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obsessivevoidkitten · 1 year ago

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Caught In His Web

Yandere Male Drider x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, painless/gentle noncon, venom, drugging, biting, light bondage, webbing, drider, spider-hybrid, oral sex, oviposition, dead animals wrapped in webbing, stalking, underwear sniffing, general yandere behavior. Word Count: 2.7k (A drider is technically an elf-spider formed as a punishment by Lolth, but this is just a human-spider hybrid with magic. Not technically a drider. But "spidertaur" just sounds off. Hope you enjoy, this was technically the first fic I started though I only resumed and finished it today)

You were an herbalist, you took plants and herbs from the wild fields, forests, and hills surrounding your small humble cottage. You expertly prepared the ingredients that you gathered and imbued them with the tiny bit of healing magic that you possessed. Magic in humans was very rare and your abilities and magical education were somewhat limited, but your potions, salves, ointments and remedies sold well enough in the town about six miles away on the other side of the forest.

Twice a month you made the journey there and back to sell your healing supplies. You made enough to survive on, and also enough to get you through the colder months when the healing plants you used did not grow. It was a modest life, but you were happy enough. Well, except for one thing... you were being followed...

At first, starting almost a year ago, you couldn’t get past the feeling that you were being watched from the shadows of the forest, occasionally you could swear you could catch glimpses of a large shape moving out of the corner of your eye or could hear something moving through the branches. You convinced yourself it was all in your imagination, or at least just some innocent woodland creature moving in the woods. For a month or so your denial was easy enough. You live by the forest, of course the animals must simply be getting more used to your non-threatening presence and getting a bit closer than they had previously. Everything was perfectly fine.

But then, about three months ago, things started to escalate. At first it was odd, but still explainable by the functions of nature. There were bundled up small dead animals bound in webbing left around in the places you most frequently gathered herbs and flowers. Okay, that is creepy, it must be some large spiders that are attracted to the birds and mice that are attracted to the insects drawn by the plants, perfectly normal and natural. You wish it would be perfectly normal and natural a bit farther away from you, but there was clearly nothing to worry about... except the fact that there are apparently a lot of spiders big enough to kill birds and mice in close proximity to you...

You could have dealt with the creepy large webs and the implied but unseen giant spiders, but then just a few days ago the bundles started being left on your porch for you to dispose of each morning. The webbed up animals were completely un-dessicated, killed and then just… left… A spider would not drop food for later in such an odd place. And what’s more the webbing now contained flowers woven into it, the flowers you most commonly used in your trade. No longer could you maintain any notions that the glimpses you saw from the forest, the noises you heard, and the web bundles were just coincidence.

The nearest humans lived too far away to keep up such a well maintained and menacing prank/threat, so you conclude that there must be some foul creature or malicious spirit that is stalking you. The past few days you were terrified and on the verge of freaking out, but you managed to maintain your calm composure. Besides, it has not escalated since then and today was the day that you went to the closest village to peddle your medical supplies, perhaps you could purchase some wards to protect yourself from spirits and talk to the local trappers, hunters, and elders to see if they know of anything dangerous lurking in the area.

You opened the door with a broom to sweep your doorstep, where you knew the web ball would be left. You shuddered as you swept it into the bushes and out of sight. So gross. You then went about your daily chores, and put the final touches on a last minute tincture. You put all your various vials, bottles, and other containers full of your merchandise into a large backpack that you put on before setting off on your way out the door and into the long path through the woods that would lead you to the village.

You started off at a brisk pace, there was no time to enjoy what would otherwise be a pleasant and leisurely stroll on a cool breezy day. You gripped the handle of the dagger in your belt tightly, in constant fear of what could potentially lurk just out of sight. You were paranoid and hyper fixated on watching the trees and path ahead for any possible signs of danger. So fixated that you completely neglected to watch where you were going. You did not notice a large bump in the path and tripped, you tried to get up but your ankle was sprained and you ended up flopping back over on your side.

This was bad, you were probably at least two miles into the forest unable to walk. Utterly helpless, with no more than a small dagger that in your inexperienced hands was mostly just for a false sense of security. But you couldn’t just lay here, you turned back towards the direction of your home and started ever so slowly dragging yourself.

You tried to do this as quietly as possible to not draw any attention to yourself, but you heard skittering and rustling in the bushes ahead of you.

Futilely, you hoped that it was just an animal or even the wind, but it wasn’t The being that had been lurking in the shadows and stoking your fears finally came forth.

A large drider came out of the trees. Like a centaur he was a creature that was human enough from the waist up but instead of a horse below that he was a giant white spider with black markings. From far enough away, and if the spider half were not in view, he could have easily been mistaken for a striking woman. His figure was slender and his hair was long and shimmered beautifully like silver in the rays of light that penetrated through the forest canopy.

But that is where the illusion ended for he had two fangs and four red eyes. He spoke in a cautious voice, as if trying to placate an animal that he feared may lash out.

“I’m Umzerth. I won’t hurt you, I promise.

You looked at him, trembling in dread and unable to take your eyes away as you scrambled backwards.

“Please no.” You repeated desperately in a frantic whisper.

The drider looked both concerned at your predicament and hurt by your reaction at seeing him.

“Please… darling… you’re hurt… just let me help you…”

“No, j-just stay back…”

“But your leg needs tending to my sweetling, I’ve never hurt you. I have proven I can take care of you by giving you all those plants you like. And food with them!”

“I am not interested in you taking care of me! Please just leave me alone… I have healing supplies with me…” Your voice faltered and it was clear that you were terrified of him.

Umzerth looked dejected, but he wasn’t going to give up. This was the first time he had properly met you and you were in pain. Surely you would accept him as your mate. He was so powerful and could take care of you. That’s what little humans wanted in a mate surely. He just had to calm you down and prove it.

The spider took a few tentative steps closer. You pulled your dagger from your belt and pointed it towards him. Your hand shook, more evidence of the fear coursing through you. He knew you’d never hold such a weapon to him if you were in your right mind. Maybe some of his venom would soothe you.

“Please put that away and let me help you sweetheart, my home is very close by. Your healing salves won’t work as fast as my methods will.”

You backed away a bit more, still holding up the dagger.

“I’ll take my chances.”

He moved with lightning speed and plucked the dagger from your hand, tossing it far away and out of sight. He spoke more forcefully.

“It would still take days to heal that foot. I can see the bruising from here. There are wild animals everywhere and I am not going to my beloved die out here because they were too damn stubborn.”

You cry out briefly as he bit down on your neck before an unnatural calm took your mind and your body went limp before fading into a relaxed sleep. His venom wasn’t at all deadly, not to humans, spiders, or driders. For a human it would merely give them a nice sleep. Which is exactly what you needed while he attended to your injury.

As you began stirring from your sleep you heard your name whispered. You woke to find your leg completely free of any pain, wrapped in silvery webbing. You could feel the thrum of magic within it. Much stronger than anything you could manage. Well… at least that proved he really wasn’t going to kill you.

“Are you feeling better, my little wild flower? I watched to make sure you slept well… I did take a break to catch you some food.”

The room you were in was unfamiliar, it looked to be a dwelling carved into stone. Likely at the base of the hills nearby. You were in a soft hammock made of silk. There was a wooden table next to you. Hand-carved. Umzerth apparently had grown accustomed to making his own furniture. Atop it lay a dead rat covered in webbing.

You recoiled at the sight.

“What’s wrong sweetling, it’s all predigested! You just have to bite and suck it out… don’t you like it?”

You didn’t say anything, but hopped up and bolted towards the exit. The ground was rough and cold on your bare feet, but you gave it no notice. You had to get away from this freak.

Umzerth caught you before you even reached the door.

“Let me go! I want to go home! Please!” You began sobbing and begging. Even if you were in no immediate danger he still frightened you. Thrust into a strange place with a terrifying creature and expected to eat… that… It was all too much.

“You ARE home my sweet flower!”

He caressed you oh so tenderly and claimed your lips with his own before setting you down on a cushioned chair that was far too small for him. Evidently he had prepared for your arrival for quite some time. Utterly disgusted with having been kissed by the monster, you wiped your lips.

“Are you upset with the food? Do humans not like that? I can learn to prepare human foods for you…”

He paced back and forth for a while with a nervous expression on his face, he wanted to make you happy and it was clear that you weren’t. How could he please you? He’d learn how to do that cooking thing he had watched humans do, but how could he make you like him more immediately?

Other than food that was to your liking hadn’t he provided everything a mate should? Shelter. Medical treatment.

Oh of course!

Sex!

You were being a whiny little human because you probably were desperate to copulate! He knew you were single since he had never seen another person at your dwelling, you probably hadn’t had a good dick like his in you in a long time, if ever.

You’d probably be all shy and bratty about it though. Natural first time jitters. He knew what would calm you down.

He scooped you up from the chair and, despite your struggles, gave your neck a little nip. Just a fraction of a full dose. You went limp again, but didn’t fall asleep this time. Your limbs felt too heavy and you felt really relaxed. You couldn’t muster the energy or will to fight anymore.

