrow off and will answer asks then!

Stories on AO3:

Outside Chance

Outside Expectations

Outside the Lines

Spellbound

Where the Stars Crumble to Life

One Last Hope

Everything You Are

Ampersand (Series)

Fickle Games

No Reason

Holiday Havoc Ensues

Smutercising

Stories Not on AO3:

Bound to Get Burned

Caught in the Net of the World

The Courtship of Lambs

Crush My Bones with Bittersweet

Grief Catches Us All

Hand porn

In the Waiting Dark (the Red Moon Rises)

Kiss Me In the Dark

Making Dents in the Wall

Septimus

Sin Bin

Small Turn Ons

Spiral & Collission / Ellipses & Ignition

Tangled AU

Through the Eyes of My Love

To Know, Not to Be Known

Turning of the Seasons

You + Me

Random Files:

Anyways

Arrive Broken

The Art of Peeling Pearls

Autumn Delight

Awkward

Bed Head

Bend Me, Shake Me Any Way You Want Me

The Cold Side of the Bed

Dear Diary

Everlark on the Prairie

Fluffy Menace

Full Zeroes

Holiday Pet Sitters

Hypocrites

Kiss Me in the Dark

Kissing Clause

Last Dance

Long Have I Waited, My Darling

Love in the Library

Nude Dude Foods

On Lockdown

Peeta POV

Scrawled Upon My Skin

Shattered Into Ash

Seven Feathers

The Strong Arm of Justice

The Touch of Time

Under the Pink Sky

Yes, Chef

And Finally, for the Truly Brave (I mean it, don't do this if you have very clear lines of what you find acceptable in fanfiction), I will answer questions about my folder titled "What Is This Shit?!?!", where I put all of the weird, dark, morally questionable fic ideas that I'm certain about 95% of you all would absolutely hate. Actually some of them are not that bad, but others really are a dumpster fire. Send a number between 1 and 66 for a potentially unpleasant surprise, if you dare.

Now for the tags! I tag @mega-aulover @unnamednarrator, and @thesweetnessofspring because it's been over a week since each of you tagged me mwahahaha. Also tagging @shesasurvivor @louezem and @burkygirl (I've seen you lurking in my notes, don't think I didn't. Hope you've had a restful break from fandom and glad to see you around here again.)

[porcelainseashore]

Teenage Headache Dreams (1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: High School! College! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Fem! Reader

Summary: You’re a bored, but ambitious high school student who can’t wait to escape small town life and make it in the big city. You thought you had it all figured out, until you unwittingly befriend the resident golden boy, Leon. A series of events beginning from junior year to college until Resident Evil 2 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Ambiguous/Open Ending

Content: High School AU, College AU, Pre-Resident Evil 2, Fluff, Romance, Cliche, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Lack of Communication

Author's Note: This is my first RE / Leon fic, but I wanted to try my hand at writing this little self-indulgent and potentially clichéd series. As you can guess, I love dance and high school dramas. I also created this with a sequel in mind, which will take place post-RE4R and involve more horror and mystery elements.

Title from Teenage Headache Dreams by Mura Masa and Ellie Rowsell / Wolf Alice.

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Friendship

It was one of those beautiful late summer days with endless light and clear blue skies overhead. You leaned back against the bleachers, feeling the sun cast a warm glow on your face and the sultry breeze against your skin, sighing in utter bliss. The football field and the running track surrounding it were completely empty, just how you liked it, silent except for the relentless trilling of insects and the occasional bird that flew by. No one in your face, no one judging you or telling you how you should be like, no one you had to put up a front for. Just peace and quiet. A place where you could sit alone with your thoughts - and you had a lot of them - mostly about leaving this goddamn small town with its insular, mind-numbing inhabitants.

A trail of thick smoke wafted from your mouth as you took a drag from the joint you had been nursing for awhile. You weren’t exactly high as a kite, but you were definitely feeling some of its effects. You chuckled and gave a wry smile as the thought of being caught red-handed visualized in your mind. Sure, it was highly illegal what you were doing, much less on school property, but you were always a bit of a rebel. And frankly, you couldn’t give a shit. It was already August, but most students were still away on holiday. Not you though, you had to work on your extracurriculars. That’s what you had put your mind to this summer. No fancy beach getaways like the rest of your cheerleading mates had jetted off to. Just a grueling dance intensive and showcase you had auditioned successfully for in one of the larger cities nearby, as well as a bunch of campus visits. You needed to perfect your performance technique for that arts college application coming up in about a year’s time. You started way earlier than the rest even thought about it, because you knew you only had one chance for a one-way ticket out of this hole and you sure as hell weren’t taking any chances. Well, except with that funky smelling thing in your hand. 

No one would be here anyway, it’s a Sunday for crying out loud! You shook your head in exasperation. Besides, you needed to relax and take the edge off a little.

Just as if you jinxed it with those thoughts, you heard the gate to the field unlocking and creaking open behind you. 

Shit, shit, shit! Your eyes darted around frantically, but your movements were just so slow. Why the fuck would someone be here now?

Before you could drop the joint and stub it out with your shoe, a mop of dirty blonde hair and what you made out as someone dressed in a blue tracksuit with a duffel bag slung over his right shoulder entered your peripheral vision. It was soon accompanied by a sharp twist of his head in your direction, bangs falling over his deep blue eyes and you knew he had found the source of the offending smell, probably even from a mile away. His gaze trailed their way from your startled face to your joint hanging limply at the edge of your fingers and then back to your face again. His expression turned from confusion to a frown and then into a knowing smirk as he crossed his arms and leaned against the bleachers.

“Oh, hello. Didn’t expect to see you here. You got cheer practice or something?”

God, he was teasing you. At least you hoped that was all it was and not some form of blackmail. Well, no point hiding now.

“I’m off-duty,” you retorted. You tried to jog your memory of the boy standing in front of you. You were social, or at least you had to be with the rest of your girlfriends to keep up appearances, but you never really bothered with the people here beyond superficial conversations. Then you finally found it - a vague recollection of last season’s track and field meet. He had been one of the better sprinters, maybe the best even, you can’t really remember. There was an afterparty, and you congratulated him, but you doubt there was anything more substantive than that.

“Leon, isn’t it?”

His eyes perked up slightly and he smiled. “In the flesh.”

You snorted at his cheesy reply. What was he pulling? 

“They gave you the key?” It almost sounded as if you were jealous.

He uncrossed his arms and placed his duffel bag on one of the benches in front of him, rummaging through its contents. “Yeah, I got a comp in the new term coming up.” Every now and then he glanced up at you, as if he wanted to ask something, but stopped himself.

A sense of boldness surged within you, as you felt like evening the odds a bit. “What? You want some?” You waved the joint in his face.

That certainly caught his attention. He stared for a good moment, before giving another one of his playful smiles and shaking his head. “Maybe after practice.” He unzipped his jacket and put it away. It was warm enough to train in his sports tank and as you admired the lean, muscular structure of his arms and shoulders now bared open, you couldn’t complain.

“So, how did you get in?”

Fuck. You snapped out of your reverie. He got you there, but you didn’t feel like lying. “Jumped the fence. You should try it some time.” You replied as nonchalantly as possible.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he laughed.

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Will I now?” The way it rolled off his tongue felt like a challenge and you secretly enjoyed this banter going on between you, as if you had known each other for years.

Shrugging your shoulders, you took another hit from the joint and let the calmness envelope you. “I never disappoint.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Leon flashed a wide grin that made you feel a knot forming in your stomach, but you didn’t know why. 

He started to move towards the tracks, but stopped short, turning back to meet your eyes again. “Look, you don’t have to worry about all of that.” He gestured to what you were holding and the general surroundings. “I’m not going to tell.” With that, he made a sign that resembled crossing his heart. “It’ll be between you and me.” 

You would have thought it was a joke if not for the sincere look he gave you, before heading off to train. That, and the fact that he did indeed take up your offer to join you afterwards in sharing what was left of the joint. You didn’t expect someone like him to. He seemed a bit too much of a straight-laced, golden boy for that. But then again, life was filled with surprises and you quietly scolded yourself for playing into stereotypes again - something you despise others doing to you.

It prompted both of you to converse even more until the late evening where you even missed your dinner. The questions and responses just flowed.

It turned out that you would share a number of classes together in the new term, specifically Math, History and Biology. Leon was a real earful when it came to his “insightful” one-liners on the teachers, which made you bury your head in your hands and groan. You never realized he would be such a goofball, but you found it somewhat endearing.

Like you, he was popular at school, but unlike you, he seemed to enjoy the company and appeared to be an open book. He would say it how it is, sometimes to the point of being blunt to a fault. Still, you guessed people found him rather easy-going and likable, in a non-threatening sort of a way. A part you wondered if chance meetings like today were how he made most of his friends.

Leon didn’t really have a plan for college yet. He just knew he wanted to do something good and help other people. You had a word for it - “idealistic”. He just shrugged in response, eyes downcast, until you assured him that it was an admirable quality, and you were the jaded one. He made a toast to your future in some arts college in the big city with his water bottle, remarking with a hint of self-deprecation that he wished he had a clearer idea of what he wanted to do with his life.

In turn, he asked you about your dealer. You had to stifle a laugh at that one. Generally, you weren’t as big into smoking up as he thought, but this time you bummed it off one of the seniors as a favor he owed you for hooking him up with one of your cheerleader friends. It didn’t stop Leon from calling you the “high school’s little pothead” every now and then though. He peered at you intently with his lip curled in amusement, as you rolled your eyes each time.

It had been such a long time since you could joke and speak your mind with someone this way. There wasn’t that suffocating nausea of pretending to be someone else around him and he had been so relaxed with you too. You could finally breathe again, and you’d like to think it wasn’t just the weed talking.

Whatever it was, you guessed this was the beginning of a real friendship - one that happened out of serendipity, but made you feel like you weren’t going to rot away in this small town. Well, not alone anyway.

[rip-quizilla]

Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 5

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: Everything is falling- leaves from the trees, rain from the sky, you for Eddie, and Eddie for you.

Word Count: 10.1 K

A/N: Big thanks to @the-unforgivenn (happy birthday❤️) for all of the help you gave me on this chapter, and honestly this whole fic in general. You've been an invaluable part of the writing process of this story, and the fact that you care so much about Eddie & Ace just makes me feel so loved... you don't even know. Ily wifey✨

Thank you @vintagehellfire for your priceless tattoo knowledge- I hope I did you proud!!

Also thanks to @blueywrites for helping me decide on what Eddie would tattoo on reader back in our Tumblr DMs in June😂 y'all that's how long I've had this scene in my brain. This part of the story has been a long time coming.

Divider was created by the lovely and talented @hellfire--cult❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 5

Fall, 1983

“Rick, are you serious, man?”

“Dead serious, I’ll sell it to you for twenty.”

You caught the tail end of their conversation as you approached the red plastic picnic table in Forest Hills trailer park. Today was the first day of fall, and while it may not have felt like biting cold and crunchy leaves yet, it did feel like flannels tied around waists and long-dead grass that broke beneath the soles of your shoes. You hopped up onto the surface of the table, swinging your feet around to rest beside Eddie where he sat on the bench. 

“Sell what?” you asked, producing three cans of Coke from your bag that you’d brought from home and handing one to each of the boys. Rick had grown accustomed to your presence since the spring, so he actually cracked a smile when he answered your question and nodded in thanks as he accepted the can.

“Munson wants to buy my old tattoo gun.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, seriously?” you asked Eddie.

He didn’t take his eyes off Rick. “And I’m wondering what the catch is if you’re selling it to me for so cheap.” 

You cracked open your can of soda with a hiss, joining Eddie in his Rick stare-down. “Hmm,” you mused, “I bet he forgot to clean it and it’s staph-infested.”

“Nope,” Rick popped the ‘p’ after taking a swig from his shiny red can. “Never been used, so I can guarantee it’s staph-free. Always meant to use it, but after that brush with the cops I had last month, I don’t want to risk having it.”

You narrowed your eyes at Eddie, trying to discern whether or not he’d thought about the fact that if he bought it, then he would be in possession of paraphernalia for illegal Indiana activities. 

