#because for some fucking reason it's practically on a hair trigger and Will make me start frustrated crying at a moments notice if i

[gibbearish]

the one good thing abt chronic people pleasing and funnyman syndrome is that when you do finally crack and express Genuine Anger everyone around you is like. oh fuck

[edenavari]

On the Matter of Mirrors

Eddie is still trying to convince Steve he and Nancy are made for each other. It comes up, like, everytime they hang out, which is all the time, because Steve couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. He doesn’t, but he also wishes Eddie would quit trying to set him up with someone else. 

‘Cause, like, here’s the thing. Steve likes girls. He also, he realized sometime after Robin came out to him, quite likes boys. He likes Eddie. Like… Really likes him. Practices pick-up lines in front of the mirror kind of like. Wears a little more black and tousles his hair just right to give himself a subversive edge he never used to have, just the right amount to trigger a subconscious response without appearing to be tweaking his fashion sense at all. Has mastered the art of wearing eyeliner without looking like he’s wearing it, and it took him a fucking while to work up the nerve to go out like that, not that anyone but Robin noticed. 

But Eddie just will not drop the Nancy case, no matter how many times Steve tries to stir the conversation away from her, and between his budding crush and the crushing fear that it’s never gonna be anything but one-sided, between the slightest of sore spots Steve still sports about the way things with Nancy ended in the first place and the bitter edge of never managing for something to start with Eddie after weeks of efforts, it’s beginning to grate, right? 

“So what’s the problem?” Eddie insists, bounding circles around Steve like an eager puppy, and something in Steve’s ribcage snaps. 

They’re in Steve’s room studying when it comes up once a-fucking-gain. Eddie is taking accelerated summer classes so he can finally graduate by September, and by some inexplicable fuckery of fate, despite Steve’s own dirt poor records, he’s turning out to be a decent tutor. Something about Eddie managing to focus in a way a classroom environment never allowed him to. Maybe because most teachers and over half the student body were openly hostile at worst and aggressively ignoring Eddie at best, all because of his last name or his tattoos or his loud brassy cheek.

All the same, Eddie does get distracted fairly easily, and an hour in, he’s bounced off the bed and started rattling reasons Nancy Wheeler is definitely Steve Harrington’s soulmate. Steve groans noncommittally, gets up to grab his water from the desk and takes a long swallow as Eddie keeps needling him. 

“You’re the problem, Eddie,” he all but snarls, when he really meant it to come out exasperated at worst.

He snarls, though, and Eddie stiffens, his eyes going cold and hurt and the corner of his mouth turned down in anger. 

“Right,” he says, and it sounds so casual Steve thinks he won’t make a big deal of his tone after all. Fool’s hope. “I’ll get out of your perfect hair, then,” Eddie spits out as he makes for the door, only Steve stands in his way, hands up in surrender. 

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he starts. 

“No, you’re right, it’s none of my business,” Eddie interrupts, but he steps back, gesturing wildly as he speaks. “It’s not like we’re even friends, you just got saddled with me because of Dustin. We saved the world together? Big deal! My involvement was incidental, really, more of an inconvenience than any kind of help. Why would you want my opinion, of all people’s, right? Even by this point. Get out of my way, I’ll quit stepping on your toes. Go on!”

“I don’t want you to go, Eddie,” Steve tries again. 

“Just want me to shut up, is that it? Not really my strong suit, you might have noticed.”

Steve can’t help smiling. “I have noticed.”

It only seems to rile Eddie up even more, throwing his hands out and making to step around Steve again. “Man, what do you want from me?”

“Is this allowed?” he breathes out, extending the last word beyond its scope. 

Which puts him within reaching distance of Steve, who grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and presses him, careful not to jostle him too bad but firm enough to counter his manic strength, against the wall. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just presses a touch too close, lets himself imagine that he’s going to close the distance entirely, cocks his head and licks his lips and hangs there in a way he hopes spells it out for Eddie without inducing any kind of panic. 

Eddie, hands still up at shoulder height, lets out a little huff close to a whimper when his back hits the wall, bracing himself for a hit that would never come, and maybe some part of him knows this, because he doesn’t look scared or angry anymore, just kind of confused with a side of grief, and it doesn’t take two seconds for him to start to look intrigued, maybe even, if Steve allows himself a little optimism, interested. 

His lips part on a sharp inhale, and they’re close enough to smell each other’s skin, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth, a little watery and out of focus, edging forward in a way that could just be a twitch, just a consequence of holding his breath the way he is, plausibly deniable, subconscious no doubt, only when Steve mirrors the movement, he does it again, gaze moving up and down from Steve’s eyes to his lips and back and back again without blinking, until twitch by twitch their noses graze and their mouths connect and Steve closes his eyes and concentrates on maintaining that seal over Eddie’s plush, pliable pout, because if he didn’t focus, he’d be way, way overeager for a first kiss. 

He moves back after several seconds with a shaky exhale, swallows as he finds Eddie’s eyes again. His blood is thrumming in his fingertips, somehow he feels both cold between his shoulder blades and warm down to his toes, and if Eddie looks at all put out he thinks he might never manage another mirror in his life. 

The look on Eddie’s face is pure disbelief. 

Steve shrugs, not quite settled on the matter of mirrors. “I thought you made a point of breaking the rules?”

A glint starts to wake in Eddie’s eye that’s looking more delighted by the minute. 

“Just as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“We’re in the clear, then,” Steve whispers, leaning in, just a smidge. 

Both of Eddie’s hands sink into his hair as he pulls him into another, much steamier, kiss. Steve lets his fists fall from Eddie’s lapels and knot over his back instead, lets his mouth drop slightly open, an invitation Eddie wastes not a second to follow through on, teeth scraping and back arching like he wants to sink all the way into Steve, and by the time they’re parting, breathless, cheeks flushed, mouths stinging, Steve’s one hand is braced against the wall, holding himself up, knees too weak to do the job on their own. 

“I thought you could barely stand me,” Eddie heaves.

“I can’t,” Steve admits. “You drive me nuts. Just not how you thought.”

Eddie frowns, suddenly serious. 

“You should forget all about Nancy.”

Steve frowns too. “That so?”

“Hm-mm. She’s taken, man. And not all that. You need to move on.”

“Damn,” Steve sighs. “Am I being desperate?”

“Pathetic,” Eddie nods, barely a whisper against Steve’s lips, and they break into smiles in tandem. “Forget all about her,” Eddie repeats. 

“Who?” Is the last word Steve gets out. Then he’s busy enough he really does forget. 

When he fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror in the morning, he walks away with a wink.

Give us a kudos, if ye dare x

[certifiedfreec]

・❥・close - gojo satoru x f!reader (crossposted on ao3!) ・❥・

⊹ oh nooo you’re trapped in a hotel room with gojo… and there’s only one bed… ahhhhh

⊹ 18+, smut, frenemies to lovers, a ridiculous amount of banter

⊹ word count: 9.8k (i’m so normal about him lol…)

“Well fuck.”

Mouth agape, you stand tiredly beside your overly cheeky partner-in-exorcises, surveying the last available hotel suite that’s closest to your current assignment. Cramped could describe it if you’re feeling generous, as the sparse amenities make the single queen-sized bed in the center of the room look like a California King. The overblown stock photos of generic flowers hanging haphazardly above the bed are nearly mocking the otherwise drab room, and the dim lighting makes it all look more dingy than romantic given the scenario you’re in.

One bed left in this overbooked “hotel…” This has to be a fever dream.

“I call the left side!”

Said partner, Satoru Gojo, is oblivious to your inner turmoil as he languidly steps into the room with his singsong tone, surveying what little it has to offer with an otherwise calm expression. God, this guy gets on your nerves, but not for any pertinent or extravagant reason. Really, he just carries himself a little too cockily for your taste, like he’s used to people fawning over him for doing nothing. While you work well together for the most part, there’s something about his presence that just makes you-

“You can take the whole thing,” you grumble dismissively, carefully moving around him to set your backpack down on the warped work desk. You’d sooner sleep in the bathtub even if it was soaking wet, you think.

Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets with how hard they roll when you hear him let out a feigned hum of disappointment. You can sense him studying your every move, even through that stupid blindfold thing he’s always got on.

“Bummer. You scared you’re gonna catch some cooties? I’m not contagious.” Gojo tuts playfully, shaking his black jacket off and tossing it over the back of the chair. “Guess that means more room for me!” He wastes wastes no time in flopping onto the middle of the stiff mattress with a grin, and part of you can’t help but admire- no, simply notice, you tell yourself- how his shockingly white hair and pale skin contrasts the dull, dated comforter. He’s got a white button down on, and you’re tempted to call him a bloodsucking vampire with how translucent he looks. Humming to himself, he reaches for the remote that practically shrinks in his large hands, clicking the clunky TV on and watching it take a few minutes to whir to life.

You’re unsure what to do with yourself, but you’re determined to put some space between the two of you with whatever happens. It’s unfortunate when you realize that you really might not be successful with that endeavor, given your dwarfed hotel room that could trigger any sane person’s claustrophobia. It didn’t help that this guy already took up most of the lackluster room with just his body, either. Your eyes flicker over to your work partner, who appears unnervingly okay with this turn of events. With a deep sigh, you pull out the creaky chair and slump defeatedly onto the desk. You’re careful to scoot to the edge of the chair so your back doesn’t make contact with his resting jacket, and he doesn’t miss your obvious attempt at distance. It’s known by many that he’s always been a huge fan of himself, and you’d be damned if you ever let him think you were part of that club, too.

“Hey, careful with the outerwear.” Gojo’s selectively ignoring your clear discomfort, opting to poke at you anyway because he just does that. “That’s a pricey jacket, y’know.” His face is serene as he’s clicking through the available channels and making his own little noises when each show is less intriguing than the next.

“Right… I’ll try my best,” you reply disinterestedly with a yawn. You rest your face on the cool wood- anything to mentally take yourself out of the painfully tiny space you and this massive human were expected to share for the evening. It’s been a long day of mundane yet necessary work, and apparently the real work is supposed to happen tomorrow. Being instructed last minute to change your stopping point for the day, you were left with no choice but to call around in a new area until you found an option. Gojo simply shrugged and started searching, not even slightly irritated at the change of plans. It irks you how little your colleague is bothered by, well, anything, because it has to be disingenuous at some point, right? Over time you’ve realized that with him, it truly is a brazen confidence- a kind that you decided was more dangerous than reassuring in reference to your line of work. It’s just unnatural- then again, nothing in your field is, so what’s your real issue with him? The question always leaves you befuddled at your core, and now it’s glaring in your face with the close quarters you’re sharing.

After some time spent listening to Gojo’s disjointed chuckles at whatever was playing, you take out your phone to text Shoko about your dreaded situation. This’ll be a long night, you think, grasping at straws to reason that it’s only temporary and that the smell of his spicy cologne will soon fade away from your senses. You have to say though, the scent fits him pretty well…unlike this miniature room you’re both posted up in.

Your eyes betray you when they briefly flit over again at the man lounging across the bed. It’s quite the spectacle, as the ends of his gangly legs and feet are dangling awkwardly over the edge, yet his expression is serene. The word "cute" passes through your mind and you immediately shush it by reflex, but it’s not as strong as the newfound proximity that prompts you to finally tease him in a dry tone: “Jesus, you’re taking up the whole thing and it’s still not enough.”

“Tell me about it.” He’s quick to react to your statement, and you swear you see his broad chest huff with amusement out of your peripheral. “It must be the price to pay when you’re a dreamy, charming, six foot three Jujutsu Sorcerer,” he adds in a lighthearted tone that seeks feigned sympathy. You’re not looking at him anymore, but you can guess that he’s batting the long white eyelashes that decorate his electric blue eyes. Meanwhile, you’re battling a smile.

Shoko’s not answering your SOS texts, so you actually decide to take the bait in the meantime. “You poor thing,” you coo halfheartedly, “It’s just never enough for you.” You shift, draping your arm over the back of the cheap desk chair that warps under your weight.

“You’re so right! I’m glad someone finally understands.” He points a finger at you, clearly pleased that you’re bantering along, and then he rests that same finger on his pointed chin. “Speaking of nothing ever being enough, I’m starving.” He suddenly sits up, making the bed creak with his movement. It’s apparent that his focus has shifted from the lifeless television show to you. “Who delivers around here?”

Gojo’s nonchalant behavior has the opposite effect on you- it’s disconcerting. At the same time, a very quiet part of you wants to warm up to the idea of finding it endearing. Being annoyed by him was all you knew- how could you ever change now?

The noise that escapes him is pure juvenile glee when you wordlessly open up a delivery app on your phone and sling the device over to him, which he catches with ease before scavenging through the limited number of nearby restaurants. If anything, you’ve never seen him so locked in. You hear him murmur his commentary to himself as he swipes through, picking out his order from his spot on the bed (which is basically the whole thing), and then he abruptly stands up with a matter-of-fact tone in his voice. Without watching him, you hear his steps move somewhere behind your seat.

“Hey, your girlfriend Shoko is texting you. I had no idea I was such a hot subject! Well, maybe I did.”

Oh shit. The heart that previously resided in your chest has plummeted to your stomach. You completely forgot you’d been virtually begging her for moral support when you first arrived at your shoebox of a room.

You muster all your inner strength to maintain a semblance of cool. “Is she on her way to save me?”

The grin on his face is nearly glowing as he reads your screen. “Hah, you wish. It says, and I quote, ’Sorry I’m just now seeing these! How are you and your “Honored One” doing? I promise he’s not as bad as you think he is, LOL.’”

You can feel all the blood in your body rush to your face as Gojo continues to read the message, who is doing everything to refrain from bursting into a fit of laughter. “’At least he’s not the worst looking, and you guys are gonna have to share a bed anyway. Wink emoji, wink emoji.’”

Your world comes screeching to an ugly halt. In this moment, you remind yourself to never text Shoko while you’re in the same room as him- ever again.

“Oh my god… You’re lying. Stop it!” You feel a wave of sickeningly nervous giggles threaten to rack through your body as you fly out of your rickety seat, marching over to the lanky sorcerer and swiping at him for your phone. He tsks, holding the device up from your reach with a mischievous tilt of his head, and you’re sure that you’ve never been this flushed with humiliation before. His muscled arm holds your phone up revealing the chat, and unfortunately, he wasn’t lying. And his voice? It’s smug, obnoxiously so as he taunts you. “This is so much more interesting than ordering food right now. I think I’m gonna answer her. What should I say?”

“Give it back, Satoru Gojo.” You glower up at him, silently knowing your efforts are futile due to your drastic height difference- and that goddamn Infinity ability of his that he loved to show off.

“Oooh, don’t say my full name. It really scares me,” Gojo gasps mockingly before making a show of squinting up at the screen and beginning to type with his other hand. “Let’s try this.” His fingers begin to dance across the screen. “’Shoko, I think I might be falling for Satoru Gojo, all six foot three of him. We’ve had such a romantic evening-‘"

“Jesus Christ, hand it over already!” You’re reaching your limit with tolerating his antics, body teeming in some liminal space between annoyance and mortification. You stretch up again to try and pluck the phone only to make contact with nothing. Fucking showoff. He’s still got his blindfold on, and you’re unable to see how his eyes are completely shimmering with mirth and self-satisfaction.

“Aaand, sent! I think she’ll like that. Anyway, go ahead and add your order to the cart. It’s on me- I remembered to bring the JuJutsu High credit card this time!” Gojo carries on casually like he hasn’t just done the equivalent of planting an explosive in your text messages, feeling incredibly proud of himself as he plops the phone back into your open palm. Glaring up at him and his resilient grin, you are entirely uninterested in eating any kind of food right now. He thinks it’s kind of cute how quickly your face turns ruby red.

You stare at your violated device, blinking in disbelief before looking back up at him. “You’re a real motherfucker, you know that?” You challenge, though your voice isn’t as hostile as it should be.

His large hands fly up defensively. “Whoa, who says I don’t go for daughters either?”

He’s maddening. How do his students stand him? Your free palm has never moved so fast to your face. Resolving into your clunky self-assigned seat, your butt collides firmly with cold wood. “You’re right. Who don’t you go for?” You huff.

Gojo chuckles with his whole chest as he moves to sprawl out over the miniature bed, returning to the original position he was in before he hijacked your text conversation. With blindfolded eyes focused back on the hazy television screen, his hands lock behind his head as he shrugs indifferently. “Never been a big fan of Geminis, to be honest.”

Unreal. He could talk to you in circles like this forever, and only because he knows he gets under your skin that way. You resign, eyeing your phone screen and scrolling through the restaurant he picked to order delivery from. He’s got quite the spread in the cart, complete with an elaborate dessert that could’ve wiped out your savings account.

“Clearly a fan of cheesecake though, holy shit.” The jab doesn’t come out as mean as you intend it to, and honestly, you aren’t sure how much longer you’ll be capable of treating him with this much animosity. You’re already tired, and if you were any more awake you’d realize that your work partner was slowly wearing your guard down, quip by cocky quip.

“Right again. Don’t you just love getting to know me through our intimate time together?”

Shoko is spamming you with an endless barrage of confused and shocked emojis, and you’re far too sleep-deprived to reply. Your entire body flushes at his words as they reverberate in your mind. Intimate is not the right word. No, it shouldn’t be, more like invasive. Right?

“Couldn’t be happier,” you reply curtly, mindlessly picking out whichever menu items are at the top before punching in the room number and credit card info, which was smoothly slid onto the table by Gojo without your prior notice. With your back to him, his gratification is on full display as he pretends to watch whatever crappy show is playing. Winning is his favorite thing in the world, and grating on your nerves is a close second- though really, the two coincide. Part of him wonders how much further he can blur that line.

——————————————————————————————————-

The comically large bag of food is immediately torn open by an eager Gojo the second it lands on the hotel room’s table, and he’s forking together a messy array of sides onto his plate before dragging over a lounge chair from the corner next to yours. He’s sitting far too close for your comfort, but you begrudgingly comply. It wasn’t like he was going to go away anytime soon, even though the night would be so much easier that way. As he shovels his dinner into his mouth, your mind aimlessly ventures as to how he keeps his form so trim with an appetite like that. He’s got to have a strict workout regimen somewhere, though “strict” is a word not often associated with him-

“Hey, your food’s gonna get cold if you keep staring like that.”

Your eyes widen in record time. It’s a hideous realization that you’ve zoned out on watching the renowned sorcerer-turned-temporary-roommate inhale his overpriced dinner, all from being overcome with either exhaustion or acceptance of your cramped situation. At this point, it’s maybe a little of both.

“Sorry,” you mumble, not even caring to articulate a more acidic response. It seems you’re beginning to neutralize into Gojo’s presence, and he mentally takes note of your changing chemistry with him as you quietly stab at your steak bites.

He’s got the perfect opportunity to coo something vain back, like “Don’t apologize, I’d stare too if it were me,” but he doesn’t. He simply keeps eating, sparing you with a less than uncomfortable silence. It’s never been the worst thing between you two given your extensive work history, and you feel yourself soften slightly when the bland hotel room’s air isn’t filled with his assumptive commentary for once. As your plates both get emptier, he feels this sudden need to hold your attention, as you’re less likely to be as combative as you’ve been before. You’re... not so set on hating him.

“You tired?”

Gojo’s two-worded inquiry jars you, almost to the point of choking on your bread. It's something genuine. He closes up one of the empty to-go boxes and shoves it into the takeout bag before pulling out the monstrosity that is his slice of cheesecake. For some reason your heart stammers at how refreshing the possibility of a real conversation with him could actually be.

You’ve got the perfect opportunity to snap something defensive back, like “Yeah, of you,” but you don’t. His shiny eyes shift under the fabric of his blindfold to you, almost prompting you to answer.

“…Yeah, I must be making it pretty obvious,” you say, unintentionally yawning and proving his point. If you were any more relaxed with him, he would’ve told you how cute you looked doing that. You secure your leftovers and start to chuck them into the bag before a large hand suddenly stops you with a “gimme” motion.

“Judging by how easily you’re willing to waste that perfectly good food…it’s not hard to tell,” he prods at you with a grin that you would’ve unnerved you earlier, but at this hour it’s a little more welcoming. Is that a snicker that comes out of you? You hand over the half-eaten order of steak bites to his jubilation, and he’s already popping open the lid to pick one up with his fingers.

Curse your brain in its exhausted state, because it’s nearly hypnotized by his digits. They’re long, dextile, confident somehow. They’re slender and defined, yet capable of serious damage- this you know all too well, and that excites you more than it should. The slice of meat dwarfs in his hold, its shiny reddish myoglobin starting to trickle down his hand and wrist, and it decorates his fine veins and tendons there with its sheen…

No, there’s no way you’re jealous of a piece of meat right now. Did you seriously feel a flutter somewhere that you shouldn’t? Satoru Gojo is literally eating your leftovers with his bare, grubby hands, and you’ve made the fatal error of finding it attractive. Yeah, you’re definitely sleeping in the bathtub tonight before your conflicted mind wanders any further.

He munches on the remainder of your dinner before finally digging into the cheesecake, and you feel blessed for the distraction from your shifting thoughts when you two chat about the mission at hand tomorrow. Is he worried about the curses you’ll be dealing with? No, of course not. According to him, he’s only worried about messing up his hair. Oh, and that expensive jacket you were careful not to touch earlier. With that all that added up, maybe he is nervous about it.

When the conversation dies down, the only sound in the unimpressive hotel room is the game show now playing on the practically vintage television. You quietly scroll your phone while your colleague digs into the soft dessert, stopping suddenly to stick his fork out to you.

“Want a bite? And before you say no, I already told you my cooties aren’t contagious.”

Is this real kindness? You whip your head to face him, studying the glob of caramel-drizzled sweetness, and he’s waving the fork around like a magic wand complete with some convincing “whoosh” sound effects. It’s even more comical with the way he fills his seat, almost like he’s sitting in a doll’s chair. The sight beside you makes you stifle a laugh, and in that moment you realize something: while he constantly irritates you, Satoru Gojo is the brightest, liveliest thing in that damn room. It’s not saying much given the plain wallpaper, dull sheets, and dusty furniture, but it all amounts to him looking pretty good despite your surroundings. If you weren’t sober right now, you’d admit that he looks pretty good just about anywhere. He’s so unfitting, literally, in the drab, cramped space that you almost want to let that very laugh out.

“Eh…I don’t believe you, but even if they weren’t... I couldn’t avoid them in this room anyway,” you joke sleepily, reaching for the fork and pushing the bite of cheesecake past your lips. He’s sitting pretty close, near enough that his spicy cologne still dances in your senses, but if he were any closer you’d swear you could spot him watching how your lips attached so tightly around the plastic silverware. You’re trying desperately to avoid the fact that sharing the fork was like indirectly kissing him, because if you think about it long enough it’ll make you blush all over again. So much for keeping a distance between you two.

You realize something else: he might’ve had a point with his dessert selection. “That is pretty good,” you commentate, handing him back the fork. There’s almost a soft expression on his blindfolded face when he wordlessly pushes the rest of the heaping slice between the two of you, as if the sugary dessert could substitute for a peace treaty. This is how all truces should go, you silently decide.

“Here, have some more in case you die tomorrow,” Gojo tuts with a grin, knowing fully well that you’d be perfectly fine during your assignment the next day. He loves to poke at you, but he can also recognize all the hard work you do. Hell, putting up with him was a full-time job, he could admit.

Your mouth flies open to let out a lighthearted “You asshole,” and you reflexively move to smack his shoulder. You’re even more shocked when your palm actually makes contact with the muscle there..as is he.

Gojo had turned his Infinity off. He must’ve gotten so caught up in wanting to break down your guard this evening that he neglected to remember his own.

“No way, I actually landed a hit on the Satoru Gojo,” you beam. Triumphantly taking another bite of the cheesecake, you feel his gaze train on you. His face-chiseled, you have to say- is conveying something unidentifiable. There’s some surprise and some amusement, but there’s another emotion lingering in the slight rise of his light eyebrows and his relaxed jaw. Something deeper, almost longing. It honestly concerns you for a moment, but he’s quick to recover by slumping backward over the chair, clutching a hand where yours landed just seconds before.

“Abuse! How dare you!” He declares, gripping his shoulder in the throes of his dramatics. “Yaga will be hearing about this. I’m reporting you to the higher-ups!”

“Don’t even. I’ll tell them you sabotaged my technology then,” you counter, waving your phone. “Oh, and that you misused company funds.” You point accusingly at the heap of cheesecake between you both. “And then we’ll both get fired.”

His fists hit the table as he falls forward dramatically. “Ugh…But then we’d end up living here,” he sighs woefully, “and that would be the worst part of all.”

You openly crack up at his refreshing honesty, finally recognizing this room for the shithole that it is, and you feel a newfound warmth spread throughout your chest. “Hmmm… But then we could keep ordering this cheesecake.” Maybe you like bantering with him, you decide.

Gojo chuckles as he stands up from his seat, dragging it back to where it resided in the corner and going along with your bit. “Not if we can’t ‘misuse our funds,’ you tattletale. We better start thinking of a side hustle to keep our lifestyle going.”

There’s a certain weight to “we”s and “our”s that make your heart palpitate just the slightest. It’s like a promise of a future together, a future beyond the uninspiring walls you were forced to rest in tonight. Still in your fit of tired giggles, you close up the remainder of the dessert before sticking it in the hotel room’s loud, antiquated mini fridge. The change of pace between you both is almost freeing, allowing you to consider the idea of actually sleeping somewhat soundly tonight.