Umzerth gently placed you on a high stone shelf so that he was eye level with your crotch.

“I know just what you need to make you happy sweetling~”

You only groaned absently in response.

The drider gently peeled off your pants and underwear, taking it to his face and inhaling your scent deeply before placing it aside. The smell had him aroused in an instant. His erect cock poked out of a slit at his waist just below where his two halves met. Big and somewhat slimy.

He rubbed your soft thighs.

“Such a soft fragile thing.” He whispered.

He kissed up your thighs, occasionally giving them a careful nip, not enough to draw blood. He attended to you with a sloppy tongue and beneath the effects of his venom all you could feel was pleasure. You grinded into his face as you weakly stroked his hair, grabbing it harder when he brought you to climax.

He licked you clean as you shuddered.

“Ah, you fed me so well for worshiping at the altar between your thighs~”

You were even more relaxed now than when he had just bitten you, and just as powerless to resist. The spider picked you up carefully and shared another dominating kiss with you. This time sliding his tongue and brushing it against yours, smearing your taste buds with your very own flavor mixed with his saliva. A string of which connected your lips for a moment as he pulled away.

Then he held you as he positioned your body in front of his cock.

“Oh sweetling, you’ll look even prettier with a bellyful of my eggs~”

His words elicited just the smallest spark of worry in your envenomated mind, though it was quickly squashed when you felt his cock smear warm pre at your entrance. While holding you with one strong hand he slipped a finger in and out of you, slowly adding more one at a time.

Drooling and unable to articulate any thoughts, you moved back against his fingers.

At that he decided you were ready. He slipped his wet cock into you easily and with no pain at all, he had been very careful to make sure he pleasured his delicate flower.

He held you by your hips, gently rocking you back and forth along his shaft. You occasionally moaned softly. It felt so nice. So perfect. Like you were made just for this. Why had you been resisting again?

Umzerth started to go just a little harder, sure that his love could take it. With each thrust you let out a little gasp of pleasure. His cock fit itself into you beautifully, hitting every inch and making you feel full and sated in a way you never had before.

The fill of your shivering body as you had another climax pulled Umzerth over the edge with you. Powerful shudders racking the both of you in unison as his cock deposited small eggs deep inside you. Soft yet firm, they attached themselves to your insides. They would fertilize as they absorbed a bit of your DNA, then they’d fall out after a few days and then hatch a few weeks later.

Having deposited so many inside of his darling, your belly looked larger. He lay you in his web with him in the corner, rubbing your belly in awe. You smiled up at him and idly played with his soft hair.

“I’ll be back soon my love, I am going to get you something to eat.”

He wrapped you up in his webbing to keep you cozy before giving you a bit more venom to send you off into a short sleep. Then he covered the entrance to his den with his strongest webbing to make sure that you were completely safe while he was away. By the time you awoke he would have a good meal fit for any human. Then you would have nothing at all to be grumpy about.

This time he’d swipe a meal from the village, of course he’d leave them a gold coin in compensation since humans seemed to like those, and after that you could teach him how to cook for you!

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #my ocs #yandere x reader #monster boyfriend #gender neutral reader #yandere monster #male yandere x gn reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere spidertaur #spidertaur x reader #yandere drider #drider x reader #My OCs #My OC Umzerth #yandere #male yandere

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yanderefarm · 6 months ago

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I need us pretending/threatening Emil with a divorce even after saying we wouldn’t 🙏🙏

this is a part 2 to this story

in your villain arc fr. i know if emil knew how you were manipulating him and playing him like a puppet he wouldn't even be mad he'd be like "thats hot wtf"

cw;; drugging, cheating, non-con (implied), abuse, manipulation

oh your poor husband, he's so pathetic and easy to break.

after your brutal breaking of his body with the cheating scandal you had been oh so generous to help him rebuild his all his lost favour. his ever loving husband who loved him past his worst flaws gave him a better reputation just by staying by his side. all he had to do was give into you, take you places, stop holding you at arms length like he was afraid of you running away and getting close to him at the same time. really all you wanted was more of his love and if that meant you had to break him down to nothing then you guess that's what you would do.

you walked into his office to find him surrounded by people, a familiar sight since his last scandal. you pushed past them to his desk, watching emil flinch away from your presence. you didn't need to yell and get angry this time, you knew exactly how to break him.

"i want a divorce."

you placed the newspaper on the desk to punctuate your sentence, the headline was a young noble woman's testimony of how the king had cornered her at the last royal banquet. another lie you had paid a pretty penny to get out there. you knew emil's head had been fuzzy since the last scandal, all it took was hiring a woman from a family desperate for money to force herself on him and then lie about it. he didn't even remember the night, he couldn't argue with you about it.

you heard his pathetic sob. that sound he would never usually make in front of anyone else. you turned back to see him still surrounded by his advisors and other noblemen but among their shocked faces you could see your husband had tears in his eyes.

"out." you ordered and they very quickly filed out leaving you two in a familiar position.

you walked back to the desk and stared down at him. your husband, already a broken and confused mess, hung his head like a kicked puppy dog so you couldn't see his eyes you could only hear him crying. you let out a heavy sigh.

"what am I supposed to do, emil? you clearly don't love me."

"that's not-"

"how many more women do i have to find out about before you admit it?"

"i don't remember that night... i don't think- i-"

a silence formed between you both only interrupted by his crying.

"i remember that night. i remember you left the party early to get some fresh air and you didn't come back."

he was shaking.

"..... if you had just talked to me we could have come to an agreement about concubines. if you didn't want to be with a man all you had to do was tell me. you don't have to keep humiliating me publicly and then lying about it."

"im not ly-"

you slammed your hands on the table making him flinch.

"you are. you're lying to me. you slept with the maid and then you lied about it and i forgave you. i forgave you because i thought you would learn your lesson."

"please... please punish me again please anything else... kill me, torture me, hate me, anything but leaving me..." he finally looked at you and you could see his pink eyes were cloudy and confused as tears dripped down his face.

".... that's pathetic emil. you want me to beat you but..." you forced your own tears along with your voice cracking. "you can't even say you love me."

emil tried to stand up, stumbling against the desk as his legs wobbled underneath him.

"don't leave me. please." his hand weakly grabbed your wrist

"do you love me?"

"yes."

"how am i supposed to trust that? how am i supposed to trust you? can you even say it? can you tell me you love me?"

"i...i...."

you ripped your hand away from him making him stumble again.

"I'm going to get the divorce papers ready. you're going to sign them."

you turned on your heel and left your husband sobbing in his office.

your plan to make the great emil landorr your mindbroken bitch was going along perfectly. it was going to be harder to drug him when you moved into the queen's palace but you were confident that the separation would drive him just as crazy.

#replies #yandere oc #sub yandere #yandere x male reader #male reader #top male reader #dom male reader #yandere x reader #yandere king

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yuwuta · 7 months ago

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I HAD TO HAVE THIS TALK WITH YOU, CAUSE I’D HATE TO HAVE TO ACT A FOOL — MEGUMI FUHSIGURO

cw this exists in the same rich kids/boarding school au as this piece, which are slowly forming their own universe, implied (past) drug use/underage drinking, more of megumi being your guard dog everybody cheer

Megumi scowls as yet another phone call goes to voicemail. He’s been standing outside the racetrack for fifteen minutes, watching Yuuji absolutely pummel Aoi in polo, and waiting for you. He huffs, just as Yuuji loudly celebrates another point, thumbing a text to Yuuta, asking if he’s seen you all morning. Yuuji claimed you’d left him all by himself after your shared morning class, Nobara was still in Switzerland, and Tsumiki also seemed to be ignoring his messages.

He needed answers, and quickly, because this is the free period that Muta and his goons also have free, and he would hate to go back on his promise to stop egging him so soon after you’d asked him so sweetly to knock it off.

Yuuta (received 12:57pm) — She’s fine, Tsumiki and I are with her. Picnic tables outside of the building 703. — Warning, your least favorite upperclassmen are here too, but don’t make a scene. They’re annoying, but not trouble yet.

Megumi squints, turning on his heels towards the large building opposite the racetracks. As he rounds the side that opens into a field, formally known as one the many lawns dedicated in the Gojo family’s name, and informally revered as your favorite lunchtime spot, he hears the familiar sound of Tsumiki’s laughter, and the unpleasant squawking of his least favorite upperclassmen.

Seeing you, Yuuta, and Tsumiki sitting at the picnic bench under the blooming wisteria was business as usual; seeing Hakari and another senior infiltrating the seating arrangement was not. Megumi frowns, strolling up to the table to halt the conversation when he’s noticed by you, and sized up by the upperclassman.

“Oh, uh—hey, I—good afternoon, Fushiguro!” the other senior has the decency to greet him, stumbling with their overly-chipper tone. Megumi eyes them and blinks. Their face is a familiar shadow to Hakari’s, but he never could recall their name, no matter how many times he had the displeasure of running into the duo.

“It was,” Megumi drawls. He turns his head to face you again, “You’re late.”