Then again, you knew he smoked weed and that was most definitely against the law as well, and he hadn’t been caught yet. You trusted him not to be stupid enough to get arrested.

You turned your line of questioning on Eddie. “Why on earth do you need a tattoo gun anyway?”

“Well you see, Ace-” Eddie lifted one of your feet up from the bench, straightening your leg and presenting your right shoe- your white converse, half covered in mythical creatures and random doodles that Eddie had slowly been adding to with his fine-tipped Sharpie ever since you’d bought them in early August. “-it seems that I need a canvas for my art, and it won’t be long before I run out of shoe.” 

You quirked an eyebrow. “So now people are the canvas?” 

Eddie held up his arms, bare skin nearly translucent in the afternoon sun. His nearly-too-small Iron Maiden tee showcased just how much bare skin he had to spare along the contours of his limbs. “If by people you mean me, then yeah.” 

“You’re going to tattoo yourself?”

“Yep!”

“Without practicing on someone else first?”

Eddie smirked, “You volunteering?”

You rolled your eyes, but for some odd reason the idea stuck. You decided to play along. 

“Let’s say I am, what would the tattoo be?” 

Eddie hadn’t anticipated this answer. He was so surprised, in fact, that he choked on the soda that he’d just sipped into his mouth before your question. In a cacophony of coughs and wheezes, Eddie managed to regain his composure as you smiled wryly, feeling as though you’d bested him somehow in some small way. To fluster him with something as small as this, something he hadn’t expected. 

“You’re serious? You want a tattoo?” Eddie responded skeptically, before turning away from you to fiddle with his soda can still held in his hands. 

You shrugged, as if he were asking if you wanted a pizza, not a permanent brand inked on your skin. “Why not? I think I’d look pretty badass with a tattoo.” 

You weren’t sure what was making you feel so bold today, but you had a feeling it might be related to the thought of Eddie covered in ink that wound up and down his skin that was making you ache to touch it when it was still naked and peach-pale. You scooched a couple inches down the tabletop to the left, placing your seat directly behind Eddie’s neck. 

Then, in a stroke of something between bravery, stupidity, and need, you carefully slung your legs over Eddie’s shoulders so that they sat in the bends of your knees.

It was a simple gesture- familiar, even. You made a point to lean back a little, bracing your hands behind you on the tabletop so that the apex of your thighs stayed a good distance from the back of Eddie’s neck. You felt Eddie’s shoulders stiffen, each muscle under your jeans tensing for a moment before relaxing into the closeness. 

Then Eddie brought his hands to your ankles, his fingertips brushing the spare skin between your high tops and the cuffs of your jeans. The pads of his thumbs barely caressed the skin but they felt like a kiss- a thing coveted and then forbidden, then coveted even more. 

His touch drifted over your legs, warm hands coming to rest over your shins and squeeze, heating the denim that separated his skin from yours. You were holding your breath. You’d been so confident a second ago yet here he was, knocking the very air from your lungs. 

You waited anxiously for him to say something; if he didn’t you were sure you were going to do something stupid. Something that would involve more of his skin on your skin.

“Would you want this tattoo of yours to show?” Eddie asked at last, breaking the silence between the two of you- well, the three of you. Rick was still there, taking in the sight before him with a smirk on his face. 

“Not easily, my parents would kill me.” you said, ensuring that your tone of voice was nonchalant, casual. “But I don’t see the harm in something small that I could hide.” 

Eddie tilted his head back and up, earthen eyes flicking up to yours. “What happened to ‘looking badass’?”

You pursed your lips as you leaned forward, bringing your faces to hover parallel over each other. “You’re saying that taking my pants off to reveal a surprise tatty isn’t badass?”

You watched as Eddie’s eyes flashed darker for a split second- nearly imperceptibly so- before his lips stretched sinfully into a mischievous grin. “Oh, under the pants then, huh?” 

His hands traced higher, ghosting on your knees and burning his fingerprints through your jeans. 

“Easy to hide,” you said, struggling to keep your voice even. “It’s a practical placement.”

Eddie’s thumbs stroked absentminded circles into the flesh of your lower thighs, tight denim puckering with the motion. “Practical placement…” he murmured, low enough that it sounded like he hadn’t even meant to say it out loud. 

“You could put it on your hip.”

Both of your heads whipped around to focus on Rick, who was grinning at both of you like he’d just discovered a fun new game to play. He shrugged, hopping up to sit beside you on the tabletop. “You want it to be hidden all of the time, right?” he leaned to shove you congenially with his shoulder. “When’s a good girl like you gonna be showing off some hip? I bet the only one who’ll see that will already be married to you when he lays eyes on-”

“Hey!” you interjected. “You act like I’m some prude, I’m not a nun.” Rolling your eyes, you looked back down at Eddie hoping to meet his gaze and laugh together over how ridiculous Rick was being. However, you looked down only to find Eddie’s chocolate browns trained on Rick with wide-eyed warning. A silent message was clearly being exchanged, but it wasn’t for you.

Rick was smiling smugly down at Eddie, unbeknownst to you, and Eddie was getting the message loud and clear:

It’s time to raise the stakes, kid. 

“Perfect!” Rick chirped, smug eyes still trained on Eddie’s. “So you wouldn’t mind letting Eddie use your hip as his, uh… canvas, then?”

If Eddie’s looks could kill, Rick would be a dead man. 

“Yeah.” you choked out, refusing to give yourself time to chicken out of what you’d gotten yourself into. “Yeah, why not?”

Rainy days in autumn just felt right.

Sure, you were in Latin class. Sure, you were supposed to be working on a packet the substitute teacher had just passed out. However, it was raining outside. The sub was easygoing enough that she hadn’t made a move to stop Eddie from doodling on your shoe that was perched comfortably on the crook of his hip. 

You sat behind him in every class you had together- there were four of them this year- and Eddie had gotten into the habit of reaching back to tap you on the leg whenever he knew he was losing focus. Every time he tapped, you would carefully stretch your leg forward until his hand caught on your ankle, lifting it up until it rested on his lap. His sharpie would go to work on whatever blank spots he could still find on your white converse, and the mindless activity of his drawing would keep his mind awake enough to listen as teachers droned on and on. 

The change in Eddie wasn’t lost on his teachers- they had all noticed the impact that your company seemed to have on him, and it was the only reason why they hadn’t had any issues with your constant companionship. When you were around, Eddie actually paid attention in his classes and turned in work- that was good enough for them.

The silence of the classroom and the soundtrack of rainfall beating against the roof and windows had created the perfect work zone for you, and your focus on your classwork was only interrupted when you noticed a folded piece of torn notebook paper on the edge of your desk. 

Smirking as you felt Eddie continue doodling on your shoe, you unfolded the paper and read the slanted scrawl that you’d come to recognize instantly as Eddie’s handwriting. 

Were you serious about the tattoo thing? It’s OK if you’re not.

Your cheeks heated, contemplating whether you were still serious about it or not. The only fears you had about it were completely logical- Eddie had literally no clue what he was doing. Yours would only be his second tattoo after his own. Worst case scenario, the tattoo would get infected and you go to the hospital. Eddie gets arrested for tattooing without a medical license. Best case scenario… you get to sit there while he grips your naked thigh for as long as it takes to leave a permanent reminder of him on your hip. 

You blinked a couple of times, letting that mental image wash over you, before confidently penning your answer beneath his message. 

I’m serious. 

Folding the scrap of paper and handing it back to him, you felt his Sharpie leave your shoe as he took the note and read it. You watched him register the two words, glance back at you through the loose strands of hair that hung over his shoulder, then smile softly into a shake of his head. A second later, he was handing the note back to you.

If you say so, Ace. What am I tattooing, and where?

You had to think about it for a moment before passing back your answer

Hip is fine. What are you gonna do? We could match.

Eddie’s reply came faster than you’d ever seen him write any of his notes in class, that’s for damn sure.

You want matching tattoos?? Are you sure?

Your heart began to race. Was that bad? Was he judging you for wanting to match him? Maybe you were being too clingy, trying too hard… you glanced down at his jacket, which was wrapped around you almost every day at this point- it was practically a second skin. His handwriting was all over your shoes. You stared at your fingers, scarlet polish chipping from the tips of your nails, and you remembered that you’d chosen red solely because he’d mentioned it was his favorite color. 

Were you coming across as desperate? Were you weirding him out? Maybe you needed to dial it back-

A new piece of paper slid across your desk, Eddie’s eyes glancing your way with nothing but warmth in his gaze before he returned his attention to your shoe on his lap. 

I’m fine with it if you are. 

Putting bats on my forearm. 

You released a breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, giving ways for butterflies to take flight inside your chest. You grinned, jotting down your reply beneath his writing. 

I’m more than fine with it. 

Could you do just one little bat on my hip?

Eddie took a little longer this time with his response, and you understood why once you saw the adorably small silhouette of a bat penned in black on the paper he’d passed back to you. 

You leaned forward, letting your chin nearly brush the fabric of his denim jacket as you whispered low enough that the substitute teacher wouldn’t hear. 

“It’s perfect.”

A snicker from the other side of the classroom caught your ear. Eddie and you both turned to see a cluster of letter-jacketed assholes staring at the two of you, whispering and laughing with each other. 

You knew deep down that you didn’t care what they thought. You knew that you should just keep your head down. Ignore them. 

But then you caught the tail end of one of their sentences.

“...fucking freaks.”

Two things happened simultaneously: your eyebrows jumped, and Eddie’s stomach dropped.

The ringing of the bell was all you needed to angrily shove your belongings into your backpack and march over to the other side of the classroom, stopping the jocks in their tracks. Eddie was right behind you, tugging you back by the crook of your elbow as you steadily ignored his pleas to sit down and ignore them, they aren’t worth it.

“You want to repeat what you were saying over there, Alan?” You stared up at the freckled boy, his harsh features sneering down at you from where he stood nearly half a foot taller than you. His height did nothing to deter you, however. Neither did Eddie’s death grip on your arm.

Alan snorted, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the two of you before him. His eyes flicked over you, appraising for about two seconds before directing his attention to Eddie behind you. “You letting your girl pick your fights for you now, Munson?” 

Eddie didn’t have a chance to respond; you didn’t give him one. “Don’t look at him.” you stepped forward, bringing you mere inches from the freckled football star. “I asked you a question.”

Alan and his cronies laughed, apparently amused by the show of dominance you were trying to make. You opened your mouth to berate him further, but the sharp tug on your arm from Eddie was strong enough this time to jerk you away from them and toward the door of the classroom. 

“Wh- Eddie, quit it!” you tried to shake off his grip but it wasn’t going to budge; Eddie marched you out the door and down the hallway like a man on a mission. 

“Yeah, Eddie, quit it!” You both could hear Alan’s patronizing whine from the classroom, his voice thrown into a reedy falsetto that made your blood boil. His voice trailed off, melting into the nasal snickers of his friends.

Eddie didn’t let go of your arm until the two of you reached his locker, at which point he finally looked you in the eye- and his stare embodied an intensity that you hadn’t seen from him ever before. You’d seen him intense, of course… just not like this. 

This looked like fear. 

“What the fuck was that for?” Eddie bit out, his teeth clenched and eyes wide. 

You crossed your arms, suddenly defensive. Had you messed up, somehow? “I… I mean, they were calling us names, I wasn’t going to just sit there.”

“Alan’s an illiterate asshole, you don’t need to explain yourself to him.”

“I know I don’t need to, but…” You chuckled humorlessly, that familiar vengeful feeling from moments ago beginning to bubble back up. “You know what, no. I do need to. I’m not the kind of person who can just sit there while jerks like him run around slandering good people, it’s wrong!”

Eddie huffed, his hands on his hips as he glanced around and shook his head. “Slandering, huh? That’s a big word, Ace. What’s that, the college word of the day?” You raised an eyebrow, watching him closely and curiously. 

He was fidgeting nonstop, repeatedly picking up his feet and replacing them on the floor only an inch or so away from where they’d been before. His eyes darted in every direction, as if scanning for potential threats so that he could run from them before they decided to pounce. 

“Eddie, why are you so afraid of those guys?” 