“Well, you ponder on that. I’m gonna get ready for bed.” You’re quick to tuck into the bathroom as your laughter dies down, taking your bag with you to switch into the pajamas you packed. All the while, you’re secretly wondering what the sleeping situation is going to look like. You know you’re desperate for rest and given how the evening between you two has warmed a little, the idea of sharing the tiny bed with Gojo is…less than awful to you now. You step out, only to gasp when said man is right outside the door. He’s leaning against the frame with his own bag slung over his shoulder, grinning wickedly and looking all too smug

“My turn, princess. Coming through!”

The novel nickname flutters through your system as he squeezes past you, closing the door in your face with another low chuckle. God, he’s an idiot, you think with a smile, opting to perch in the seat he used for dinner until he returns to the room.

You’re playing a mindless game on your phone when you hear the bathroom door squeak closed, and Gojo plops back into the stiff bed. There’s no shirt on his sculpted body, only a baggy pair of black pajama pants whose waistband barely kisses his narrow hips. Humbled is an understatement when you try not to ogle at the sorcerer before you, whose murder you were secretly plotting just hours before. The skin on your face is akin to the Sun’s surface as you summon every ounce of will not to stare, but his Six Eyes promptly detects the sheepish change in your demeanor.

“So, you sharing this thing with me or what?” He looks over at you in the chair as he stretches over the traverse of the mattress, head propped on one hand while the other toys with his blindfold. “Since you don’t seem to care about my cooties anymore.” The repeated movement of those long, deft fingers looping around the fabric is enough to conjure a flashback to him eating those damn steak bites, and you feel hot all over again. It shouldn’t be suggestive, it really shouldn’t, but the way he’s talking makes it seem like he wants you beside him.

You rest your chin in your hand as you reply with a frown, pretending to think, “Hmmm. That’s gonna be a tight fit.” He snorts in response, something devious but expected on the tip of his tongue, and you realize it as soon as you answer. “Don’t even say it, Gojo.”

He feigns surprise, scooting over and patting the pillow beside him. “Pffft. When have I been known to say anything out of pocket?” He can’t deny the thought of fitting tightly somewhere else, his aqua eyes flashing with a desire he’s never allowed himself to feel for a long time. “Listen princess, you’ve only got two choices for tonight, so pick wisely. There’s somewhere tight-“ he pats the pillow again, -“or somewhere wet.” The thumb previously tugging on the fabric around his eyes jabs toward the bathroom door.

There’s that nickname again. “How erotic,” you snicker, wordlessly complying and letting your exhaustion guide the way to the empty side of the bed. It’s not a ton of space, but you’ll do your best to make it work. Carefully, you slide in to avoid touching him, realizing just how difficult that task is going to be in your limited amount of territory. Should you make a pillow border between you two? No, because then that would take up even more precious space. Maybe if you bunched up some of your blanket-

“Alright! Wait till Shoko hears about this!”

Gojo visibly approves of your choice as he watches you timidly sidle in next to him, wearing that stupidly eager grin on his face and whooping like a sports game attendee. Shooting him a playful glare and an “Oh, enough with you, Six Eyes,” you feel the cool sheets hit your skin, and your body erupts in goosebumps through your thin-ish shirt and shorts. You quickly face the opposite way as him, but not before stealing another glance at his ridiculously toned chest and stomach as he reaches to turn the bedside lamp off. God, he smells so good, like minty toothpaste and his cologne. Darkness abruptly envelops you as your heart pounds, and you have a horrible thought: Who said I wouldn’t be wet sleeping here?

You hear Gojo release a barely audible sigh, almost as if he’s tentative to fall asleep beside you too. He’s not sure who to trust less, you or himself, but he hides his apprehension with a couple more quips as you settle into the compact mattress.

“You have any idea how many people would pay to be where you are right now? You are so lucky.”

He could talk in circles with you again for hours if it meant prolonging the inevitable vulnerability that is unconsciousness beside another person- though a deeper part of him reasons there’s nothing to worry about. Maybe there are other things you could do instead of talk, he thinks, doing little to shake the idea away. It’s kind of nice, way more than nice, the image of you all spread out below him-

The eye roll you respond with is felt by him but not seen in the lightless room. Clouded by an atypical hunger and pure fatigue, you murmur back, “Don’t worry, I tip well,” and a smug smile forms on your face. It’s kind of fun getting to poke back at him. That’s all it is, right? Harmless banter. Gojo senses your intentions on a level unbeknownst to you, though- and he’s not entirely upset at them.

“Listen to you! That was smooth. I just might give you a discount for that.” You hear the sheets rustle beside you, and you slowly turn. He’s fully facing you, boyishly propping his head up on his fist with his near-glowing eyes now exposed. You notice that his blindfold has now been placed neatly on the outdated nightstand. He’s keenly tuned in on you, finding your pajamas a little too cute for a pre-mission night of sleep. It’s clearly getting more difficult for him to deny how entertained he is by the sight of you all snuggled in on your diminutive side of the crappy hotel bed.

You pretend to cover your eyes after seeing his finally revealed to you, feeling thoroughly proud of yourself for matching his energy now. “Put those LEDs away, good lord,” you joke, allowing yourself to let out a sleepy laugh as you pull up the covers to give your bumpy skin some salvation. His intentful gaze is already doing plenty to send heat throughout your limbs though, and the act of grabbing the blanket is an effort in vain. As your eyelids flutter with the weight of tiredness, you understand just how close you two are in the moment. Mentally, you were so much farther away earlier in the evening than you are now- and it takes a second for you to process that you actually like the change.

Gojo laughs softly, and you can hear the late hour begin to seep into his tone. It grows more throaty, lower than before, and it’s entirely too pleasant. Part of you wonders if he’d consider the proposition of reading you a bedtime story. There’s a lingering tension in the air, nearly tangible, and it shifts when you note how his eyes flicker all over your face. Eyes, lips, back to eyes, back to lips.

“Maybe I wanna look at you a little longer. Are you gonna report me to the higher-ups for that, too?” Gojo bats his icy white lashes, his oaky scent further settling into the sheets. The only light in the shoddy room comes from his vibrant irises, and they’re spotlighting on you with piqued interest. The light has always come from him, and it’s an epiphany that has you scooting an inch closer.

“If those things blind me, I will.” You exhale through your nose, partially wishing you could reach out to the heat that radiates off his halfway bare body.

He blinks, and you swear the room flashes dark again for that split second. “Well, y’know, that might be a good thing,” he tries to reason lightheartedly, in a volume just above a whisper. “You wouldn’t have to look at this ugly room anymore.” You watch his hand- the same one you nearly salivated over earlier- land in the limited space between you two, almost as if it wants to cross that border. It takes the most willpower you’ve ever needed not to stare at it, feeling your face flush with a sick anticipation. “I’d be saving you.” Maybe it’s what he’s always wanted to do all along, you both think, and it encourages you to be just as coy back.

In this moment, you feel bold enough to say something you thought would never leave your mouth: “But then I wouldn’t get to look at all six foot three of you.” You pout sarcastically, and Gojo gets the urge to kiss it right off your face. His grin is proud; it’s everything he never knew he wanted to hear.

Your teasing is like a silent permission for his hand to move closer to you, and your entire body stills when you feel it land gently on your lower thigh to play with the frilled hem of your shorts. Must be a pattern of his, you realize. He chuckles, and the sound is so low that you can practically feel it.

“Hmm… You’re right. Again.” Your work partner’s head tilts down slightly at you, and his expression is overcome with what can only be described as relief. “Guess I need to save you some other way.” He notices the goosebumps adorning your figure, and suddenly you’re pressed up against his broad chest. God, he’s so warm, you don’t even realize the way you’re curling right up into him. Somehow, despite your height difference, you fit perfectly along his lanky frame.

“Better?”

You are tired, fatigued beyond belief, but you’d be stupid not to stay awake to experience Satoru Gojo letting his guard down for you. Perhaps this dismal hotel room was a test of will for you two, and while you’re not entirely sure what denotes passing or failing, you do know one thing: Satoru Gojo is unbelievably comfortable to cuddle with.

Still…you wonder what would unfold if you pushed further.

“Hmmm… still not warm enough.” The words leave you before you can tame them, and the unspoken invitation behind them makes his eyebrows raise. The hand playing with the fabric of your shorts squeezes into your skin just the slightest, prompting you to look up at him where you see no reserves on his handsome (God, it’s good to admit that) face. His soft pink lips hover inches from your own, drawing closer like magnets.

“Really.” You feel a thumb rub slow circles along your outer thigh. “I can fix that for you, yeah?” His words shoot straight to your core as his head ducks a little lower, just breaths away from yours.

Well, you’re definitely not tired anymore.

“If you’re still offering that discount…” you breathe out. A rush of smugness allows you to bring your hands to his toned chest, traveling up to trace his defined collarbone. His skin is soft, almost velvety, most likely from years of keeping his perimeter so trained to avoid any unnecessary contact, and the act of smoothing your fingers over it becomes soothing.

Gojo’s lopsided grin conveys the desire he’s suppressed for so long, seemingly caught up in this new dynamic with you. “Nah, we’ll put it on the credit card,” he finally laughs before confidently pressing his lips to yours.

He is an entirely new taste, and you’re not able to reference his movements to anything or anyone; it’s another level of tact and precision. Did he plan this? His kisses are the perfect mix of messy and firm, and it’s clear he’s doing all but holding back. Something unlocks as he goes through the motions, maybe the realization of the snapped tension or maybe the feeling of you kissing back just as passionately, and his mouth soon scatters everywhere from your lips to your jaw to your neck in a flurry of teeth and tongue. He’s somehow magically in tune with your most sensitive areas of the exposed skin as his lips wander, leaving you to grab his firm bicep and cling as if he’s grounding you to the earth. The details of the dingy hotel room are completely abandoned as you feel your senses envelop, finally, with all that is Satoru Gojo, and there was truly no beauty greater than that.

Chest heaving, you almost let out a laugh at how rapidly the night has shifted. His well-trained hands travel, one squeezing the tissue of your breast over your thin shirt while the other dances just below the leg of your shorts. With all walls down, it’s pointless to hide the effect his touch has on you. If his hand moved any higher, he’d discover how wet you were- part of you dreaded how inflated his ego would become after that, but the other, hungrier part of you needed him to do it.

“Anyone ever told you-“ Gojo breathes out between his attack, brushing a thumb over your hardened nipple, “how pretty you are?” He is all too focused on drinking in your features, finding your weakest and favorite points. Your back arches ridiculously easily into his touch as you struggle to find the words to answer him.

“N-no one else that’s mattered.”

You’re sure his ego will balloon rapidly upon that little admission, but you partly didn’t care- not when he was capable of making you feel so unbelievably good.

He’s rightfully amused at how blatant your desire is now. “Oh? So I do matter to you then.” His other hand roams up your thigh, threatening to reach where you wanted it most. You snicker before a shudder erupts from you when a long, hot stripe is licked down your neck and over your shoulder, and it’s all you need to swing your leg over his, straddling him on the stiff, narrow mattress. The flex of his abs as he sits up to accommodate you is nothing short of poetic, and you find more prose in the clouded, desperate fog of his azure eyes when he watches you with curiosity. He immediately rests his grip on your waist, pressing you down gently onto what can only be described as a monster underneath his sweats. You understand now why he carries himself the way that he does: He’s fucking huge.

You push your chest against his, unable to stop the twitch of your hips when you feel Gojo’s hardness brush against your heat. The wetness of your arousal is sure to be felt through the fabric, and he’d be silly to halt your admittedly cute display of attempts in chasing just an ounce of pleasure. Your flushed face, furrowed eyebrows, small noises, it’s motion picture to him. However, he selfishly wants to be that pleasure for you, and he’s quick to slide a hand down your body to cup your pussy through your pajamas.

Your jaw goes slack as Gojo’s hand makes contact with your most sensitive area over your shorts, and the circles he rubs help him collect some of the condensation from the fabric. It feels good, but not good enough, and you can’t help but huff at the restricted movement. He is all too cocky when his hand pulls away, eyeing it with an intense mirth.

“Damn, waterworks, you always get this wet?” He’s half-amazed and half-amused as he studies his glistening fingers, his other hand gripping at your ass. “That’s so hot.”

“Shut up, Satoru.” You smack his bare shoulder before burying your face into it, feeling your cheeks turn crimson. He chuckles, finding you adorable when you’re embarrassed yet hating that you feel that way. He knows just how to help you get over that, and he starts by slowly sliding his body down, holding your thighs spread as he maneuvers his head onto the flat-ish pillow. You glare down confusedly at him in his newfound position, only to meet with eager cerulean eyes that are practically begging to pull you closer.

“Fine then, I’ve got other stuff I wanna do with my mouth anyway,” you hear him murmur from between your thighs, and his hand brushes over your clothed, throbbing cunt again. “Now sit, princess.”

“Huh? No, you won’t be able to breathe, I can’t.” Your head shakes vigorously in disapproval. Not that you didn’t want them there, but there was no way… you’d probably end up suffocating the guy, and while you had a more murderous urge to do that earlier this evening you’d much rather-

“Fine with me, now lemme taste you,” Gojo insists with almost a whine in his tone, not letting you respond before pulling the soaked crotch of your shorts to the side and licking a long, forceful line from your hole to your clit. You moan when he does it again, and again, feeling your knees weaken to finally sink yourself onto his mouth. The groan that vibrates against your nerve endings makes you look down, only to see his frosty white lashes flutter as you fill his senses. This was well worth the hours of wearing down your resolve this evening.

His movements become frantic, desperate to experience you now that he’s let his guard down this long with no dire consequences. You feel his tongue lap at your sensitive clit, and his lips kiss in your heat so loudly and wetly that it sounds like a porn scene. Your hands fly to his ivory hair, gripping till his scalp stings. This makes him groan again, and you can barely control the way your hips start to rock along his mouth.

Gojo breaks away for a split second, tongue dragging along your inner thigh with his cock nearly in pain because of he’s got you where he wants you. “Just like that, baby, ride my face,” he huffs quickly before returning to flattening his tongue along your clit. You feel him squeeze the cheeks of your ass, forcing you onto the hot muscle and encouraging you to continue.

He seems to be breathing just fine, you realize- which of course he is, he’s Satoru fucking Gojo- he could handle just about anything. It gives you the confidence to rut your hips forward, moaning louder when his lips wrap around your overstimulated nerve and suck hard. You earn a playful smack on your ass when his name slips out of your mouth, and the stinging sends you further into your frenzy for pleasure as you start to build up a pace. It’s addicting, really, the way he’s lapping and sucking at your aching cunt like it’s his favorite dessert, and you’re suddenly thankful that he has the appetite that he does. He breaks away for a second to spit into your heat, spreading your slick folds wide with those deft fingers of his, and that only has you rocking harder along his mouth when he reattaches himself. To him, you are so much better than any sweet he’s had.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it, but you’re tugging Gojo’s snowy tresses in shallow efforts to further bury his face in your cunt as you ride it, and he’s all too happy that you’re using him in this way. As his tongue prods up into your tight entrance, he feels his cock throb again at the prospect of how it would feel inside of you. He groans at the thought, and you feel it all the way up in your ribcage. He’s already picked up on the fact that you’re close, judging by how your frantic movements have sped up and the way you’re babbling incoherent praises that only make him ache more.

“Fuck, Satoru, feels so- good- please…”

When Gojo lets out a little laugh at that, you feel your slick dribble messily down your thighs. That hot, blinding pressure grows stronger under your navel when you grind harder on his tongue, threatening to spill over when he starts to flick it along your clit to match your pace. It all feels so deliciously good that you pay no mind to his nails digging into your flesh, his own way of ensuring he’s leaving a mark- as if he hasn’t decorated your neck in shades of blotchy fuchsia already.

“I’m-so-close….”

He gives your ass another smack with your breathy cry, looking up at you with eyes that nearly beam. You look down while your hips continue to drag along his tongue, finding him just so damn pretty while he’s eating you so good, and you ease your fingers in his hair. That impending sensation grows stronger, and he quickly parts from your lips to murmur confidently:

“I know, princess, I got you. Lemme have it.”

His choice of words and the way he immediately goes back to lapping at your heat are both more than enough to have you coming apart around his tongue in mere seconds. There is nothing in your mind’s eye but Gojo as your high overtakes you, fizzling through your being and prompting you to cry out his name as if it’s a chant. He soaks it all in, helping you ride out your release before slowing to kiss his way back up your body. You’ve never come that hard- and somehow, he senses this too. Your legs feel like jelly when he’s finally face-to-face with you, and his is glistening with your arousal. If he wasn’t desperate to be inside of you right now he could do that for hours, he thinks.

You lean in, capturing your lips with Gojo’s and wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him deeply. Your own taste on your lips does little to dissuade you from him, and for the next few moments, you both feverishly rip off whatever clothing is still unfortunately on your bodies. He, as gracefully as he can given the annoyingly small hotel bed, maneuvers you onto the pillow so you’re lying on your back, and you feel his heavy cock hit your stomach. He pauses for a second to study your features, finding that every inch of you is worth burning to memory. You’re stunning like this, all sticky and flushed and needy, and it’s all because of his efforts. He’s only more gratified when your mouth flies open at his impressive size.

“You're kidding. That's not gonna fit,” You sputter, still in your post-orgasm daze, but you feel your hole clench around nothing when you notice the filmy drops of pre beading around his thick tip.

His laugh is genuine, almost melodic as he pumps himself a few times. “Such a downer. We’ll make it fit, ‘kay?” Gojo promises with a goofy grin, letting his hand wander along your bare nipples and stomach before eventually revisiting your now sore cunt. You hiss in delight when he slides one of his long fingers in, and your legs spread automatically at the intrusion. Even in the most cramped bed ever, you’d realize you’d make room for him anywhere. You reach out, dragging your hand along his chiseled stomach, nearly in awe at how firm the muscles are there. He’s like if art was living, breathing, unrestricted from a canvas or frame.

Your hand slides further, silently encouraging his own to move so you can take over stroking his hardened cock as his finger curls along your hot walls. You moan quietly, watching his breath hitch in his broad chest- he’s not sure whether to watch your face or your movements, and there’s an eagerness within him that amplifies when he sees how tightly you’re sucking in just a digit of his. His hips jut forward slightly when your thumb brushes his sensitive tip, and he finally decides to look into your eyes. You stare back, wanting to say so much about how his are the perfect shade of blue.

“Y’know why I harass you so much?” He asks in a tone that reaches a new level of softness for him, and you entertain his question as he slowly introduces a second finger. The stretch is delicious, though you think it’s doing little to prep for the monstrosity that awaits you.

“‘Cause you’re Satoru Gojo?” You reply before letting out a hiss at a particularly sensitive spot he hits within you.

He snorts. “Well, yeah, and ‘cause I think you’re pretty. Inside and out. Gorgeous, actually.”

You blush a little at how he turns a silly banter into a very real confession, and you watch his eyelids flutter again. Actually, you feel kind of bad for being so lighthearted while he was being serious- that was his thing, anyway. Times like these were what made his bluntness endearing, and he continues, beginning to align his length with your dripping entrance after slowly removing his fingers.

“So, lemme prove it.”

Feeling all kinds of giddy you nod, angling your thighs so his hips can fit between them. His spongy tip drags through your slick folds, and it’s the most you’ve ever felt another person focus so directly on you. You look up at him, bringing your hands up his stomach and to his defined shoulders as his tip sinks into you just the slightest.

“Well, you’re pretty too, like otherworldly handsome,” you admit back with a timid smile, clearly trying to regain your breath. “Just couldn’t tell you ‘cause you were too busy harassing me.” You exhale when he submerges himself a little more, and he smiles back with his pearly white teeth. “You’re fucking huge, too… oh my god…” you add, moaning a little at how his cock feels nothing like his fingers. You hate to admit it, but it’s clear he’s set to wreck you.

“Naturally.” He’s using every ounce of strength to control himself from pounding into you, responding to your praise and your criticism all at once. Gojo slowly and gently pushes in until his hips are flush with yours, and it feels as if he’s tearing you from the inside. Your face is scrunched at the intrusion, and he has to cover his own mouth to stop a moan at how tight you feel. There’s no other convincing needed by him that your pussy was practically made for him, he thinks, and he studies your features for any indication of stopping.

“Look at you,” he coos, nearly mesmerized by how your cunt has already swallowed him whole. His hand slides down his face to tweak at one of your hardened nipples. “And you said I wouldn’t fit. Takin’ it like a pro, princess.” His lighthearted motivation makes you snicker a little, and it eases some of the stinging from the stretch he’s causing. He gives you a few shallow thrusts, and his eyes practically roll to the back of his head when your hot walls grip around him. It takes a few moments for you to adjust to his size, and when finally you do, you give him the silent go-ahead by softening your expression. His grin could blind a room full of people when he thrusts deeper, not only reaching that same sensitive spot but finding another, and it makes your head loll back to the pillow.

That reminds him. He pauses for a second to slide one of the cheap hotel pillows under your tailbone, and suddenly his cock feels like it’s colliding with your guts when he continues his movements. Your mouth couldn’t fall any more open as he starts to establish a pace, filling you so masterfully yet harshly with every stroke.

“Sa-to-ru…” you pant, digging your nails into Gojo’s sculpted back, and this only motivates him more. You have a realization that could either be horrible or amazing: How could you ever fuck anyone else again? Again and again he’s thrusting into that magical spot till the sounds of your wetness fill the otherwise lackluster room, spoiling you for any other and reassuring you that yes, he really is the strongest. Part of him knows how skilled he is, and he has to refrain from laughing- no one would ever be enough once he was done with you. Then again, he never wants to be done with you.

You feel his tactful hands roam your body aimlessly, a visible sign of his enrapture with how you receive him. He wants to focus on watching his cock slam into your cunt over and over, but he also wants to watch your face as you writhe and cry out his name- he’s clearly conflicted.

The little breathy noises slipping out of him aren’t helping your cause, and the way he abruptly throws one of your legs over his broad shoulder doesn’t either. He’s now rutting into your tight heat relentlessly, a stark contrast from how delicately he’s kissing up the thigh that’s pressed into his chest.

“Your pussy is...perfect,” you hear Gojo groan, drawing the words out, and his kisses along your thigh become animalistic as they turn into bites. You whimper, back arching with all the sensations filling your system, and that heady feeling in your tummy begins to strengthen again. “Wanna-fuck you- forever…”

“Please,” you agree as your ability to form sentences leaves you. “Don’t ever- stop…”

In a perfect world, he wouldn’t. As one hand holds your thigh to his chest and the other travels to your overstimulated clit, his shiny blue eyes watch your contorting face, smiling proudly when you moan at how his fingers rub tight circles along your nerves. He can feel his release approaching alongside yours, and your slick walls flutter around his cock as he pummels into you.

“Want another one, princess,” Gojo pants, making your skin smack against his as your orgasm builds up in your tummy. “Go on, come on- my cock…”

His wish is your command. You quickly lean forward, mashing your lips with his when the pleasure fizzles out of you all over again. You feel the tips of your toes burn at how powerfully your release hits you, wracking your body with an almost overwhelming amount of pleasure. You’re reduced to a heaving, shaking mess, convulsing around his length and left only able to babble his name against his mouth in your state of bliss. His hand cradles the back of your head as he fucks you through the aftershock and kisses you roughly, only to follow close behind just moments later. His movements falter before your name falls from his lips, and his hips stutter as you feel yourself start to fill with his thick seed.

Holy shit. Who would’ve guessed that this was how your evening would turn out? Just mere hours ago you wanted to claw at his throat, and instead you clawed at his back because of how good he was dicking you down. Your mind swims as Gojo slowly withdraws, slipping out of your sore cunt to collapse beside you in what little space the hotel bed offered. He’s even gorgeous like this, maybe more than ever actually. You’re observing how his ivory hair sticks to his forehead and his back glistens with the thinnest layer of sweat from his efforts, the muscles there decorated with thin red indents from your nails. It’s a sight worth recreating an infinite number of times.

Not having him envelop all your senses anymore forces you back into reality, where a mission lies just hours ahead of you and your shared hotel room isn’t any prettier. And unbelievably, those things don’t even matter anymore. All you can perceive and recognize in your afterglow is Satoru Gojo, who is already regaining his breath while you lie there like a fucked-out mess. Beautiful.

Gojo turns to face you, watching your chest rise and fall as you regulate yourself, and his delighted grin is all too perfect for someone who just obliterated you.

“So…you warm enough now?”

Your sticky body shifts to face him, vibrating with laughter as you answer “For now, yes…” and your head hits the pillow exhaustedly. That’s right- you were already tired before this “development” even happened.

His whole being is pure elation as he languidly drapes an arm over your bare figure. “Does that mean we get to do that again? I think she really likes me.” His hand brushes over your abused cunt, and your body flares at his touch yet again. It was a sick epiphany that he could destroy you and you’d still want more.

You snicker. “Yes, but she is super sore right now.” The sleepiness from earlier seeps into your brain, and you find yourself curling back into his lanky frame. He accepts you openly, resting a hand on your ass as he scoops you closer.

“I can kiss her better,” he pipes up quietly, already thinking of all the ways he could keep touching you. Even though you feel that droning buzz of want again, you tiredly shake your head, regretfully reminding him “Noooo, we’ve gotta get up in a few hours. Maybe after our mission.” You swear his eyes desaturate a shade before he sighs.

“Yeah yeah yeah. You’re gonna be tired and sore anyway.”

“Oh, and you’re not?”