From this angle, you have to tilt your head up to make eye contact with him. There’s an innocence behind your eyes, genuine warning, weary concern; and still, so beautiful it makes Megumi’s thoughts venture elsewhere—only for a moment; he supposes he should be grateful for Hakari’s presence, just this once, because the interjection of his grating voice pulls Megumi back to reality.

“Relax, Fushiguro, we were all just talking, having a good time,” Hakari whistles, a dirty grin on his lips, “Ain’t that right, Kirara?”

Ah, Kirara. That’s their name. Megumi doesn’t have time to mull it over, or pretend to commit it to memory; the majority of his energy is focused on preventing himself from throwing a punch. Briefly, he makes eye-contact with Tsumiki, a silent warning in her eyes to not be violent; so Megumi looks to the other side of the table at Yuuta, whose hollow eyes are apologetic, but cautious. Megumi can tell they’ve both been doing their best to neutralize the conversation before he arrived, without setting off your own alarm bells.

They’ve been patient, but he won’t be: “Get lost, Hakari.”

“Whoah, no need to rush things. Come on, I didn’t even get a chance to invite you to our party yet,” Hakari’s grin widens, “I just figured I’d get your owner on board before I pet the puppy, yeah?”

Tsumiki and Yuuta share a look. Megumi bares teeth to growl, rests his palms on the picnic table and leans over to deliver his message again, “Get lost.”

“Kin, don’t be so rude!” Megumi can hear Kirara’s teeth chattering beside him, a chittering voice attempting to cut through the tension, “What—what he means is that you’re all invited, really!”

Megumi turns his head, not to acknowledge Kirara or to back down to Hakari, but to look at you. He knows that you know that there are three options to how this ends, and given that he’s already got a strike in your book for bullying Kokichi, and that Yuuta’s route would cause significantly more drama than his, he’s hoping you’ll settle this yourself.

He tilts his head just enough, raised eyebrows in warning and wait; and then, you give a conceding blink, a small sigh, part your lips to speak, still looking at Megumi when you say: “Hakari, Kirara, you two should grab lunch. They’re going to stop serving the hot food soon.”

A command hidden as a suggestion. It makes the upperclassmen scowl, but still Hakari motions across the table to Kirara, and they both gather their belongings. “Whatever,” he scoffs, “You know where to find us when you want to have some real fun.”

Hakari flashes you a wink over his shoulder before he and Kirara make their way around the building and towards the main dining hall. When they’re out of earshot, you smile, look away from Megumi, and back down to your lunch, grabbing the single, wrapped daifuku and tearing open the packaging, before looking back up to him with a smile, “Well, have a seat, Megumi. Join us.”

Megumi scoffs, standing up straight again, “You’re supposed to be in a meeting with Gojo right now.”

“I already had Yuuta do my bidding this morning, because he was so sweet to wake up before noon,” you reply, taking the desert out of the plastic, flashing Yuuta a brief smile before looking up to him again, “So I told him lunch was on me, and we ran into Tsumiki on our way. It’s so nice out, isn’t it? Come on, sit with us, enjoy the weather. Yuuta was telling us about the new coup he bought.”

Tsumiki chimes in about her lunch, looking over at Yuuta’s half-eaten tray and wishing she’d got beef instead of chicken. He offers her what’s left of his plate, and she politely declines, before Yuuta insists, pushing his food across the table to her, and you pitch in, putting the remainder of your sauce next to her. The three of you seem to easily pick up where your conversation was presumably before Hakari and Kirara crashed your lunch.

Megumi’s scowl deepens. He knows that you know that he wants to know why Hakari and Kirara were here in the first place, he knows that you know that their party invitation was just a scheme to get you into trouble and get a rise out of him, he knows that you know he’s going to kick their asses six ways to Sunday unless you tell him not you.

“Megumi,” you cut through his thoughts, words noticeably heavier, “Sit.”

He rolls his tongue in his cheek, and you squint a bit, tilting your head to motion to the empty space beside you on the bench. You only spare him a sharp glance, before giving your attention back to Tsumiki, clapping happily as she shows you something she bought on her phone.

With a huff, Megumi rounds the table, sets his bag down on the soft grass and swings his legs over the bench and next to you. Tsumiki turns her phone to Yuuta, and your attention is back to Megumi, breaking your daifuku in half and offering a piece to him. He puts an elbow on the table, leans his cheek into his palm, a defiant expression on his face you pay no mind to—you scrunch your nose with a deceptive smile, bringing the mochi to his lips, and opening your mouth mockingly for him to follow. He blinks at you, slowly; once, twice, a third time before his head dips every so slightly, mouth a jar, letting you place the dessert between his teeth. Only after he has it in his mouth do you begin to eat your half, sparing a hand to raise your arm and pat the top of his head, “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Megumi tilts his head further into his palm. “You didn’t answer my calls.”

“When you called, I was eating lunch. It’s rude to take calls when you have company,” you defend yourself.

“Yuuta answered my texts.”

“Yuuta is scared of you,” you chirp, “And unlike you, he cares to not have write-ups on his transcript. He keeps his physical encounters off-campus.”

“I am not scared of Megumi,” Yuuta scoffs, leaning over to poke at your forehead, “I’m scared of Tsumiki. And I did not want to be scolded for getting blood on her new Chanel skirt.”

Between the two of them, Yuuta was certainly the more reformed one; it only took one incident of Tsumiki pulling at his ear and scolding him about using his words instead of his fists for him to actually listen to her. Megumi couldn’t blame him, Tsumiki was hellish when she was truly angry, and he feared Tsumiki as much as the next person, but he also knew how she had a soft spot for her younger brother; a mercy that Yuuta, Yuuji, and Nobara were not privy to when their violent streaks got the best of them.

Besides, when Tsumiki couldn’t get to him, you were there to tug on his leash and reign him in.

“Wimp,” Tsumiki coughs, “And simp,” she taunts her brother, “We ought to pick new bodyguards in our next life.”

You laugh softly at her teasing, but still, you rest your elbow on the table to mirror Megumi’s position, “You’re right. I call dibs on Yuuji.”

Your joke makes the others laugh, and Megumi rolls his eyes as you all chuckle. Still, he shifts to lean his head against your shoulder, sly as he knocks his head against your neck and reminds you of a simple fact: “That’s too bad. You’re stuck with me, in this life and the next.”

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m-ilkiee · 8 months ago

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Monsters: Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa

Chapter 2: Shots Fired

series summary: your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. and now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.

chapter summary: Izana Kurokawa demands your attention and he doesn’t take no for an answer. Not even when his demands are outrageous.

cw: DARK CONTENT, MISOGYNY, NSFW, r*pe mention, religious guilt, depictions of PTSD and CPTSD, emotional incest, abandoment issues, violence, revenge porn, depression, filming without consent, drugging, implied domestic abuse, victim blaming, blackmailing, manipulation, gaslighting, mind break, psychological torture, use of firearms

r-18+ (not suitable for 17 and under)

wc: 11.6k

{masterlist} {chapter 1} {chapter 3} {taglist}

a/n: likes are nice, comments and reblogs with comments are superior, anons are also superior too and would make me update faster cause it means people like what i write. this chapter takes an entirely different turn from the old story, some scenes are similar but the context is different. i host polls after this so stay tuned. Edit 02/11/2024: this chapter's end has been edited and changed. I've indicated the edited point, so that you could skip other parts to read it. Thank you.

YOU haven’t been able to stay asleep for the past few days.

It’s easy to fall asleep after a hard and stressful day at school and your part-time job. Your limbs ache from all the walking and lugging a bookbag far heavier than what you could handle -since all your e-textbooks were on your (now destroyed) laptop and phones were not allowed during lectures. And working from 5pm until 9pm at a restaurant, serving food to rude, overbearing customers only to be paid in pieces was another added stress in itself.

Not to mention, studying until the words are bleary and just looking at a book hurts your eyes.

But then, in all your dreams, everything you’ve pushed to the back of your memory is at the forefront. Your dream starts typically, your normal school day, waking up, dressing in your cute little blue crop sweater and jean skirt with socks. You go to classes, and then you see Mikey’s car waiting for Emma.

Things take a different turn. He’s the one getting out of the car to meet you. It’s like a siren call, him holding out his hand for you to take despite someone screaming for you to stop. You try to reject him, try to run away like the voice said but you end up getting trapped. This time, he’s not using his hands. He’s fully sheathed inside you, robbing you of the thing you hold so dear while you kick, bite and claw at him until you wake up screaming, sweat soaked all over your sheets.

You consistently dream of being violently raped by Manjiro Sano.

The next few hours until sunrise were equally horrible. You’re quietly sobbing into your pillows, praying to God to forgive you for letting Mikey touch you in the first place, assuming your reason for having such dreams was God’s divine judgement for your grievous sin. You’ve lost count on how many Bible verses you stay up reading until your eyes are bleary and the sun comes up.

No matter how much you pray and how many times you recite psalms 127 before you sleep, you can never escape Mikey in the world of dreams. He’s a virus that has invaded your thoughts, corrupting every dream you had and twisted them into nightmares.