Big brown eyes widened to saucers, refocusing on you. “This isn’t fear, Ace, it’s just common sense.” Eddie checked over his shoulder to ensure the jocks were gone, then took a step closer. He leaned his shoulder against the locker, lifting his opposite arm to gently place his hand on your upper arm. You shivered, feeling his thumb trace small circles through his own black leather. Maybe that’s why he’s so scared all of a sudden, you pondered, leaning closer to Eddie. He’s given me his armor. 

You lowered your voice, sympathetic to Eddie’s plight. “You know I wouldn’t let them hurt you, Eds.” Looking up into his eyes, you expected to see them soften, gratitude coating his gaze. Instead, they widened and crinkled slightly at the edges. Eddie huffed out a gaudy laugh, incredulous at your admission.

“Hurt me?” he shook his head, stunned, and began to rifle through his locker for the books he needed for next class. “Ace, I just don’t want them to hurt you!”

You balked. “Me?” an eyebrow raised, you crossed your arms over your chest, defensive once again. “You really think they’d hit a girl? They’re jerks but I don’t think they’d go that far-”

“Nah, they’ll only sick their girlfriends on you.” Eddie punctuated his sentence with a slam of his locker door. “Purebred harpies with matching scrunchies who’ll make your life a living hell and then pretend that you’re the crazy one.”

It was a struggle to keep up with him at the rate he was walking, strides each a yard wide as he tugged you along by your hand. 

Your hand. Eddie Munson was holding your hand. 

“You, uh… you speaking from experience?” You stuttered over your words, cheeks heating at the sudden skin-to-skin contact. He had just admitted that he didn’t want to see you get hurt- his blatant protectiveness of you coupled with the way he was decisively dragging you by the hand to your locker right now was nearly too much for you to handle. 

“Trust me,” Eddie sighed, swinging you around as he reached your locker and (to your dismay) letting go of your hand. “You get asked out on a dare enough times, you figure out how their coven operates.” 

Eddie wasn’t meeting your eyes. You had to actually place your hand on his shoulder to capture his gaze. “Eddie,” you said, making a conscious effort to keep your voice steady and be something stable for him to feel at least a little grounded on. “Deep breath.”

Surprisingly, he did as you said. Eddie closed his eyes, inhaling deep and allowing his lungs to fill long enough that his chest expanded before his exhale blew softly on your cheeks. It smelled like the apple you’d brought for him at lunch.

 When you were once again treated to that warm hazelnut gaze, your hand acted without thinking and flew up to gently rest against his jawline. You were crossing some invisible line- you knew that- but the light in the hallway was causing shadows to take up residence in the dusting of whiskers that decorated the sharp incline that led to his chin. Your fingertips brushed his skin reverently, and he seemed frozen. Eddie didn’t dare move; you were like a butterfly that had deigned to land on him of all people, and damn it all if he was going to fuck it up and scare you off. 

“I’ve got you, you’ve got me… right?” Your voice was barely loud enough to be heard through the noise of bustling students. “We look out for each other, Eddie, we’re stronger together.” 

Eddie remained still under your caress, wishing he could focus on your touch. Wishing he could rip his eyes away from where they were trained behind you- held in terrified contact with a sadistic-looking Alan who stood with his cherry-lipsticked girlfriend across the hallway. Alan’s lips were curled into a sneer, watching as the thing that Eddie wanted most became his worst nightmare.

You were openly touching him, while wearing his clothes, standing in shoes covered with his drawings- and Eddie watched in horror as the harpy pushed up on her tiptoes to whisper something in Alan’s ear before both of them refocused not on Eddie, but on you. 

They laughed like fucking heyenas, eyeing their next meal. 

It took every ounce of self control Eddie had, but he gently took your hand in his and lowered it from his cheek. He ignored the way your eyes gazed up at him the same way a scorned puppy begged for some kind of affection, any confirmation that they are, indeed, loved. 

“It’s the together part I’m worried about, Ace.” Eddie whispered, keeping his voice low. 

You were quiet, which Eddie hated because it was his fault.

“Oh, and um-” Eddie raised his shoulders and shivered, rubbing his hands along his upper arms to warm himself with the friction. “-it’s a little chilly today… you mind if I wear the jacket?” His hand drifted down to the flannel that hung loosely tied around your waist, taking a corner of the material and feeling it between the pads of his thumb and forefinger.

“This’ll keep you warm, yeah?” 

You stared blankly for a moment, stunned. You had nearly forgotten that the jacket was his to take. You’d assumed he liked that you always wore his jacket, but… perhaps you’d made that up. You were eager for him to want things like that, after all… ‘more than friends’ kinds of things. However, asking for a borrowed item to be returned was completely normal for friends. You chided yourself for reading too much into it and smiled warmly up at him.

“Yeah! Of course!” you sprung into action, setting your backpack down on the floor as you began to shrug off the jacket. “You’re right it’s frigid in here today.” 

You handed the jacket to Eddie, who donned it with a thin-lipped smile. Parting ways for your next class, you departed in opposite directions down the hallway. 

Upon arriving in your calculus class, you glanced out the window eager to zone out as you watched the rain, only to be greeted by a gray sky drained of its water. The rain’s reprieve left nothing in its wake but a tired sun, soft mist that obscured all surety, and packed Indiana dirt softened to mud too loose for one to find their footing. 

The sort of mud that, should you try to walk through it, you’d be destined to slip and fall. 

When Eddie thought of Halloween, he thought of blood and sugar. 

It was a strange contradiction, the way that Halloween’s association with horror and gore had balanced itself out with candy corn and fun-sized Snickers bars, and yet the juxtaposition of the two brought a smile to his face. The combination of sweet and terrifying embodied the holiday perfectly. On Halloween, there was no need for any kind of steely exterior that might protect him from judgment. No need to hide the way he really feels behind the scary metalhead armor he’d so carefully curated as a defense mechanism. 

On Halloween, he wasn’t just allowed to be a freak. He was celebrated for it. 

On Halloween, he could just be. 

It was the reason why Halloween just so happened to be the day he’d had enough courage to look through your bedroom window exactly four years ago. It’s the day when Hell meets Heaven to make something sweet, and anything can happen.

Anything- including matching tattoos on the floor of his trailer. 

Everything was ready- Eddie had laid out sheets of newspaper to cover what he’d deemed the tattoo zone, and broken down a cardboard box to act as a stable surface on the soft carpet of his bedroom floor. Eddie had scrutinized every instruction he’d been able to wrench from Rick for how to work the tattoo machine. Grips, needles, fucking rubber bands that were apparently very necessary… he’d made sure he had it all. He’d even practiced on an orange that he’d swiped from the kitchen counter.

A thick black cable now snaked across his carpeted floor, connecting the machine to a pedal, the pedal to a power supply, and the power supply to the yellowed plastic outlet on his wall. Beside the machine sat a stack of paper towels and all sorts of other shit Rick had advised him to make sure he used. He was lucky that Rick had bought a bottle of black ink- Eddie wouldn’t have known where to seek out medical-grade ink in a state where it was illegal to ink your skin without a license. 

Your knock at his door made Eddie jump; he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It would be easy to write his nerves off as adrenaline before his first tattoo, but who was he kidding- it was you. You’d gone from someone who made him nervous to someone who made him nervous for different reasons, and all of this was very inconvenient for Eddie. 

“Trick or Treat,” You’d chirped when he opened the door, and it was at that moment Eddie realized that this night may very well be the death of him.

You wore your favorite baggy sweater over a tight black tank top, which you’d tucked into some high waisted acid washed jeans. Unsurprisingly, the chucks on which he’d scribbled his claim were fastened securely on your feet. In your hands was a variety pack of halloween candies and a shopping bag from the local drugstore. Everything about you radiated warmth, and Eddie had to fight the urge to change tonight’s itinerary to movies and a blanket fort and spend the whole evening on the couch with you, surrounded by candy wrappers and the light of his television set. 

“I brought antibacterial soap,” you said, bringing Eddie back to reality. You rifled through your shopping bag to show him your spoils as you stepped through the threshold and into his trailer. “-large bandages, and a little travel first aid kit just in case. Oh, and I did a little bit of reading at the library and I couldn’t find much on tattoos, but the one commonality between every book and article I could find said to make sure you wash the wound often and disinfect everything-”

“Ace,” Eddie interrupted, taking the bag from you and closing the front door. The corner of his mouth quirked up, keeping an amused chuckle at bay. “You went to the library to read about how to safely care for an illegal tattoo?” Your expression soured, shifting to a half-scowl, half-pout. 

“Well one of us has got to do it,” you huffed, grabbing the bag and marching towards Eddie’s room. “And I know you wouldn’t set foot in the library unless you were forced.” You continued to yell at him from his room, “You’ll thank me when your kitchen-scratched tattoo doesn’t get infected, and you get to grow old with all of your limbs intact!”

Eddie stayed glued to his spot as his smirk grew into a goofy grin. You were fucking adorable. 

You hadn’t argued when Eddie insisted that he start with his own tattoo- before he got started on permanently marking your skin, he wanted to be sure that he at least had gotten the hang of it first. He immediately started getting to work with his trusty fine-tipped Sharpie, sketching out a scattering of bats on his forearm and glancing every once in a while at his notebook for reference. You’d flipped through that notebook on several occasions when the two of you had sat idle during classes or study sessions. The drawings were always sprawling, sharp and gruesome in a way that wasn’t so much scary as it was fascinating to you. 

You laid stomach-down on his mattress, positioned behind where he sat on the floor, his back leaned up against the bed frame and close enough that you could probably reach down and play with his hair if you were bold enough. You didn’t- no matter how tempting it was, you didn’t want to risk anything that might mess up his focus. You settled for watching Eddie’s reflection in the mirror that sat leaned up against the wall in front of him. 

When the Sharpie stencil had dried and Eddie picked up the tattoo machine, you couldn’t deny the nervous uptake in your heart rate. You watched him gingerly begin the process of permanently inking his drawing into his skin, and before the needle touched skin, Eddie looked over his shoulder at you and winked, whispering a surprisingly shaky “Point of no return.” Before you could ask if he was having second thoughts, he was already outlining the first bat, his socked foot pressing decisively on the pedal that whirred his machine to life. 

Minutes ticked by before you uttered a soft “Does it hurt?” to break the awkward silence. Normally, Eddie had some sort of music playing, Metallica or WASP or something along those lines spinning on his cheap old turntable- but tonight there was nothing but the electric buzz that filled the small bedroom, and it was starting to make you antsy. 

Eddie huffed, and it was as much of a laugh as he could afford while holding still. “Well, Ace, it’s a needle sticking in and out of my arm repeatedly, so if I’m being honest it ain’t exactly sunshine and rainbows.” You watched him wince as he moved on from outlining the first bat and started on the second. 

“Does it at least make you feel a little badass?” You watched his reflection in the mirror glance up through the curtain of his hair and raise an eyebrow at you. 

“That depends,” He said, “do I look badass?” 

“A little.” You teased. “You’ll look more badass when the tattoo is finished.” 

That earned you a snort from him. “What, fifty percent of a tattoo doesn’t cut it?” His reflection flashed you a genuine smile, that lopsided grin affecting you the way it always does, spiking your body temp and rushing the thump of your heart. 

“Nope. Though, if your intention is to tell the world that you have commitment issues-”

“I do not have commitment issues-”

“Then what kind of issues do you have?” 

Eddie parted the needle from his skin, taking a moment to glance wryly over his shoulder in your direction. 

“You.” It was punctuated by a tongue that peeked out from between his lips. You followed suit, shoulders shaking as you chuckled.

Silence threatened to fall for a moment then, but Eddie put a stop to that. “Keep talking.”

“Huh?”

His voice was quiet, muttered like he was biting the inside of his cheek as he spoke. “Hurts less when we’re talking.”

You smiled, watching as he avoided your eye contact in the mirror, focusing on his arm as a subtle blush began to creep onto his cheeks. Tempting as it was to tease, you opted for a more neutral topic.

“Which is better, sour candy or chocolate?”

You could barely see his eyebrows furrow behind his curtain of curls as he considered your question. “Chocolate.”