“Nah.” Gojo moves to press a fresh batch of kisses all over your neck, and you shudder. He did have a point- you were already planning on shotgunning whatever energy drinks were in the dingy hotel lobby’s vending machine in the morning, as if they even had one. “I could go all night if you wanted, princess. Give you more of my cooties.”

You laugh freely, realizing he probably wasn’t exaggerating. It’s quite the offer from the one who just wrecked you so good- and you’d be silly to refuse despite your tiredness. You feeling your limbs tangle into each other’s, returning thoughts of the hazardous hotel drifting away once more, and your arousal slowly revisits you. What an incredible way to forget about your surroundings. You tug playfully on his icy tresses, you decide that this might be your new favorite kind of exhaustion. “As long as you don’t share your cooties with anyone else.”

Snickering, Gojo keenly zeroes on spreading your aching legs so he can see the aftermath from earlier, and he’s hardening again at the sight of his thick cum barely trickling out onto your thighs. With a mischievous smile, he assures you, “Never. This is just too pretty. Plus, you said you were gonna tip well.”

His hands trace you, and there’s not a more discernible indicator of your new bond with him than when you look down at his length, answering him in a familiarly cheeky tone, “Well, you already did.” He laughs, the warmest he's ever allowed himself, and it's certain he's keeping his promise.

Turns out, Shoko was right about him.

[lis-likes-fics]

Strung Up

Pairing(s): Eddie Munson x Reader Word Count: 32.8k words Warnings: NSFW, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (violence), graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of death, murder, blood, gore, anxiety, panic attack, implications of stalking, frequent swearing, drug use, alcohol use, manipulation, degradation (not always in the sexy way), dubious consent, light praise kink, fingering, groping, oral sex, multiple orgasms, spanking, titty fucking, masturbation, vaguely masochistic tendencies… A/N: IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: Not all of the warnings are listed above, but the full list of warnings is provided here. The only reason they're not all here is to avoid spoilers throughout the story, but none of the warnings unlisted here should be trigger warnings. If you're still unsure, please feel free to check the list. But if you want to go into this blind, go right ahead! A/N II: Okay so...I did finish the last two scenes at 3 o'clock in the morning last night, but hey! We finished! This is the last upload for my Kinktober 2024 event. I'm glad I was able to finish just in time, and I hope you all enjoy this just as much as I did (even though I almost gave up five different times but that's not important.) Thank you so much and Happy Halloween! A/N III: The story is too long so Tumblr won't let me post this. Because of this, I will ahve to split it into two parts (which is annoying bc it will really damage notes and stuff and it's harder to manage >:( )

"Sonova bitch!”

You resist the urge to kick your tire. It's midnight, you're practically in the middle of the woods, and you're alone. Your car broke down along the way home, and now you're worried you'll have to walk for God-only-knows how long just to get help.

You look around, trying to figure out what to do without a car or any telephone nearby. You curse under your breath, bracing your hands on the side of the car as you lean against it.

You hear tires in the distance, and perk your head up at the chance of some luck coming your way.

But the only thing coming your way is a large, almost creaky van. Upon seeing you, it begins to slow down to a creeping pace, and you wonder if you should just make a break for it.

Just your luck, too. You're stuff on the side of the road in the middle of the night with no way to communicate with a single living soul, and now there's a creepy van inching toward you like you're about to meet your end.

Your back is stiff, and your nerves are frayed. “Just a van driving toward you,”you mutter to yourself. “Nothing scary about that at all.”

As the blinding lights shine across you, you raise a hand and squint your eyes against the strain. It pulls into the side of the road, parking behind you as the lights continue to blare.

“Hey,” a guy says as he swings the door open and steps out. You give a wary smile at first, waving timidly back at him. “Something wrong?”

It's hard to see him. All you see is the outline of his figure against the lights. He's taller than you, with big bushy hair and wide shoulders. You try not to shrink away from this dark, shadowy thing of a man.

You bump the toe of your shoe against the tire, crossing your arms as your hand pulls nervously at the collar of your work shirt. “Stupid engine died on me.”

He gestures to the car, his voice is actually kind of nice, and a bit familiar… “A beauty like this?” He pats the back of it, wild hair shifting as he looks down at it. “That's surprising.”

You shrug. “Yeah, everyone thinks it's such a great car. It's actually a piece of shit.” You chuckle lightly, and he joins you. “Do you think you could help?”

He steps to the side, and some light finally shines on one side of his face. You start to piece together his features, squinting your eyes and realizing why his voice is so familiar. You're put at some ease now that you recognize him. Your shoulders fall, and the features of your face calm.

“Wait, you're that Eddie guy. At my school?”

He looks up at you, a smile tugging at his lips as he nods. “That's me. The Eddie guy.” He holds out his ringed-up hand. “Eddie Munson.”

You take it, the cold of his rings a slight surprise against the warmth of your palm. “I'm–”

“I'm well aware, sweetheart.”

You purse your lips, chuckling lightly at the way he says it. It's not mean in any way, but there's an undertone that you find slightly unsettling.

He squints the corners of his dark eyes, making a cringing face as he nods slowly. “Sorry, that sounds bad. Uhh–”

“No, all good,” you say quickly. You shuffle on your feet, chuckling lightly to try and ease the tension between you. “You're not gonna, like, kill me and stuff my corpse in the back of your van, right?”

He smiles, laughing as he shakes his head. “No, all good.” He raises his fingers in the air, one hand over his heart as he bows a little. “Scout's honor.”

You nod. “Cool.” You glance back at your car and pat the hood. “You think you could help me out, Eddie Munson? Maybe a hot wire?”

He cringes slightly, running a hand through his messy hair. His muscle tee rides up a little from the movement, revealing a slip of his tummy shone gently in his headlights. “Unfortunately, my old girl can't handle a hot wire. I love her, but she's a bit of a piece of shit, too.”

You hum, your shoulders falling slightly. “Oh, that sucks.”

“But…” He steps over to your open door, leaning inside to pop the hood before he walks past you to look at the engine. “I'll tell you what, I can tow it and get it fixed for you.” He seems pleased with this answer. He smiles like a dork. “I help out at an auto shop, they know me. And,” he rubs his hand over the side of the car, admiring the make, “I think they'd be thrilled to work on a nice thing like this.”

Sparks of hope shoot like fireworks in your eyes when you look at him. “”Really?” Then you backpedal as you second guess yourself. “I wouldn’t wanna bother.”

“Psh, no bother, at all.” He says it so casually, like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. The amount of work, money, time—it doesn’t seem to mean anything to him. “I’ll hook her up and take you home.”

You clasp your hands together, a wide smile falling on your face. “Thank you so much.” You start walking toward his van with him, watching as he opens your door for you like a true gentleman. “I’m so glad you’re not some sort of creep.”

As you sit down, his smile widens with his joke. “You never know.” He winks at you, and it makes you laugh. If he were some middle-aged man, you’d truly be worried. But he’s really just some really nice (and kind of hot) weirdo who goes to your school. He’s not threatening, at all.

Once Eddie’s got your car properly fastened to the back of his van, he’s driving down the lightened road with the radio gently underscoring the otherwise silent air. He taps the wheel gently, glancing over at you every now and then when you’re looking out of the window at your side.

“So,” he mutters, “why are you out here so late?”

You chuckle lightly, scratching your neck absent-mindedly. “Leaving work.” You purse your lips. “My hours are kinda ridiculous.”

His brows raise. “Damn. Sounds like you need a new job.”

You shrug a shoulder lazily. “Eh. Pays well, good boss, one shitty coworker.” You look at him and smile. “It’s nothing.”

“At least it’s not a shitty boss.”

You nod eagerly, laughing lightly in agreement. “Got that right. I got lucky.”

His eyes keep switching between you and the road. He leans his elbow on his arm rest, still steering with one hand on the wheel. “So where do you work?” he wonders curiously.

“Retail.” There’s a crack on the passenger’s side mirror, and you briefly wonder how it got there. “This semi-expensive place, like twenty minutes from my house.”

He tilts his head to the side with a hum, as if the distance is another reason to quit. “Good pay.”

Another involuntary chuckle rises from your chest. “Good pay,” you echo. “What about you?” You turn to him, your head tilted. Then your eyes close and you purse your lips, raising a hand to brush down your face. “You totally said you help out at an auto shop, didn’t you?”

He laughs heartily. “I did, but I actually work at Radio Shack.” You nod like working at Radio Shack is this super interesting thing. “Pays kinda meh, shitty boss, couple good coworkers but the others kinda hate me.”

You lean back against the seat, sighing like it's happening to you. “That sucks. I'm sorry.”

Eddie shrugs. “S’fine, I'm used to it.” He grins a little. “That's what happens when you listen to this.”

He turns the station, turning it up a little as the rambunctious sounds of metal music almost blast through the speakers.

You've never been a fan of metal, but the popular rhetoric of it being music from the devil was annoying. Music is music.

“And when you play RPGs.” He turns the music back down.

You smirk, raising a brow at him. “So you're a nerd?”

An almost startled laugh rises from his throat, it almost sounds like a snort. “Maybe a little,” he says. His smile is so big, you wonder if his cheeks hurt. Then you wonder if he's this nice to everyone.

“That’s okay. I like a good nerd.”

He glances over his shoulder teasingly. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod, chuckling to yourself with a gentle giddy. “Mhm.”

The rest of the ride is as calm and as pleasant. Eddie's good company, and you find yourself genuinely hoping that you continue to be friends after this.

Soon enough, he's pulling into your posh neighborhood. The street lamps have been on for a long time, illuminating your relatively expensive house and the large tree in front of it in a gentle golden light. The porch lights are on, so your parents must be (obviously) asleep.

Eddie jogs across the front of his van to open the door for you. “Tada!” he exclaims quietly as he gestures dramatically toward your home. As you step out, still looking at your house with a furrowed brow, your skin prickles and the back of your neck goes cold as you begin to realize something.

“I…never gave you my address.”

You turn to look at Eddie, who's smiling really widely. His dark fringe kisses his lashes, his lips are pulled taut by the stretch of his smile, which is lingering strangely on his face. A tiny huff of breath passes from his mouth.

There's a strange silence as he stares at you, looking like someone's pressed pause on him. It's just short enough that it's easy to miss.

“I've been to one of your parties before.”

Oh.

“You have?” You think quickly, trying to remember seeing his face and falling short. “I've never seen you at one.”

“Yeah…” he says. “Not really my crowd.” Eddie closes your door after you've grabbed your things. “A friend invited me, but I left quick.” He shrugs a shoulder, “Besides, atmosphere wasn't super welcoming.”

Right. He's a social outcast.

“Oh,” you mumble. It doesn't sit well with you. You wished you would have noticed him. At least then you could have tried to make it better for him. He's a really sweet guy…

“Who’s your friend? I think I heard Steve Harrington mention you before,” you wonder. Steve is a friend of yours, and he’s been to nearly all of your parties.

“Yeah, he invited me.” He shrugs. “But I went with Jonathan Byers.” You know the name, another social outcast. He and his brother are very kindly looked upon, especially after the incident where his little brother was lost in the woods. That’s the only time you ever spoke to him, to offer your sympathies. If you’re thinking correctly, he’s a pothead now.

You give him a smile. “Well, I'd like to formally invite you to my next one—whenever that is, then I can properly welcome you and your friend.”

He laughs lightly, doing a grand flourish with his hand as he bows to you. “Well, thank you very much.”

You gesture toward the back of his van. “And my car?”

He nods dutifully. “I'll get that fixed up for you in no time.” Then he thinks for a moment. “Well, a little bit of time, but not too long.”

“Oh.” You nod, smiling still. You glance off down the street like you're looking for something. “I’ll just have to figure out a ride to school then… My boyfriend kind of lives out of the way and both my parents work.”

You miss the way his shoulders sink, his smile easing just a bit. He brings a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Well…” he speaks slowly, slower than he means to. “I can come pick you up.”

You clasp your hand again in a slightly pleading manner, but there's so much kindness in your eyes. “You're already helping out so much.”

A small sense of pride swells in his chest. “It's not a problem, really. I'm happy to.”

You set a hand on his shoulder, and you feel it tense a little through the thickness of his leather jacket. “I'd really appreciate it.” It's sincere, and you hope he knows. “Thank you.”

He puts his hand over yours. “No problem.” Then he clears his throat and lets go of your hand so you can have it back.

You start walking backwards. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

He raises an open palm, doesn't wave it or anything. “Night…”

You turn around and head inside. He watches you put the key in your door and walk inside.

Eddie stands there still, sighing gently as he wonders what he's going to do with himself. You're just so sweet and so pretty. You're perfect.

You're everything he was hoping for.

~

You've been trying to speak to him for the past ten minutes.

The lunch table isn't as full today. A couple buddies from the team are gone, their girlfriends included—which also means Brynn isn't here to resort to either.

You sigh, rolling your eyes as Jake's lips suck on your neck still. He hasn't moved from this spot unless it's to go to the other side of your neck in ten minutes. His hands are all over your waist, and when he nips at you, you huff.

“Hey, can you chill?”

He hums, not letting up as he continues to suck on you like a goddamn vampire. “What's wrong, baby?” he mumbles against your neck.

You push him off of you so that he'll look at your face. His lips are a little swollen from the attention, and his eyes are hooded like you've just been going down on him or something.

“I'm trying to talk to you, and you’re trying to fuck me in the middle of the cafeteria.

“I'm sorry,” he says, kissing your lips gently. He sighs lightly and smiles. “What were you saying?”

So he wasn't paying attention? You thought as much.

You turn to him. “I was saying that I might get fired.”

He furrows his brows. “Why?”

You brush a hand down your face to calm yourself before you yell at him for being so inattentive. You lick your lips, centering yourself with a sigh as you pull a sarcastic grin over your face.

“Because Cassidy found us making out in the storage closet during my lunch break—which you suggested after I said it was a bad idea.” There's a small grin on his face, and you have a feeling he isn't listening again.

He shrugs, “Cassidy’s a bitch who's been trying to get you fired for months. She's not doing it now.”

Your stress is getting to you now. You reach out to grab his face in the hopes that it'll make him pay a little more attention. “Except this time, she's got me for indecency in the workplace. Which could be filed under sexual harassment. That can get me fired.”

He furrows his brows a little in confusion. He grabs your wrists and pulls them off his face, down to his lap. “I think you're being ridiculous,” he shrugs a shoulder like what he's said isn't a ridiculous statement. “Aren't you training to be like…a crew lead or something?”

His hands fall to your waist, and you ignore him as he leans in again to keep sucking on your neck. He tilts your head up, holding your chin still as he has at it.

You let out a frustrated sigh. “Which is why I'm stressed out. She's going to tell my boss, and she's going to fire me.”

He pulls away from your neck. You watch his face twist in more confusion. He stares at you for a second, then glances away, and then looks back at you. “Why would you get fired?”

You stare at him with an astonished glare in your eyes. “You don't…” you huff unbelievingly and swat his hands away from you, “...fucking listen.”

You stand up and start gathering your things, wiping absent-mindedly at your neck as you throw your bag over your shoulder. He watches you, ever-confused as you storm away from him. “Where are you going?”

When you plop down next to Eddie, he seems unsurprised. He looks over at you and smiles. The rest of his table isn't fazed by your entrance—you come over a lot and you're nice, so they don't care.

“Hey! How's it goin’?” Eddie's happy to see you, and it's already making you feel better. He notices the way your face is screwed up, and he's come to know the look well by now. His face falls a little, concern lining his forehead as it does. “What's wrong?”

His warm hand comes to rest at your face, rubbing lightly between your shoulder blades. It's a soothing thing that actually helps to calm you down a bit. “Jake's pissing me off.”

“How?” He sounds almost as exasperated as you.

You sigh gently, getting ready to recount the story for a listening ear. “A couple days ago, I was on my lunch break at work and he convinced me to…” it's a little awkward telling Eddie about your semi-sexual habits, but you know he won't judge you, “...to make out with him in the storage closet, and my goddamn coworker saw us and is going to tattle.” You drop your face into your hands. “I could get fired for this.”

Eddie thinks for a moment. “This is…Cassidy, right? Cassidy Franklin?”

“Yeah.” You sit up again, probably looking as hopeless as you feel.

He brings his foot up to prop against his chair, tilting his head to one side to let his hair fall off his shoulder. “Isn't she that same girl who started the rumor about Betty Carter and Richard Vance making porn tapes for money?” He raises a brow, “And that one about Steve being in a relationship with Jonathan?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

“Huh?” Jonathan asks, looking up from his food at the mention of his name. Eddie waves him off, rolling his eyes before he looks back over to you. He smiles, opening his hands. “She's a rumormonger. No one's gonna believe her. Especially not your manager. Your manager loves you and everyone hates Cassidy Franklin.”

You think about that, and it's making you feel better. You nod again. “You might be right.”

He wraps a hand around his knee, smiling to himself like he's so pleased to hear that he's right. “Besides, it'll probably end up coming back to her anyway.” He tilts his head, leaning in fondly as he flutters his lashes at you. ”People like that don't always get away with being assholes.”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, nodding. “Okay. You're right, yeah. She's a bitch.”

“Who’s a bitch?” Robin’s head pops up. She looks between the two of you, curiosity all over her face.

You shrug. “My coworker.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and nodding. “Yeah, my coworker’s a bitch, too.”

You chuckle lightly, glancing at Eddie. “Don’t you work with Steve?” You’ve checked out movies at Family Video from them before. They seemed to mostly be getting along.

“Yeah, why?” She smirks slyly, returning to her conversation with Argyle. You don’t know what they’re talking about, but you’re not sure it’s going to make a lot of sense with the way his eyes look right now.

Eddie’s smiling when you look back at him. “Anyway, don't sweat it. Everything's gonna be fine…’kay?” He holds out his pinky, squeezing with a funny kind of harshness when you wrap yours around it.

You nod. “Okay.” You sigh, and this time it actually feels like you're letting go of the stress. Eddie always knows how to make you feel better. “Thanks. My boyfriend's an idiot, and it feels like you're the only person who listens to me sometimes.”

He furrows his brow curiously, turning toward his bag of pretzels sitting almost forgotten on the table. He pulls a couple from the bag, picking them individually from his palm. “What about your friend? What's her name—Brooklyn?”

“Brittany.” Your smile sours. “And, yeah, Brynn spends a lot more time with her boyfriend now than she does with me, so I might have to remind her that I exist first.”

He scoffs, shaking his hand as he looks down at his pretzels. “Shitty friend,” he mumbles under his breath. He seems genuinely and deeply upset. His brow furrows maybe a little more than it should.

You look over his expression, briefly wondering why he cares so much. “Just a bit,” you mutter absent-mindedly. You look at the time. Lunch is almost over. “Anyway, thanks, Eddie.”

He seems to snap out of it then, a large grin returning to his face. “No problem.”

You set a hand on his arm, smiling hopefully. “Hey, are you free tonight?” Something glints in his eyes. “Jake's hanging out with his boys and, like I said, Brynn's with her boy. I wanted to watch that new movie.”

It's a horror movie, Annihilator. You know Eddie likes horror movies, and you don't want to watch it alone. Or, rather, you'd prefer to watch it with him.

Eddie does this weird thing sometimes where he pauses. It's like his brain suddenly freezes and he just stops moving. He stares at you. His smile intact and his face just as Eddie-ish as usual, but just a little…off.

It only ever lasts a moment though.

“Raincheck?” he asks regrettably. “I'm hanging with my uncle tonight. We've been planning it for a while now.”

“Oh, sure,” you chirp. You know how much his uncle means to him. They don't usually get time together since he always works so late. “No problem. Tomorrow night?”

He smiles that proud grin again. He does it a lot. You think it's sweet.

“Absolutely.”

“See you then.” You steal a pretzel as you move to stand.

He waves you off with wiggling fingers and a cheeky grin. “See you.” He winks on your way out.

~

Dragging yourself out of the bed the next morning was hard. You don’t know why. You just woke up and felt like maybe tonight was the type of day not to go to school.

And, technically, you could if you wanted to. Both your parents are gone on a business trip—they left before you even woke up that morning. They won’t be back for at least a week. You could ditch and the worst that would happen is a phone call that you could delete if it was really necessary enough to do so in the first place.

But anyway, you don’t. You drag yourself out of bed, get ready for school, and head downstairs for breakfast. You're stirring sugar into your tea when you turn on the TV, switching through the channels to find the cartoons.

Something catches your eyes when a news channel flashes on the screen. You flip back to it quickly, and you stop mid-stir at what you find.

“–about a gruesome murder is tearing through Hawkins like a wildfire.” You drop the spoon in your mug, turning the volume up loud. “The life of a student at Hawkins High School, known as the basketball captain Jason Carver, was taken last night by a suspect police have yet to identify. Hawkins PD is still–”

You rush to the phone, dialing Brynn’s number faster than you ever have before. It rings only a couple times before the dial tone ends. You give her no time to speak.

“Are you watching the news right now?”

“Yeah. Jason fucking Carver? Who the fuck would do this?” She sounds distraught, as distraught as you feel.

You swallow thickly, pacing as much as you can with the short cord keeping you tethered to the phone. You start to worry. What if this isn’t a one time thing? What if people are actually in danger—your boyfriend, your friends. “Don’t ask me.” You start to feel sick.

“This is insane.” She sighs heavily through the line.

“You’re telling me.”

“How’s your car?” she asks, your words running a mile a minute. “Do I need to take you to school?”

It takes you a moment to respond. Your eyes had gotten stuck to the screen. There are police lights and caution tape and people everywhere. It feels so unreal. “Uh—It’s fine.” You clear your throat, wiping a hand over your face. “Especially after Eddie worked on it.”

You can almost hear the scowl in her voice. “You still hang out with him?”

Here we go. “You don’t hang out with me.”

“He’s probably the one who killed Jason.”

Her comment is a slap in the face. You can’t describe the anger and disgust that rises in your throat at what she’d just said. It’s corrosive, and you wish you could show her how upset it actually makes you, but you can’t. So instead, you say, “Why the fuck would you say that?”

Your tone makes her back off. Not by a lot, but enough for her to second guess. “He’s like…a satanist or something.”

“Or something.” You shake your head. “He’s just a nerd, and he’s kind.” You mean it in a nice way. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

She scoffs. “Whatever.” She takes a moment, calms down, and then says with more sincerity than annoyance. “Don’t get fucking killed.”

“You, too.”

“I’ll see you in class.”

“Bye.” You hang up. You stare at the screen again, staring for a while as you try to process this. You knew Jason. He was your friend—or, he was relatively your friend. You were dating one of the members on his team, so you’ve known him for a while. Now that he’s gone… It’s just such a bizarre concept to digest.

You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You dial Jake’s house phone, waiting and waiting for it to pick up, only for it to flatline. With a huff, you try again. When it still doesn’t go through, you start to go for a third time when you catch the time. You’re gonna be late. You’ll see him there anyway.

You try to ignore the gnawing feeling that you might not.

~

You lean against your locker next to Eddie, holding onto your bag as your hands worry away at the strap. “I just can’t believe this happened.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” Eddie says. He shrugs a shoulder, “I mean, this place has been kinda cursed for a while but something like this?”

You shake your head, imagining the scenes you’ve been told by the amount of people you’ve walked past or talked to since you left the house. “It was so brutal. They said he was gutted and then hung from a fucking tree.” Your gut twists with the image. “I keep looking over my shoulder like this killer’s gonna be there.”

Eddie's hand comes to cup your elbow. He rubs it soothingly with a reassuring glint in his eyes. “Hey, don’t worry about that kinda stuff. Everything’s gonna be fine, okay?” His thumb strokes the meat of your arm. He offers you a smile.

You nod. “I hope so.” You glance behind Eddie, catching sight of Chrissy. It’s a wonder she even showed up today. She’s walking through the halls with her eyes down at the floor, moving so sluggishly that you wonder briefly if she’s really just some zombie roaming the halls. You speak quietly. “I can’t imagine how Chrissy must be feeling. She’s such a sweet person, she doesn’t deserve this kinda thing.”

Eddie’s eyes linger on her as she continues walking down the hall. He swallows thickly. “Yeah…”

His brows suddenly furrow. A crease wedges itself between them as he sees something, and he lets out a sigh as he glances away, straightening his posture as he goes. His thumb rubs your elbow one more time before letting you go. “Hey, I’ll see you later, okay?” You nod. “Stay safe.” He says it with an intensity that honestly warms your heart.

“You, too.” He gives you a quick smile and then leaves. You turn around to watch him go just as you see Jake walking toward you. That makes sense. The two eye each other as they pass, and Jake looks at you like he’s annoyed by something.

The sight of him had initially brought you some relief. You were worried that something happened to him when he didn’t answer the phone this morning. The more you look at him though, the more that feeling sours and becomes something more exasperated than anything else.

You turn around with a sigh, leaning against the locker again on your other elbow. He comes up to you, a partial scowl set upon his face. “Was that Eddie Munson?”

You hate the way he says his name. It pisses you off every time you hear it. “Yeah.”

“Why are you hanging out with him?” He looks genuinely pissed out. You roll your eyes, ready to leave this conversation because it’s such a petty thing to be arguing about right now. Someone just fucking died—one of Jake’s closest friends just fucking died—and he’s upset that you’re hanging out with some guy who plays DND? You were worried he was dead, and this is how he greets you.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that question?” You seethe the question, trying not to bring any attention to yourself as you lean in to talk to him, your own scowl set to combat his own. He huffs and shakes his head, but decides it’s probably just best to drop it.

“You didn’t call me this morning.” Your quiet anger is biting at your fingertips. You try to remind him of the situation because it doesn’t seem to be registering for him. “A student at Hawkins High was killed, and you didn’t call me this morning.”