You don’t know how long you can hold on being this sleep deprived. It’s been impairing your school life, trying to find a way to stay awake during classes only for you to fall asleep and miss the rest of it. Even when you got notes from the person next to you, reading them was always difficult because your eyes hurt so much.

Work was even more taxing and stressful, rush week adding more stress than you could ever imagine. You found yourself spacing out more than usual when you were supposed to be taking orders. You were unable to keep up with the fast paced environment, your body feeling like a ton of bricks with every moment you make. Your eyes were heavy lidded, tired from forcing them open throughout the day.

You were so, so tired-

“Hello! Are you sleeping on me young lady?” A voice snapped at you.

Your eyes shot open and immediately you stood back straight. You must have been dozing off while taking the older lady’s order -the very thing you’ve been trying to avoid all day long. “No, not at all Ms-” you started to explain. “-I was just … what was your order aga-”

You flinched when the woman angrily slammed her fist on the table, shutting you up instantly! “So you were sleeping on the job! What kind of establishment allows this?” She screamed, attracting the attention of customers around. “I need to speak to your manager. NOW!”

You instantly began to panic at the mention of your manager. If he heard any of this, he was definitely going to fire you. You cannot afford to lose this job right now, with all your school expenses and saving up money for next session’s tuition.

“No mam!” you begged, keeping your voice even as you tried to reason with her. “Th-there’s no need for that! Please! Let me take your order and I’ll-” you racked your brain for an excuse, knowing fully well your establishment does not offer free meals. “- I’ll pay for your meal! On me-”

“So you’re trying to imply I’m poor?” She interrupted you again, her tempo even higher than before. “You disrespectful little wretch! How dare you? GET ME YOUR MANAGER RIGHT NOW!”

You started begging the older woman, trying to calm her down and de-escalate the situation, but each plea only fuelled her rage. By now, every customer, every employee and just anyone in that place watched you grovel and beg this woman to calm down, some people even videoing your altercation. Your body was trembling as she screeched in your ears, calling you all sorts of names while you relentlessly apologised to her.

“What is going on here?”

You winced at the sound of your manager’s voice emerging from the backrooms. You stood stiffly as he walked to your side, using his shoulder to nudge you out of the way. “Is there something wrong Ms.?” He asked the lady. “What happened?”

“This little wretch!” She practically screeched at you, her finger wagging straight at your hung face. “She was sleeping while I was ordering! And when I pointed it out to her calmly, she called me a hag!”

Your eyes snapped open. You can tolerate people yelling at you, but lying is out of the question. “I did not call you anything! That’s a lie-”

“You be quiet!” Your manager yelled at you, silencing you. He turned to face the woman again, apologising profusely for your so called rude behaviour. “I promise you mam, she will be dealt with accordingly. Your order is in the house, please take that as a token of our humble apology and forgive us.”

You stood there in shock as the woman smirked satisfactorily at her now free meal. “Well, you better get rid of her!” She snarked, eyes scanning you up and down, plopping back down on her seat. “Or you’ll lose me as a patron.”

“Of course mam.” He said sweetly before switching his countenance towards you into a more irritated one. “You, come with me.”

You lowered your head once again in disappointment as you started following your manager towards the back rooms, your head lowered in shame as the eyes followed your every move to your damnation waiting for you in the manager’s office.

Your skin crawled as you felt his penetrating gaze on you, as if judging you. “You know how many complaints I have received this week just from you, (name)? How many orders you’ve messed up?”

You shook your head no in response, not trusting yourself to say anything reasonable at this point. He eyes you up and down again before scoffing at you rudely. “I only let you stay here because you said you were desperate for a job. But apparently, you’re not even bothered enough to keep it.” He spat out. “Unfortunately for you, this is the end of the road for you here. Change out of your uniform and leave.”

“But s-”

“I said you’re FIRED. GET OUT.”

You sighed weakly, obeying your now ex-manager’s order and leaving the office. You ignored the eyes of everyone watching you exchange the too tight black jeans and green top uniform back to your white bohemian skirt and light blue top with your white jacket. Calmly, you packed your school bag and everything you owned with you and slung it over your shoulder, replacing the uniform back to the locker, dropping the key on top.

No one said goodbye to you as you left through the back door.

IZANA knows it's creepy to be waiting for Emma just outside her college, but it's not like he has a choice when she keeps ignoring any method he uses to contact her.

Mindlessly, he fiddled with his lighter with his back on the wall of the English department building and an unlit cigarette between his lips. Purple eyes scanned the people leaving the building one by one, hoping to find a mop of golden hair amongst the students. His hopes rose with each blond he saw, only for him to deflate when he realised they weren't her.

A few minutes passed and still no sign of Emma. Deciding that he didn’t want to stand around and gape, Izana lifted his lighter towards his cigarette, flicking the light twice and bringing the warm flame to his lips. Breathing in the familiar scent of nicotine, smoke filled his lungs as he tucked the lighter back in his pockets. His free hand took the cigarette from his lips and he exhaled, releasing plumes of smoke from his lips.

His smoking habit had gotten worse within the past week. Izana couldn’t help it, reaching for a light anytime he saw his gifts in the dustbin. Emma hasn’t been this angry at him before. Usually a new plushie was enough to wash his sins clean, no matter how grevious they were. Now, not even the most expensive shoes she’s been eyeing for months could satiate her anger.

All because of you.

Izana knows his little sister like the back of his hand. Like how she loved sleeping with plushies because it comforted her whenever their mother brought her gambling friends into the house and they were loud. Or how he picked up a guitar to learn multiple barbie songs because their mother had destroyed Emma’s CD that he bought with his money to punish her. He knew she liked warm tea during her periods and gentle back rubs to ease her pain. He’s not the best person to be around, with how fucked over he was by life until Shinichiro gave him purpose but he loved his sister a lot and everything he did was to protect her. Life hardened him, made him so jaded that the only thin thread connecting him to his humanity was Emma and he’d do anything to protect his humanity.

Only to watch it slip through his fingers.

First it was Mikey’s stupid friend, Ken Ryugi, who waltzed his way into Emma’s life. Izana didn’t like him one bit- didn’t like how Emma would bite her lip, waiting for him to reply and cry herself to sleep when he didn’t. Her heart was soft, fragile and that brute tore it apart by telling her he wasn’t interested in a relationship yet.

The only reason Ken wasn’t in an unmarked, shallow grave in the middle of nowhere was simply because Mikey was involved.

Now it is you, taking the space in her life that belonged to him and Mikey. You’re pushing both of them out of the equation, threatening their position in their sister’s life and everything they know.

Izana wonders how someone so insignificant was so important to Emma that she was willing to cut communications with her own brothers. It baffles him beyond understanding and at the same time enrages him that she could trust you so easily. That she was willing to turn against him in your name.

He took more puffs, skimming throughout the campus for any sight of her. It didn’t matter how he felt about it, as Kisaki had convinced him to ask Emma and you to go shopping, just to get back into Emma's good graces again. Apparently doing a nice gesture publicly for you would convince their sister to give them another chance again.

Especially because Izana had been the biggest opposition to their friendship.

“But Mikey was a little shit about them too.” he grumbles underneath his breath, cigarette in hand. “Why do I have to be the one to apologise? And why did Mikey get an out while I’m doing all the heavy lift-”

His thoughts were cut short the second he caught sight of a familiar blonde hair bouncing in the wind and stood up straight, tossing the cigarette to the floor and crushing it underneath his black shoes, before rushing to catch up to his little sister.

Izana pushed through the throng of people, violently shoving anyone that got in his way until he finally fell in step with her, slowing down to match her pace. Without wasting time, his hand curled around the girl’s wrist, stopping her in her tracks instantly and earning a shocked gasp escaped her lips.

“Get off me - Izana?”

Her free hand was fast to hit him, but her head was faster in turning around, only to recognize it was just Izana. Her hand stopped inches away from the smirking male’s face, the tension leaving her body and relief taking its place. It doesn’t last long, though as irritation suddenly crawls on her face, instantly displeased at his actions. “What the hell? I’ve told you to stop doing that.” she hissed at him.

A mischievous grin made its way to his face at Emma’s irritation. She always had a pout whenever she was angry at him and it made look even more adorable.

“Were you scared?” He teased, pulling Emma closer to him until she was practically smushed at his side, despite the glare she gave him in response. “You know no one would dare touch you.”

“Get off me. Your breath stinks like nicotine, I thought you said you quit smoking that shit.”

Ignoring Emma’s last question, he decided to change the topic. “Your lapdog isn't here with you?” he asked. Usually, you would be hovering behind her like a damn pest, so you not being around her was rather strange.

Emma is quick to shove him off lightly, putting some distance between the two of them, clearly still mad at him. "(Name)'s not feeling well, so she didn't come to class today. I'm on my way to get her medicine."

Oh, that's a surprise.