“You’re crazy.”

He barked out a laugh. “After all the ridiculous shit I’ve said, that’s what crosses the line for you?”

You shook your head, amping up your reaction for his benefit; he was laughing, and it was music to your ears. You were greedy for more of it. 

“Sour candy is a whole experience, chocolate is just sweet! That’s all it has going for it!”

Eddie gawked but kept his eyes trained on his skin. “What do you have against sweets?”

You rolled your eyes, flopping from your stomach to your back and staring up at the water stain on Eddie’s ceiling. “I haven’t got anything against sweets… I just like a little tart to go with it. Oh hang on, that reminds me-”

You stuck your hand into the plastic bag you’d brought with you, producing a variety pack of cheap Halloween candies. “Do you normally get trick-or-treaters? I thought we could pour these into a bowl and set it out on the porch- you know, so we don’t have to keep answering the door.”

Eddie Shook his head. “Nah, not a lot of kids who live here. Those who do always high-tail it to the neighborhoods where the good shit is, like-”

“Loch Nora?” you finished, smirking. 

Nodding his approval, Eddie echoed, “Loch Nora.”

“Well in that case,” you yanked open the bag of candy so hard that a few individually wrapped pieces were flung onto the bedspread as well as the floor below. “I guess we’ll have to eat all of this ourselves.”

Eddie paused his tattooing to glance at a fun-sized packet of sour gummy worms that had landed on the carpet beside him. “Gummy worms?” he asked.

You flicked the back of his head while the needle was off his skin. “Uh, yeah, they’re delicious.”

“Did you at least get candy corn?”

You gagged. “Candy corn?!”

The two of you passed the next hour like that, debating about various arbitrary topics and inevitably disagreeing on almost all of them. There were only three things that you both agreed on without any debate whatsoever: Santa Claus was the superior holiday mascot, Joan Jett could easily beat Cyndi Lauper in a fight, and The Empire Strikes Back was way better than A New Hope.

When Eddie was finally finished with his tattoo, you were off the bed in an instant and already reaching for the antibacterial soap. 

“You should wash it under some warm water first before anything gross has a chance to get in there-”

“Hey hey hey, whoa hold on!” Eddie was laughing, eyes wide as he smiled at you. Your hand was already encircled around his wrist, tugging his arm (and the person attached to it) toward the bathroom. “Ace, you haven’t even looked at it yet, c’mon you’re bruising the artist’s ego here.” 

You sighed but couldn’t hide the rueful grin that danced on your pursed lips. Softening your vice like grip on his wrist, you shifted your hands to cradle his forearm and survey the last hour’s work.

“It looks good, Eddie… really good, actually.” You absently swiped a thumb over the soft skin of his wrist. “If you’d told me it was professionally done, I’d totally believe you.”

“Yeah?” He looked up from where your thumb stroked the base of his forearm, eyes shining.

“Yeah,” you smirked. “Of course, I’d tell you to try and get your money back, but-”

“Oh shove it up your ass, Sweet Tart.” The playful shoulder-check had you letting go of his arm, but both of your faces were painted with ear-to-ear smiles. 

Eddie washed his new tattoo in the bathroom sink, admiring the way the bats stretched and shifted with every flex of his forearm. Your mouth hurt, as did the muscles in your cheeks; you couldn’t stop smiling. He was so happy with his work, and you had to admit that he had actually done a really good job with that tattoo machine. 

“We’ve got to get you out of Indiana, Munson,” you murmured to the mirror where he continued to scrutinize his work from every angle. “I think you may have just found your calling.” 

His eyes were wide and shining with pride as they glanced your way. “You think?” 

You nodded, that saccharine smile stubbornly staying put on your lips. To be fair, you didn’t fight it.

“You’re coming with me, then.” Eddie replied, his own smile glowing in the dying light above the bathroom mirror.

There it was- that familiar fire beneath the skin of your cheeks.

“Oh I am, huh?” 

“Hell yeah.” Eddie braced his arm on the doorway, leaning over you until your faces were mere inches apart. “We’re stronger together, remember?”

Breathe. Breathe… Why can’t you breathe?

You’d barely managed a nod before Eddie was ducking around you through the doorway, grabbing your hand, and leading you back to his room. 

“Your turn, Ace.”

Oh yeah, you were also getting a tattoo today. You’d almost forgotten. Were you nervous? You weren’t sure. Actually, yes, you were very nervous- not so much about the tattoo as you were for where the tattoo would be. 

In minutes, you were both sitting on Eddie’s bedroom floor- Eddie readying everything he needed for your new ink, and you sitting eerily still as your soul started to feel like it might leave your body.

“Ace,”

Eyes refocusing, you blinked a few times. “Yeah?”

Eddie’s expression was calm, sympathetic to the inward freak-out he had a feeling you were on the verge of. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out sounding a little more strained than you had intended. “Hah…you saying I have commitment issues?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but Eddie’s eyebrows stayed knitted together above his big brown eyes. “No,” he murmured. His voice was soft, as if he were speaking to a stray animal and trying not to spook it. “I guess I’m just… trying to give you an out, so you don’t feel pressured or anything.”

You shook your head, “I don’t want an out.”

Eddie blinked, “No?”

“No.”

There was a second of silence between the two of you before you both took in a collective breath, exhaling simultaneously and giggling when you both realized that you were breathing in sync. Perfect harmony; sour and sweet, nervous but willing. 

“You, uh…” Eddie stammered, his eyes flicking down to your lap and back up to your face. “...you still want it on your hip?”

Your heart rate doubled. 

“Um, yeah.” you awkwardly shifted your weight onto your knees, grabbing hold of your waistband and unbuttoning your shorts. You shimmied them over your hips, revealing the rest of your leotard- leotard, Eddie realized. Not a tank top. You were wearing a black leotard. It was almost like the kind that he’d seen ballerinas wear, except it cut so high on your hips that he was sure it wouldn’t be allowed in any of the dance studios he could think of, and….yep. YEP, it was practically a thong. Your ass was out. You were sitting on the floor of his bedroom with your ass out. 

Chill out, Munson! He screamed inwardly at himself, Chill the fuck out!

Of course, you couldn’t tell that there was a war going on between Eddie’s ability to function and the short-circuiting that threatened to render him unable to do anything but stare at you. All you could see was the way his jaw had gone slack and his eyes bugged out of their sockets.

You smiled shyly, a twinge of something between satisfaction and guilt nudging at your heartstrings. “I figured this thing would be less awkward than if I was sitting here in my underwear,” you laughed nervously as you gestured to your leotard.

Eddie gulped. He couldn’t see much of a difference. “Yeah, totally.” 

A beat passed. You grabbed a bag of gummy worms from the floor, tearing it open with a crinkle of the plastic that would not have been so loud if the two of you weren’t dead silent. You bit into the candy where the color changed from pink to blue, then finally muttered through your chewing, “Ready when you are.” 

Eddie blinked rapidly, taking his Sharpie in his hands. “Uh, yeah… yeah, okay.” 

With your free hand, you pointed to the part of your hip where your flesh naturally creased as your thigh met your pelvis. 

“Is here good?”

Eddie gulped. 

“Yeah, that’s good.” But Eddie was very much not good. He was the opposite of good, he felt like he was malfunctioning. When he placed his free hand on your upper thigh, he almost apologized. Why the hell did he feel like he had to apologize? He had no clue. His palms were sweating- did you feel how sweaty his palms were? Oh god. He forgot what a bat looked like- you were trusting his artistic skills enough for him to permanently ink his drawing into your skin and he couldn’t even remember what a goddamn bat looked li- oh, wait, he had them on his own forearm now. Eddie glanced at his arm, reminding himself what a goddamn bat looked like. 

He’s never felt like more of a nervous idiot than right now. 

Meanwhile, you felt like you were about to explode.

His hand was warm. So warm as he grasped your thigh. Whenever he’d touched you before, there was always a barrier, some form of separation between his skin and yours- jeans, a sweater, a flannel. 

A leather jacket.

That’s right- he had taken his jacket back. Maybe you were reading too deep into things, but you had this unshakable feeling that taking back that jacket had been a message. 

We’re just friends. Nothing more.

But if that was true, then why was he looking at your thighs the way he was? Why had he looked at you the way he did when he said you should go with him when he leaves Hawkins? 

He wasn’t your boyfriend… you knew that.

So why couldn’t you shake this undeniably girlfriendish ache in your chest?

“Okay.” Eddie’s voice jolted you out of your downward spiral into your very inconvenient feelings. “Check that out in the mirror, make sure you like it.”

You straightened up, walking on your knees until you faced the mirror leaning against the wall and inspected the tiny, perfect little bat that he’d drawn on the fullest part of your hip.

It matched the bats that now decorated his arm, now surrounded by an angry red halo that bloomed across his skin. Once that bat was inked, it would be something connecting you and Eddie forever- a shared experience, a secret that the two of you would always be in on. 

Suddenly, you realized that in this moment there wasn’t a single thing you wanted more than a matching tattoo with Eddie Munson.

Well, there was one thing. But you had a feeling that wasn’t happening tonight. The tattoo, however…

“I love it.” You looked over your shoulder at Eddie, but his eyes were a little too busy staring at your practically naked behind to meet your gaze. 

“Ahem.”

Breaking free of his trance, Eddie shook his head a tad, which drew a small chuckle from your smirking lips. Eddie couldn’t help but smile too, albeit more shyly than you.

“Distracted?” You teased, unable to hold back your glee at this kind of attention- any kind of attention- from Eddie. 

He sighed, blinking rapidly while he finally met your eyes. There was something new in the way he was looking at you- if you didn’t know better you might call it frustration, but it was an amused sort of frustration. Almost like his eyes were saying “what am I going to do with you?” but through sunglasses tinted with desire. 

You wanted to bottle that, stow it away for emergencies. Wanted to preserve the way that gaze made you feel so that you could experience it over and over again. 

“No.” Eddie murmured through a rueful grin. “Lie down, it’ll be easier to ink the skin while it’s flat.” You did as he instructed, feeling the crinkle of newspaper underneath the skin of your rear. Once again, you found yourself staring up at the water stain on Eddie’s ceiling until his face came into view, looking down at you as he readied the tattoo machine. 

“Are you?” You heard him ask. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

The pads of Eddie’s fingers poked and prodded at the skin around where your tattoo would soon have an indefinite spot on your hip, and you wondered if he could tell that your temperature shot up ten degrees each time you felt his hands on you.

“Are you distracted?” he clarified. “Because it hurts less when you’ve got something else to focus on.” 

“Oh.” Suddenly, your mind went blank. Of course, the moment you wanted something to distract you, all ideas turned tail and ran. “Um…”

Snap!

Your jaw dropped as the elastic of your leotard snapped back to your skin from where Eddie had pulled it away with his pointer finger. “Where’d you even get this thing?” 

Now it was your turn to short-circuit.

“Uh-” You stammered, interrupted by the machine beginning to buzz. 

Eddie didn’t wait for you to finish your thought before reminding you what he’d asked. “C’mon, Sweet Tart, where’d you get the leotard?”

You knew he was trying to distract you so you didn’t feel the pain, but you couldn’t help the tensing of your muscles as the needle pierced your skin. You winced, staring at the water stain with a newfound intensity. “Dance store.” you gritted through lips that formed a tight line. 

“Dance store, huh?” You could hear the smile through Eddie’s words. “And why were you in a dance store?”

You huffed out a short, breathy laugh, careful to keep your hip still as Eddie’s needle continued to do its work. “I was making a Flashdance costume. Heard about this Halloween party a few weeks ago, but then we made the tattoo plans… and I had already bought the leotard, so…”

It was disconcerting to speak with Eddie without looking at him; he was a very expressive person, always talking with his hands, always making sure that he looked you in the eyes when you spoke to him. But now he was focused on his work on your hip, leaving your eyes to shift between staring at his ceiling and fluttering closed.

“You were going to wear this thing to a party?” he asked, incredulous. 

Your eyebrows wrinkled over your closed eyes. “I would’ve worn tights under it…” 

He snorted. “That wouldn’t have made a difference.”