Jake sighs, running a hand down his face as he thinks about it. You finally start to see the grief threatening to peek through as he looks away from you. “I was on the team with Jason. My parents were bitching about being safe.” His voice is quieter now, not as firm.

You start to feel bad now. You’ve been bitching about him lately about his bad behavior. You’re doing it right now, when what he really needs is your support. You sigh, looking down at your feet as you offer a truce in the way of cradling his arm in your palm. He looks at you, his eyes softening with your own. You just look at him for a moment and take a breath.

“I just don’t understand.” Your voice would be a whisper if there weren’t so many people crowding the halls. You have no doubt that every single one of them is talking about Jason Carver, former captain of the basketball team. “It’s all so surreal. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life.”

He lifts his hand to your cheek, offering his comfort. “Hey,” he says gently, “everything’s gonna be fine. I’ll make sure you’re good. You can stay at my place until this all clears up.” Sometimes you wonder why you’re even with him. But then he does stuff like this, and you start to feel a little better about the struggle. “We can also have Brynn and Andrew over to make it fun. How does that sound?”

Better than you thought it would. You haven’t been around them in a while. You feel like maybe you shouldn’t delay that any longer.

“Yeah.” You nod, hyping yourself up a bit as you offer a little smile. “Yeah, that’ll be nice. Thanks.”

His smile widens a bit. He leans in. “Anything for my girl.” He kisses you. It’s a gentle kiss, and it makes you feel better because it feels like he means it. His thumb strokes your cheek, and you can’t help but to smile against his lips.

~

You take a nap as soon as you get home. The whole day has been so exhausting, weighed down by all the grief and confusion. There’s a team meeting after school, so you have to wait for that to finish before Jake comes to get you.

When you wake up, it’s almost eight o’clock. It’s weird. The meeting should’ve been over by now.

It’s too quiet. The silence is making your skin crawl, and you reach for the remote in a desperate need to fix it. When it’s on, you immediately regret making that so.

“A second murder shakes the grounds of Hawkins as another student by the name of Cassidy Franklin is killed only an hour ago at–”

Your shock is interrupted by a tiny clattering sound. You nearly jump out of your skin as your gaze is immediately drawn upstairs. You feel yourself begin to shake, and you don’t think you can move after you’ve turned off the TV just as quickly as you turned it on.

Everything is so still now. Even the air refuses to move as you wait for anything—another sound, more silence. Anything.

You will yourself to move as you go to the kitchen, pulling the biggest knife from its sheath and ignoring the way it trembles with your fear. The tension is the air so palpable, you genuinely believe you could cut it with the knife you have clenched in your tight fists.

You feel dumb walking upstairs, toward the noise you just heard. You feel like you might die if you go any further, but you also feel like if the killer is actually in your house, then you’ll probably die if you stay downstairs, too.

You turn every knob like it’s searing hot. Every time a door opens, you feel like your heart has jumped out of your throat and then forced its way back down once you’ve confirmed there’s no one there (or rather, once you don’t see anyone because you refuse to investigate any further).

When you reach your bedroom, you think you might die. Maybe not from the killer, but from the heart attack you feel creeping up your chest.

On your bed is a single letter and a strange doll thing. You don’t feel like your heart is beating when you walk into the room. You almost slip multiple times over your own feet just trying to get to your bed. When you’re standing there, you’re frightened by something moving beside you, and you genuinely do jump this time.

Your window is open. The curtains swayed gently with a light gust of wind coming through.

Yes. You think you might die.

You swallow thickly, trying to keep your tears choked down as you pick up the doll. It looks handmade. The arms are thin and pillowy, so are the legs. Neither of them have hands or feet, and it has a stitch mouth and buttons for eyes. In a weird, abstract way, you think it sort of looks like you. The skin tone is the same and the buttons match your eye color, at least.

It falls from your hands more than you set it down. They’re shaking so badly, you don’t think you’d have been capable of putting it down yourself.

When you look at the letter, the paper also looks like it’s been folded and glued by hand. Your name is written across the front in handwriting you’ve never seen before. You force yourself to open it to see what’s inside.

When you pull out the note, you cover your mouth as you throw it back down, stumbling away. Tears spring to your eyes, despite your best effort to keep them away. There’s a smudge of blood on the paper. It doesn’t look old.

You squeeze your eyes shut, holding your breath like it’ll wake you up from some terrible dream. But when you open your eyes again and find yourself in the same room, you try not to choke on your tears.

As your entire body trembles, you find your way back to the bed. You pick up the note and do your best to keep your hands still (miserably) so you can read it.

I’ll pull all the loose strings for you, my little puppet. And once they’re all gone, we will be together.

A startled cry rips its way from your throat. You collapse to the floor as your chest heaves uncontrollably. This is too much stress. You can’t take all of this.

You don’t know how long you spend on the floor like this—sobbing and losing a lot of water—but once you’ve wracked up the strength, you crumple the letter into a ball and grab the doll by its torso, squeezing with all the fear and anger in your chest. You open your closet door, throwing them both at the wall with all your strength and forcing the door shut.

You calm your breath enough to stop your tears and wipe at your face, rushing down the stairs with the bag you’d already packed. You’re out of the door in barely any time, getting in the car as quickly as possible and you tear a path straight to Jake’s house.

Once you’re there, you don’t see his father’s car, so you assume he’s working overtime at the department to catch this killer. The way your fists pound on the front door is insistent. You almost sock Jake right in the face as soon as it’s open.

“Fuck,” he says quickly, his words rushing from his mouth. “I’m so sorry, babe. I lost track of time and–”

You don’t listen to him. You throw your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. He smells vaguely of your perfume. You try not to cry again. It’s not too hard, seeing as you already cried a ton of tears earlier onto your bedroom floor.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You sound pathetic, but you don’t care enough to try to fix it.

“Yeah. Come on.” He opens the door wider, pulling his arm tightly around you as he tucks the both of you into the house. He closes the door behind you, still holding onto you as you pull him tight. He eases your face back into his chest. “What’s got you so freaked out?”

You don’t know what to tell him. You tell him the truth, he might believe you, he might not. If he does, he might decide to go on a killing spree to deal with whoever he thinks could have done it (you have a suspicious feeling that Eddie will be at the top of the list, simply because he doesn’t like him). There are just too many variables, and you’re too tired and too scared to deal with any of them.

“I…” you sigh shakily, “I’m just surprised by…Cassidy’s death.” Cassidy’s fucking dead. You almost forgot about that with all the insanity swarming through your head.

As his hand strokes down the back of your head, you feel his chest rumble against your cheek as he speaks. “You worked with her, didn’t you?” He sounds genuinely curious. He really wasn’t listening…

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head. “That’s crazy.” He sets his chin on top of your head and keeps rubbing your back.

“Jake.” You pull away from him just enough to look at his face. His hands cradle your elbows as your own clutch desperately at his sides. You need to know. “Do you love me?”

He stares at you and nods, bringing a hand to your cheek. His thumb strokes it, just like before. His hand is hot. “Yeah.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, searching his eyes for something to hold onto it. “Would you…” You try to steady your breath, swallowing thickly. “Would you let anything bad happen to me?”

You don’t expect him to say yes, but you need to hear it all the same. “‘Course not,” he says. “You’re my girl.”

You lift yourself onto your toes to kiss him. He cranes his neck down to meet you, and his hands fall down to your waist. You bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders, trying to bring him down further. You need to forget about all of this. Just for a moment. You want to forget.

“Make me feel better,” you mutter against his lips.

He smiles a little, bringing his hands down further to pick you up, wrapping your legs around his wait. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

~

“Welcome, students.”

The gym is packed full of students. All the students and faculty are sitting in the bleachers or standing around the gym floor, watching the principal and the police officers giving an announcement front and center. You sit so close to Jake that your hips are practically glued together. Brynn’s on your other side with Andrew next to her. You keep wanting to glance over your shoulder where Eddie is sitting with his group, but you decide it’s probably best not to for the sake of not dealing with your friends and boyfriend’s bad attitudes.

“I know we are all aware of the recent losses in our community. Many of us are grieving the beloved memory of these fallen students. In an effort to avoid losing any more of them, our chief of police is going to set a few rules in place to keep our community safe from this unidentified individual.”

Principal Higgins steps back to offer Chief Hopper the floor. He steps forward, already looking tired as he directs his attention to the giant crowd staring at him.

He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. He gets straight to business. “From now on and until the killer is found, a town-wide curfew will be implemented.” People start murmuring in protest. “No one is to be out of their homes past nine o’clock. All doors will be locked and-”

Everyone is talking now. There are murmurs and shouts and boo’s and all kinds of protest as they respond frustratedly to these new rules. You personally don’t oppose them too much…

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Jake groans.

“This fucking sucks!” “What the hell, man?” “Seriously?” “We didn’t do anything!”

Chief Hopper isn’t having it. He cares little for the commotion, and it’s really just pissing him off.

“Hey!”

Everyone is immediately silenced. His voice is even harder now as he yells over the silence. He makes sure to enunciate every word. “All doors and windows will be locked. You are advised to come to school and then go straight home to reduce the risk of being hurt. Police will be patrolling the streets to ensure these rules are being followed. We advise you to stay in groups and be vigilant of your surroundings. Anyone caught breaking curfew will be brought in for questioning, which could lead to a possible arrest.” There’s more silence. No one wants to interrupt him again. “Am I understood?”

Everyone murmurs their reluctant agreement.

“Thank you.”

He stands back again. Principal Higgins steps forward. “Thank you, Chief Hopper.” He clasps his hands together. “Now let us all close our eyes and bow our heads for…”

You’ve tuned him out by now. You don’t have the strength to listen to him right now. You keep replaying that note in your head over and over again.

Once they’re all gone, we will be together…

“They’re calling him Ghostface,” Jake mumbles, keeping his voice low to avoid being called out. “‘Cause of the mask they found at Cassidy’s crime scene.”

You try not to flinch. “Why are we calling him anything but a murderer?”

He shrugs. “I mean, there are a lot of murderers.”

You glance at him, but you ultimately keep your gaze fixated on your hands as you rub at your palms. “I don’t think we should be villainizing him. I mean, people actually like villains.” I’ll pull all the loose strings for you, my little puppet…

He sighs lightly. “I think it’s a pretty sick name.”

“Jake.”

“Just saying.”

There’s a weird feeling burning into your back, like someone’s watching you. It spreads like a wave, and you fight the urge to shudder as you glance behind you to see what it is.

You see Eddie, and your worries are set aside. He offers a tiny grin and a thumbs up. He wants to know if you’re okay. You return the smile as best you can and give him your own thumb. You turn back around, feeling a little better about everything.

As soon as the assembly is dismissed, everyone is making their way back to class or wherever they intend to go. Jake kisses your temple and runs off with his buddies. Brynn and Andrew go with him.

Walking by yourself, you rub a hand over your arm to self-soothe. You’re at school. Nothing is going to happen while you’re at school. You go to your locker just to be there. You don’t want to go to class yet, and you don’t want to stand in the middle of the gym or the hall like some loser.

You’re there for barely a minute before someone’s standing next to you. You flinch when you realize it, quickly calming when you recognize Eddie and his sweet face. He gives you an apologetic look. “You okay? Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You nod, grabbing his arm and sighing with a small smile. “All good.” You grab your stuff and start down the hall with him at your side. You assume he’s walking you to class because his is at the other side of the school.

“How are you…?”

Both of you pause at the sound of Eddie’s name, pausing by the hall as you hear the familiar voices of some of Jake’s team members.

“Your girlfriend hangs out with that Munson guy?”

“I keep telling her.” Jake seems as displeased as Tommy H.

“Your girl’s a fucking freak for that, man.” That’s Andrew, Brynn’s boyfriend. You’ve learned to tune him out at this point.

“Hey, cut it out, Andy.” Chance is probably the most sane of the group, but he’s still an asshole. “That’s his fucking girlfriend.”

“Keep talking shit about her, and I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

Tommy’s voice is obnoxious. “Shouldn’t say that, or they’ll arrest you.” A round of laughter sparks among them. Jake’s is the loudest.

“Maybe they should.”

“They should just arrest Munson,” Chance deadpans. Your grasp tightens around a textbook. You’re getting sick of hearing it. “We all know it’s him.”

“Since your girl’s suckin’ face with him, maybe she’s in on it, too… But that’d make her a slut.”

Everyone laughs, even as you hear the scuffle of shoes and ruffle of clothes as some weird play fight breaks out between them. You assume it’s between Jake and Tommy.

Eddie’s hand gently grabs your arm, crowding your space to put a barrier between you and them. His gaze is schooled on your face. He seems really upset, but he hides it well so he can comfort you. You scoff, shaking your head as you stare blankly at the floor, your face set in passionate displeasure.

“I fucking hate jocks.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” he mutters, stroking your arm. Goosebumps erupt over your skin, your entire arm gets covered in them. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

You nod, looking up at him and letting the concern in his eyes ease you. “Yeah.” You readjust your grip on your book, turning the other to walk to his class instead. He lets you, because he knows you’re trying to self-soothe and he doesn’t want to interrupt that. “I’m more upset about everyone always assuming it’s you. Like they know you or something.” You mumble the last part more to yourself, but he hears it loud and clear. It’s heartwarming, your support of him.

“That’s sweet,” he says, “but I don’t really care that much.” Like he’s said before, he’s used to it. You still don’t like it, and he loves that about you. “I don’t know too many girls who take kindly to being called a slut.” He stops you so that he can properly look at you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod, giving him your best smile in an attempt to convince him. He’s so sweet. You don’t want him to worry. “I’m good,” you shrug nonchalantly. “His friends are just assholes. It’s whatever.”

He doesn’t fully believe you, but he doesn’t want to press and stress you out. So he just nods and says, “Hey, you can sit with me during lunch so you don’t have to sit with them.”

You smile, and this time he believes it. “That sounds great.”

~

You’ve rustled through your bag maybe seven times now, and you still can’t find it. The amount of distress it’s causing you is a little unnerving. One thing. You just want one thing to be simple.

“Shit.” Eddie looks over at you, watches you put your head against the lunch table with a force that concerns him. He reaches a hand out and rubs circles along your back unprompted. “I left my notebook for my next class in my car.”

He raises a brow. “Are they really important?”

You turn your head to look at him. “If I miss any of these notes, I’m not passing this test.” And your teacher is a true asshole who refuses to delay the test even a single day to give you all a break.

Eddie’s already moving to stand, offering his hand to you. “I’ll go with you. You know, to keep you safe.”

You glance over at the table where Jake sits. He keeps looking over at you. When you slip your hand into Eddie’s, you know he’s pissed. You don’t mind it too much. “Thanks, Eddie.” He gives you one of those big smiles.

You walk with Eddie out of the cafeteria. There’s a cop posted at the door who checks the both of you out before letting you leave. The sun is really bright, despite the depression inside. It’s actually a bit glaring as you shield your vision from it. Eddie’s not having much luck with it either.

Eddie walks closely by you, and you appreciate the sentiment. You don’t feel as unsafe as you should—maybe it’s because it’s daytime and there are people around you. Nothing is going to happen in broad daylight.

You should really learn not to think things like that, though.

Eddie practically jumps in front of you as the loud screeching of tires alarms everyone around you. You startle, immediately looking towards the car that’s speeding through the parking lot. It’s loud and explosive. It hurts your ears, and you look away because you don’t know if you can take all this shock. You’re going to have a heart attack in your teens.

You cover your ears when it just barely crashes against the back of a car, bouncing off of it just to catapult into a giant pole.

The front is entirely caved in. There’s steam billowing from the hood as the back tires roll. One of the doors has flung open, and you stare in shock at what’s just happened. It takes you a moment to process Eddie’s protective arm over your front. You set a hand on his shoulder, and he immediately turns to examine you. “Are you okay?” he asks quickly, frantic as he looks over every part of you like you were the thing the car hit.

You start to nod when a blood curdling scream fills the air. Your head shoots to the scene of the crash, and you’re running toward it before you can even register Eddie’s protests. He chases after you.

You don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

It’s gruesome and graphic. Your hands fly to your mouth as you fight the urge to scream at the sight of two bloodied bodies lying cold in the back seat. They’ve been completely mutilated with the amount of times they’ve been stabbed all over. If you hadn’t known them so well, you probably wouldn’t have been able to make them out with all the blood and tears spread over their faces.

Telling flesh from organs (or even clothes) proved difficult. It was a mess of fabric and tissue. Some places were so abused that you could see bone sticking out of wounds, surrounded by flesh and meat. Your gut churned and churned. You wanted to look away, you’re almost begging to look away but you can’t.

That’s two jocks now, four dead bodies. First Jason, then Cassidy…and now Tommy H and Carol Perkins.

Their wide eyes are unblinking…

You can hear your breath in your ears. Everything else is so loud and muffled—the screams, the shouts, the chatter—but the heavy gasps of your lungs is a pound in your head that you can’t tune out. Everything seems to slow as you stare at the two, their bodies unmoving and broken by glinting blades. All you do is stare.

You don’t realize Eddie’s arm wrapped around your waist until he turns your head from the scene. You try to look back, but he’s shielding your gaze with his hand so that you can only look at him. “Hey, hey, hey.” His voice, though thick with breath and something you can’t place with the way your brain rushes, is grounding. “You’re okay. Let’s go. Come on.”

You just follow him because he’s the only steady thing you can focus on. He crowds you with his body, and you let him before it gives you something to focus on. The sight of them is still in your head, stuck to your brain like a dart in a dartboard. You don’t understand. You want to understand.

You don’t notice more people bursting through the doors. You don’t notice the cops following after with their guns drawn as they scream at everyone to get out of the way. You don’t notice more screams filling the air and police sirens from the cars already in the parking lot. You focus on Eddie’s warm palm against your palm as the other holds your hand tight.

You don’t know how much time has passed before you come to. Eddie’s rubbing your back and letting you rest your head on his shoulder. Everything seems calm enough to feel real. You lift your head heavily and look at him. His gaze is distant, and you take it as shock.

You tuck your arm under his to wrap it around his back. He looks down at you, blinking a couple times before continuing to just sit next to you. Everything is fine.

It takes longer than it should for you to remember Jake. When you think you can stand, you place a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and tell him insistently, “I…I’m going to find Jake. He’s probably freaking out, and…just please be safe. Please don’t get hurt. Be safe, please.”

Eddie nods, squeezing your hand gently before letting you go. “You, too. I’ll see you later, right?”

It takes a moment to process. “Yes. Yeah, I’ll try to call you.” He nods, squeezes your hand again, and then lets you go. As you turn away toward the thick crowd, you see Jonathan Byers joining Eddie. Argyle and Robin find them a moment later. At least he’s got company.

Everyone is in the cafeteria now. There’s police at every door keeping anyone from leaving. It’s very crowded, and for a moment, you think you can’t breathe, but you need to find your boyfriend.

It takes you a long time to find him. When you do, it looks like he's just now being told what's happened by his teammates. Brynn is at his side with Andrew holding her hands, speaking slowly. You finally get to them and drop to your knees to look up at him. He sits down heavily, dropping his face in his hands. He looks really tired.

“Jake?” you whisper, brushing his hair back from his face and gently holding his face to lift it up. He sees you, and his eyes dart between your own. His expression is so far away, and you begin to worry yourself sick. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you wait for anyone to tell you anything about what’s going on.

They send you home in groups, canceling school for the rest of the week while they’re at it. You worry about Jake driving, but he’s assured you that you’re okay enough and traffic is slow already. He drives in front of you, and you busy yourself with reading and rereading his plate numbers a million times just to try to avoid thinking about the corpses in Tommy H’s car.

You go to your house first. You hate the thought of walking in there right now, but you need clothes and things if you’re staying at Jake’s house for the next couple of days. You reach through the window of his truck on the way in, sliding a hand down his face. “You okay?”

He nods. He looks like he’s coming back to himself, but he’s still (obviously) deeply upset. “I’m good.”

You kiss his forehead before you’re headed inside with hesitant steps. Once the door is unlocked and open, you move quickly in an effort to grab all the things you need. As you’re passing the kitchen, you notice something sitting on the table. There wasn’t anything there when you were last here.

You swallow thickly, closing your eyes and slowly turning on your heel. When you open your eyes again to see, you swallow the insistent lump in your throat and set your bag on the counter. You walk slowly into the kitchen, and your hands begin to tremble all over again.

The note is the same handmade paper as before. This time, the smudge is on the outside over your name. Your heart is pounding so fast, you can’t even fathom focusing on it right now. You reach a hand out to grab it.

You hear Jake’s shoes as he steps through the front door. You swipe up the note and hide it behind your back as his gaze finds you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his tone sort of lazy.

You shake your head. “Nothing. I’m just gonna get my stuff.” You start walking toward the stairs.

“I’ll come with you.”

“No,” you sound more desperate than you mean to. But he wouldn’t understand. “No, it’s fine. Please don’t.”

He stares at you for a moment before deciding it’s not that big a deal. He steps back, nodding to himself. “Okay.” He turns on his heel and walks back to his truck to wait for you.

You rush upstairs, shoving open your bedroom door and locking it behind you. You almost yelp when you turn and see a black rose sitting on your bed. You slap a hand over your mouth and close your eyes to center yourself, breathing like that will make the rose disappear—and the letter, too, for that matter.

You lean against the door, your breath shaky as you look at the envelope. You tear it open slower than you had the first, pulling out the letter inside like it will explode if you’re not careful enough.

When all our enemies are dead and buried, we will be the ones laughing together. Soon, my perfect little puppet.

Your breath shudders as memories of just earlier that day pulse in your ears, Tommy and the team laughing at you for “being a slut”. Without wasting a second, Tommy haunts you with the sight of his open eyes, wide and bloodshot—as if he’d just seen a ghost.

This letter goes with the last one. You throw it into the closet and turn to your dresser for some clothes to stuff in a bag. But the top drawer is already open. A pair of underwear is missing. The only reason you know that is because it's the only red pair you have, and it’s not glaring you down.

You shake your head, grabbing the first sets of clothes you see and stuffing them in the bag. You lock all your windows, you lock your bedroom door behind you, you run down the stairs and ignore the fact that you could trip and fall at any moment (effectively breaking your neck and ridding you of the exhaustion of the mess that is your life right now).

You keep (re-locking) every lockable door and window in your house before you finally reach the front door. Once you’re sure it’s locked tight, you rush to Jake’s car with your bag thrown over your shoulder. You toss it in the back, and Jake pulls away as soon as your seatbelt is on. You’re glad he doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, because you know you’re not subtle.

~

The night is a little better once you get to Jake’s place (at least, it is for him once he's had a few beers). Brynn is over—Andrew had to stay home, his parents were too worried to let him leave the house.

But you've got the house all to yourselves. Jake's father is working all night at the precinct. There's no way he's coming home with a killer on the loose—a killer who's already claimed two jocks so far. He's not very keen on a third, especially with such a personal risk.

There's a movie on, and it's a nice distraction for them. Your mind is a little too preoccupied with the events of today (the events of the past few days).

As you glance over at Jake, you set a hand on his knee. There was a flash of something sad in his eyes for a moment. His mood, although it has improved, is still a little sour. It isn't so low that he looks like he isn't there—no, the beer has helped with that—but there's a faintness there that concerns you.

“You okay?” It's a dumb question, but it's the only one you've got. Brynn looks over.

Jake glances at you, nodding. “Yeah,” he says. “Just can't believe he got Tommy.” He shakes his head. “It's not fucking cool, he was a good dude.”

You can admit that you never really liked him. But that wasn't a reason for him to die.

He stands, swirling his empty beer can in his hand and going to grab another. You're still sipping—you never really liked the taste of beer, and Brynn seems to be almost through with hers.

He rustles through the fridge and cracks open another can. “I don't even know why anyone would do this.” He takes a generous swig, running a hand through his hair and shutting the fridge door.

“A fucking psycho, that's who,” Brynn mutters. She drapes a hand over her face. “Who knows what else he'll do?”

Jake scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I try not to think about it.”

You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands as you twirl your thumbs around the other. Brynn glances at you when you say nothing. You're doing that thing where the crease between your brows folds and unfolds. Something’s off.

“What's wrong?” she mutters. Jake looks at you.

You don't know how to tell them. You don't even know if they'll understand. Besides, with everything going on, your problems aren't nearly as important.

You go to dismiss it, but as you glance up and see them both watching you, you realize that you cannot sit here and pretend that nothing is bothering you this time. You look away, trying to find the words and feeling like you’re grasping at straws in a simple attempt at voicing your concerns.

“I…” You take a steadying breath, remembering the notes written to you on letters stained with blood. Fear circles your throat and makes it difficult to speak. You look up at Jake and Brynn. What if saying something about this meant they would both die? What if this thing, this sick, twisted thing going on between you and the killer means that everyone you love will end up dead?

Once again, you go to deny them the truth, the ugly truth of your peril…but you’ve already made that impossible. You swallow thickly, clearing your throat and hoping it will give you some courage.

“I’ve been getting these…these letters.” You clasp your hands together in an effort to stop their trembling. Your voice is soft, so soft that you don’t think they can hear you. “I think it’s from…him.”

Jake’s hand flexes, and you think for a moment that he’ll spill beer all over the place from crushing the can in his fist. “Who?” You think it’s possession over protection.

“The killer,” you say. Then your voice gets weaker. “Ghostface.”

Brynn makes a face. One that tells you that she doesn’t quite believe you. “Why would you be getting letters from this psycho?”

They’re not understanding. They don’t hear the fear in your voice.