But with you out of the way, Izana could finally have Emma all to himself for today and hang out with his beloved sister. Maybe even make up for the party thing without apologising to you. Without you here, it’s likely Emma isn’t as mad at the whole situation and is playing it up to make you feel like you have someone on your side.

He knows you’re not going to protest if Emma says she’s in talking terms with her brothers again. It’s a win-win situation and he doesn’t have to grovel or ask for forgiveness for some joke that went wrong.

"So that means we can hang out?"

"Excuse me?"

"You don't have to keep pretending you're still mad at me now that she isn't here." He spews the 'she' with so much venom it could kill, before switching up with a sick grin, his hand stretched out. "We can go to Vivienne Westwood and get that Saturn necklace you like, what do you say?"

His words hung in the air as Emma trailed her pointed glare from his hand, back to his cheerful visage. She crossed her arms in response slowly, her yellow eyes burning holes into his face as her lips curled into a sick sneer.

“Are you insane?”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what?’ me Izana! I just told you (name)'s ill and you're asking me to go with you to shop at Vivienne westwood? Are you nuts?”

Emma’s voice was loud enough to garner wandering eyes of other by-standers, watching the event go down. Izana kept his composure, despite his bubbling irritation beneath the surface of his skin, with a smile -albeit stiffer than before. ‘She’s just being emotional’ Izana whispered to himself, still trying to be rational. ‘Just take it easy with her’

“Oh come on, should I care about her-"

"You should be begging her to forgive you for what you did to her that night!"

"You can't still be mad at me for that shit that happened two weeks ago. And besides, it's not my fault she couldn't take a joke” his words were smooth, buttery, flowing out of his lips like it was the truth, digging his own grave. “I didn’t know your friend was that sensitive-”

“Are you listening to the bullshit coming from your mouth?” Emma roared, her voice echoing throughout the entirety of the department, her face red with fury. Izana had never seen his own beloved sister ever look at him with such disgust in her eyes, her teeth gnashing against each other and hands at her side, clenching against each other. “Is that what you think a joke sounds like?”

“Calm the fuck dow-”

“No wonder you’re fucking single, you’re such a piece of shit to anyone that isn’t Shinichiro!” Emma screamed, interrupting Izana once again, her temper fiery enough to burn a hole on the ground she stood with how heated she was. “How does anyone even stand you for so long? You’re unbearable!”

“Excuse m-”

He doesn’t like where the conversation is going, with how furious Emma was right now. He tried to raise a comforting hand to Emma’s shoulder to ease her tension but she was quick to smack it away from her hard, stinging his fingers a little.

“You’re so unpleasant, how do you even have any friends? How do they tolerate you? To think (name) wanted me to forgive you! Thank god you aren’t my fucking brother, I can’t imagine being anything like you!”

The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.

It was as if the world froze over for Izana. He stood there, wide eyed, his heart beating loudly in his chest as all the voices around him faded into the background. His hand extended weakly at his side, mouth drying up as a lump formed in his throat.

“I-I-i" she starts to stutter. It’s obvious that she can recognize what she had just said as he blankly stared at her. "I didn't mean i-”

He doesn’t let her finish, turning on his heel and walking away as fast as possible. People were quick to clear out of his way, not wanting to be his target of aggression. Emma followed behind, instantly, shouting his name at the top of her lungs followed with strings of apologies.

“Izana, wait please-” she screamed from the crowd of people, tears streaming from her yellow eyes. He continued to ignore her as he hopped on his bike, sliding in the key and revving up the engine before she could reach him.

Izana zoomed away, turning Emma’s cries into background noise, her words repeating in his head.

“I didn’t mean it! I’M SORRY-”

YOU don't know which was worse, the feeling of helplessness that came with the reality of your life crashing before your very eyes or the splitting headache you've developed after crying in your room for a week straight. Laying on your bed all day, huddled up in a blanket and sobbing uncontrollably was unhealthy, but it was all you found the strength to do these days.

In all your years of being alive, you've never felt this pathetic. Not when you would be pushed outside in the pouring rain if you made a mistake in making dinner, or had been beaten with a belt in front of Yuzhua and Hakkai because you failed your catechism test. You could protect yourself from your brothers when they got violent. You could run and hide when your dad was really angry and wanted to take it out on you.

Unfortunately, no one told you what to do when your life is falling apart.

Ever since that day, you couldn't find the strength to go to class or do anything for that matter. It was like your entire energy was sucked out of you, leaving your body an empty husk with nothing left to give.

You only have yourself to blame.

You drag the blankets closer to your body, sniffling a bit. The worst part of all of this is that after this month, if you don’t find a job that pays you quickly, you are going to be broke. It’s times like this that makes you regret leaving your family. You know it’s wishful thinking, but you wonder if you would be forgiven assuming you return home in tears and repentant of your sin of disobedience like the prodigal son in the bible. Life is too hard to live in the outside world without the help and guidance of a parent. You miss your old life, with your own bed and guaranteed food, as long as you did as you were told. You miss how sometimes your parents took you and your siblings to eat out after church.

You miss your mother. You want to go back to her. Life is hard, and dealing with being jobless with nowhere to turn to is harder. You could ask Emma, but she’s already taking care of you and there was no way you would bother your friend about your money problems.

"Hey babes, I got the medicine for you."

Emma's soft voice rouses you out of your self-pity session. The wood creaks underneath her heels as she walks to your bed and takes a seat besides you, the mattress dipping underneath her weight. The scent of her Vivienne Westwood wafting through your nostrils fills you with a sense of warmth, familiarity and at the same time, dread.

You feel guilty. Perhaps it's because you don't know how to tell Emma what exactly is wrong with you. It's easier to give her the half-truth that you caught a stomach bug than say everything. If you even as much as hinted that Manjiro had something to do with the real reason you were a sobbing mess on your bed, you're sure she would overreact and fight with her brothers again.

But still, not telling her meant you were keeping secrets from her. Something you both promised not to ever do as you two became best-friends.

‘It’s for her own good.’ you try to justify it. ‘It’s better I keep my mouth shut.’

Pushing that thought at the back of your mind, you roll over to her direction, pulling down your blanket just a little bit to see her properly. Your heart drops at the sadness etched onto Emma’s face, a forlorn look in her eyes. You hated seeing her down, yet all you’ve been doing for the past few months since you came into her life was causing her pain. You know how it feels to lose family, no matter how bad they were to you and Emma is no different.

“Hey”

Your voice is hoarse from your constant crying, but Emma doesn’t mention it as she reaches a hand to caress your face. “You look better than yesterday. You up to eat?”

You nodded briefly, realising how hungry you were. You’ve barely had an appetite to eat anything, so your rations had been smaller and compact until you regained it back bit by bit, thanks to Emma’s constant care. Pushing yourself up, you sit up and yawn, quickly covering your mouth the moment a bad stench emanates from it. Emma’s face quickly grows sour as well, probably smelling it too.

“You haven’t showered.”

“Uhhh-”

You knew there was no excuse for that one as Emma put the food and medicine away before yanking you off the bed while talking about how gross you were for not showering throughout today. “You’re a girl (name), don’t do this to yourself, c’mon-”

“But-” you start to whine, trying to defend yourself. “I was tired-”

“Nope!” she retorted, pushing you towards the bathroom. “No excuses! I swear you’re acting like Mikey when he’s in one of his moods-”

The room falls silent at her words, the cheerful aura dropping the second Emma realises what she’s said, a wave of guilt washing over her face as she lets go of your hands.

“Fuck- I’m sorry (name)...”

Your heart aches at how heartbroken she sounds right now and shatters even further at the fact that everything, every problem they were experiencing right now was all your fault. You saw it deep in Mikey’s eyes how much pain and suffering your presence in their family had caused, and how his anger reflected that action towards you. You’ve been so entrenched in your own problems that you forgot the mess you made in their family.

“Emma, you miss them don’t you?”

‘It’s not too late.’ You mutter to yourself, your heart in your throat as you steel your resolve. You couldn’t let her make that mistake you made by leaving your family aside. You don’t want Emma to be like you.

“(Name), please don’t-”

“You can’t keep ignoring them forever.” You cut her short, speaking directly to her now. “You can’t keep ignoring Draken either too. You’re miserable.”

“I’m fin-”

“Emma no.” You snap at her, finally having enough of her stubbornness as anger swells up in you. “I see how sad you look everytime you look at your pictures with your big brothers and Draken. Do you think that it’s healthy to keep ignoring them like this?”

“You were the one they hurt, you shouldn’t feel bad for them-”

“It doesn’t matter! I don’t matter!” You yell desperately, now pulling away from her grasp in an attempt to put your foot down. “They are the ones who matter a lot. Those are you family members! People who love you and have protected you for years! Just talk it out with them! They miss you for god’s sake!”

“What the hell do you mean you don’t matter?” Emma roars back at you, suddenly enraged by your outburst. You nearly stumble back at how angry she sounded, fear creeping into your skin as your verbal claws retract. “You matter to me! You mean the world to me as any of them do! You’re my best friend and I love you and if they don’t understand that then there is nothing to make up for!”