You winced, groaning as the needle hit a nerve that particularly stung. “What- ah, shit- what are you trying to say?” 

The buzzing stopped for a moment. “Fuck, you okay?” Eddie’s face leaned into your field of vision, his frizzy brown hair backlit into a halo by the light from the lamp behind him. “You want to take a break?”

You shook your head, taking a mental snapshot of how ethereal he looked like this. “No, you can keep going, I’m fine.” 

Cautiously, Eddie got back to work. A few wordless seconds ticked by before you spoke. 

“What did you mean, ‘that wouldn’t have made a difference’?”

Eddie’s reply was matter-of-fact, but you could have sworn that you heard a hint of protectiveness in his voice when he said, “Tights or no tights, the whole party would have been staring at your ass, Sweet Tart.”

The “T” sound in “Tart” was soft this time. So soft, it was barely there at all, and it almost sounded like he’d just called you sweetheart. If only. You’d give anything to be Eddie’s sweetheart.

Whether he’d meant to blend that consonant or not, it made you brave. “Is that a bad thing?”

A pause. Then, “Is this a trap?”

“Answer the question, would a bunch of people staring at my ass be a bad thing?”

Eddie sighed. “This is definitely a trap,” he muttered, before replying “No, Ace, objectively it would not be a bad thing. But sometimes people view girls differently when they walk around with their asses out.”

“Do you look at me differently when my ass is out?” You were being cheeky, you knew it. 

“No, I don’t look at you differently.” came his instant response, muttered through nearly-closed lips. “I just look at you.”

Nothing could stand against your smile, not even you. “Yeah, that much I could see in the mirror.”

“You don’t sound too upset about that.”

This was different from the flirting you were used to with Eddie. Your regular flavor of flirtation had always been surface-level banter; nothing past a jab here and there, a joke at his expense or a nickname thrown your way. 

Now? You were talking about the way he looked at your body, and the fact that he could tell that you liked when he looked. The two of you were in uncharted territory, and you buzzed under his touch in time with the inky needle at the beautiful unknown of it all. 

“Okay, the outline is done but I’m about to start filling it in.” Eddie warned. “This part hurts a little more. You wanna take a break?”

You nodded. While Eddie jumped up to get you both a glass of water, you sat up on your elbows and peered over at your hip to get a look at your new ink. When you saw it, you gasped so fervently that you startled yourself.

It was perfect. The perfect little bat. 

It wasn’t completely symmetrical. The outline was a tad thicker in certain places than others. But those imperfections made it his. And the fact that it was on your skin made it yours. 

You couldn’t wait to wake up and stare at it like this every single day. 

Eddie returned a moment later with two mismatched cups of tap water. Once you’d both rehydrated, he got to work replacing the needle at the end of the machine with a new one, as well as changing out various attachments and fiddling with a knobby-looking piece until he seemed satisfied with what he’d changed.

 You were impressed with how intensely focused Eddie was on this sort of work; it didn’t seem to be taking him long to get the hang of this. It also didn’t take him long to come up with another topic of conversation that teetered on the line between friendly and flirty.

“Ever played Fuck, Marry, Kill?”

You had not, but the title of the game brought an unexpected chuckle out of you. “Edward Munson, I am a lady! At least take me out to dinner first-”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” Eddie chuckled, and you could hear his deadpan in the tone of his voice. “I say three people’s names and you have to tell me which you’d fuck, which you’d marry, and which you’d kill. Comprende?”

“Uhh-” whatever you’d been about to say was cut short by a harsher buzz than before, accompanied by the aggressive sting of needles on your skin. “Mmh, shit, okay yeah sure let’s play.”

Eddie smiled to himself. He wasn’t sure why he loved the little noises and whispered curses that spilled from your mouth while he tattooed you, but he honestly thought they might be the cutest sounds he’d ever heard. You were taking the pain like a champ- he was actually pretty proud of you in this moment as you remained still through the sting.

“Lars Ulrich, James Hetfield, and Kirk Hammett”

You rolled your eyes. Eddie had ensured over your many rides in his van this summer that every Metallica song he’d played had been an educational experience. Eddie had picked up a cassette of their debut album in July, and ever since he’d become obsessed. Already, he was trying to persuade the other members of his band to figure out how to play The Four Horsemen by ear. 

Needless to say, you knew enough about the band to at least answer the question. 

“Well I’m killing Lars for sure.”

“Poor Lars never stood a chance.”

You grinned, willing the distraction into something great enough to numb the pain. “And I think I’m gonna have to fuck Hetfield.”

“‘Have to fuck Hetfield,’ such a sacrifice.” 

You carefully stretched your arms up to rest above your shoulders, cradling your head on your hands like a pillow. “Hey, if someone’s got to do it, I’ll take one for the team.”

You heard him snort, then after a moment’s quiet he added, “So you’re marrying Kirk Hammett, then?”

“I guess so.”

“What makes Kirk marriage material? Over the other two, I mean.”

You thought about Kirk Hammett’s wild, dark curls. His build. His brown button eyes. The way he looked holding a guitar.

“I don’t know, there’s just something about him.”

Eddie thought about the way he’d been trying to make himself look more like a rockstar ever since he’d first seen the tiny, grainy picture of the Metallica members in the corner of a page of Rolling Stone; he’d been bumming copies off Jeff’s subscription since the seventh grade. How he’d started growing out his hair after seeing Kirk’s long, black mane. He smiled. 

He must be doing something right.

“Alright, Mrs. Hammett,” He quipped, “My turn, hit me with bachelorettes one through three, please.”

You thought over your options, trying to think of women you’d heard him mention before. Wondering if he thought any of them had something in common with you, and praying to God he didn’t kill them.

“Olivia Newton-John,”

Already, Eddie was descending into a fit of giggles. 

“Why are you laughing? She’s pretty!”

Eddie launched into a falsetto rendition of the chorus from Grease’s Hopelessly Devoted to You, and you were instantly fighting the giggles too. 

“Shut up! I’m not done yet. Olivia Newton-John… have you seen Fast Times?”

His response came in a tone of voice that was the vocal equivalent of a side-eye. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I don’t know if you know who Phoebe Cates is.”

“Oh,” Eddie sighed dreamily, “I know who Phoebe Cates is.” 

You rolled your eyes, but chuckled nonetheless. “Okay then- Olivia Newton-John, Phoebe Cates, and Carrie Fisher.”

Eddie barked out a joyous “Ah!” before answering, “Well this is easy, Ace, say goodbye to Newton-John!”

You mock-gasped. “You’re killing Sandy?”

“I’m killing Sandy.”

“That is brutal. She was so innocent, too.”

Eddie squinted at the half-filled tattoo, smirking into his explanation. “Okay, I see the appeal, Ace, I truly do. That outfit at the end is killer.” He paused. Should he say it? Would he be too obvious if he did? 

Ah, fuck it. 

“I’m a sucker for a woman in red shoes, let me tell ya. However-” Eddie quickly glazed over that last sentence, as well as any opening you might have gotten to think about how that might relate to you. “-I’ve gotta fuck Phoebe Cates. Because… y’know-”

“Boobies?” you beat him to the punch.

Eddie confirmed with a matter-of-fact “Boobies.” He glanced up at your face for a moment, curious to see if he could read what you thought of his answers, but you were staring pensively at his ceiling, expression unreadable. “And you have to have known I was marrying Leia the moment she was an option.” 

“You have a thing for Princess Leia?”

“Are you joking?” Eddie asked, incredulously. “How could I not? The woman’s the definition of a spitfire, she kicks ass and takes names. Not to mention, she’s got a thing for scoundrels.” 

You hummed. “Do you think you’re a scoundrel, Eddie?” 

“Well I’m certainly not a scruffy-looking nerf herder, I’ll tell you that much.”

You winced playfully, “A nerf herder you are not… but you are a bit scruffy.”

“You’ve got me there, princess.”

Eddie went silent. The nickname had just slipped out- all this talk of scoundrels and princesses and strong women who weren’t afraid of a fight and before he knew it, he was seeing more similarities between you and Leia than he’d realized were there before. 

Princess had just seemed right. It just slipped out. 

The line between friendship and dangerous territory had been so clearly drawn in Eddie’s mind before tonight. Where had he gone wrong? That once clear line was getting blurry.

Eddie was absolutely convinced that he would probably find a way to single handedly ruin your friendship before he was finished filling in your tattoo- which you would inevitably hate, because it would remind you of the asshole who you used to be friends with before he made things weird between you.

“My turn,” your voice cut through Eddie’s downward spiral, drawing a relieved sigh from him that tickled the skin of your thigh. “Let’s make this round more interesting. Only names of people from Hawkins.”

“Hm, that is interesting.” he mused, the needle inching its way toward the last remaining centimeter of bare skin left within the outline. “Let me think… Chief Hopper-”

You barked out a laugh, “Oh great start, Eds.”

“Chief’s a good looking guy! I don’t know why you’re laughing!” but Eddie was smiling ear to ear, delighted that his awkward apprehension had already begun to dissipate. “Principal Higgins-”

“Are you only going to give me old men as options?”

Eddie was going to do exactly that, because he didn’t want to picture you marrying or- God forbid- fucking any men in Hawkins that you might actually enjoy doing either of those things with. He wasn’t jealous, per se… but none of the shitheads in Hawkins were good enough for you. Eddie wasn’t even good enough for you; not yet, at least. He could picture a future version of himself one day taking his chances with you, once you’d both skipped town and found your way in some thriving city somewhere. 

You were both too good for this place- you were the first person to make him think that about himself.

“What was that security guard’s name at the mall? Average joe looking guy? Quentin? Quincey?”

“Oh, you mean Quinn?”

“Knew his name started with a Q.” Eddie softly bit his bottom lip as he finished the last bit of your bat’s wing. “Hopper, Higgins, and Quinn. Those are your options.”

You groaned. “These choices suck, can I just kill them all?”

“I kinda like it when you go all bloodthirsty, Ace.”

You rolled your eyes before letting them flutter closed. “Ugh, well I’m obviously killing Higgins… he’s never been nice to you and all he cares about are school sports. I guess… I mean if I have to, I’ll fuck Hopper.”

Eddie was beside himself with giggles, “I mean, that’s one way to get out of a speeding ticket.”

“You’re lucky I can’t smack you right now.” You ignored Eddie’s snickering and continued. “And I don’t think I’d mind being married to Quinn, he always smiles at me and asks how my day was. Plus he’s kind of cute, he’s got nice hair.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “I don’t see it.”

You laughed, and the jingling tone of your voice suddenly sounded too loud as the buzzing of Eddie’s machine stopped. 

“Alright, Ace,” Eddie announced, leaning back to survey his work. “Check out your new ink.”

You didn’t need to look at it again to know it would be perfect, but you looked anyway. You stood on your sleeping legs and gazed at the little black bat on your hip- it sat beautifully balanced on the skin framed by your high cut leotard, and you knew at once that you’d think of Eddie each time you saw it. This was exactly what you wanted- a daily reminder of exactly how he made you feel, of who he was to you. 

At this moment, it dawned on you exactly what it was that Eddie made you feel. The way you always wanted to be around him, and the way he had become a balloon that inflated your chest every time he made you laugh, and how you knew- just knew- that you’d follow him anywhere if he asked. 

You loved Eddie Munson. You were in love with him. 

And you couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot at that little asymmetrical bat.

Part 6

Taglist: @emma77645 , @rustboxstarr, @josephquinnsfreckles, @rozxartaki, @sheneedsrocknroll92

[izaacs-notdeadyet]

Zombie Apocalypse au!!

I really need to come up with a better name cause "zombie apocalypse au" just seems bland and "tlou outsiders au" is just too long 😔😔 def drop some ideas if you have any.

Anyway!1!1 dally design drop!!

Gon be real, I did not have fun drawing this and I think it shows in the art but fuck it!! We ball. This is like maybe my second time drawing dally and I can't get him down well for the life of me. Kinda going threw art block I think but we stay on the grind 🗣️🗣️🗣️

While he wasn't fun to draw, he was definitely fun to think up his story in this au. I think I'm gonna be a bit selective with what all I say abt the gang from now on, cause I'm really considering turning this into a fic (would y'all read about this?)