“I don’t know. They’re these twisted love letters. I swear to God, there was blood on one of them.” You bring your knees up to your chest, trying to find warmth where fear has made your blood cold. You don’t look at them as you shake your head. It’s an absurd thing to say, but all of what’s happening is absurd. “I think this guy is killing for me.”

Brynn shakes her head, finding logic where you’re too emotional to look. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Jake agrees, coming back to the living room to lean on the couch beside you. “It’s probably just some fuckin’ creep playing with you.” He drinks from his can.

As reasonable as they sound—at least, it’s more reasonable than the theory you have—you can’t believe it. Too much has happened, and this is all too fucked up to try to rationalize. You shake your head, turning your body to face him.

“You don’t understand. He got into my house.” Jake’s eyes aren’t clear, and he looks generally unfazed. You reach a hand out to grasp his own, squeezing it to try to get him to listen to you. “He was there today.”

He tilts his head down. The way he looks at you is nothing if not condescending, but you try not to see it that way. “Maybe you left your door unlocked.” You think, as the son of a police officer, he should be more upset about something breaking into your house. Hell, as your boyfriend, he should be more upset about a guy breaking into your house. “Ie,” he continues, “someone’s playing a trick on you.”

You tilt your head, your anxious frustration turning to something more angry. “I always lock the door. Especially when my parents aren’t home—especially when there’s a psycho killer on the loose.” He shakes his head. You take his face in your hands, making him look at you again. “Jake, Cassidy tried to get me fired. I heard Tommy talking about me today.”

“And Jason?” he nearly snaps. He steps away from you completely. “How’s he connected, huh?”

You swallow. He’s the only one who sticks out. Jason was never unkind to you—though you know he can be unkind. He was, to those that counted to him, as gentlemanly as a jock can get.

You look down. “I…” You clear your throat lightly. “I don’t know, but I know something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, four people are dead.” He almost slams his beer on the counter. His voice cracks slightly, and he runs a hand through his messy hair. He speaks quietly, though not lacking the hurt in his voice. “That’s what’s wrong.”

You know he, Jason, and Tommy were friends, you know how much they mean to him. But—damn it—you should mean just as much! He’s supposed to have your back through this, just like you’ve had his. You’ve tried to be good to him this whole time, and then when you try to tell him how afraid you are, he throws it in your face.

It’s getting to be too much. You have grown used to the flimsy support of those close to you. You parents are almost always gone, your boyfriend has his team, your best friend has her boyfriend. Things used to be so good, and they’ve just been getting so stressful. You never ask for anything from any of them, and the one time you do, you’ve served with a steaming bowl of hot shit. It’s too much.

“I feel like I’m going crazy here, and neither of you are listening to me.” You run your hands down your face, covering your eyes and trying to steady your breath, trying to ease the heat in your chest from all the anger gathering there. “I feel like-like I’m being watched all the time.”

Brynn speaks up. “You’re just paranoid.”

“He was in my house!

You couldn’t stop it once it was out. Your shout was louder than you’d anticipated, and you feel like it’s the first time your words have ever been forced straight from your chest. There’s so much there that you feel like you have to catch your breath as the silence sits thick in the space between the three of you.

You look at Brynn. She stares down at her lap, timidly picking her nails. You look at Jake. He’s got his face in his hand as he leans against the counter.

They don’t believe you.

You can’t make them.

You stand up quickly, pushing yourself off the couch so hard that you almost fall forward. “I don’t need this.” You shove past Jake on your way to the hall, “You guys are supposed to have my fucking back.” Brynn turns to Jake, her eyes unblinking. You climb the stairs and barge into his room, grabbing your bags and repacking the things you’ve set out.

Jake has followed you up the stairs. “Come on, babe. Don’t act like this.”

It makes you seethe. “I’m going home.”

“How? You live too far, and you don’t have a ride.” You glare at him. That’s his concern. “Besides, you shouldn’t be out by yourself.” He adds it on like an afterthought.

You shake your head, closing your eyes and taking a steadying breath. “Then I’ll call someone to get me.” You slam your bag shut, forcing the zipper closed with far too much strength. “I just can’t fucking look at you right now.”

Jake grabs you, stopping you from what you’re doing to make you look at him. “Hey, babe, look, I’m sorry. Okay?” He makes you face him, his hands on your elbows as he cages you in. You turn your face away. “I’m being a huge dick… I believe you, okay?”

You huff, glancing at him out of the corner of your eyes. You take in the sight of him, trying to determine if he’s lying to you. He seems upset, genuinely. It’s foolish hope, but it’s hope, and that’s all you really want right now. “Do you?” It’s more accusing than it is anything else.

His voice is low, and he cradles your face in his hand. You let yourself, reluctantly, lean into his palm. “If that’s what you want.” You don’t like his response, but you push it away. He’s never had a way with words. “I’m sorry.” He pulls you close, bringing his other hand to wrap around your waist. “Let me make it up to you.”

You sigh, allowing yourself for just a moment to think maybe…maybe he means it. His thumb brushes over your cheek, the corner of his lips curves up. He leans in.

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

You shove him hard. You clench your fists at your side and feel yourself reaching a level of anger that is generally foreign to you. You're used to pushing it away.

Jake's shock quickly turns to annoyance, which forms a deep frustration as he huffs. “I'm so fucking sorry,” he mocks. He crowds your space, his face merely inches from his own as he speaks in a low voice that feels like he's shouting. “Two of my friends are dead, and you're making it all about you.”

You want to feel bad, but you can't. You're tired of feeling bad, you're tired of letting yourself be overlooked. What kills you is that he can't even realize that you're not okay—that you're hardly ever okay.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” You stare in shock and partially in pain, though you try to keep that hidden. It claws at your throat, and you feel like you can't speak; you push through it, despite the burning coals stuck in your throat. “I'm genuinely terrified that someone is trying to hurt me, and you're acting like this?”

He looks like he's about to rip his hair out—which is the point you're reaching as well. “Nobody is trying to hurt you! You're fucking delusional. Jesus Christ, why do you have to be such a whiny little bitch?”

A mix of emotions run through you, but all you do is stand there. You stand and you stare at him, eyes wide and welling, lips parted as your brows dip low.

It's one thing to have a stray thought that your boyfriend finds you annoying—even, perhaps, that he hates you. It's another thing entirely to have those theories confirmed, and in such a way! You look at the features of his face, all the rage and frustration peeling back into fatigue and a hint of regret. You stare even longer, longer than you were meant to, just wanting to see more regret than what he's giving.

You want him to fall to his knees and cry, to beg your forgiveness. But you know he would never beg. You know he would never fall. He never did. It was always you.

After all this time, you were always the one falling.

Ideally, you know you both need to take a step back, get some space. You need to clear your head and think about this so you can come back and figure this out. Especially with everything going on, feelings running high. You should be rational.

But you can't. 

The only thing you want to do right now is slam the door in his face, leave him standing there looking stupid. Because if you come back, if you make up and go back to normal…

You don't know how much more you can take.

Jake takes a step forward. “Babe–”

“Get the fuck away from me.”

“Babe, I'm sorry. I'm just–”

You hit his hand away when he reaches for you. “Don't fucking touch me.” You stare at him for a second longer, shaking your head before turning sharply to grab your bags. You make for the door.

“Babe–”

“Rot in Hell.”

You slam the door in his face, rushing down the stairs as quickly as you can. Brynn spots you, walking up to you quickly as she looks down at your bags. “Where are you going?”

“Fuck off.”

“You don't have your car–!” You slam the front door shut. You make sure Jake can hear it from upstairs.

No one follows you. You trek down the sidewalk, your feet heavy and your grip on your bags tight. Your heart is beating so hard, it comes with the sound of thunder in your ears. You know you're about to cry, you can feel it in the heaviness of your chest, the tightness in your throat, the hoarseness of every breath you take. You think briefly that you may die.

But the longer you walk, the longer you realize that you are outside. It's past curfew, late at night. You are alone.

And there's a killer on the loose.

It's the most inconvenient time for tears to fall. You can't see well, and you're breathing so heavily that you can't hear what's going on around you.

The streets are bare. There's no one around. The sky is drenched in darkness. Everyone is inside hiding from the killer, where they should be.

Where do you go?

You have no car. You live too far to walk. You refuse to go back and ask for a ride. You refuse to go back.

You swallow thickly, picking up the pace as you rush to the nearest payphone. There's one close by, you’ve passed by it a million times.

Once you're inside, you close the door quickly. But as soon as your hand is reaching for loose quarters in your bag, you realize they're shaking. You watch them, like leaves rattling in the window. As you bring them slowly to your face, you can't help it when your knees buckle.

You let yourself be carried to the ground, unable to hold it together long enough to find safety. It's all coming down so quickly, and you don't have the sense to allot time to cry after you've found it.

You'd hoped you were wrong, that your friends actually loved you. What a fool you were to believe such a thing. You'd grown so used to such a skewed perception of love that you don't think you'd be able to distinguish that from your twisted need to please every goddamn person you meet.

You like to believe that, at one point, it was real. It had to have been, right? It's been almost a year since you and Jake met. And Brynn has been your best friend since the beginning of high school. But that kind of distrust, those kinds of insults don't come from a place of love.

No, you don't think Jake ever truly loved you. It was simple attraction—attraction that wore off, that he probably got sick of but felt too obligated to preserve because you need someone. And there was a time for you and Brynn, but it has since passed.

You held on too tight.

It's nighttime and the sun has long since set. By the time you clear your face, you feel stupid for crying before finding safety. There are more important things than this.

You take a steadying breath. You need to be rational again.

You stuff a quarter in the slot and clear your throat as you bring the phone to your ear. It rings a few times, and you're scared he won't pick up.

“Hello?”

You recognize the voice, but it's not the one you're looking for. “Hey…” You clear your throat again. “I'm looking for Eddie? I'm one of his friends, we've actually met before.”

Eddie's Uncle Wayne pauses to think. You can imagine him scratching his head and rubbing his neck. He says your name in his low, gravelly voice.

You nod as if he can see you. “Yes, that's me.”

“Ah. Well,” he clears his own throat, “Eddie's at one of his friend's houses right now. That Harrington boy, should be. Staying in groups and all that.”

“Okay.” You hadn't anticipated that. You chew on your lip thoughtfully, trying to decide your best course of action. You know Steve, so maybe you'll be welcome. “Do you think you could give me his number?”

He makes this grunting sound, which is just the sound of him thinking. “Let's see,” he mumbles. “Should be in here somewhere.”

You've only interacted with Wayne a few times. He's very mellow, but he's kind and welcoming. And Eddie adores him.

“Harrington residence. What's up?”

“Hey. Steve? Is Eddie there?”

He says your name, double checking. It's been a little while since you've spoken, with him graduating and all.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, he's here.”

You let out a quiet breath of relief. “Could I speak to him?”

“Yeah, hang on.”

There's a shift. Then you hear Steve shout his name.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He already sounds concerned. “What's the matter?”

You rub your face. “Got into it with…” you take a deep breath and hope you don't sound as dreadful as you felt, “with Jake and Brynn. I don't wanna be home by myself. I know it’s past curfew but…” You glance around you in the dark. “Do you think you could come get me?”

There's a pause, and you wonder if you've said something wrong. Eddie is all enthusiasm. He's loud and excited, and he's quick to respond because he's happy to respond.

The silence makes you nervous.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah!” he recovers. “Yeah, of course. Where are you right now?”

You're glad he doesn't ask how you are. “I'm on Jake's street still.”

You hear a jingle. “Stay there. I'll be there in a few minutes.” You're surprised he doesn't ask why you're outside so late, but you're grateful nonetheless.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you smile.

You can hear his own smile through the phone. He's sticky with affection, and it makes you feel safe. “No worries, sweetheart.”

Continued....

Stranger Things taglist: @activebliss @queermaxwooo @life-on-needs @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @emmalee-01 @sw34ter-w34ther @gublur @allofmaris @redwineandnicotine @the-cryptid @katsukis1wife @chaoticcancer @papichulo120627 @emistrash @jjmaybankswifes-blog @thegr8estpuff @lover-of-books-and-tea @xxhanililoxx @quickslvxrr Eddie the Banished taglist: @iiiiluvhobie @eddiiiieeee @hb8301 @queermaxwooo @lovemegood @munsaniac @digital-charlie @eiriancrow @littleblondesoprano @alexxavicry @samz31 @sparkletash @fandomgirl17 @marjoriea13 @akiratoro420 @mewchiili @mischieftom @hiscrimsonangel

[youuuimeanmee]

Get ready with me to be surprised with

✨️Arnold Crowley✨️

Hint: Crowley

I was scrolling through Twitter/X, laughing and giggling at the cute DamiAnya and Loid tweets from the recent chapter 95, when I stumbled on a tweet about Arnold Crowley.

Btw, Arnold is one of the character I'm looking forwad meeting the most because he's the top scorer in the classical language test. His score must be 90 or above, which is kinda insane when we know classical language is a dead language and barely taught anymore. I previously made a theory that the reason why Anya is so good at classical language is because she came from Covenia, the equivalent of Romania irl; which language derived from Latin language. That's why I was intrigued with Arnold Crowley; I want to know how is he able to beat Anya's score. Like, did he come from the same place as Anya, or, does his family have a medical/researcher background; stuffs like that

Anyway, back to the tweet. Some people are weirded out with Arnold Crowley's hairstyle, which is not surprising, because me too.

I clicked the comments when I saw this.

What. The Fuck. Is That.

The hair/hat reference! The same last name!

Suddenly everything about Arnold clicked. Why I feel weirded out not just from his hairstyle, but also from his bow tie (which reminds me of a moth's wing pattern). Why his polite demeanor is lowkey making me uneasy. Why he is so interested to meet the runner-up of his strong subject. Why he is so good at classical language.

I was scared. I am scared.

But I was still excited to learn that Crowley was a real person, so I googled him just to make sure.

Oh FFUCK.

Dear God what did I discover.

Arnold Crowley or his parents might be based on Aleister Crowley.

Aleister Crowley is an occultist.

He practiced spells.

Spells often comes from Latin words.

He is also a poet.

A poet also often uses Latin language.

Do you see what I'm seeing here.

Summary:

Arnold Crowley or his parents might be an occultist or poet; that's how he's able to be excelled in classical language.

If Arnold's family is a poet, then thank God.

If Arnold's family is an occultist, I am really scared for Anya. What if he wants to learn if Anya is a fellow occultist like him. What if he wants to invite Anya to join his cult. What if he finds out about Anya's telepathic ability. What if he somehow trigger Anya's bad memories with his magic skills(?). I really want Anya to get tf away from him now.

And here I was so excited with Arnold's appereance, I even joked he'd become Anya's new classmate or even the 2nd ML, lol. But now? I'm really not sure. I better keep an eye on him from now on.

Yah that's about it! Thank you for following me in this short journey! 👋

*Edit: I missed the fact that Aleister Crowley is from British. Now I imagine Arnold speak in British accent and I can't stop laughing 🤣

[emmyrosee]

doodoo fart 🦨 would you still love me if I was bald?

Rintaro doesn’t even get a chance to finish the water his sipping before he spits it back out, choking on it as he laughs aloud in front of his teammates.

The entire team turns to look at him, a brow cocked in confusion while he chuckles amongst himself.

Komori is the first to smile and chuckle himself, “something you’d like to share with the group, Suna?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before shaking his head, never being one to share your discussions with the group. He has an image, okay, and you being an absolute cracked menace is going to bring that image down one day- this, he’s convinced of.

“The better half’s just funny is all,” he says casually, watching his team begins to chatter once again in the locker room. Komori gives him an unconvinced, yet understanding look before letting him back to his phone where he’s finally able to face your

SENT is there something I need to be prepared for when I get home?

doodoo fart 🦨 depends on how you reply

would you

still love me

if i was bald

SENT I feel like this is a trap.

doodoo fart 🦨 you’re the one who leaves me alone all the time

im bound to fuck around when you’re gone.

Once again, Rintaro laughs to himself before he rises to excuse himself from the crowd. The possibility of you being bald is plenty to excite him and his amusement, wondering if you’ve done something unholy to your poor head.

He thinks you’d be hot with no hair. And wash days would just be such a breeze. Maybe there’s some merit to your potential madness.

He presses the small button to FaceTime you, settling up a small distance from the door- you’ve both been known to say some unsavory things, the last thing you need is to give Washio another reason to retire.

The phone rings once, twice, and a third before you answer, your ugly stunning face filling his screen. To his shame, his eyes immediately dart to the scalp of hair that still adorns your head, and he bites his lip as you cackle a victorious cheer.

He’s been duped by your stupid ass.

“I knew you’d take my bait,” you snicker. He laughs as he’s caught red handed, poking his tongue in the corner of his mouth while you laugh. “You think you’re soooo slick, like you aren’t obsessed with me. You aren’t shit, bro.”

“I’ve been letting you hang out with the twins too much,” he snickers, leaning against the brick wall of the stadium. “Though I would’ve scream-laughed if you answered the phone and was completely bald.” You snort and he cards a massive hand through his sweaty hair, “there a reason you triggered a panic response in me at-“ he pauses and looks at the clock in the corner of his phone “15:44 on a Tuesday?”

“Because you’re cute when you’re panicked,” you hum, and he gives you his signature blank stare before chuckling when you laugh. “I mean it! Your pupils go a little dilated, you card your hair until it’s all fluffy, and you get this adorable blush-“

“I got it, you pay attention to me,” he groans, hand scrubbing down his face. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“You love me so much, man.”

“Shut up-“

“Truly living rent free in that noggin.”

“I’m gonna tell Komori on you.”

“Good, he’ll tell you the same thing,” you snort, and Rintaro shakes his head, grinning, as a sign of waving his white flag. “Go back to practice, booger. I’ll bug you later.”

“Promise?” He says, smiling while you give him a fake gag.

“After that, I don’t know.”

“I’ll take those odds.” He chuckles again before murmuring a soft ‘love you’ and hanging up; he pockets his phone and makes his way back into the arena.

Bald or not, and as much as he hates to confess it, he does adore your stupid ass and the antics that come with it.

Ugh.

[her-power]

Fixation on the Darkness (Part Four: Dark Romance! e.m. x fem! reader)

‼️🚨 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🚨‼️

Trigger/Content Warning: Dark! Somewhat Souless! Eddie! Strong sexual content, blood play, unprotected p+v, choking, hair pulling, rough intercourse, fingering (f receiving, m receiving), masturbation, oral (f receiving *for now*), fight or flight responses, grief, thoughts of unaliving self & others, manipulation, violence, smut, some fluff, angst.

Summary: Full summary on Part One.

Word Count: 4.2k

Eddie Munson Masterlist

A/N: You guys are awesome and I love you and I’m so sorry this took forever. This is gonna have two more parts before it’s completed so it’s not over yet!

It had been a week since you saw Eddie. He didn’t come to your house, or make it known that he was there. You were getting worried; he had left your house so fast that night. You did what he had asked and told Dustin everything. Had explained to him about his soul, about how he made a deal with Vecna just to return to you. Dustin couldn’t believe it at first, and then started asking questions that you couldn’t answer. He asked why you hadn’t said anything before, and he wanted to tell Wayne, but you told him not yet. Not the way Eddie was now, you told him. He was too dangerous.

Another murder was committed, in the woods where Will Byers went missing all those years ago. It was a female, older, she wasn’t from Hawkins. The police said that she might’ve been a hitchhiker. It was the same scenario, barely any blood at the scene, body mutilated but her skin was pearly white. The police issued a curfew for everyone to be inside their homes at sunset, lock all the doors and windows. It was still Winter, and it got dark earlier, so your boss made you go home at two o’clock everyday.

It was freezing tonight, the heating system in your house was older than dirt and the highest it would get was maybe 70 degrees. You bundled up in a large sweater, wool socks and leggings. You stare blankly at the television, a rerun of I Love Lucy was on, but you didn’t pay attention. You were too worried about Eddie.

You didn’t know why, the Eddie who loved you and who you loved was most likely trapped inside his torture chamber in another dimension, and soulless Eddie was most likely roaming the town feasting on not so innocent individuals who maybe did deserve to die.

He was mean; he was dangerous, he was…

He was still yours.

A loud thump from outside startles you from your thoughts. You freeze on your spot on the couch, your eyes fixed on the front window. The thump is heard again, and you sprint off the couch. Stupidly, you go to the window and peek behind the curtain to get a view of your porch. The porch light was dim; the bulb needed to be replaced, but it didn’t stop you from a shriek escaping your lungs as you catch the silhouette of a person hunched over on your steps. The soft light reflects of the eyes and your heart is in your throat.

Eddie.

He’s moaning your name.

“…open…the fucking door!” His voice is muffled, and the only reason you sprinted to the door so fast was because he sounded like he was being maimed from the inside out. He was in so much pain, and you can see just how much as you open the door. He’s bent over your front steps, his fingers gripping at his stomach, a stream of blood was falling like a river through the gaps in his fingers. He’s paler than normal, he looks gaunt, monstrous.

“Please.” He begs, meeting your eyes and you run to him, practically dragging his body into your house, slamming your door shut. He collapses in the foyer and your eyes widen at the severity of his injuries. He’s covered in dirt, scratches adorn his cheeks, his neck. His shirt is ripped to shreds and dark with dried blood. He’s still gripping his stomach and you kneel down in front of him, trying to pry his hand away.

“No.” He groans through his teeth.

“Let me see.” You tell him, pulling his hand free and you gasp. There is a three-inch long gash across the middle of his stomach, any deeper and his insides would be on your floor. “What happened? Why aren’t you healing?”

“I don’t know.” He groans as you gently lean his back against the wall, looking more closely at his wound. “I think it was an animal, or some…thing. Just out of nowhere. I couldn’t see what it was it dashed through me like lightning…ow! Fuck! Don’t fucking touch me, you—“

You grip his chin hard in your hand and he flinches, almost smiling as you stare into his eyes with a hard stare. He was too weak to fight you back, and you used that your advantage. “I could just leave you here to bleed to death or do myself a favor and take that knife from my kitchen and slit your fucking throat because you’re already half dead, but I’m not gonna do that. You came to me for a reason, do you want my help or not?”

He grins, his teeth stained with blood. “I like it when you’re rough, should I bend over so you can fuck me too?” Your grip tightens on his chin, a low chuckle rumbles in his throat.

“Why aren’t you healing?” You ask him again.

“I don’t know.” He mumbles again and you pull your hand away. He’s skin was almost gray, you get to your feet, find a dishrag and soak it in water from the faucet. You kneel in front of him and his hand snaps up to grip your wrist hard. His eyes stare into yours, and you can almost see the pleading behind them.

“Let go of me.” You tell him.

“A rag soaked with water isn’t gonna heal me, princess.”

“It’s so you stop bleeding on my fucking floor, let go of me.”

You pull your wrist out of his grasp and he growls but doesn’t fight you. He flinches when you place the rag on his wound; you gently wipe his skin, and blood continues to pool from the gash. You’re worried now, what could’ve caused this injury?

You meet his eyes again, your heart racing. “Will my blood heal you?”

His eyebrows come together. “What?”

“My blood. If I give you some of my blood…will that…help you?”

He smirks at you, flinching again as a wave of pain hits him. “Won’t…know…until we try.”

You sit back on your bottom, moving your hair away from your shoulder, exposing your neck, your heart racing. He carefully moves towards you, and you tilt your head to the side. You close your eyes, feeling his breath close to your neck as his cold hand cups the side of your face. He startles you when you feel his lips press lightly against yours. It was a gentle kiss, a kiss you were more familiar with when it was your Eddie. He pulls away from you, and stares into your eyes. You have no words.

His fangs grow as he smiles and the peaceful feeling you had was now gone, replaced by some fear…excitement. His teeth graze your neck and you shudder. Before you have a second to think, he bites down and you feel your entire body become hot. He grips your hair, slowly moving on top of you as he continues to drink from your vein. You were trying to speak, but all that came out was a soft moan as an unexpected wave of pleasure forms in depths of your lower belly. He was grunting softly as his tongue laps the blood up from your neck. 

He was taking too much, you realize. Your head was buzzing, your fingertips were numb, you couldn’t feel your legs. “Eddie…”

He doesn’t hear you, he’s too busy enjoying this. Your nails dig into his back and you try to find as much strength as you can to get him to realize. You lift up your foot, and kick him hard in the leg, and you scream out his name. He flies off of you, you’re certain it was reflex because you’re not that strong. His back hits the cabinet doors, and you can’t move. Everything was getting dark. He says your name, and you try to focus.

His eyes are brown again.

“No. No. Oh no. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hands lift your head up and you blink back tears. “I’m gonna fix this, I’m gonna fix this.” You focus as he bites into his wrist, and you see the crimson fall from his veins.

“I don’t want to be…like you…”

“You won’t.” His voice sounds so far away. “Just drink, drink baby.”

You feel the blood against your lips and you weakly open your mouth, feeling its warmth drip slowly down your chin. He’s gently angling your head back so the blood goes down your throat, everything was still getting dark and you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

“Stay with me. Stay with me!”

He came back, your Eddie. He came back to you, but how long would he stay this time? How long until the monster that wears his face comes back to finish the job? You could already feel the affects of his blood, it was almost unbearable and it made your stomach churn but you couldn’t move.

“Are you…healing?”

“Yes.” His voice is shaky. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s okay.” You mumble, your eyes flutter and smile. “I can rest now.”

“Your color is coming back…”

“Eddie…”

“I’m here baby.”

“I can’t kill you…”

“Sweetheart…”

“There’s been more murders…curfew…what attacked you?”