By the time she was done yelling, her breathing was heavy and her eyes so intense you couldn’t even stare at her. Your eyes quickly flickered to your feet instead; scared of seeing the disappointment on her face and terrified of her anger. You didn’t like it when Emma yelled, it reminded you of your mother getting angry at you, something you hated doing to her.

Eventually, she took a deep breath and took a step closer to you, her hand intertwined with yours. “Come on, I’ll help you shower.”

You silently follow behind her, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.

PERHAPS Izana should be angry at Emma.

It would be justified after the words she said from her mouth, but he can’t because he knows the truth. Emma was just angry as well and she didn’t mean any of the words she had said to hurt him. She said them because of you, however and he realises that every fight they’ve had is over your presence in her life.

Which meant that the true culprit was you.

People may believe in love at first sight, but from the first day Izana set his eyes on you, he could only feel hatred towards you. You were just there, sitting awkwardly while Emma tried to involve you in their conversation and it irked him.

At first, Izana thought it was the fact that the both of you were clashing personalities that made him feel that way, but then you keep getting in his way and ruining things for him. He hates everything about you - the way you picked your finger when you were nervous. Your bright smile you gave to only Emma and how easy it was for her to like you. Just your mere presence in general was enough to set him off because of how simple it was for you to be close to Emma while you barely knew her. It felt like he was losing his only sister to a stranger, and now the Emma who stands in front of him is a mere mockery of his real sister.

And that’s the frustrating part. He can’t do anything to hurt you. He’s smart enough to know that if he does, Emma would never forgive him.

“... Kurokawa, are you here with us?”

Izana snaps back to reality as Kisaki taps the table three times to get his attention. ‘I might have spaced out.’ He thinks to himself before facing the entirety of the table; Tetta Kisaki, the rather shrewd and ruthless dealer sitting, his equally irritating lap dog Shuji Hanma and the little shit that he called his younger brother, Mikey.

Speaking of Mikey, ever since that day he made that phone call and revealed his brand new plan of accepting you into their friend group, he’s been very quiet. Even throughout today’s meeting, he hasn’t said a word, aside from mentioning that Draken was going to be absent and asking where Kakucho was before the meeting began.

And knowing his brother, a quiet Mikey is a suspicious Mikey.

Now that Izana thinks about it, he’s noticed that Mikey, who was on his side initially had suddenly switched to trying to apologise to you. Which was weird, considering how egocentric Mikey could be on the topic of apologising. Izana has his suspicions, but then again Mikey is unpredictable due to his rather dark impulses, so he couldn’t really say anything yet, until Kakucho came back from his task.

Izana cleared his throat and faced Kisaki again, deciding to be as honest as possible. After all, it’s their fault that he’s in this mess, might as well remind them. “Just thinking about how Emma practically called me a bastard and I’m supposed to be okay with it.” He said nonchalantly and the air in the room shifted into an uncomfortable silence for the upteenth time this week ever since that unfortunate day. It isn’t surprising to anyone as to why though, Izana’s complicated relationship with the Sano’s is a sore topic that no one ever dared to bring up.

From Kisaki’s tight lipped expression, Izana is sure that the younger male is picking his words carefully in his head. Even Hanma who would have laughed or said something to intentionally piss off Izana remains silent. Eventually, Kisaki lets out a resigned sigh. “The audit would be done another time.” He states in a cool tone, putting his laptop aside before facing the two brothers. “It’s obvious we’re not gonna do anything useful until you resolve this issue with Emma and her friend.”

“Really?” The white haired male mocks, causing Kisaki to shift in his place, an irritated frown creasing his face. “would you like to hear my pla-”

“We’re not going to kill a civilian and draw attention to ourselves, Izana. I’ve already told you what to do.” Kisaki snapped back, his yellow eyes darting from Izana to Mikey, before narrowing in irritation. “Both of you. Just apologise to (name), it’s not that hard. You don’t even have to mean it, the girl won’t even know the difference-”

“Ah yes, cause that went well the last time.”

“And whose fault is that? I clearly told you to say “I’m sorry” and all you did was make things worse!”

“I’m just brutally honest.” Izana spits back. “And you can’t blame me because I tried, compared to Mikey who sits on his damn ass and has done nothing-”

“I wasn’t the one who called her a cheap hooker!” Mikey interjects defensively, sitting upright after staying quiet from the start of this meeting, finally saying something.

“Oh, so you can speak.” Izana retorts back, his voice cold. Mikey is so good at shifting blame onto others for actions he has a hand in, especially when he knows it would reflect badly on him. Unfortunately, Izana has been in this game longer than his little brother. “I thought you had gone mute with the way you don’t want to talk about the issue beyond pushing me to apologise to her.”

“You don’t make it any easier with how you talk to people.” Mikey hisses back, his tempo rising with each word, but Izana can hear the slight shake in his voice, almost as if he’s hiding something. “How am I supposed to do anything if you keep saying shit like you’re glad (name)’s gone?”

(Name)?

The entire room falls silent at Mikey’s sudden outburst, or rather what Mikey had just said. No one says a word as they all stare at Mikey in shock, eye wide and mouth hanging open like he’d grown two heads. There’s a glimmer of confusion in the dark eyed male before the realisation of his mistake washes over him, his facial expression changing into a mixture of guilt and pure terror.

As if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

It’s unmistaken. Izana knows his brother is hiding something and it has to do with you. “You’ve never,” he starts slowly, never taking his eyes off Mikey, gauging his facial expression. “called her by her name. You only call girls who you had something to do with by their name.”

“I-”

“You fucked her, didn’t you.” it’s a statement, not a question. Mikey grows pale and it's more of a sure answer than anything else at all.

“I didn’t do anything bad… she’s still a virgin-”

“What.” Kisaki, interjecting as well, cuts him off, his voice cold. “Did. You. Do?”

Mikey is silent. It’s brief and doesn’t last long as he finally seals his fate with a quiet voice. “It’s not my fucking fault, she wore a short skirt and she was asking for it-”

At the side, Kisaki crumples back onto the dining table seat, his head in his hands muttering a quiet “Oh fuck, I should have stayed with Osanai.” as he shakes in disbelief. Hanma just sits there, clearly perturbed, not knowing how to react but at the same time, not really interested.

“Glad to know I’m not the only screw up.” Izana scoffs as well. Despite how cheery his voice sounded, the furious look on his face says a different story altogether. “Since apparently you’re just as stupid as I am.”

Mikey runs a hand through his golden locs, frustration evident on his features. No one has ever seen him look so frantic, like a little kid who broke something and is trying to hide it. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Sure she said no at first but I knew she wanted it when she relaxed in my touch-”

“That’s not what Emma’s gonna think, you idiot!” Izana barks at him angrily, his temper finally off the rails. “You practically threw away your entire plan before it even started! All for what? Mediocre pussy you could get from some other girl? And you know how Shin is about this shit. If Emma finds out and tells him, we’re screwed!”

There’s a mixture of emotions swirling in Izana right now. The urge to punch Mikey was strong, for daring to not only lie to his face, but also making him look like a fool to cover his ass.

Then again, he knows it’s really not Mikey’s fault but yours. You must have done something to make Mikey hurt you because he knows his little brother doesn’t hurt girls. You have this effect of turning people into worse versions of themselves, making them disgusting, evil and hateful.

You turned Emma against them and now you made Mikey’s dark impulses come out.

It’s you that’s the problem.

“So what anyone find out? They won’t believe her” Mikey snarls back, irritated. “She can’t blame me, I told her to fucking leave but she didn’t listen! She was practically begging me to fuck her-”

“ENOUGH!”

Kisaki’s voice is loud enough to silence the two brothers, ending their argument instantly as they breathe heavily from their prior screaming match. Izana slumps back on his seat as Kisaki sits up straight, eyes narrowed. Mikey does the same as Izana, his jaw tightly clenched as he crosses his arms on his chest, feet crossed. The younger male clears his throat, and starts to rationalise the situation.

“It’s obvious that we’re going to switch gears since this happened. We all have a curated reputation that we need to protect so that people don’t nose into our business.” He turns to Mikey who is still glaring hard at Izana. “Your brother has a point, you fucked up our plan by not telling anyone what you did-”

“You judging me too, Kisaki?”

“Can you stop being defensive for once Mikey and just listen!” Kisaki scolds, just about done with everyone making things more difficult for him. “I don’t care what you did to her, whatever affection or lust you have for her is a you problem. I just want this situation to be in our favour.”

The statement makes Izana scoff in dismal fashion, but he decides to ask out of curiosity regardless. “And how do you intend to turn this situation around? Cause right now she has leverage over us and any careless move can put us in a tougher spot than we can handle.”

Kisaki turns his attention fully towards Izana again, a knowing look on his face as he asks. “Is Kakucho done searching Mikey’s car?”

‘How did he know?’ Izana blinks, but then catches Hanma smirking and doesn’t bother to ask his impending questions. Kisaki always had a nasty and suspicious habit of continuously tailing him specifically, and usually it doesn’t go over Izana’s radar when it happens, apart from this instance. Which meant someone was being a rat in his group.