Anyway!1!1 time to yap

Dally didn't grow up in New York

But he grew up in a gang with a lot of survivors from New york

The gang "leader" was pretty tough on Dally, he was the only kid and no one really liked his being there much

He was only there cause his dad had somehow managed to talk the group into letting him join when Dally was younger

On the topic of Dally's dad,

He wasn't a bad guy, but dally and him never got along much

He never hit dally though, only one time

Dally snuck away to go exploring in the city

And ended up pissing off the leader of their group real bad

He made Dally's dad hit him, kinda in a moment like Sarah's dad hitting her in the walking dead video game (take this as loosely similar, cause I've never played nor watched the walking dead)

It was then Dally decided to leave and take off on his own at only 12.

He wasn't going to let anyone hit him like that again or hold that kind of power over him

He wandered around America and maybe even Canada for awhile

I like to think he used to have a horse, one that either died or got stolen, but he loved it a lot while he had it

He found the gang on their trek through Oklahoma.

By "found" I mean found their camp and tried to steal from them, not realizing they were right outside

When it went wrong he ended up holding Two-bit (who had been sick at the time) at knifepoint, trying to get them to give up their shit

Darry ended up talking him down, convincing him to just sit and talk (made harder by Steve and Pony agreeing on something for once in their life, and it being on killing Dally)

Dally ended up staying at their camp for the night, planning to leave in the morning, but Two-bit found him at the campfire later that night

They had a talk, Two-bit didn't blame him or dislike him for what he'd done, he was the first one to forgive and really be okay with Dally's presence.

Come the next day, and Two-bit was up before anyone else regardless of how sick he was, standing up for Dally and saying Darry should let him stay.

It took a bit of convincing, but Dally was allowed to stay, and he just kinda ran with them since

[kaihuntrr]

The Sea Prince; Betas and Sketches!

Hello! been a bit since ive done a sketch dump, but it isnt just a sketch dump, it's an announcement!

As @mewhoismyself and I work on the fic, we need an active set of beta readers! The two we have our wonderful, but to keep with the schedule, we need some extra hands and fresh eyes!

Hence, beta readers are once again open!

I am looking for two betas who are experienced in writing, and who are active to give their insights and feedback! currently, i am writing chapter 17, but while i do that, i'd need the feedback as soon as i can get it so i can prepare it for the chapter release dates. shoot a comment down below so i can check your account!

anyway, here's some doodles <3

ONE OF THESE IMAGES BELOW HAVE BLOOD. I AM WARNING YOU NOW.

first off, here's a joke made by a friend :> martyn is scott's babygirl, boom, its canon-

starting off, here's some silhouettes for the other princes ;D I can't reveal them, otherwise the surprise would be ruined! they're all based on different sea creatures, but they are just as scary as Prince Pearl and Prince Chromia. theres other designs i have to get to, but this is a sneak peak of the other terrors lurking in the dark.

speaking of, I got a fun doodle of em <3 the good thing about eating underwater is that they won't get all messy, but there are those times where an audience might watch them eat, they're messy eaters!

these two are pretty, but i really wanted to push their freakier, scarier sea prince sides! more slight changes, but they're both quite fun to draw! their contrasting designs are so much fun to draw together, i love these sillies! oh- and here's a bloodless version!

i absolutely LOVE my sea prince designs, scott and pearl just itch me the right way.

and before i pop off, here's some concept designs for joey and sausage, along with fwhip and gem! since gem is officially a lifer, i think her role in the story might be a bit more focused on, who knows!

wanted to make sure sausage didn't look like his pirates look :0c this au was originally before pirates smp, so i wanted to differentiate them somehow, so i pulled a lot from their empires' attire and see what works! what do you think?

finally, we have the cover art board! im planning to put this all in my pinned post the moment all the covers drop, but goodness, those eyes sure are pretty!

what do you think of the au so far? enjoying it? i hope you are! this au is such a blast <3

[lunarle-old]

Do you have an idea of what you're going to write next ?

Yes... And No.

The current plan is to write my dragon fic. I looove dragons, and I've always loved fics that make my favs dragons. Hoarding Humans is a good example of that ;P I really wanna do it myself! I feel a little weird directly using the concept of HH (just the idea of a dragon's hoard being humans! i've been obsessed with it ever since!!)... I know there's a whole Inspired tab thing on ao3 but remember I was brought up in the animation meme community trenches. I've seen some very vile things said to ""copycats"" (and it's usually just somebody who took inspiration off of someone elses art style or a certain part of another persons meme @_@ don't get me STARTED on the ragebait...) and I am not in the proper emotional state to handle that right now QwQ

However that doesn't mean I can't write about dragons. I have some ideas in mind-- I've properly conceptualized my go-to fantasy world for AUs like this. I know who the main cast would generally be (DICE! Kokichi rounds up some of his classmates from in game :P so people like Gonta, K1B0, Miu, Kaede, Rantaro. . . maybe Kirumi? I have lore trust me. I'm cooking.) I know the main premise of the story, and it goes into my own bullshit with dragons, because lord knows I ever follow any actual myths or tales (´ﾟωﾟ｀) (i read wings of fire that's good enough for me!!!)

I am still trying to learn how to draw dragons in a way I like though. Here's my concept for Maki and Shuichi ^^"

Overall the chances of this fic happening after HGH, as of right now, are fairly high. This is what I plan to write once I'm done with HGH.

But please, please please keep in mind that I . . . am absolutely horrible with making promises about my fics. I'm so forgetful I forget to even check my notes to see what I've forgotten. T_T my fics would be a tiny bit better than they are now if I actually kept track of wtf im doing. maybe i should make a checklist.

Point is, I don't know if this is what I'll write once HGH is done. I've done some estimating and while, for once, I do not have a concrete ending in mind, I can guess how long this'll be. I think... it might be around as long as M5? Somewhere around that 130k mark. Again!! I'm not sure!! I need to figure out what I'm gonna be doing for the non-Tsumugi half of the "recovery" arc, so who knows what the word count for this is gonna be T_T. MY POINT!! MY POINT IS THAT!!! It could change. By the time I'm done with HGH, I might write this dragon fic. I might write a differeny fic. Or I'll lose motivation to write anything for a bit. Lord I am yapping so I'll move on

Que transition, with all that being said, I do have Other ideas in mind!! Ones I've been sitting on for a while!

ONE. Saimatsu mansion :D I've mentioned it here and there, but the idea is that Shuichi and Kaede are plopped on an island and have to escape. It's one of those more out there ideas G_G and I haven't really descended into my full levels of insanity yet (wait until i start posting my crossover aus /j), but this would be bordering on it. I have some more minor ideas for this one, but I haven't rlly explored it yet :'3

TWO. remember unexpendable? yeah so i. i really really like crossover aus. almost as much as i like giving them superpowers. I was thinking of an Undertale x DR fic where I drop Shuichi into the underground. Undertale is super special to me,, it got me out of a really dark place. My favorite OC of mine (Montserrat<3) is an Undertale OC! So I think it'd be a lot of fun, especially since Danganronpa is basically the reason I'm like?? actually living now XD I got a job because posting my DR fics helped me overcome enough of my social anxiety to get employed. So!! It'd be nice. i also think shuichi and papyrus would get along do NOT @ me also undyne would scare the shit out of him. Anyways I dunno if this would be another oneshot, considering the, uh. length of the game. and how insane i could rlly go if i went into the neutral /genocide route stuff too. I dunno. It'd be fun :P i also have doodles wait

THREE. I don't know what could and couldn't be used for a plot twist so I'll keep it vague, but basically it's a fic that involves the ENTIRE CAST. A bit of a challenge for myself. Everyone's back! And all of the blackeneds revert to, like... HGH levels of despairs. So it's up to everyone whos still normal to find a way to make them also normal before, uh. things get worse. TV GIRL BLAST 💥 (oh yeah this would be a kaede-centric fic! her pov for the majority. i had a lot of fun writing her during Unexpendable and i miss her </3)

FOUR. i got really into in stars and time so now i'm even more not normal about time loops. so let's put shuichi in another one! but i wanted to shake it up a bit and really let my less canon-reliant, more creative side flow a bit. It'd also be kind of a message to myself about life... WHATEVER Thats not important. What is important is, hey! I've been watching WAY too many Minecraft ARG analysises than what could possibly be considered healthy for my anxiety, so now I want to sic a bunch of them on Shuichi. this things unfinished because i only have very vague ideas for a few of the loops... but the overarching idea is that even the smallest (but impactful!) change in a choice can lead to an entirely different loop, with an entirely different entity. and during all of the loops, shuichi gets little bits and pieces to the bigger picture, which will break him out of the loops. idk this seems like a big and tiring project so this is more of a "maybe" than the others but i still think it's cool :')

FIVE. ok this one isn't danganronpa... remember when I said I was super into In Stars and Time? I wanted to write an ISAT fic. Siffrin and Bonnie are so so special to me and i wanted to indulge in that. I haven't rlly been writing in my oneshots though so I don't really have a grip on writing anyone from ISAT,, so. :( i have to spiral into full insanity privately before i can determine what is safe to show the internet /hj

And that is all I can think of off the top of my head. :P These ideas have been brewing for quite a bit, and ones that have actual ideas to them. I dunno which one I'll write first... or even if I'll write them. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Who knows? Maybe I'll break my rules about writing two fics at a time. Just give me time ... and please be patient. I can only write so fast ＼(_ _)

[bluebirds-37]

kny au idea

//CANON KNY STORYLINE SPOILERS

okay so i LOVE demon slayer its RRREGGHHHRFHRJDJD EXPLODES

Anyway i like denon slayer

Ive had a few various fic ideas and i just had another one so ill drop a few lil factoids from it

Au idea: the slayer's mark curse doesnt kill its user- it just turns them into a demon either by 25 or when put into a situation that would kill a regular human. In this au Rengoku survives because he activates the mark while thinking about Senjuro- and during that same fight instead of dying to akaza when he's brought into the shade he goes fupl demon—but akin to all docile demons-remembers who he is and his past and so holds the same ability of peace that Nezuko and the demons Lady Tamayo turns do.

First off I dont want the Ubuyashiki family to die so we're just gonna say they didnt by some blood demon art or something idk - either way they survive because I love the ubuyashikis

Later on during the final battle muzan manages to get away instead of being killed and making tanjiro demon king and the corps PANICS because what the fuck why are ALL THE HASHIRA TURNING INTO DEMONS???? (Shinobu because she believes her plan may fail and in the heat of seeing Douma activates her mark, Tengen activated his mark during the entertainment district to save his wives and the squad) And NONE of the corps is having it.

Also if this looks wonky thats mb i dont know how to format a bullet-point list on tumblr

• Rengoku is SO not happy about not being able to go out in the sun anymore, but hes making the most of it

• Sanemi barely saved Genya and he is never going to let himself live that down. He almost lost his baby brother and he is NOT going to keep pushing him away

• Shinobu, Obanai, and Sanemi are THE most pissed about the situation, they had a feeling it would happen but goddamnit they really didnt want it to

• lets say Obanai activated his mark while defending Tanjiro and or Mitsuri, its a snake in between his shoulderblades

• Gyomei cried for HOURS when he heard everyones voices again for the first time - despite the circumstance

• Mitsuri is honestly taking this all the best, she likes her fangs and thinks she looks more like Nezuko--it makes her happy.

• Tamayo survives but barely--and thats thanks to Yushiro. While initially she tried to use the demon to human cure on the hashira, when it didnt work she was absolutely stumped--she had NO idea what to do, shes working on a cure but her main priority is something to weaken Muzan even more than before

• Giyuu is honestly a bit peeved he didnt die-- he misses his family and best friend damnit

• Muichiro is pretty indifferent about surviving, hes glad he can still be useful but now hes disgusted in himself just for being alive. Now he understands a bit of what Obanai was talking about that one time.