You couldn’t hear his voice anymore, you were so sleepy. You felt lighter as you drifted off, calmer. You were Princess Aurora who just pricked your finger on the spindle, in a deep sleep; awaiting a kiss from your true love.

When you awoke, the sun was rising. Your body was sore; was last night a dream? You sit up, throwing the covers off of you. You feel your neck, there was no feel of a mark, or bandage.

“Finally, she arises.”

You yelp, almost falling off the bed but Eddie catches you. You stare at one another deeply, his discolored eyes staring into yours. You want to scream, wishing they were that beautiful brown again. Although, there wasn’t anything menacing about this stare; it was almost like he was studying you, like that good part of himself was slowly filling himself back up again as he looked at you.

He smirks at you.

“Boo.” He says and the breath from his lips causes your hair to move. You rip out of his grasp, pulling the covers back over yourself.

“You almost killed me.” You snap at him.

He grins, pacing around your bedroom, running his fingers along the top of your dresser. “But I didn’t. Your little boyfriend was there to save you. I was trying to figure out the blocks in my memory at the most random times, and then I realized it’s because of other me. He really gets bent out of shape when it comes to you, it’s gross.”

“Must suck, not being able to love someone that deeply.” You narrow your eyes at him.

He growls and he’s in front of you, you didn’t have a second to blink. His breath is against your lips as he leans in close to your face. “I know exactly how to love deeply. You have been unconscious for three days, if I wanted to kill you I could’ve. And if you haven’t noticed, sweetheart, your Eddie lives in the deep, deep depths of my dead heart so I can feel his love for you.” He almost looks pained as he’s telling you this, you hold his stare. “I could never kill you, and if you died... That’d be the end of me. Of us.”

You blink and almost smirk. “Bring him back then.”

“What?”

“Bring back my Eddie. If you really love me, you’ll bring him back.”

He laughs. “I’m not made of magic.”

“Aren’t you?” You counter. “He seems to pop up in stressful situations, he knows how to get out of that trap Vecna holds on you.”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t say his name.”

“Why not? He’s weak, practically dead, right? Why are you afraid of him?”

“I’m not.” His tone changes, it scares you and he smiles. His hand reaches up to smooth out your messy hair, he moves his mouth closer to yours. “I’m afraid of you.”

You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, awkwardly leaning back on the bed. “Why me?”

“So many fucking questions.” He sneers his lips barely grazing yours. “No matter which way this ends up, you will be the death of me.”

“Bring him back.” You whisper.

“No.” His cool fingertips glide up your neck and you shudder, your eyes fluttering closed. You feel his lips against your chin. ���Tell me…” He kisses your skin gently and heat floods your cheeks. “How did he make love to you?” He moves behind you, his hands gliding around your throat before resting on your shoulder. He kisses the back of your shoulder, and you gasp quietly. “Was he soft? Did he worship every-“ you let out a moan as his fingers grip your hair in a ponytail and roughly pulls you back against his chest. “Inch of this beautiful skin?” You feel his tongue dance along the vein at your throat, his grip tightening its hold on your hair.

“Get your hands off of me.” You say through clenched teeth. Your nails digging into his thigh, but he doesn’t release his hold on you. His free hand glides over the fabric of your t-shirt, under the covers that shields your lap, and you hold your breath as you feel his fingers dance against your clit. He moans softly against your throat, and you lean your head back against his shoulder as he moves your lips apart, feeling the wetness that pooled inches from his fingers.

“Did he whisper that he loved you? Telling you how beautiful you are?” He rubs faster on your clit, and you moan loudly. The grip you had on his thigh loosens, and you knead at the fabric of his jeans gently.

“Y-yes.” You breathe out.

“Mmm.” He coos in your ear, and you turn your head towards his. His presses his lips against yours, kissing you sweetly as his other hand cups your cheek. You open your mouth with his, his tongue like silk against yours. Your hand moves lower to his crotch, and he lets out a breath into your mouth as you rub his erection through his jeans. You deepen the kiss, turning your body so you’re straddling him, his hand still not leaving in between your legs. He tries to pull away from you, but you pin your body closer to his. Your hand finds his zipper, and you miraculously expose him with just the flick of your fingers. And before he could object, you push his hand away from your clit and lower yourself onto him, feeling every inch of him burying in your cunt. He moans loudly, and you rock your hips. His hands grip your thighs hard as you pick up your rhythm, your skin was prickling with a sensation you couldn’t quite make sense of.

“You are one dirty girl.” Eddie whispers against your cheek, his breath hot. “Show me how you’d make him come.”

You groan, your head falls back and sweat forms behind your neck. You reach behind you, cupping his balls in his hands and he lets out a small laugh, his knocks his head off of your headboard as you continue lower and lower until your finger is at the opening of his ass. He gasps as you slide your finger into him. “Oh…my…”

“God?” You say, leaning forward to bite his lip. “I thought he didn’t exist.”

He whispers your name, and a low growl starts in his throat as you pump your finger faster, the angle causing him to rock his hips faster into you, causing you to scream out. He pushes his mouth to yours roughly, his fingers curl in your hair as he forces you on your back. He slams into your hard, your nails claw at his back through his t-shirt. Your blood sang, your entire body was vibrating, you wondered if maybe his blood was the cause of it. You feel your orgasm approach your core, and you feel him trembling.

A sudden thought pops into your head as he continues to move above you. If he wouldn’t bring your Eddie back himself, there had to be a way for you to bring him back. He seems to come back during stressful moments, but what if you could get him out of the upside down for good? Pull him out by using dark Eddie’s mind. You needed help though. You glance around your bedroom, your eyes fixing on the ceramic lamp that sat on your nightstand. His blood gave you a superhuman strength that he doesn’t even know about, and you knew if you used all the strength, especially while he was vulnerable, you could knock him out. His head was buried in your shoulder, and you carefully reach your hand towards the lamp. You realized how morbid this was, knocking him out while he was buried inside you.

Could be worse, you thought.

You are able to get a good grip on the base of the lamp, you turn your head to the side, squeeze your eyes shut and bring the lamp down as hard as you can onto his head. The lamp shatters in your hand and you knew immediately you had cut it; he goes limp on top of you.

Holy shit, it actually worked.

You wiggle out from underneath him, pushing him off the bed and onto the floor. You poke him with your toe. He didn’t even budge; you were relieved when you could see his chest rise and fall. You zip him up in his jeans, for his modesty. Blood drips from your hand as you stand over him, just watching him.

The taste of copper hits your tongue and you realize you’re licking your blood off of your hand like a starving dog.

What the fuck.

You rush to the bathroom, rinsing off the blood from your hands and wrapping it with a small towel. You get yourself dressed in decent clothes and go back to your bedroom where Eddie still laid unconscious. You pick up the receiver of the telephone and dial a number, you keep your eyes focused on him, your heart pounding in fear that he will wake up.

The person picks up on the other end.

“Dustin. I need your help. Bring bungee cords and duct tape.”

***

Dustin stares at Eddie’s unconscious body, he’s been staring at him with his eyes wide and puppy like for the last five minutes.

“Dustin?”

“Yeah?” You startled him, and he meets your gaze. “Sorry, it’s just…he’s…alive.”

“I know…well, partially, I guess. We have to get him downstairs.”

Dustin nods, you go by Eddie’s legs, and Dustin goes by his head. You both squat, grunting and you feel your legs almost give out as the two of you lift him off the ground. You didn’t think this through, Dustin scolds you as you awkwardly make your way towards the stairs. It was a struggle getting halfway, Dustin had lost his footing and the two of you squeal when you end up dropping Eddie down the rest of the way. The two of you just stare at the ground where he laid.

“Well, if he was waking up. He isn’t now.” Dustin says with a chuckle, and you groan, awkwardly dragging Eddie into the living room. Dustin gets a wooden chair from the kitchen, and you sit him upright. Dustin wraps the bungee cords around the chair legs and Eddie’s, continuing to look up at him to make sure he was still there. Your heart broke for him, for so long Dustin held onto a guilt that he couldn’t properly explain. Now, he still felt that guilt, and it was because Eddie didn’t come back as himself.

After the two of you had securely and tightly tied Eddie to the chair, you weren’t sure what to do now.

“Do you think this is gonna work? Do you think you can bring him back?” Dustin asks you.

You move Eddie’s hair from his face, his breathing coming out in soft waves. “They don’t like heat, right?”

“Right.”

“I have space heaters in the garage, go grab them.” You peel off your sweatshirt, going to the thermostat, turning the heat up to 90 degrees, it might work, it might not. It was a wait and see. “If he kills us, at least we know that we tried.”

“He won’t kill us.”

“You don’t know who he is now.” You look at Dustin. “He’d kill me out of love if it came down to it.”

“And you still love him?”

“Always.” You look back to Eddie. “Go get the heaters.”

You sit on the couch across from him, watching his chest slowly rise and fall. You hear the side door slam as Dustin goes into your garage.

You had a realization.

If this didn’t work, you knew you would have to kill him.

You didn’t want to admit that to yourself or to Dustin.

But you couldn’t do this anymore.

You missed Eddie. You missed the boy who walked into your life when you were fourteen years old who made you a flower out of guitar picks. You missed the man who carried you home from a house party when you were too drunk to walk. You missed the way he’d take strands of your hair between his fingers, tucking them behind your ear. You missed the way he would give you a certain look when you knew you were being crazy and unreasonable whenever you got into an argument. You missed the way he would kiss you. Really kiss you.

If you had to survive another minute with this Eddie, you’d rather suffer with the grief all over again than have to deal with a monster.

You take in a deep breath when you hear Dustin walk back in, and you feel the sweat pool behind your neck.

This was suicide.

But sometimes, you have to do crazy things for love.

The house was scorching, it had taken only fifteen minutes before the heat started to take full effect and Eddie began to move. Dustin was bopping his leg, the nerve settling in as Eddie groans. You had a knife next to you on the nightstand, ready to use it if needed. He lifts up his head, his hair falling into his face as he realizes his hands are tied tightly behind his back.

“What the…” he struggles in the restraints and then meets your eyes, and then Dustin. He laughs, a squeaky chuckle. “This is kinky, tying me up like this. Are you gonna watch?” He asks Dustin, his eyes lifeless and cold, a smirk on his lips. Dustin doesn’t move, his words are stuck in his throat. You move closer to Eddie, squatting in front of him.

“Bring him back.”

“That’s what this is about?” Sweat drops from his neck, you could tell he was uncomfortable. “You could’ve asked nicely.”

“I have.” You growl. “And I’m tired of asking. I’m tired of you.”

“Aww, break my heart.” He teases and struggles again. “You think these are gonna hold me? You’re stupid if you don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I do know what you’re capable of. You almost killed me.”

You feel Dustin’s eyes on you, but you ignore him.

“But didn’t you want a forever ever after?”

“Not like that.”

“Pity.” He lets out a groan, his jaw clenches. “Turn the heat off.”

“No.”

He goes to launch for you, his fangs out but Dustin did a good job with the knots. You laugh at Eddie.

“Scared?”

“Not even close.” He growls, his eyes menacing, his teeth bared.

“Good.” You turn the knob on the space heater all the way up, the heat blasting and he lets out a sound you’ve never heard before. He struggles more, the veins in his neck bulging, his shirt was soaked with his sweat. “Bring him back!” You scream.

“Fuck you!” He yells at you and screams in pain. “Ughhhhhh, turn it off!”

Dustin jumps back. “It’s hurting him!”

“Don’t you fucking dare touch that!” You snap at Dustin who had reached for the heater.

Eddie lets out a psychotic chuckle, his fangs still exposed. “You’re both dead when this is over.”

You grab him by his hair, making him look at you. “I thought you couldn’t live without me?”

You take the space heater and push it against his chest. He screams, loud, painful, and he thrashes so hard he falls back to the floor. The chair breaks underneath him, but he’s still screaming. You push Dustin into the kitchen, the knife in your hand as Eddie struggles to break free. You keep Dustin behind you as you walk backwards when Eddie gets to his hands his knees.

He gags.

And then he vomits.

Black liquid spills out of his mouth and onto your floor, you both watch with wide eyes as his body heaves and it kept coming and coming.

Until it stops. 

His body is still heaving but he’s not moving, not trying to attack you, not screaming anymore. You couldn’t see his face; his hair shielded it like a blanket. You move towards him, but Dustin grabs your arm, fear in his sweet eyes.

You free yourself from his grasp and walk closer to Eddie. Your hand still gripped the hilt of the knife as you walk closer, hearing him breathing heavily, catching his breath.

His head whips up to you and you jump back.

His eyes.

They were brown.

[sharpvst]

you don't belong here , oliver quick.

farleigh and oilver get into it.

trigger warnings ; violence , slight degradation.

i'm so sorry farleigh i love you sweetie <33

oliver winces , not many men make oliver fucking quick tremble — but then there's farleigh fucking start. he's unsure why , there's really no reason to be afraid of a stuck up rich kid. he's only here because felix isn't done playing with him yet.

farleigh's gaze persists through oliver's stone cold eyes — he feels like a fucking fool. farleigh's daunting height instills fear into the smaller , less oliver. " you don't know anything about me. " oliver finally speaks , it's taking everything within him not to show a hint of fear.

" exactly , that's why you're a fucking freak. " farleigh's reasoning isn't exactly on point , but he's tripping hard on this strange power trip . . and high on a mix of various drugs. oilver believes the drugs make farleigh who he is - even tolerable.

" i see right through you ' ollie. ' " he mocks felix's hard british accent. " you don't belong here oilver quick. " a chuckle , farleigh has that demented fucking smirk on his face. it's driving oilver mad. he can't tell if he's upset - or incredibly turned on.

" then where do i belong ? " oliver takes a step forward , it makes farleigh step back. " with the fucking dogs. " farleigh spits. " oh yeah ? " oliver feeds him what he so desires. " yeah. the fucking dogs , you don't even deserve to know who we are - who i am , who felix is. "

that one stung , but oliver doesn't back down. " bootlicker. " oliver mutters , he thinks of his old friend michael - and how he was right. " excuse me ? " farleigh is offended , now getting directly into the face of the smaller.

their mouths are inches apart , eyes staring daggers through each other. " that's all you are farleigh. a spoiled little bootlicker. " oliver whispers , now the smirk is on his face. " you beg to be in the presence of felix . . and he pities you. " a harsh reality that farleigh pretends not to notice.

" you are nothing more than a common beggar. " that's what broke farleigh. he suddenly pushes oliver into the nearest wall - which so happens to be a concrete one. their inside of saltburn , it some hidden away hallway. oilver isn't quite sure where they are.

" fuck you. " farleigh raises the smaller oilver by the collar - threatening to punch him. " yeah . . fuck me. " oliver sighs , now a chuckle leaves his lips. " do it. " oliver begs , getting off on this.

farleigh hesitates , what it felix finds out he — no. farleigh doesn't care what felix thinks. with a loud huff farleigh lands a punch straight on oliver's face. the sick fuck moans. mouth agape as he practically begs for another one. " there you go . . yeah. " he coos on.

farleigh drops oliver in a mix of disbelief and disgust. " fucking freak - you sick fucking - " farleigh's hands go to his tattered hair , a look of fear crosses him. oliver wipes the blood that drips from his cracked lip.

" good one. " he whispers , now inching his way closer to farleigh. " feel better now ? " he tilts his head - farleigh backs away. " i - i " farleigh can't speak. " shh . . " oliver finally takes this opportunity to get back at farleigh.

" i know i belong here. " oliver whispers - backing farleigh up towards the wall. cornering him like prey. " but you . . " oliver wags his finger comically. " you don't. "

farleigh quivers , he's never known anything or anyone like this. oliver puts his calloused hand on farleigh's cheek. " i can make you leave anytime i want. " a warning , oliver smiles.

" and i don't want that , i quite like you. " another sinister chuckle. " so please . . behave. . " he gives farleigh's cheek a love tap , turning away.

" good talk. "

oliver says - he nods his head as a goodbye , leaving the hallway.

he leaves farleigh a mess , unsure of his place here in saltburn. he wants to scream - he wants to cry - he wants to beat the ever loving shit out of oliver. but he can't bring himself too. he just . . sits , tears flowing from his eyes.

he's defeated , degraded. not good enough for felix anymore. he's no longer the favorite of his cousin. he's having a hard time coming to terms with that.

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

Mine For The Taking: Part 5

MobsterAU - Colter Stevens x Reader

Warning: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Violence, Injury, Kidnapping, Gang and Mobster themes, Mentions of Drugs

- Part 4 Here -

———————————

18+ Only

———————————

- Present Day -




You must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing you knew you were being woken up by a loud noise in the next room.




You heard thudding and crashing and shouting and you strained your ears to hear what was going on. It sounded like a struggle, and you just about made out the words “kill you” and “regret this”.




You felt like your heart was going to explode out of your chest as you recognised the voice the words had come from. It was your Colter, no doubt he had come to save you but you knew he wasn’t safe, even if he did bring all of the money.




You struggling with your bindings and tried once more to loosen them, crying out as the sharp pain in your wrist jolted through you, but suddenly you were distracted as the sound of a gun went off.




You looked up suddenly towards the door, panic stricken as the sounds of the struggle ceased and you could only hear one set of footsteps getting closer.




The door handle turned and the door creaked open, your heart thudding painfully loudly in your ears and you began to hyperventilate.




“Baby?” Colters voice rang out into the dark room.




Relief washed over you like a hot wave, and you sobbed. “Colt! I’m over here!” You practically wailed.




Suddenly Colter came into view, his face bloodied and sweaty and his hair a mess, and he dropped to his knees in front of you.




“Baby I’m so sorry, I never meant for you to get dragged into this.” He wept. You had only seen him cry once before.




“Is he dead?” You cried.




Colter nodded but couldn’t make eye contact as he worked at untying your legs. He moved around to untie your wrists but you yelped in pain and he immediately stepped away from you.




“I think my wrist is broken, be careful.” You told him. You couldn’t see it, but Colters bottom lip quivered as he tried to comprehend that he was the reason you had been hurt, and the guilt began to eat away at him.




He carefully unbound your hands and helped you onto your feet. He slid an arm under yours and helped you walk, still hobbling on sore legs, and you moved towards the door.




As you got closer you noticed you had been locked in a bedroom, and you walked out onto a warmly lit hallway, just like a regular home and you found it hard to comprehend you hadn’t been stowed away in some warehouse somewhere given the state in which you were treated.




You walked towards another door, which you could only imagine was the front door, and relief washed over you, until a clicking noise alerted you to a gun behind cocked behind you.




You and Colter froze to the spot, mere inches from the door.




“Turn the fuck around.” The voice rang out.




You did as instructed, both turning to face the man you thought Colter had killed. He held onto his side where blood spewed through his fingers, his face white and clammy, and his other hand pointed his own gun to your face.




“Let her go and you can have me, Johnny.” Colter said sternly, holding a careful hand up at him.




“I don’t think so, Stevens. Not after everything you’ve put my family through. I think it’s time you had a taste.” And with this the man called Johnny pulled the trigger, and you closed your eyes tight in preparation of the end.




Only, the end didn’t come, nor did that blinding hot pain of the bullet. You only moved to open your eyes when you heard a body hit the floor, and panic ran through you as you realised he must have hit Colter.




Your eyes flew open in horror, and as you were about to let out a sob, you realised the body on the floor wasn’t Colter’s, but Johnny’s.




Colter had drawn his gun and shot Johnny before he had the chance to shoot you.




For a second the world stood still, and then a strong arm wrapped around you and pulled you out the front door.




————————————




- 4 Years Earlier -




“Colt, stop! That tickles!” You giggled, and you kicked at your boyfriend as he kissed your ankles.




You had taken a lovely vacation to the beach, just the two of you, and it had been absolute bliss. It was your last full day before you were due to head back home the next morning, and you were making the most of lounging on the beach.




You had been trying to read your book, but Colter got bored and thought turning you on might be a fun idea. He crawled up your beach towel, and began kissing up your soft legs.




You had kicked him away playfully, but he persisted, and you were very thankful that the beach was secluded.




“Pleaseeeee put that book away, I’m being neglected.” He joked as he playfully nibbled at your legs. You dropped your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose and put your book down in the sand.




“Fine,” you said with a grin, “I’m giving you my full attention.”




Colter chuckled as he lay on his stomach just next to you in the sand, his golden skin glistening in the sun, his cheeky blue eyes twinkling.




“Marry me.” He said simply. Your heart skipped a beat and you sat up further.




“Sorry?”




“I said marry me, Y/N.” He repeated himself, so sure of himself.




“You’re joking, surely?” You chuckled nervously, now propped up with your hands behind you in the sand, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.




“I’m not joking. I fucking love you, so much. I’ve never loved anyone or anything the way I love you. Marry me.”




You gulped, goosebumps beginning to grow on your skin. “You’re serious.”




Colter grinned and nodded, “I’ve never been more serious.”




You let out a surprised laugh, a hand flying up to cup your mouth to stifle a small scream. After a second you moved your hand and grinned down at him. “Yes. Okay.”




“Yes, okay?” He chuckled, “well… I guess that’ll do.”




Colter lifted himself off of the sand and hovered over you, a sweet kiss planted against your lips.




“I love you, of course I’ll marry you.” You explained.




“That’s good, just as well I bought this then.” He grinned as he pulled a ring out of his shorts pocket. He held up a beautiful, shiny ring and your jaw almost dropped as you took it in.




“You were planning this?”




“Of course I was, there’s no me without you.”




————————————




- Present Day -




Of course the police were not called that day, but Colter did have a friend who was a dirty ex-cop called Danny, and he called him to clean up the mess and any evidence.




As soon as Danny arrived, Colter mumbled something about wiring him funds, a breakdown of the situation, they both nodded and Colter turned back to you.




“Let’s get you to a hospital.” He said.




You were quiet for a moment as he helped you into his car, and once he’d climbed in the drivers side, you looked over at him solemnly.




“We need to tell them I fell. Off a ladder or something.” You said.




“What?” Colter queried as he started the car.




“You know as well as I do that we can’t tell them the truth. For your sake.”




Colter looked at you lovingly for a while before he pulled away. “You always were too good too me.”




At the hospital you told your lies, which seemed to fly with the doctors, and your wrist was put in a cast, luckily only a hairline fracture.




Colter drove you home but the whole ride there was silent. Occasionally he would glance over at you, wincing at the sight of your broken wrist and knowing he was the reason.




Bruises had begun to bloom all over your skin, your lower back worse off than the rest of you, and when you got to your moms house you mumbled a “goodnight” as you pulled yourself out of the car.




“I still think it’s better if I stay the night, I can look after you.” Colter suggested, running a hand through his hair as he stood outside the drivers side of his car.




You shook your head, “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea, if my mom sees you she’ll just ask questions.”




Colter was about to argue when the front door opened and your mom ran out, worry etched across her face.




You sighed, “Too late.”




“Oh my god, where were you?!” She wailed, wrapping her cardigan across her tightly as she stormed towards you. “I was worried sick! If you were going to stay the night at Colter’s you really should have called or answered my calls at least-“




Your mom stopped in her tracks as her eyes landed on your cast, and she gasped loudly.




“Y/N what happened?” She was suddenly softer and sympathetic, and even more worried than before. She reached you and gently took your cast arm in her hands.




“I… uhm…” you couldn’t think of a lie.




Colter stepped forward, “Hit and run. We’ve reported it to the police, luckily I was there, I was actually on my way here when I saw it happen.”




Your mom clasped a hand over her mouth, “My poor baby. If I find them you best bet it’ll be the end of them! Let’s get you inside.” She wrapped her arm around you and guided you inside carefully.




Colter stood and watched as you two walked away, and sighed deeply when you were out of earshot, but almost as if you’d heard, you stopped turned your head.




“Thank you.” You said softly, and disappeared through the door.




———————————




- 4 Years Earlier -




Your engagement party was a glamorous event, and for the first time you realised just how powerful Colter was. Over the last 2 years you’d begun to understand just how dangerous his line of work was, but you’d never quite grasped the nicer side of it.




Sure, he had a huge home, with sprawling lawns, nice cars and just about everything you wanted or needed was yours, but it wasn’t until the mayor of your town, lawyers and doctors and affluent strangers began to walk through the door, congratulating you and hugging Colter like they’d known him forever.




It was a surprisingly fun event despite how high society it was, but halfway through the evening, Colter disappeared.




You excused yourself from the conversation you were having, and began to look for him. You checked the kitchen and dining room, you peaked out into the garden, you went upstairs and checked the bedrooms and bathrooms but he wasn’t there.




Eventually you heard faint whispers coming from Colters study, the door slightly ajar, and you peaked in.




Colter stood speaking with a man who had his back to you, the dimly lit room warm from the fire and the smell of cigars wafting towards you.




“If the shipment isn’t here by midnight on July 7th, the deal is off and my boys will still be after their cut. That will be your problem, not mine. I’ve been fair enough with this weeks extension.” He looked calm, a hand pressed against the mantle piece as he looked into the fire.




The man nodded, “I’m sorry, boss. I’ll make sure it isn’t late again.” His voice meek, quivering.




You accidentally nudged the door and it creaked slightly, and you straightened up as both men turned to look at you.




A smile formed on Colters face as he noticed you, “Hey honey, sorry, we were just finishing up here.”




You forced a smile as you stepped into the room. You immediately noticed the man had a black eye and he avoided eye contact.




“I better get going. Have a good night, boss, miss.” The man nodded at you as he slunk out of the room and you watched as he left, before turning back to Colter.