He’ll deal with that later.

Mikey raised a brow in confusion as well, opening his mouth to protest the invasion of his privacy when Izana’s phone suddenly rings. He picks it up, attempting to step out to answer it when Kisaki raises his hand to stop him.

“Answer it here.” Kisaki said, ignoring the way Izana looks at him like he has two heads. “and put it on speaker.”

He had no reason to comply, but he wanted to see where Kisaki was going with whatever plan he had. With a wry smile, Izana put the phone down on the table and slid the answer button, putting it on a loudspeaker.

“Did you find anything Kakucho?”

Ever loyal, Kakucho clears his throat and starts to speak, his voice sounding strained over the phone, as if he’s struggling with something. “Yes boss.” He answers, a twinge of nervousness coating his tone. “There’s a dash cam on the mirror and a spy cam underneath the compartment facing the passenger’s seat…”

Mikey grumbles under his breath something about fucking Kakucho up if anything ends up spoilt or missing in his car but Kisaki holds his hand up to his lips and shushes him. Izana continues once he’s sure his brother is done complaining. “And did you confirm the anonymous tip that we got?”

He can hear Kakucho shift uncomfortably, the silence on the other side of the phone drawn out until he finally says. “Boss, it’s too … I don’t think we should use this against her.” He tries to reason. “I think we’re going too far-”

“Perfect.” Kisaki chimes in, now looking at Izana with a satisfied smile. Kakucho is about to ask why Kisaki was there but Izana cuts him off instead. “Bring it back. I’ll explain once you come to the house.”

“Okay boss.”

The phone line dies and Kisaki, fairly confident in his plan, looks at Izana once again. “I’m sure you know where I’m going, right?”

Izana may think Kisaki is a pathetic brat who just happened to be smart, but right now, it’s like the both of them are connected and in tune with their thoughts. The tanned male stretches his lips into a smile, one full of malice and at the same time, glee, his eyes light with mirth when he realises what Kisaki was thinking.

Finally a plan he could follow along with.

“Alright, I’m all ears.”

THE walk back to your dorm was quiet.

By the time you managed to catch a bus after spending the entire day looking for a job and getting back to campus, it was already late in the night. Save for only the street lamps that were beginning to dim, everywhere else was darker than usual.

You had read that there was going to be a lunar eclipse tonight between the hours of 10pm - 00am. The time boldly written on the bus’ digital clock before you got down was 10:45pm, so you already assumed it was the cause of the unnatural darkness tonight.

A long time ago before the world weighed you down, things like this would have made you excited. You loved watching the stars when you were young, trying to check on the papers your father bought to see if there was any space news available. You remember borrowing your immediate elder brother’s binoculars as a makeshift telescope, trying to piece out the stars in the sky or see if you would catch a glimpse of the comet that was said to pass through that week.

Unfortunately, you were young and foolish. Wanting to impress your father, you told him all about your book of constellations that you drew up, detailing the first star that appeared every evening, down to your crazy childish theories about aliens and space.

“Can you show me the book?” your father asked calmly. You should have known it was dangerous for your father to be this calm, but you were too blinded by excitement to think and you gave him the book, a bright smile on your face.

Your smile fell as his large hands ripped your book into shreds, before telling you: “Women don’t dream.”

Maybe that was the day you realised the love you craved from your father will never be given to you. You were so young and impressionable, all you wanted was for him to be proud of you, like he was with his sons. Now, you can’t even look at the stars, the memory leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and you try to shake it off as you continue on the path.

You wondered what grievous sin you’ve committed to be so down on your luck like this. Today had been one disappointment to another

You passed by Emma’s dorm building, a sigh escaping your lips. She told you that Draken wanted to take her out for dinner tonight, which shocked you because friends with benefits - according to what Emma herself told you- don’t go on dates or do lovey dovey stuff with each other, to avoid complicated feelings from budding.

Then again, their relationship is based on the fact that they both have feelings for each other, but Draken was not interested in a relationship.

It was already complicated before it began but at least she's taking your advice and talking to them again.

Your eyes darted up to her window, hoping her lights were on. Whenever she was alone, Emma hated sleeping in the dark. She said it reminded her of the times her mother would lock her and Izana in a dark room whenever she brought her customers in. Anytime she was in a darkened room, she told you she could still hear the sound of her mother moaning and a man grunting. Izana would try his best to distract her, playing games or even stealing an earphone and plugging it to his own so that she would listen to music instead of what was going on.

A frown graced your lips when you saw two bodies from the curtain, one tall figure you recognize as Draken and Emma’s smaller dainty figure perched on him, kissing. You quickly averted your eyes and walked faster, ignoring the unfamiliar pang in your chest. Maybe you’re jealous because you needed your friend’s comfort right now and she wasn’t available. You felt greedy for this, after spending a week with her, you should let her be free.

‘She has her own life to live. And I have mine’ you muttered to yourself as you trudged along the path, slowly dragging your feet. ‘I have to stop being so dependent on her.’

Eventually, your thoughts drift back to your reoccurring dream. Losing your job made you realise that if you didn’t do anything about it, your tiredness would eventually catch up to you and ruin everything else you’ve worked for. With an important test scheduled for tomorrow, you knew you could not afford to take another loss this week. You had to power through your sleep tonight, even if it traumatised you.

‘Maybe I should pretend that I like it. Pretend it’s okay and enjoy it so that I won’t have to wake up.’ You shook your head, cursing as you drew closer to your own dorm building. ‘Oh God, how far I’ve fallen. Look at me trying to enjoy a disgraceful act-’

You paused in your tracks at the sound of a leaf crushing. You quickly turned around, trying to ascertain who could be lurking there behind the bushes. Your palms started sweating, your nerves firing at the thought of being watched.

Silence.

You decided to continue walking, assuming that maybe you were hearing things and there wasn’t anything at all. Nighttime always had a way of making you nervous, especially with all the horrible stories you heard about innocent women being attacked around these times. Besides, looking around for whatever may be lurking was a dumb idea.

You should just get out of here.

Eventually, you make it to your dorm house in record time, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. ‘Maybe I’m being paranoid. But at least I’m safe now.’ You think to yourself as you push the door open, closing it behind you.

Weary from the day’s stress, your body starts to give up on you but you push through, trying your best to just make it to your room. You’re sure you would just collapse on your bed the second you got there and forget about anything else.

You finally make it to your room, about to rummage your bag for the keys when you notice the door was unlocked. ‘Oh? Ami must have come back rather early, since I barely see her until 2am.’

(From here is edited)

But as you reach for the handle, a feeling of dread washes over you, the same one you felt when you were outside. ‘I really need to let this go. There’s no harm waiting for me. It’s just my room.’ You mutter to yourself. Your overthinking has cost you a lot, from your job to your academics and right now, you really need it to stop. Pushing whatever feeling was keeping you away, you walked into the darkened room.

The first thing that greeted you was the stench of some kind of smoke -weed, the kind that Ami liked to use whenever she was in the room. You always hated the smell and you recall telling her to leave the windows open whenever she wanted to smoke. Coughing, you quickly covered your nose and mouth with one hand and reached to turn on the light with another. “Ami, how many times have I told you to open the window whenever you smoke? You know I don’t like the smell-”

Your blood turns to ice the moment light floods the room, your mouth dry as you stare at the man perched on your reading chair, a leg crossed over the other, the weed blunt hanging between his tanned hands. His lips are stretched into a sick grin, showing all his teeth, purple eyes shining with an odd mirth as he glances at you up and down.

Izana Kurokawa.

‘Run’

You don’t need to be told twice, quickly discarding your bag and running towards the direction of the door, only to hit someone hard, standing tall in your way. You look up fearfully to see mismatched eyes, a scar running down his face and flinch backwards in reflex. It’s as if he gazes at you with pity, but quickly switches to a blank stare as he stands between you and the door.

You know him from hanging around Emma a lot in the Tenjiku frat house, Kakucho. He’s always around Izana and only loyal to him for some reason that you don’t know. He doesn’t listen to anyone else, not even Mikey. You realise that he might have been the one that was following you when you were walking home.

Begging him to let you pass would be futile.

“Don’t worry, I’m just here to have a little chat with you. I’m not going to hurt you.” His tone is calm, but it doesn’t bring you any comfort. If Mikey could hurt you without any remorse, then there’s nothing stopping Izana from doing worse to you. “And as much as your backside is as interesting as your face, I prefer talking to someone who is looking at me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The words fly out from your mouth before you even think of a more appropriate response but it doesn’t seem to give him any form of reaction other than a dry laugh.

He scoffed. “I don’t care. Turn around.”

Reluctantly you slowly turn to face him again, your body trembling as your fear filled eyes lock with his. Your heart drops to your stomach when you hear heavy footsteps walk out of the door, shutting it behind you, locks turning and trapping you with Izana.

‘Oh God oh God oh God.’