Im totally gonna have more im gonna make drawings on this and if anyone is intruiged i am ONE HUNDRED PERCENT taking asks on this (and in general, my inbox is forever open lol)

[applesontheground]

RIRI!!!!!! I’m so excited to request something from you!! Our freaky bendy boy’s been on my mind since watching Malignant, and I know this concept has been mentioned, so I wondered…. Perhaps some phone sex with Gabriel? Him guiding reader, coaxing and teasing and instructing them with that voice? I trust you with the finer details 💜 Thank you friend, MWAH

ACE! YOU'RE GONNA BE MY FIRST GABRIEL FIC!! HOW ABOUT IT!!

this is the first of what i hope to be more installments of this dude -- and of course, the start of the final portion of my remaining requests finishing up. i'm really fascinated with this bendy boy and the bendy body he shares with his poor sister lol! that being said, we love and appreciate both in this house as we always do with horror sibs. thanks for being patient, hope the wait was worth it!!

the lost art of keeping a secret ⚕️

NSFW | Word Count: 1,916 | Gabriel May x GN Reader contains DUBCON, phone sex (or at least, a subspecies of it), guided masturbation, themes of stalking/a very paranormal means of voyeurism, he is...not nice about said guided masturbation, degradation 🎼: x, x

It was a stint of faulty wiring. That was well and normal when you decided to find a home in an overworked city full of overworked people.

Stepping off the elevator, there was a faint drum of thunder from outside. Another storm passing over brought the urge to hide out, knees growing heavy as you walked down the hall, pulling your rain-resistant coat even tighter around your collarbone. You donned a scratchy sweater underneath, and it still didn’t feel like enough.

There were two people in the corridor, a neighbor from across the way and the maintenance employee working on one of the faulty lights. It wasn’t a particular bother to you, but still nice to see it noticed and taken care of. The gentle buzz of a radio sat by your feet, a moment of unity while you fumbled for your keys in their presence.

“Hello,” Your neighbor then cleared her throat, “I-I need to ask, but were we too loud last night?”

You paused, a cold hand still grasping your keys as you stared at your door. It was the first time you two were speaking after almost a year of living across from each other, truly registering and matching the voice to the face as you turned around. You shook your head and replied, “Not at all. How come?”

She huffed, “Oh, no reason. This is my younger sister’s place, and we just got a little too giggly at an ungodly hour.” She grimaced, but when you laughed the idea off, she finally let herself breathe a sigh of relief. “I was just hoping we weren’t total menaces.”

“Not at all.” You then assured her, and pointed out, “I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to your sister, actually, regardless of you two being menaces.” She smiled a little bigger, and you then held your hand out to her. “[Y/N]. I’m at work until late anyways, so you can really be as loud as you want at night.”

She chuckled, shaking your hand. “Madison. Nice to meet you, [Y/N].” She gestured to the door behind her and added, “I’ll tell her to come say hi some time. It’s not like her to be a stranger.”

A sharp drop in the garble coming from the radio had both of you snap your heads to look towards the maintenance worker. He looked back at the both of you, brow furrowing as a walrus-looking mustache twitched. He then turned down to stare at the device, hands busy with the light overhead.

“Weather must be causing an interference,” He mumbled, turning back with his arms outstretched up to fenagle with the faulty light. Madison didn’t find that nearly as good of an answer as you did, her expression tight as you two bid farewell and head to your separate apartments.

After an agonizing day, you took solace in some breathable lounging clothes and a comforter on your sofa, curled up with your phone and the radio on a shelf above your head turned to a lulling volume, something you could fall asleep to the sound of should exhaustion fall over your tired disposition.

“Where…are you…going?”

“I…know you’re here…”

You reached up above your head, beginning to change the station and figuring some strange local program was coming through the music. It was an older system, after all, and even though you weren’t actively listening, something about letting another person pick the songs was appealing to the exhaustion, an urge to ignore most of what wasn’t in front of your eyes.

Just as your arm trailed back down, finding its shelter under the blanket and your eyes glued to the doomscroll through your phone, the radio whispered again through a light rock song – almost as though it was attempting to talk over it.

“Don’t ignore me, [Y/N]. I want an answer.”

Your eyes snapped up, staring into the open area between the countertop that separated your living room from the kitchen. Immediate bargaining came through, wondering just how common your name was, how likely it would be spoken on the air.

“I’m talking to you.”

Turning around now, half up in your seat and furrowing your brow at the radio, an uncertain prick in your chest made you glance to your windows, fogged by the warmth facing the rainy cold outside. You were higher up in the building, meaning unless someone was peering from a distance, there was no way to be seen.

“I’m not out there, [Y/N]. It's right here.” You practically felt your blood pressure spike that time, your breath growing shallow as you slowly looked up at your radio. “The sickness is well with you.”

The voice, fading between clear and garbled, was a roll over gravel. Still, you sat at the edge of the sofa now, unnerved before you could find any sort of interest in it. The static purred for a beat, and then the voice asked, “Do you like the neighbors?”

Your heart somehow fell further into the pit of your body, pressed against your spine in a metaphorical sense as you forced another breath through a tight chest. Your eyes glanced towards the front door you had walked through not even an hour ago.

“If you don’t like her, you can talk to me instead.” He was slow to word himself, as though the voice was thinking of the opportunity he was now offering. You quickly reached to turn the radio off before a scorching heat from the knob made your hand shoot back, baring your teeth.

“Don’t.”

You felt the lights flicker over your head again, now half off the couch with feet on the floor. Hand pressed into your leg, feeling the sharp pain and wondering if it had actually burned you.

“Dare.”

“You.”

Breath picked up, the TV now flicking on and off, the same news station it had been on showing first but with each heartbeat-paced switch a different channel revealed itself.

It was silent after the last word, all power shut off except for the radio. Disgust and that same avoidance was now holding you by the throat, burning through your chest as you tried to take a deep breath. You looked around again, and the voice threatened, “Now, I have a request for you, and there’s a worthy prize at the end.”

Keeping a blank expression, you only caved when he revealed his intentions: “Madison’s life.”

You sputtered, looking down at your phone tangled in the blanket. Was he terrorizing your neighbors across the hall, too? Suddenly, Intentions to leave and check on the power throughout your building bubbled up, but then the voice asked you almost in a patronizing sigh, “And what will you tell the police if they come?”

“Where the hell…?” You stammered under your breath, once again looking around wildly, “That someone on the radio told you to touch yourself?”

“…Touch myself?” You echoed, glaring at the radio and feeling dumb for doing so, no face to meet the bewilderment you knew was painting your countenance. “I’m getting too far ahead.” He chided to himself, but quickly regained a searing tone, “Listen closely, and follow my directions. Madison will face something unfortunate if you don't. Then, you will be next.”

Heat washed over your face, and you glared at the empty air in front of you. “I’m not-“

“Manage it.”

"Fucking nooo-"

“You fucking will.” He insisted, a lightbulb suddenly snapping out of thin air. Disintegrating down onto the coffee table across from your legs. Another beat, weighing your options.

You hesitantly reached for your bottoms. Dread crept up your stomach fast, and it only drew you out more into a state of disbelief when you had asked if you could close the drapes, and he complied.

“I just need one eye, and a light on you.” He then muttered, and you almost swore he was laughing to notice you were once again shuddering off the knowledge of being watched. A hand trembled below your stomach. You stuck a daunted, rather cold finger inside, [another worming into your cunt/the other hand gripping your shaft], but he then winced at the sight, “Slower...”

Utterly debilitating, especially when ordered by that voice. He worked through you despite your initial dread, and the rhythm was soon felt, even followed albeit still halfhearted. Your head lolled a bit, but you kept glancing away from the act, still wondering where he was watching from.

The voice would growl in a mutter to himself when there was some sort of indication you were jumping the gun, now feeling that familiar burn you tumbled into something desperate for this release the further the comforter slipped down your bare legs, spreading from pleasure that somehow was relaxing despite the situation. Sweat was starting to form against your thighs. The fact it was all you, him being the voice that merely directed, drove you forwards and farther down this rabbit hole.

How long could you keep up with it? Fatigue from the day made you strain to keep your pace, the heat of pleasure shot over your core and across your stomach and chest.

“[Y/N], I said slow.” Snapping to some sort of reality, you eased up more from the fact you were asked to than any urge that now sat taut like a chained, angry dog. Almost frozen, and once again glancing towards the window or any way there could be a possibility someone was watching.

The TV snapped on, a blizzard of static as you almost [removed your fingers/unclenched your cock]. A vague shape of shoulders, a head came through; it was clearer if you squinted, but each gentle breath in made it hard to keep your focus. Muscles in your groin clenched as the voice spoke again.

“Look at me, [Y/N]. I'm far closer to you than you think.”

Fear made your [hand(s)] move again, and you clenched your teeth. It’d be foolish to speak to whatever this person was, and your shoulders even rolled a bit in a jolt between [pumps up into your vagina/strokes against the hot skin of your dick] to make sure you were awake.

"Like a fine-tuned instrument. Far better than I thought you would be." He observed, a tilt in his head sending tendrils of dark hair off his shoulders. They almost seemed to jut forward unnaturally when you really looked at it, more like shoulder blades than flat surfaces.

It was like they were put on backwards.

It was a short observation, the high once again coming up as you found a perfect spot to keep rubbing against yourself. This power in an unaroused context was still toxic, asphyxiating to anything you needed tonight when it came to companionship.

The release rushed through when he took a deep breath, the groan crackling over static and making you lurch forward. A sharp orgasm, stifled from fear and causing it to slather over nerves in an ache rather than any sort of satisfaction had made your head stop lying back, front and center as you let a single pathetic whine out.

"So soon, so messy," He noted, and you crumpled against your lap as the power fell to dark once more, the TV shut off, and there was just the rain spattering against window panes hiding you from the rest of the world.

The radio still working, tickling you with its interference fighting against all law of nature and surrounding outages, was what brought you back from an orgasm.

"And so, very far."

[mimuta-muta]

A SCARRED HEART // a secret & last life artpiece, minific, and headcanon

dedicated to those desertduo scar-focused angst enojyers 🍷 THIS IS FOR YOU GUYS!! I LOVE YALL!!! I AM YOU. I AM YOU ALL. im going insane anyways,

first tumblr post i think? dropping a more refined version of my secret life / last life scar headcanon/art/minific from twt here, praying that someone as insane as me will see it 🙏

[Based off of Last Life and Secret Life, in which Scar was intentionally permakilled by Grian the season prior.

Minific in italics first, followed by official headcanon transcribed & slightly modified from art ^^ taking this much more seriously than i should hehehe

Might make a full fledged fic on Ao3 if this turns out well though!! Hope yall enjoy <3. - mimuta]

- The desert. The betrayal. It all comes back to him in a dream, lucid and laced in sorrow…

And as he awakens from his slumber, he’s left shrouded and alone.

Again.

Perhaps they were a cruel mockery, these “secret”scrolls. A bitter reminder of the contracts he’d never be able to control. Of the friends he’d never be able to keep.

It’s almost as if some god up above had descended from their watchful throne to spit in his face and show him how it should be done.

Or… perhaps they were a sign.

Perhaps, by experience or some strange instinct, or by insight or spite, he took it as such.

And perhaps that’s why he emerged victorious this time around.

Alone, of course, as always.

Alone, but alive.

-

Following the desertduo divorce arcs in Third and Limited Life that end in Scar’s death by Grian’s hand (double life dont count that was the warden), Scar returns to the next season as a cloaked iteration of his self, doomed to insanity and isolation: first in Last Life, and second in Secret Life.

Cloaked Scar/Scarred Heart Scar’s (i cant think of a better name ToT these sound so bad T_T will take suggestions aldbskshxbsk-) “friendship/ally” contracts in Magical Mountain also inadvertently influenced the secret task/contract of sort kinda gimmick in Secret Life, what with the life reward system for tasks and etc.: only this time, people can’t get away without consequence.

Through the tasks given to him in Secret Life, Scar was outcasted as an enemy to all, loyal companion to none. Similarly, the contracts Scar made in Last Life granted him half-assed “allies,” but never a true friend. Like the one who had killed and betrayed him all those years ago. wink wink. wink wink.