“You’ve been gone a while.” You noted, crossing your arms.




Colter looked sheepish, “I’m sorry, we just needed to clear up a bit of business, but I’m all yours now.” He walked up to you, slinking an arm around your waist.




“Thank goodness, your friends are all talking about stocks and bonds and I don’t know the first thing about it.” You chuckled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Colter stared longingly down at you.




“I love you.” He said so earnestly it made your insides hurt.




“I know.” You grinned, “Ditto.”




“Ditto.” He repeated, chuckling down at you, before planting a soft kiss against your lips.




You both walked back down and joined the party, chit chatting until everyone had eventually left and it was just you and Colter.




You began loading the dishwasher as Colter collected glasses and plates from random places around the house.




“Hey…” he called from the other room. “You hungry?”




“Yes!” You groaned, “I was too busy mingling to eat anything, and before I knew it, it was all gone.”




Colter chuckled as he walked back in, “How about I go and pick us up some take out? Then we can put a movie on.”




You looked up at him from your crouched position as you organised the dishwasher. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.” You joked with a grin.




Colter left as you finished cleaning up, then you went upstairs to shower. You did your skincare routine and climbed into a cozy pair of satin pyjamas, truly happy with your life.




You decided to grab a blanket and curl up on the couch until Colter got back, maybe you’d pick a movie while you waited.




You waltzed down the winding staircase, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. It felt colder than you’d remembered downstairs, but figured it was due to your hot shower making everything else feel cold compared.




You padded into the kitchen and opened the fridge, moving rings around and looking for a bottle of water, and finding one of the last glass bottles near the back, Colter’s favourite brand.




You made a mental note to pick up more next time you went to the store, and you turned to walk into the living room.




Suddenly your blood ran cold, noticing something that should not be there, and the bottle fell from your fingers, smashing to the cold tile below.




————————————

- Final Part Here -

[blankwashed]

Sleepless Shadows (Part 6)

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII

Recap: “If you had told me that you were a virgin, I wouldn’t have taken it so far you know?” he said as he came closer to you in a soft voice.

“I-I didn’t want to seem inexperienced, I-I hope I came up to your standards, sir…” Satoru looked at you with disapproval as you called him sir. Again.

WARNING & A/N: Do not read if you get triggered by mentions of rape, molestation, kinks, force. Really weird shit goes down here, I don’t know what’s up with my brain.

Satoru shakes his head once again at you. He doesn’t want to think about work and how you address him in university at the moment, why are you always reminding him?

“My dear,” he looks at you with thirst in his eyes still. Eyes, rolling to the back of his head as if he didn’t shoot the biggest load into your mouth. His thick cock coming back alive and practically making you afraid at how fast he can get hard again.

You stepped back from him, afraid of how he will treat you again. There were multiple times where you misbehaved and called him the honorific that he repeatedly asked you to not to address him by tonight. Even when he was railing you from behind, he swore he heard you say “sir, this is so good” but he let those slide.

Clearly, you were tired and exhausted. Your mind wasn’t in the right place at the moment. After some time you realized your mistake but it was already too late. He already had your hands pinned up against the wall, restricting all your movements. Sweat started to drip from your forehead and your breath was hitched, “S—Satoru, I’m sorry I f—forgot and you can’t blame me you were pleasuring me so well it just slipped my mind—“ you started to give out reasons for your mishap.

“Don’t you know how much your mistakes have an effect on me? Only you, baby that can do this to me. No one else. That’s why out of all the people I have ever met, I selected you because I know how smart and you’re such a perfectionist,” He uttered from his soft, rosy lips. Does Satoru have a perfectionist kink?!

He continues, “That’s why I like you babe, you’re perfect. Oh so perfect for me, and always doing what I ask you to do like a little follower, my slave if you will,”

Your eyes just widen because this is a whole lot of information for you to grasp. Mr. Gojo—I meant Satoru, likes how I do things according to what I’m asked to do? And he wants me to be his slave? The BDSM kind? Or is he into something much worse? You shook the thought off your head.

“B—but Satoru I—I’m tired, I just lost my virginity to you…can’t you just let me rest for a while? Please? I can please you in other ways,” you begged the lustful Gojo who can’t stop the idea of hammering you onto the floor. His mind was out of control at this point, only thinking of forcing himself into your tight pussy. He didn’t bother how he broke your hymen which caused you to bleed because the pleasure was overwhelming. All he wanted to do was use you as a fleshlight. He’s wanted to use you as one ever since he spotted you in class. Just to flip you on a desk, taking you from behind while grabbing your large breasts. But he remembered that your mouth would do the job.

“I guess your mouth was good too,” He growled and grabbed you by your hair and brought your white lips to his cock once more. You were exhausted from being fucked around but still you tried to open your drained and pallid lips wide enough to take in his length. Apparently it was not wide enough and he was not pleased at how you weren’t giving your best. He then grabbed you by your hair and choked your throat in order for your mouth to open wider. Grasping onto your hair, he brought your face to the rim of his cock, which caused you to choke profusely.

You scratched, clawed and hit his abs trying to inform him that you were in overwhelming pain, not sexual pain. Despite how loving Satoru was before, now his mind is not in the right place anymore and all he wants is your sweet & hot mouth to engulf his member. “Was this a new person?” You thought to yourself with tears running down your cheeks. You were choking but did he care? He didn’t, it made you want to die.

Satoru fucked your face for what it felt like ages to you until his hot, steamy cum was running down your throat. You thought that if this what it felt when someone were to force feed someone? This was worse. There you were, practically on the floor looking like you were just raped, but by who? A lecturer whom you love? Tears continued to flow down as you were conflicted with your feelings.

“Was he into me or does he only like my body?” You thought to yourself. Everything was confusing for you at that moment, you were only a 24 year old student in Jujutsu High, trying to learn how to fight for the better good of the world and I just got raped? It was consensual right? You had no idea.

Curled up as a ball, you wished you weren't there. Maybe even spending the night with Toji could've been better, at least he won't play with your feelings mentally. You thought at the moment that it was the beauty of one night stands or friends with benefits, no emotions will be attached.

"I'm sorry," you heard Satoru whisper. It took him a couple minutes to say that. You were collapsed into a cocoon, hugging your thighs and just wailing and sobbing. An aura of darkness was over you from all the negative emotions you were feeling at that time.

Both of you remained silent for a long time and things became uncomfortable among you both, which usually never happens. You were his star student, right? The only star that was exceptional to him. Satoru was feeling very guilty of everything he did, even to the point where he felt ashamed to urge you to do such immoral and kinky things to him. It was all his fault, right?

A/N again: this was alot. im sorry i made satoru into someone who cant resist, i didnt mean to but i think the plot just had to go there.

I just updated some stuff I’m horny now I’m sorry (im sleepy too so my brain isn’t functioning now)

[peakyswritings]

The Danger We Come From

CHAPTER II

A Peaky Blinders x Hunger Games crossover

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Nina Ferrante

Summary: on her first year as a mentor, Nina has one hope: to keep at least one of her tributes alive. Meanwhile, an encounter triggers some old memories.

Warnings: violence, death, drinking, English is not my first language, no proofreading.

A/N: brief mention of @call-sign-shark and @justrainandcoffee ’ s OCs, Heaven and Rose.

Nina Ferrante is the OC from my Tommy Shelby x OC series Heart, Body and Soul (set in canon times).

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

AU MASTERLIST

71st Hunger Games - The Goodbye

“I’m not going to die.”

Nina grabbed her mother’s shoulders, breaking free from her embrace to force her to look at her. “You hear me?” She insisted, but the older woman’s gaze remained empty as gasping sobs escaped her lips. “I’m not going to die,” she slightly shook her, feeling more frustrated with each second that passed, but nothing seemed to be enough to stop her mother’s crying. It was as if she wasn’t even listening to her, so consumed in the pain of losing another child.

Letting go of her mother, Nina shifted her gaze on her father and brothers, hoping to see even the smallest hint of faith on their faces. Faith in her, in the fact that she could find a way to survive. But they were looking at her with the hopeless grief of a family bound to be broken once again, to lose another piece, to slowly fade into dust. They really thought she didn’t stand a chance.

“I’m not going to fucking die!” She was yelling now, and tears of anger were starting to well up in her eyes. Why couldn’t they believe in her?

“I’ll come back…” her voice lowered to a little more than a whisper. Their time together was almost up, and the only thing she wished for was a mere glimpse of trust before the peacekeepers took her away. Fighting back the tears, Nina forbade herself to cry. She wouldn’t give them yet another reason to believe her weak. “I’ll come back,” she repeated firmly, but her words fell on deaf ears.

In that moment, Nina swore to herself that she’d make it out of the Arena, no matter how many terrible actions she’d have to commit in the process. And if she couldn’t overcome the other tributes in terms of strength, she would outsmart them. The Hunger Games were deadly, but they were still games. She would play them.

72nd Hunger Games - Gymnasium

Standing behind a glass wall, Nina watched Nora practicing in the snare section. She had learned how to build a trap that would leave a tribute hanging from one foot, and was becoming quicker and quicker at it. In the meantime, Alfie assisted as Lucas practiced hand-to-hand combat with a trainer. At least for the moment, both their tributes were focusing on learning new stuff, rather than concentrating on what they could already do.

It felt strange, to step into that room again. Only a year before, Nina was training with the tributes, spending what could possibly be the last days of her life making up strategies and learning how to use a weapon. Now she was there again, but with a whole different role, and she had never felt more out of place. However, she pushed her uneasiness aside for her tributes’ sake, because they needed someone to focus on them and only them.

When a dark-haired girl joined Nora in the snare section, Nina felt someone stopping next to her, and it only took her a glance to recognise him: Tommy Shelby, victor of the 63rd edition of the Hunger Games. The edition in which her brother had died, at the mere age of twelve.

A favourite from the very beginning, Tommy Shelby had everyone in the Capitol rooting for him since the moment he volunteered for his little brother. By giving District 12 its first (and last) volunteer, he had caused quite a stir among the public. And with his cleverness and charisma, he had managed to win over the sponsors, who had sent him several gifts which spared him from an awful fate. Nina wouldn’t be surprised if even the Gamemakers had started to be on his side at some point.

It’d be a lie to say that encounter didn’t trigger the worst memory she had, imprinted in her mind since she was ten. The blood flowing from the slit in Vittorio’s throat, his eyes still open in a terrified expression, a tear staining his dirty cheek. But as much as she tried to, she couldn’t find it in herself to resent the man standing by her side. Although was too young at the time to remember much, she hadn’t forgotten what he had done for little Vittorio.

For a while, they watched in silence as the girls started to cooperate in order to figure out another type of restraining trap. They clicked almost immediately, and Nina wondered if they would form an alliance during the Games. Since alliances often led to betrayal, she was usually against them, but she was aware that in some cases they were kind of necessary, especially at the beginning, with the Careers teaming up to hunt their adversaries.

“They should be building killing traps,” Tommy broke the silence, a mixture of disapproval and resignation in his voice.

Nina shook her head, not completely agreeing with that. Despite being less effective than killing traps, restraining traps were easier and far less dangerous to build, and the materials would probably be easier to find in the Arena.

“At least they don’t risk cutting some fingers off in the process,” she murmured. “They need all ten if they want a chance to survive.”

When she turned to him, Tommy was already looking at her, and for a moment she was taken aback by the dark veil that seemed to cover his blue eyes. In that cold, stoic facade there was no trace of the charm and magnetism that had made him one of the most loved victors of all times. Then a strange glimpse crossed his gaze, and Nina realised his eyes had fallen on her scar, visible now that she was showing him both sides of her face. Biting the inside of her cheek, she turned around again, focusing on Nora with a bitter taste on her tongue.

They left their conversation behind, and no more words were exchanged between them for the rest of the training.

The summer breeze slightly ruffled Nina’s hair as she sat on a chair out on the balcony, looking at the Capitol in the distance. Despite all the lights shining in the darkness of the night, it was eerily quiet. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine being on the porch of her house in the Victors’ village, away from the Capitol, away from the Games. There it was easier to pretend that none of that existed, that she was fine and that nothing had ever happened to her. She took a sip from the beer bottle in her hand, stretching her legs on the chair in front of her.

Her former mentor was lazily sitting next to her, holding an identical bottle, and she wondered if he ever found himself pretending the same things. At some point, his gravel voice resounded in the silence of the balcony. “How did Nora do?”

“She did well. She learned how to build some traps, and practiced on the climbing wall. She knows a lot about plants, edible and venomous.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “How about Lucas?”

“He didn’t lie when he said he was strong.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Alfie slowly rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “The Careers are strong too, though.”

Not only them, she thought to herself. She had taken some time to observe the tributes, earlier that day, to try to understand what her kids should expect. Some were stronger than others, some smarter, but some were just ruthless. The ones who had volunteered almost seemed to find the whole thing funny, as if it were indeed just a game. They would find out very soon what they had signed up for. But it was someone else who had caught her attention, and it was that someone that made her fear for Lucas and Nora. “It’s not the Careers I’m worried about,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“The boy from five?”

“The girl from seven.”

Alfie turned to look at her, frowning. “The one with the white hair?” He asked, skepticism transpiring from his words.

“I watched her train, Alfie. There’s something about her…” she trailed off, remembering the chilling coldness in her eyes. “You ask me, she’ll win the Games.”

Even the Careers, so bold in their self-confidence, carried glimpses of fear in their gazes, when the awareness of their situation awoke inside them. That girl didn’t even seem scared.

But if she was right, it meant that neither Lucas nor Nora would come back, and as much as she told herself that there was only so much she could do for them, she wasn’t sure she was ready to lose them. “We’ll help them,” she asserted, trying to keep her voice firm.

Alfie opened his mouth to say something, but just as he was about to voice his thoughts, he changed his mind. Instead, he exhaled through his nostrils, pausing for a moment. “We can try,” he said eventually, a hint of ill-concealed doubt in his voice. “They’re good,” he added, sounding more convinced this time. “And they listen, unlike some little shit I mentored not so long ago,” he said somewhere between a joke and a scolding, and the annoyed tone he was faking - or half-faking - managed to lighten the atmosphere a bit. “She never fucking listened.”

A grin grew on Nina’s face, and she hid it by taking another sip from the bottle. “Mh, she must’ve been awful.”

Neither of them said another word for a few seconds, then a chuckle rumbled in Alfie’s chest. Nina’s laughter followed his, and soon they found each other laughing uncontrollably. They didn’t have a reason to, since nothing actually funny had been said, but that only seemed to make them laugh more.

When the laughters ceased, Alfie held out the almost empty bottle, moving it closer to Nina’s. “To kids who don’t listen.”

“To kids who don’t listen,” she clinked her bottle with his, before they stumbled into silence again.

Once she had emptied the content of the bottle, Nina placed it on the table with a thud. “You know, a little bird told me a certain stylist has been closed in her office all day to make adjustments for the kid’s clothes,” she changed the subject. “I bet she’d enjoy some company.”

“A little bird, eh?” Alfie raised his eyebrows, getting up from the chair. “Goodnight, kid. Try to get some sleep.”

Alone on the balcony, Nina shifted in her seat, leaning with her head back against the back of the chair. There was no point in going to bed, she already knew she wasn’t going to sleep. And when she slept, she had nightmares. Her mind went back to the Games, the Arena, the Capitol, to everything that happened and everything that would come.

There had to be a way to stop it.

NEXT CHAPTER

@call-sign-shark @justrainandcoffee @evita-shelby @emotionalcadaver

[noctilu-uca]

THIS IS A CHARACTER STUDY OF FUCKED UP CHARACTERS!!!!!!!!! I DONT CONDONE ANY OF THIS SHIT I JUST THINK THEY ARE A FREAK AND I NEED TO PUT THEM UNDER A MICROSCOPE and also kinda fandomstudy just read ok tw sensitive and triggering topics though

(1,839 word count) I was talking to some fellow fans earlier and they got to the topic of character popularity and socially convenient character designs

Things i had never considered before .

Very IMPORTANT things on a characters perception

So basically what brought it up was a character being brought up, roman. Now I know like only 1 person will know who i'm talking about BUT ! his character is extremely important for the point i'm making. And roman isn't very popular in this fandom, he has some fans, yes. As does every character but he is not nearly as popular as the others. Someone had pointed out that they thought he would be more popular if he had the "pretty boy" archetype design that's been booming in popularity as of recent. which is definitely a good topic to hang onto, but that's not very much the issue here. we will get to that later though.

Roman as a character is traditionally masculine, short buzzed hair, short eyelashes, muscular ect ect all the things you would associate with tradmasc fuckboys. This is very important to the way he behaves and thinks, he very much values masculinity and denounces femininity of any kind if its not from a tradwoman.

Note that everyone i'm going to mention is fucking awful and disgusting please. and this is also horror. topics mentioned can get very uncomfortable stay wary soldiers

Anyway despite roman's traditional masculinity, he is still a very attractive character !! He is considered one of the more attractive ones in canon too. His personality though ? Yeugh....

Hes a "white knight" feminist whose actually a misogynist and active has issues with anger and PHYSICALITY .

Aka everyone thinks hes going to beat his girlfriend one day. He hasn't yet, but there is very much an underlying *when*

Now, this is like whatever ok we expected that its tlc everyones fucked but whhhyyyy does everyone like sibling kisser and sti guy more ??

I mean hey one of these fuckers actively preys on their step sibling, but why is he regarded as one of the better characters ?? (He absolutely is but that's a story for another day)

Thats because of MODERN DAY SOCIAL INTERACTIONS AND STANDINGS !!! That has been my conclusion

During the conversation i saw a lot of people start commenting on roman's main characterization points. Namely how oddly *realistic* he feels. How its hard to conversate and build a character *to* conversate with him. Its hard to, genuinely. its not easy to immerse yourself in his character and enjoy the things being told.

With the others, you can build off their behavior easily. Fall into tropes, make new ones, make your own spin on their set behaviors and motives. Vincent wants his step sibling, build off the step sibling and their fucked relationship. Soren wants power and to ruin his academic rivals reputation, build off his need for power and control and his social killer status. Marcus wants to ignore consequences and stay ignorant about his drug dealing and usage, build off his need for consequences and make him realize. And so forth, there are many different situations, and many different reactions you can pull.

But roman ? He doesn't *need* anything. His only motive is to keep his practically unknown one-off murder hidden. And his behavior doesn't help with his lack of motives. yes, there is the fact he is inherently abusive. the way he keeps his girlfriend, Madeline, under wraps. isolating her, trapping her in only what he finds acceptable and such.

but that's not fixable through him, there is a reason Madeline has her own POV. you need to get *her* out, not him.

This is not me saying his character is bad and unlikable as a specimen, he is extremely well written and his motives are understandably realistic all things considered.

But his behavior is very reminiscent of current time red-pilled conservative young men. Yknow. The ones who go on podcasts to bash women they will never meet ever for being "whores" and not wanting children

I find that Roman's fatal flaw as a character is that he is too similar to people that we actually *know*.

Now, realism in characters is very good !! We of course want characters to feel fleshed out and actually *possible* to be obtained as a real person. But !! The difference between sibling freak Vincent, mind games Soren, OD Marcus, self harm Heathrow... Is that they aren't nearly as common to run into than pro trad conservative Roman

You wont see someone like Soren often. someone who manipulates and blackmails for their own gain. Sure, they exist !! But you have less of a chance of meeting someone like him. He is obtainable, he is someone you *can* know. But hes rare.

Roman? Walk into an average american school and listen around, i'm sure youll see some of his dialogue regurgitated straight from the mouth of a fucked up teen boy

Hes someone you interact with often, even if not directly. So... Why would you gravitate toward that?

Media like this, as realistic as people like to make it, is all supposed to be fantasies rather than realities. So when you bring realities too close, youre going to get some unhappy reports

Of course, people love roman as a character and still like his codings and characterizations, its just that its so much harder to actually favour him. Why would you favour the douchebag you see everyday ? Unreasonable

Instead, people jump to the more "real fantasy" characters like Heathrow. Will you ever meet someone who forces you into dangerous situations and tries to get you killed so he can die right alongside you because of some fucked up meaning of love ? Probably not. But the possibility isn't entirely gone. If you wanted to talk to some fucked up trad red pilled asshole, just go to school at that point why need roman you know ?

Someone said during the conversation that they knew someone like Soren and that they very much disliked Soren because of that experience. So the concept of "attainable" characters has some backing to it. even though people might gravitate to characters similar to oneself, its those who had a negative experience with someone that acts similarly that affects the characters perception.

I think this is an incredibly important aspect to character creation, Think about how your characters comply to the real life people you know and or are aware of, and know how that affects their audience perception. Use it to your advantage, it's very interesting and makes a lot of sense when put into theory. Of course there is an audience for real life people depictions but an overwhelming majority wants fantasy that feels real.

Overall, the looks of a character matter heavily, of course, but not as much as people think. even if Roman fell into the "pretty boy" archetype, most of his audience wouldn't change. yes there would probably be a little bit more in favour of him since... well. pretty. unfortunately that's a truth. but his behavior would still feel increasingly troubling to enjoy or "defend" in a way.

Now I know that this sounds like I'm somewhat advocating for the demolition of these types of characters, but i'm really not. characters like these are crucial to our self perception, fandom spaces, and even morals. lines get drawn in behavioral ideals and sometimes what reached way past the line for you isn't even cutting it for someone else. If these characters did not exist, i feel as though our perception of others would get very skewed. In a way, these characters show and remind us of our actual realities. These things are real, they exist, don't forget that.

if we were to ignore the realities of people like this, we wouldnt get very far in our social progression. Now i know many people dont very much concern themselves with interacting directly to these kinds of thoughts, but ! Think about it. The less aware we are, the less we portray these sorts of things, the less change we see in our enviromental thinking. Its something very commonly experienced, which is why so many varying groups of people fight for their representation. It works both ways.

But luca !!!!! If people dont like characters too closely related to reality, why do people like characters that relate heavily to *their* reality?

Well. Simple. As i said before with the "attainable" characters: people like characters that relate to oneself. Thats generic info, yeah, everyone knows that. But theres a level of reliability thats needed for a character to have as much popularity as they have.

Lets take doppo kannonzaka for example, one of if not the most popular hypmic character. People love him !! Hes relatable in the sense of modern day struggling. People hate their jobs, people hate the current economic state and how its forcing them into keeping jobs that are terrible for them just because theres no other option. But not many people will explore this outwardly.

So...

They do it through characters.

While being rooted in reality, he is *still* a fantasy. He portrays the emotions rarely shown out of private. The thoughts and feelings of average workers, the things they arent allowed to say publicly without fear of repercussion. Theres no harm in liking a character, right?

Thats the main difference i see in this dynamic. The Outlets, and The Plug-ins.

The Outlets are what allow people to express themselves, the "real fantasies"

And The Plug-ins? The things people need to stay conscious about their enviroments, the "realities"

Personally, i think this is something to keep in mind as an audience and as a producer. When interacting with media, i see many people dislike characters that fall into "the plug-ins" category. Simply for the reason that they represent something seen as distasteful to publicity. This feels like the wrong way to go about things. First and most of all, the producer has a right to create what they wish to express in their stories. It is 1. Never okay to harass them for such, and 2. Never okay to interact with such media with a mental blockade preventing you from truly understanding the medias intent.

That last one was mostly in reference to fans that take themes and situations out of context because they find the inherent thought of it "bad". Thus resulting in the bashing of that media without truly knowing what it represents.

Now of course, there are acceptions to these things. And it is perfectly okay to choose what and which media you immerse yourself in based off of your tastes and personal feelings. But thats not what we are here for right now.

But disliking plug-ins for being plug-ins? To me, it seems small minded.

So this is me politely giving my observations up, and asking whoever reads this to think about the way they interact with media.

You dont have to like them, but appreciate your fandom plug-in and reconsider how you see their point in the story and its themes.

[fierceawakening]

Yeah no, people are just on a hair-trigger on the internet and are probably incorrectly pattern-matching you to the kind of a-holes who say "if you can't provide a logical reason for your traditions (that dont hurt anyone) they're unnecessary so we aren't gonna accommodate them". And anyhow they are being way too narrow about what being Jewish is, I'm secular Jewish and I only follow the traditions that are meaningful and valuable to me, I don't do or want to do All The Things right now

Thank you! That makes sense to me. Like the actual Jews I know, including the ones I follow on here, seem when they tell me what they’re actually DOING to be picking and choosing like I am. But then they make these broad info posts that make it sound like the only people in the world who question tradition are ex Christian atheists, and that we’re only doing it because we’ve experienced religious abuse. And it just feels super rude to me?

Like yes, part of why I vehemently defend anyone’s right to depart from tradition if they want to is that I’ve been in coercive groups! Sure. Guilty as charged your Honor.

But! That’s also had a positive side. Looking at traditions with a critical eye isn’t always about being upset! Sometimes it’s about noticing something is meaningful to you and thinking in depth about why, and realizing neat things about yourself along the way.

Like, I never thought that I’d go back to Christianity. But when I really thought about what religious practice HAD felt good to me, I realized that actually, for myself personally, I want spirituality to be about believing everyone is redeemable. Religion gives me a place to put that, as a higher value, without it being my personal duty to forgive when I find I can’t or feel unsafe.

Which led me to the idea that what I wanted was modified Christianity actually. I already understood and knew the traditions of a religion that did that, and the only thingsstopping me were 1) worry people would find out I don’t literally believe in god and 2) feeling like I’d be giving in to the man.

With 1, I realized that actually a lot of practicing Christians ARE functionally atheist. People don’t say it too loud, but if you look into a lot of art and writing, you’ll find “if there is a God, I pray that…” I realized this is super common! You can find people in Ancient Greece saying things in this way! If it’s common, then… people know about it already, and they only avoid saying they’re agnostic out of neurotypical social conventions. Which I’m not good at, so I say it openly.

Which means there are a whole lot more me's out there than a lot of people think, and that was ultimately enough for me to decide I was True Scotsman enough.

With 2, I realized that I’d become hugely invested in finding something cooler, but that I really didn’t have a concept of what this was. So I was posturing, when I already knew there was a community I would like and fit well into. So, you know? It was 2016 and I was scared and fuck it, I wanted to feel better and I didn’t care anymore.

But is that “I dunno I’m Christian because I just am lol?” It could be said, yes! Likely the reason I went back to how I was raised is in part that it’s how I was raised.

But I would not answer the question that way.

Instead, i would say that I spent a long time suspicious of religion in general, and ultimately thought about what purpose I wanted it to have in my life, so while “practicing Christian “ PROBABLY describes it, I mean something very personal and not generalizable about what I decided religion should be for.

I would be really surprised if some people’s relationship to their Judaism isn’t similar! But the narrative Tumblr has latched onto for dear life is “only Christians are like that. If you think it’s common for adolescents to have concerns around religious identity you don’t know what an ethnoreligion is.”

Which is ESPECIALLY galling to me. Yes I know what an ethnoreligion is, many of my relatives are Greek Orthodox.

Greek, the ethno, is right there in the name!

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Awkward - a Malevolent fic

It was just fucking dinner.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis

AO3

-------

Hastur had known tension. He’d known sharp-toothed civility that led to conflict (or worse, didn’t, and remained unsatisfied). He’d laughed and danced through terrible scenes taut with pressure, with hair-trigger terms and gods ready for war.

This was worse. Planning for dinner with these stupid humans, with a shared past he didn’t know, with pieces of him he couldn’t control, was worse.

Even just preparing had been a nightmare. He had assumed that giving Arthur a two-day heads up would be plenty, after Parker and the Slice (Sunny, he reminded himself) had politely requested to join them for the evening meal. He’d assumed that Arthur and John would be able to come to some sort of consensus, get the dramatics out of the way, and proceed like civilized beings.

They did not.

Arthur spent the next two days in a stupor, so focused inward on his own mounting distress he was nearly intolerable. John, predictably, responded to this by snapping like a rabid animal at anyone who so much as looked at them. Arthur was then absolutely useless at the piano for the next day, and John threw a fit in the middle of court again, and Hastur almost wished he had not said anything whatsoever.

It was just fucking dinner.

Faroe’s response was different. “He’s coming?” she said, brightening. “Really?”

“Yes. Be gentle with them. They are—”

“Did you know he almost hit Dis?” said Faroe, bouncing on her toes. “I mean, he didn’t manage it, but he almost did?”

“That is certainly impressive,” said Hastur, sounding calm in spite of the abrupt realization that for some reason, his daughter was watching that man train. 

“Thank you, daddy!” she said as if this had all been his idea, hugging him quickly, then running off to language practice.

Well. Well.  

He wasn’t thrilled that this tiny infatuation would be happening with a human the first time, but maybe that was unavoidable. He wondered if Arthur would pick up on it on his own. Eh; Hastur wouldn’t tell him. He clearly wasn’t in any condition for more shocks at the moment.

#

Even just dressing Arthur for the occasion was difficult. “Too flashy,” he murmured, putting John’s selection back in the wardrobe.

I like that one, John protested. The green looks great on you! It compliments your skin!

“It’s embroidery and brocade,” Arthur said, pointedly shoving it further into the wardrobe as John’s hand scrabbled back to retrieve it. “I’m having dinner with—with my friend, John, not going to meet the bloody president.”

You live in a fucking palace, John snapped. All of our clothes look like that. At least let me pick ones that aren’t shapeless, ugly sacks!

“Maybe I want to look like a sack,” said Arthur nonsensically.

Do you want to look like a sack?

“Fuck you. Maybe.”

Well, maybe I don’t want to! Did you think of that?

“No, because apparently, you look adorable, so what do you have to worry about?”

John growled. 

Arthur grabbed something—he wasn’t even sure what—and started pulling it on.

Ugh! It’s yellow!

“The fucking world is yellow here,” Arthur muttered.

But not this much! What the fuck!

“Shut up. We’re getting this over with, and if I have to do it in… in sunshine colors, so be it!”

Well, John knew how to fix that. At least this one shows your ass.

Off it came, and Arthur reached for something else.

John counted that as a point hard won.

#

Parker, Sunny said, voice gentle, are you sure you’re alright for this?

“Of course,” Parker said, perhaps a bit gruffer than he intended. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I hit you with a lot of unpleasant information, Sunny sighed, and Parker could feel the nervous twinge in his jaw. Make no mistake; I have no question about your ability to be friendly and professional and handle this with the grace of a true actor, but if you’re not ready to deal with the King…

“I’ve dealt with a lotta guys like the King,” Parker said, brushing his fingertips along the curve of his jaw. “Not too worried about him, as much as I’d still like to make him answer for… all that. More worried about you.”

Please, Parker, this was my idea.

“Lots of ideas are good in the planning stages and not so good in practice. We could be walking into a real charged room.” Parker sighed and rolled his shoulder—Dis had gotten him good with one of their sparring bouts, and it was sore as all hell. “Bud, shoot straight with me here: are you ready?”

Sunny was quiet for a long moment. Hear me out, fully, first.

“Alright.”

I… I’m not, Parker. I really don’t want to face down Arthur Lester and make small talk, no matter how good the curry will be.

Parker sucked in a sharp breath.

But, Sunny said quickly, I… I don’t think staying isolated is a good idea for either of us. I don’t want to spend six years hiding in our rooms just in case a—a wet scarecrow of a man might say something mean to me. Alright?

Parker let out the breath he was holding in a laugh. “He’s more likely to curse you out than say something mean. And hey, be fair—he looks pretty good right now.”

Not this again. Ugh.

“I’m just saying.”

Must you say?

Parker grinned. “Don’t go judging me.”

Parker, I love you, but I am absolutely allowed to judge you for that.

He laughed. “Eh. Fair enough. Let’s get this done.”

Ahem. Forgetting something?

Parker grinned. “Really? You ain’t sick of hearing it yet?”

No, I am not. Sunny  paused. Are you?

“Never. Love you, sunshine. Let’s go.”

#

Curries of all kinds steamed on the table, rich in color, accompanied by tiny spice dishes and rice and scents that could nearly carry the conversation by themselves.

If only.

Parker eyed John.

John eyed Sunny.

Sunny shied away from Arthur.

Arthur stared at nothing, clutching his fork.

Faroe babbled, happily telling everyone about the crazy new language she’d begun, and how hard the double-l sound was.

Hastur rumbled, pleased. “You shine in the reports I’m given.”

“They said I’m two full years ahead of the planned schedule,” said Faroe, and then peeked to make sure Parker heard.

She’d been doing that all night.

Parker nodded, perfectly polite, and scooped some curry-drenched rice onto flatbread. “That’s really somethin’. I only ever learned English.”

That’s not true. You’re learning R’ylehian, Sunny said, helpful.

“You are?” said Faroe, her eyes going wide. “Want to practice?”

John eyed Faroe.

Sunny eyed Faroe.

Hastur eyed Parker.

Arthur stared at nothing, tip of his tongue out, focusing on getting curry onto his flatbread without spilling it everywhere.

Nibbles stole a flatbread out of a basket at the end of the table.

“Uh,” said Parker, unsure what was going on. “Sure?”

Faroe smiled like the sun rising.

Hm, said John.

“What?” whispered Arthur.

The lamb is excellent, Sunny said, attempting to drag the conversation somewhere less weird. Curries are my favorite.

“I haven’t really had these. They’re delicious,” Arthur tried. 

Sunny shut right up.

“Yeah, we fell in love with these… fuck, way far west,” said Parker. 

“I’d love more of them,” said Faroe.

“I’m fairly sure our kitchen can handle that request,” said Hastur warmly.

Nibbles was staining her nose orange as she ate from her own plate.

“There’s a bunch of kinds,” said Parker. “Sweet ones, hot ones. Different spices. It’s fuckin’ great.”

“How long were you out there?” said Arthur.

“‘Bout eight months.”

Arthur sat up straight. “You were out there all that time?”

Fuck. We could’ve passed each other on the road, or something, said John.

“Highly unlikely,” said Hastur.

Arthur was pale. “No offense, but I’m glad we didn’t. I don’t know how that would’ve gone.”

“Eh,” said Parker. “Shouting. Then I probably would’ve punched you. Then we’d talk it out. It’d all be over quicker than this mess.”

Arthur grinned. “You know, you’re probably right.”

“Punched him?” said Faroe, sounding shocked. “Why?”

There was a moment of tension. Arthur stared in Parker’s direction, pleading on his face.

Parker studied Arthur for a moment, then turned with a smile to Faroe. “Well. Let’s just say John did some shit worthy of a good punch or two. I’m bettin’ you can believe that.”

Her little chin rose. “I certainly can.”

John snorted. 

“One way to put it,” Arthur murmured.

Fuck you both, said John, sort of conversationally.

Parker flipped him off. “Right in the kissah,” he said, leaning into his accent.

Faroe giggled. “The kisser?” 

Parker pantomimed punching himself in the mouth. “Boom.”

She giggled again.

Nibbles made an amused noise and stole another flatbread right off Faroe’s plate.

“You know that detective stuff I taught you?” said Arthur out of nowhere. “Parker’s the one who taught me.”

She gasped. “He was your partner?”

Now Parker looked uncomfortable. “Yeah. Long time ago.” Not that it was so long for him.

“He saved my life,” said Arthur.

“Okay, don’t get too serious on me, here,” said Parker, sort of gently.

“I’m not,” said Arthur. “I just thought she should know.”

Faroe was looking at Parker like he hung the moon.

He didn’t seem sure why. “Well.” He shrugged. “Anybody’d. You know.”

Parker, could we try that palak paneer? Sunny said.

Parker jumped right onto that topic change. “Sure, bud. Wow, that smells good.”

While we were… on the road, we often worked for food, Sunny said, voice barely above a mumble. We learned a lot about the people of the Dreamlands that way. I’d never tried so many different things.

Parker set down his flatbread to gently pat his cheek. Despite his efforts, it was subtle as a freight train.

“What was that like?” said Faroe. “I’ve traveled a little, but I… had to avoid towns and things.”

“I bet, with daddy dearest here,” said Parker.

“No, I was alone,” said Faroe, who was tiny.

Parker looked concerned. 

The missing princess, Sunny said softly. So that was true? We’d thought… we’d thought it was… just rumors.

“I went on a quest,” said Faroe carefully, who definitely should not have been on her own.

Parker eyed Faroe.

Hastur eyed Parker.

Nibbles gently pressed her forehead against Faroe’s shoulder, and Faroe leaned into that.

Arthur stared blindly at his curry, looking traumatized.

I am glad you saw it through safely, Sunny continued, suddenly stronger, but gentle. We heard a lot of conflicting things after the storm, but couldn’t verify any of them. We were kept busy. He paused. This is… maybe a bad topic of conversation.

Faroe’s eyes were huge. “I’m sorry.”

No. Sunny’s voice hitched. I brought it up. I should apologize to you. I don’t know what happened, but—

“So Dis is a hell of a trainer, huh?” Parker said. “Whips my ass every time we spar.”

Fuck, Sunny mumbled, voice trembling.

“You’re doing fine,” Parker murmured back.

Faroe clearly had no idea what to make of all that, but she’d been trained in conversation, and she could at least pretend to follow it. “Dis is incredible. You almost hit her the other day! I saw it!”

“Well, I didn’t get that close,” said  Parker.

“You did. Your footwork is excellent,” said Faroe, sounding randomly lofty.

It was cute. Parker grinned. “I’d need to be twice as fast to even get near hitting that bi…uh, lady.”

“She’s tough,” said Arthur.

“She’s something else,” said Parker.

“She’s going to help me become a warrior,” said Faroe.

“A warrior, eh?” said Parker without a hint of condescension.

“Yes,” said Faroe, and perhaps unconsciously, touched the scar on her throat.

This was not the time to ask. “That’s a good goal. More girls were tough, there’d be a shit-ton less problems.”

“An admirable viewpoint,” said Hastur, “with which I agree. It isn’t often shared by your human peers.”

Arthur scowled.

You will find that Parker is very wise, Sunny said.

“I ain’t supposed to be tough, either,” said Parker mildly. “Supposed to ‘know my place.’ Keep my head down. Fuck that.”

“Fuck that,” Faroe whispered under her breath, barely audible.

“An excellent goal,” said Hastur.

Arthur wanted to talk so badly. He kept starting to speak, then chickening out. It was getting hard to watch.

Very low, very soft, Sunny spoke. Parker, you should… help him.

Parker stroked his jaw. “You gettin’ tough, too, Arthur? That’s new.”

Arthur’s smile was crooked. “Yeah, it is. I can’t say I’m loving it.”

“We’re training buddies,” said Faroe.

Sunny let out a low sound of encouragement for her.

“I’ve never seen you this, uh… capable, that’s for sure,” Parker said.

“Dis is a monster,” said Arthur, just fondly enough not to be insulting. “She’s brutal.”

“She got you to run. I never managed that.”

“Well, you didn’t poke me in the back with a knife, either.”

“That’s all it would’a took? Should’ve tried it.”

Arthur grinned and flipped Parker off.

Parker’s answering grin was big, real, wide. “Same to you, pal.”

Faroe looked back and forth, riveted.

Parker was instrumental in us staying safe on the roads, Sunny said, and his physical abilities certainly helped. It is… good, that you’re training with Dis.

“Well, they had to make me,” Arthur admitted.

We did, said John, who was being so well-behaved he had to be breaking something. And we’re going to keep doing it. 

Arthur’s smile now was… warm. Secret. Directed at the table. Maybe at John. “Whacko.”

Parker could feel a nervous twitch of his tongue, and casually as he was able, stroked the curve of his jaw.

Maybe, Sunny said, voice cautious, like a frightened animal slowly coming out from under a piece of furniture, maybe in time, we could… train together. 

Arthur looked up with hope on his face. “We could?”

You could learn very much from Parker. He punched out a wizard to stop a spell, once.

“He did?”

“He did?” said Faroe. “What? How?”

Parker shrugged. “Some spells take time to work up, you know? So I socked the guy before he could finish it.”

“In the kisser?” said Faroe.

“Chin, actually,” said Parker, grinning at her. “Asshole bit through his tongue. Knew he wouldn’t be casting shit after that.”

Parker kept us from being captured, Sunny said, voice warm. He dropped the wizard in one hit. A magnificent uppercut. The fool never expected it.

Arthur laughed. “That’s incredible. I love it.”

Faroe looked grim. “You were very lucky the spell didn’t explode.”

“Oh, it did,” said Parker. “Sunny got a shield up.”

Sunny made a small noise. Your timing was excellent; it mostly backfired on the caster. It was barely a shield. Little more than a puff of air to blow it away.

“What was this guy trying to do?” said Arthur.

“One of Larson’s idiots,” said Parker. “Trying to make some kinda portal.”

“Humans don’t handle the creation of portals well,” said Faroe, her eyes huge. “It’s brain physiognomy. We’re too limited by three dimensions.”

“Doubtless, the caster would have died to cast it,” said Hastur.

He very much would. His nose was already starting to drip blood. Sunny’s voice was soft and tired. Parker saved his life, assuming it wasn’t taken later for failure.

“Larson did… that?” said Faroe quietly, and looked at her dad. “Why?”

Hastur sighed deeply. “There are past actions you do not know,” he said, caressing Faroe’s face with a tenderness that made Parker rework some assumptions. “He has a chance now to change his ways.”

Faroe studied him, frowning, then looked at Parker. “What was he trying to do?”

Parker hesitated.

“Maybe we can talk about it later,” suggested Arthur.

“All right,” said Faroe, looking between them.

I’m sorry, Sunny said, very quietly. I shouldn’t have said anything.

“Why are you sorry?” said Faroe with innocent puzzlement. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Courage gone, Sunny stayed silent.

“Sunny just doesn’t wanna hurt anyone,” said Parker. “Gets nervous that maybe he did, sometimes—but he didn’t, right?”

“As far as I can tell,” said Faroe, “nothing wrong was said tonight.”

“I agree,” said Hastur as though passing judgment.

Arthur nodded. looking at the table as though fearful what his unseeing gaze might do.

Sunny let out a little breath. Thank you, he said, voice barely more than a whisper.

“It’s gonna be weird for a bit,” Parker said, firm and slow. “But I think we’re all gonna be okay.”

The Dancers came in then with dessert—some glorious confection of thin pastry layers and honey—and Parker was happy to direct conversation toward that for the rest of the meal.

#

He didn’t speak to Arthur again until they were leaving, until the meal was done. Arthur hunched; he was clearly uncomfortable, and didn’t know how to continue.

John’s gaze never left Parker’s face. It was sharp; foreign. Arthur Lester had never looked at anyone like that in his life.

Parker knew the difference. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” he said, low, meaning so much more that the physical.

Arthur’s eyes were suspiciously shiny, and that wasn’t John. “I don’t think I can express in words how glad I am you’re not.”

“I believe you.” Parker said the words evenly. The significance of that statement—a judgment of his own—was earth-shattering.

Or maybe rebuilding.

Arthur raised his face.

“Night,” said Parker, and left, hands in his pockets, striding fast. He had a partner to take care of.

#

Hastur checked in.

His servitors on Earth were handling things well. Larson was following the rules, yelling at people on the phone, pulling out files to hand to his chaperones, throwing things into his large fireplace so no one could have them if he couldn’t. 

Faroe was getting ready for bed, humming, thinking over dinner, happy. She was trying to speak to Nibbles in Welsh. The goat may or may not have understood, but made for an apt listener.

Arthur was exhausted, collapsed on his bed, uh-huh-ing to John.

John was complaining. He’d been very very good all dinner long, and was making up for it now. He didn’t trust Sunny, and kept trying to spin some idea (which did not land) that Parker was up to something.

Parker was not up to something. He was quietly reassuring Sunny, who had convinced himself he’d committed some sort of grievous faux pas.

This had all gone about as well as could be expected.

Hastur wished he could rest along with them. Wished he could hold Arthur, and be still, and…

There was no time. He had to begin conversation with Mnomquah tonight, and wasn’t looking forward to it at all.

He waited until his family was all in their beds, and then left to tackle the next part of his plan. Behind him, Carcosa slept. Through a window, Nibbles watched him flying away, and did not draw attention to his departure.

[askticcitobyshit]

CHEV CAN GO INTO HEAT??? WHAT IN THE OMEGAVERSE-

((ASDFGHKLLAONDND ITS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE I PROMISE!!

I'll explain under the cut!! Its a bit personal, TMI, and possibly triggering))

So Chev is based off of myself and my experience with my mental illness/disorders and physical illnesses

I've recently come to terms that I have hypersexuality, and have had it since I was little. It's a mental disorder that makes it hard to function in everyday life most of the time. (idk what caused it, but it could be a plethora of things. Its usually caused by abuse or neglect, which I have experienced throughout my teenaged years. I'm in a better place now though!)

I sometimes go through long periods of time where I have "flare ups", and absolutely can't think or function properly. I sometimes joke that I "go into heat" during these times, and my bf has also jokingly referred to me as a "secret succubus".

With that being said, I decided to put my hypersexuality onto Chev, along with her going into heat because she's half demon. (Because let's be real, we all force our traumas and mental illnesses onto our ocs lmao) it's kinda like a coping mechanism for me.

And of course I'm not gonna do anything lewd with Chev or do oc x canon nsfw with her, since she is practically my sona and looks exactly like how I did a few years ago when my hair was longer. I just wanna torture her and give her as much pain as possible, while also making her stronger for it lmao

Chev also hasn't told any of the creeps about her hypersexuality or her heat cycle, so there's a low chance of anything happening anyway. Though, there might be some demons out there who can just smell it on her, so there's that I guess

I also kinda wanted to spread more awareness of hypersexuality. It's not a hot and quirky thing that makes you a slut or an "easy lay", or whatever, and it also doesnt mean you're a sex maniac that can't control themselves. That's purely on the person who has the disorder. The disorder itself is pretty tricky because theres not a whole lot of resources for us, and if you're a woman seeking help to control it, doctors most of the time don't give a shit. I mean, hypersexuality in women just means the possibility of more babies running around and that's the whole reason for a women's existence, right?? (This is sarcasm btw. I'm so fucking tired, yall)

And side note, idk how I made it through the 2010s without knowing much about the omegaverse, but I recently did some research on it a couple weeks ago because of a fanfic I was reading LMAO. I'm not really into the alpha/omega/beta stuff, but the heat/rut stuff was interesting to me

Sorry this was so long, I just have a lot to say about this subject 👉👈

[upat4amwiththemoon]

Hii🤗 could I request a fic? Something like an enemy of wandanat does something to their daughter (reader)? Your fics are amazing 🤩

Saving you

Summary: There’s nothing more dangerous than two angry mothers.

Pairing: WandaNat x daughter!reader

Warnings: kidnapping, violence, cursing

Word count: 893

a/n: thank you very much, hope you enjoy!

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore

”Mom.” Y/N groans, stretching the o. “I’ll be fine, I’m only few blocks away.”

“Just stay on the phone with me till you’re home, okay? It’s late and anything could happen.” Wanda speaks through the phone, her worry going through the roof knowing her daughter is walking alone through the streets of New York. “You should’ve let us pick you up.”

Y/N giggles, shaking her head. “I’ve walked this route hundreds of times, nothing has ever happened to me. But, I’ll stay on the phone with you to ease your worries mama bear.” She grins. There’s a slight teasing tone in her voice.

Turning to a smaller street, she continues talking with Wanda as she stares at the road in front of her. Her attention to the surroundings is low, so she doesn’t notice a van following her slowly.

“Do you think we could order some food once I’m home?” Y/N asks. She drops her keys before Wanda can answer. “Shit.” Kneeling down to pick them up, two hands grab her. She starts screaming, but a hand on her mouth quietens her down. She can faintly hear Wanda yelling through the phone, though quickly it all muffles down as a bag gets put over her head.

A sudden brightness makes Y/N squint her eyes. As the surroundings start clearing up, she starts panicking. She is stuck on a chair with a cloth in her mouth to keep her quiet, and a man is in front of her, holding a bag that was over her head.

“Oh, calm down, girl.” The man grins. He looks rough and ragged. His clothes have small scratches on them. “I won’t do anything to you. At least not yet.”

Y/N starts shouting, though it comes out muffled through the cloth. She’s trashing around, trying to get out of the ropes holding her. A harsh slap comes in contact with her cheek, making her freeze immediately.

“Stop it!” The man yell, throwing the bag. In any other situation Y/N would laugh as the bag doesn’t go very far because of its lightness. “No one will hear you, so it’s pointless to try anything.” He points at her in accusing manner.

Glaring at him, Y/N stays quiet. Her moms did teach her some basic self defense, but she’d never get out of this alive, especially if there are other bad guys in the other rooms. So, she does what the man says. It’s her best chance at survival for now.

Quiet commotion can be heard from further away. The man grumbles, walking slightly further away to take his walkie-talkie and talk to it. His other hand grips his pistol.

Y/N’s heart is beating loudly as she watches him yell to the person on the other side. She knows that something is wrong, which most likely means her moms are here.

When the noises get louder, the man jogs to Y/N, gripping her hair tightly and pressing the pistol to the side of her head. In the matter of seconds, the door flies off of its hinges.

Very angry looking Wanda and Natasha are standing on the doorway.

“You, get your fucking hands off of my daughter.” Wanda practically growls. Y/N is quite sure she has never heard Wanda curse.

The man laughs. Y/N can feel the slight shake of his hand. He is nervous. For a very good reason. There are two ex-Avengers standing in front of him. “Don’t you take another step closer or I’ll blow her brains off.”

Natasha’s grip of her guns tightens and Wanda’s eyes turn a shade of red.

Before the man can even think about pulling the trigger, the gun flies off of his hand. He gasps, instantly starting to run after it. While Wanda starts fighting with him, Natasha jogs to Y/N and starts freeing her.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Natasha pulls the cloths away from her mouth. She instantly notices the red mark on her cheek. “He hit you?”

“Yes, but I’m fine mom.”

“Oh, no. He doesn’t get to get away with th-“

Natasha goes to walk towards the fight, but Y/N grabs her arm. “Mom, please. Don’t leave me alone.” She pleads, holding onto her. The whole situation is finally fully hitting her.

“Of course not.” Natasha pulls Y/N close, pushing her face against her body to shield her eyes. She glances at Wanda, she seems to have everything handled. “Lets get out of here, hm?”

Natasha walks Y/N out of the building, keeping her from seeing any kind of blood or wounded people. Outside, Natasha opens the back door of their car, helping Y/N in.

She kneels in front of her. “Did he do anything else to you?”

“No.” Y/N holds Natasha’s hand for comfort.

“Good.” Natasha kisses the back of her hand. “We were so worried.”

“I’m okay.” She smiles lightly, her eyelids weighing down.

After a few minutes, Wanda runs out of the building, going straight to Y/N and pulling her into an embrace. “I’m so glad you’re okay, we were so so worried.” She buries her face into her hair to be as close as possible. “You are never ever walking alone again, do you hear me? Never.”

Y/N chuckles quietly, fully leaning into Wanda. “I hear you.”