Secret Life Scar, being the second version of his cloaked self, retains an “instinct” or like muscle memory but.. idk how to describe it- hazy underlying memories from Last Life scar, and later realizes this w/ the winner’s theory (or whichever hc out there that says that they remember past seasons upon winning) *kaboom*

TLDR: desert duo divorce arc so bad it results in grian killing scar, and scar’s left as a reclusive cloaked maniac in last life, returns as same maniac in secret life and learns from his mistakes, and wins secret life through nuances left over from last life 💪💪 or something or other

ALSO//side headcanons::

grian’s life given in servitutde to scar + scars life given to grian in 3rd life somehow influenced their soulbind in double life- although this may not be as solid as a hc due to the fact scar was giving hearts away like crazy moneys in last life iirc… buuut it kinda still works either way

lilacs and poppies on scars skin, yet another callback, another reminder of his loneliness, of the desert, of his death, of the desert, of the desert, of the desert, of the desert, of the dese-

if scar dies to grian in wild life i blame it on secret scar being left alive and he cant return as hes permanently stuck in secret life this crap is staying canon to me no matter what trust 🧍‍♂️

theres a similarity in appearance between scar and the secret keeper (hood) ik its watcher evo stuff,,, but… do with thatbwhat you will hehe—

oooh bou that was a lot :,) if you made it to the end, thanks for reading through all of this!! im totally normal!!! please like or whatever the equivalent is and feel free to leave comments or whatever im desperate for traffic interaction 🧎🧎🧎 i might take a bit to respond but KSBDKDBSKSBS

i shall be off to do ap bio work now before i fail my test tmrw WOOOOOO thanks again for reading this far if you have :Df and i hope you have a wonderful dayyyyy <33333

[lint-beetle4]

*Kicks door down with a feral expression.* Oh sisters im back from war! Anyways as soon as i saw your asks are open i back bursting in lol. Okay but to the point, i would like to ask for Wukong x m reader x Macaque fic. I dont care if its kicking my legs fluffy or jaw dropping smut i just wanna eat up some more of your work.

(^If your not comfortable with the request feel free to ignore it and leave it be, thought dont forget to take care of yourself and have a lovely night/day!)

((If there's already a 🦝 anon i will be really sad if not i won the prize :D))

REDACTED asked:

 please make a fic or pic of Macaque and Wukong fucking the shit out of a male!reader (or each other) and the bottom is so full of cum that there's a lil cum belly appearing. I'd love it if there's a praise kink involved and or their body weight is crushing the other. (If you do reader, since the monkey's are cannonly 4 ft, the reader could be a lil taller than them.) Neck shit is so hot to me and extra points to bite marks! And a few more for licks and kisses on the body, starting soft and teasing the neck then get overstimulated as time goes on.

At the start if you want, Macaque can tie reader down with his shadows but that is purely an extra…just an FYI I love chubby and strong guys (soooo chubby Wukong is a plea) (Also also reader is a bottom lol)

Muses and Messes (Macaque x Male!Reader x Wukong Smut)

Alrighty chat, we're kicking off with a rare triple-combo-request the only smut I'm doing this round since I had this fic in the fucking oven for too long, it was fun writing though, plus the peeps over on AO3 get some smut art (I'm afraid of Tumblrs policies, so you guys over here get it censored like the holy children we are)

You know the drill, porn below with an image this time!

“Honestly, I just don’t understand how you can make shapes turn into a whole human being.” Wukong hummed, Macaque smirking behind him.

“It’s easy, Wukong. You just need to do it piece by piece–you know, instead of trying to draw the whole body in one go..” Macaque’s tail flicked as he sketched onto a new sketchbook, pages already filled up and wrinkled with countless eraser shavings that thinned out the page significantly. Macaque mumbled to himself, practically hissing at his paper, “If only the shapes could orient themselves correctly.”

You looked between the two as they drew. It was a strange request to have the equivalent of two gods knock at your door and ask for art lessons, but you couldn’t complain with the amount of money they were eager to give you. You could easily have your rent and bills paid for the rest of the year with that kind of cash. 

“It’s all about practice mostly, not everyone draws with geometric shapes, some people just freehand it.” You explained, quickly sketching out the two styles, a messy yet natural human beside a stiff yet cleaned up person. “It’s all about how you prefer to learn and what style you’re going for.”

“You think you can find your style, Wukong?” Macaque teased, sticking his tongue out at the king. Wukong rolled his eyes.

“I could do it today if I keep it up!” The old monkey chirped proudly. “I’m already getting a hang of everything.”

You sighed internally, watching as the two of them began to race over perfecting human anatomy. Their eyes glanced over to you occasionally before more scribbles filled the room. Contently, you drew out the two before you, figuring that they would forgive you for using them as subjects–an eye for eye, you mentally grinned.

Their bodies were pristine, sculpted by time and the godly nature radiating through them. You knew well of the tales between the legendary Monkey King and his adversary, the nigh-omniscient Six-Eared Macaque. The power the two held rivaled that of heaven and the Jade Emperor himself, and the power of Buddha was the only thing that could keep them down for the count.

As the years passed, the world grew to know less of them, both of them disappearing to their own journeys and fates.

It was only until a few months ago that you were even aware that the two had returned to the public eye–in some fashion, at least. It was until now that you were aware of their healing bond, an interesting detail that had you wondering for more about the two.

For now though, you were content in simply drawing them.

“How’d you do that?” A voice had rumbled behind you, causing you to yelp and jump from your seat. Macaque leaned against the chair, his expression never changing but briefly, you swore you saw the curve of lips and a flash of teeth.

You glared at the darker simian, sitting back in the chair before opening up your sketchbook again to the doodle of the two monkeys you had centered on the page. “Practice, mostly, that and you two were so focused on drawing that you were still enough for me to get the pose right.”

“Hmm,” Macaque leaned in closer, his fur tickling the side of your arm as he inspected your work. “Interesting…”

“My people don’t look like that.” Wukong appeared beside you, his tail grabbing your sketchbook while he looked closely at your drawing. “How do you make them look so…unique?”

“Oh, well, it’s about shapes, mostly–again, heh.” You stumbled over your explanation. “Design is kind of a personal thing, like–I would say you choose your designs based on what you feel is right.”

“What feels right, huh?” Macaque purred in your ear. “Hmm, that’s a unique way of saying it.”

Macaque’s breath tickled at your neck, blowing a puff of air into the shell of your ear with a wide smirk. Wukong’s tail had long since wrapped around your arm, a knowing glance shared between the two of them.

Macaque whispered to you again–somehow closer, yet almost hesitant. 

“Could we explore your body, see how right it feels?”

You shivered, your heart thumping loudly against your chest. You didn’t expect your lesson to end up like this, but…

It was…tempting…

Wukong’s voice whispered in your other ear, impossibly quiet for the boisterous sage. “We’ll make you feel good, give you a reward greater than the riches we could offer.”

You couldn’t resist the warmth of their breath nor the way their touches soothed invisible pains in your body. You didn’t know you were so tense, yet at their gentle command, you were caught in a willing trap, a net that embraced you yet restrained you.

On your knees, you were tied up in shadows, naked before you knew it. The shadows were chilled, not quite cold yet definitely not warm. You shuddered at the sight of Wukong and Macaque’s glossy fur, half-hard dicks presented to you. A silent question rose, and you answered, licking along Wukong shaft while Macaque’s hand stroked his own cock.

Wukong’s cock pulsed against your tongue, throbbing as he became fully hard. You whimpered under your breath, brain mulling over the next steps. You felt a hand–Macaque’s–stroke your hair comfortingly.

“Do as much as you can,” Macaque’s voice was sweet, slightly tense as he forced himself to stop stroking. “You’re doing great.”

Your brain felt mushy, cloudy–like the world had stopped spinning and time only waited for you to begin anew. Macaque’s hand never left your hair, never stopped petting you in his show of support. You took the tip of Wukong’s cock into your mouth, hearing Wukong’s breath nearly hiss out in your sudden movement– it sent waves of pride through you.

Slowly, you lowered your head, relaxing your jaw as you took Wukong’s entire length, feeling his tip hit lower and lower into your throat.

You looked up, feeling Wukong twitch in your mouth while your tongue lapped up what it could. Wukong’s eyes were glazed over, looking down at you in anticipation yet pride. You hummed, smiling to yourself as you began to move, hearing Wukong’s breath stutter again as you bobbed your head enthusiastically on his cock, tasting the salty yet strangely fruity precum that your throat practically milked out of him.

“--Fuck,” Wukong groaned, his hands clenching at your hair like a lifeline, sending shocks of pain and excitement through you. “You’re real good at this, y’know?”

You felt your core coil at those words, warmth spreading through your body as you continued to lap at Wukong’s dick, the taste slowly consuming your thoughts.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” Macaque muttered behind you, his hands rubbing your back while you focused on Wukong. “You like being praised like a good boy, huh?”

You couldn’t answer in your position, but Macaque still chucked to himself. “Keep doing what you’re doing, and you’re headed for a looong night.”

Your mind quickly came back to you; memories flashing through your mind before a particularly calculated thrust jolted you back to the present. Macaque growled behind you, low and rough grunts from Wukong joining in as they continued to abuse your asshole. You couldn’t feel your legs, but the warmth from Macaque’s chest nearly burned you while Wukong’s movements sent waves of pleasure through your tired body. Everything ached, yet you craved more.

They were as much animals as you were a toy to them, and your core clenched at the thought. You felt something sloshing in your stomach, warm and pleasant inside of you.

“Hey–” A hand lightly slapped your face, Wukong slowing ever so slightly to look at the mess you’ve become. “You with us?”

You nodded, groaning as Macaque had stopped entirely.

“Keep–mng–keep going,” you pleaded, feeling the low rumble of Macaque’s chuckle.

“If you say so,” and they continued, not bothering to start slowly.

Low whispers sang into your ears while your cock bounced against your stomach, Macaque and Wukong pressed against you, nearly crushing you.

“Such a good boy for us,”

“Look at you, taking us in so well,”

“What a cute boy you are.”

You whimpered against the heat surrounding you, feeling your stomach tightening as you slower creeped to your edge.

Suddenly, they stopped again, warm cocks still inside of you. You groaned, your head slamming into Macaque’s shoulder while Wukong chuckled.

“You aren’t finishing yet,” Wukong purred, licking your neck. Macaque hummed behind you, kissing your cheek before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, pain sinking into your sweaty skin. You whimpered, feeling tender kisses and light nips across your neck. Wukong went lower, pressing more kisses along your body and giving your dick a teasing lick to your dismay.

Macaque lowered you slightly, shadows cooling your heated skin while you hummed in question, trying to ignore the pained ache in your body. Low purrs rumbling through his throat while his hands caressed your chest.

“Wukong, you done over there? Our muse here looks like he’s going to explode.”

Wukong muttered under his breath, something about the importance of patience and care. Macaque chittered to Wukong, the sound almost a warning to your ears, but Wukong gripped your legs, looking at you with lust-ridden eyes.

“Ready?”

You nodded, your own hips bucking with need.

You were quickly filled again, Wukong growling into your ear. “Hope you’re ready for this round.”

In one thrust, he bottomed out with a grin, eye gleaming with finality. “You’re not going to be able to walk after this one.”

“Enough chit-chat, Wukong.” Macaque groaned, desperate thrusts from his hips. “Your voice is grating enough.”

Wukong’s hips moved, hitting your G-spot with impressive accuracy. You melted into their crushing touch, eyes closed as bliss overcame you. They slowly sped up, your hips bucking up in your quite loud desperation for release. Your moans echoed through the room, growls from all sides of you joining in on the sex-filled duet.

You felt a snap in your core and screamed out, feeling the cooling touch of a shadow stroking you off as you came intensely, more cum filling you up while Macaque and Wukong pressed against you.

The three of you panted intensely, shadow tentacles releasing you gently onto the couch while cum poured out of you. The two monkeys seemed barely phased, sweat being their only marker for any sort of exertion. They grinned down at you, kneeling down by the couch to hum their praises while they cleaned you up gently.

“You did so well for us.”

“What a good boy.”

You drifted off into a blissful slumber, your lower half practically numb yet shaking at the same time as the sounds of quiet cleaning sang you to sleep.