Your fear doesn’t go unnoticed by the white haired man, and he only chuckles at how stiff you were. Between the two brothers, you know Izana thrives in fear, using it to his advantage and it’s not unfounded. Notwithstanding his backing from Black dragons, Izana had taken Tenjiku from a down and out frat house, to a den of crime that holds power, trickling right into the administration of the university. Even his men know better than to ever get themselves in his bad books, because no one can ever escape him, no matter how much you try to run.

It was only a matter of time until he would make you pay for causing him problems, but you didn’t think he’d come by himself. You felt stupid for thinking he wouldn’t care about you or he’d forget how angry he was at you and leave you alone, especially with Emma still not on speaking terms with them.

He motions with his bunt for you to come closer to him and you comply, taking careful steps until you’re standing right in front of him. He eyes you again with a tepid frown. “When you meet a king, you don’t stand before him, you kneel.”

Kneel. You want to assume he’s not serious but you know better than to question him and go down on your knees, focusing your gaze firmly on your lap. It’s humiliating the way he has you at his mercy, without even moving an inch but it’s better to be compliant than to aggravate him even further by being disobedient.

You’ve learned the hard way what could happen if you resist.

From the corner of your eyes, you watch as Izana puts out his weed blunt on your reading table leaving a sorching mark on the table, before reaching behind his waistband. Your mouth grows dry the second you see the gun, your heart pounding against your chest as he presses the barrel to your head.

‘Oh god.’ You gasp as he presses it further against your head, until you’re sure it would leave an indent. ‘He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me…’

“That’s odd,” He murmurs. “Usually, other people would be begging for their lives when met with a gun to their head, but you’re quiet. If not for the way your hands are trembling, I’d think you weren’t scared.”

This time, with a gun pointed at your head, you’re careful with your words. “Y-you said you won’t hurt me.” Your voice shakes with fear but you continue. You know men like Izana, he reminds you of your older brother who ruled the house apart from your father, with fear and control. Sometimes, when you were able to stroke his ego, he’d go easy on you. Maybe that would work on Izana too. “That you want to talk.”

“And what if I changed my mind? Pulled the trigger? That’ll make my life easier, yeah? I won’t have to fight for my sister’s love and affection with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat when you hear the safety go off and watch as his finger curls around the trigger. ‘Oh God, he’s going to kill me. He’ll shoot me dead. I-i have to say something- I don’t want to die-’

“I-i trust you not to do it.” You reply, your lips trembling as you struggle not to think of your head scattered into pieces on the floor if he chooses to kill you. “You’re a man of your words.”

There’s another complete silence that engulfs the entire room, until you hear a click that makes you flinch for a split second, waiting for the bullet that would end it all. Instead, it’s him putting the safety back on, and chuckling at your reaction.

“You trust me? How foolish.” He laughs, tracing the gun from your head down to underneath your chin and forcing you to look up at him. You’ve only read about people with empty eyes in stories, but seeing it in person was so terrifying. “Is that why you ended up with Mikey in his car?”

All the blood rushes from your head to the tip of your toes. “H-how do you kn-”

“I have eyes and ears in this school, (name).” You’re sure it’s the first time you’ve heard him call you by your name and despite being in a life or death situation, you couldn’t control the shiver that ran through your spine. “You wanted him to touch you, right?”

“T-that is not what happened!” You suddenly cried out, trying to explain your own side of the story. Of all the people who know your dirty and shameful secret, Izana is the worst pick, just your luck. “It was a mistake! I tried to tell him I didn’t want it but I couldn’t-”

“Ah ah -” Izana cuts you off, tilting your chin higher with the gun. “Don’t lie to me. You must have planned the entire thing to make Mikey look bad”

“No! I wasn’t trying to do anything, I just wanted to talk-”

“Really? Cause Mikey told me an entirely different story-”

“No, no I- didn’t… -”

“You were dangling yourself like a piece of meat for him to fuck and he’s a man, you know. He has urges and it's hard to resist temptation.”

“That’s not true-” your lips start to tremble at his words, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. You didn’t want to be assaulted, you just wanted to talk to him about the Emma issue and you wanted to apologise. “That’s not true-”

“Oh but it is.” He said firmly, now leaning in closer to your face until there’s barely any inches between the two of you. “And now Mikey feels like a piece of shit because he couldn’t stop himself.”

“No-” your voice is small, trying to defend yourself but even you are beginning to doubt your own credibility with how he keeps twisting the narrative around until you begin to actually believe him.

‘No! Don’t let him make you think you’re in the wrong! You know what happened!’

“He even told you to leave but you refused to. You were baiting him to just do something to you so that you can tell everyone how bad Mikey is and make yourself get more sympathy points. Am I wrong?”

“No! I would never do that to Mikey!” You don’t realise your tempo had suddenly gotten high or that tears had started to drip down your face, but Izana did. He doesn’t point it out, staying quiet as you start to shout at him. “I would never bait him into hurting me! I just wanted to make up with him because I felt that I overreacted at the party I swear! And then he touched me in the car -”

“And you never reported him to the school authorities? Why? Did you want to blackmail him for money-”

“Because I love him!”

The words flew out of your mouth before you could even stop yourself from saying them.

Your heart drops as a mischievious glint appears in Izana’s eyes. His smile drops slightly, still maintaining the gun on your chin. “You love him?” He says slowly, testing out the words on his lips. “Love? Mikey?” He looks so deep in thought, like the concept sounds so foreign to him that he almost can’t believe it. His gaze falls back to you again, a quiet scoff emanating from his lips. “You really have no shame, do you?”

Unable to maintain eye contact with him, you break away from his gaze, biting down on your lips to prevent yourself from falling apart. When you don’t respond, Izana takes your silence as an opportunity to keep talking. “If you love him so much, then what’s wrong with what you both did in the car that day? It was what you wanted, wasn't it?”

“Not like that…”

“But you claim to love him.” Izana is calm and cool, while you’re stuttering on your words, making you look like you’re the one who is wrong. Like what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense to begin with and he’s the one saying something of reason. “And yet, you didn’t even notice he wasn’t himself that day. Or did you take advantage of his fragile state of mind?”

“I would NEVER-”

“You would, because you get to be the so-called victim and he gets to be the villain in your own story. Do you really know the implication of your actions?”

“That’s not right.” You don’t even realize how quiet you’ve gotten, your voice full of uncertainity. “I didn’t … it’s not…”

“Shut up.” He cuts you off again with a firm tone, tapping the gun on your chin gently to enunciate his point. “The reason why I haven’t put a bullet through your head as much as I want to is because I love Emma. I love Emma so much I’d kill for her and I’d resist the urge to kill for her. That’s how Sano’s love. That’s true love. That's something you'll never ever experience.”

You stay silent, trying to understand what exactly Izana was calling love. He leaned closer, making you feel even smaller. “If Emma finds out, she’ll think Mikey intentionally hurt you and she will hate him. But I guess that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Never. I don’t want her to hate him” your inner voice telling you it’s not your fault, is nothing more than a whisper, the feeling of guilt and shame overtaking you until you’re almost suffocating. “I just want them to be happy…”

“Then you know exactly what you’re meant to do, right?”

Of course you know what to do. Ever since you were child, it’s been drilled into your head. Whenever your brothers hit you a bit too hard or your father went overboard with his belt and you ended up in the hospital, your mother would take you aside to issue a warning that still rings in your head. That had terrible consequences if you refused to follow through with it.

You nod weakly. It really doesn’t matter what is right and wrong when it comes to the Sano’s, but what they want. Izana taps the gun on your chin again, shaking his head. “I need a verbal answer.”

“I won’t tell anybody what happened. Especially not Emma.”

Satisfied, he withdrew his gun from your chin and your face falls onto his lap, unable to support your head any longer. You feel a hand reaching down to pet your head, like you were a dog who had just been tamed by her new owner. The strength to push him off or stand up had left you, feeling drained as the weight of guilt settle down on your shoulders, heavily. You know you shouldn’t believe anything Izana says, but then again he does have a point. Maybe you should have been more receptive of Mikey’s touch or at least be polite about declining him instead of shoving him off and hurting his pride.

You feel so utterly powerless. Despite being wronged, you know there’s nothing you can really do to save yourself. You don’t think you can bear the traumatic experience of being an outlier again.

Mikey. You don’t want to hurt him. You don’t want anyone thinking he’s a bad person over a singular action.

'Maybe it’s not as bad as I think, I did enjoy it mid-way, so it should count as something. Right?'

You feel sick just trying to think about it.

“You know, if you’re this obedient, we can get along just fine.” He hums, breaking the silence as he pets your head gently. You hate yourself right now. How easy it is to do whatever it is that you’re told because disobedience is not an option. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to know what I’ll do to you if you break your promise.”

“No” your voice is quiet. You feel tired, sick maybe, you don’t know. Maybe it’s the weed he smoked earlier affecting your judgement and reasoning. Or it’s the lack of sleep that has made it difficult for you to think straight or stand up. Either way, you don’t care. “I don’t.”

“Good girl.”

You know he’s mocking you, but you accept it, like you do with every circumstance thrown at you.

Bonus:

IZANA looks down at your sleeping figure with a curious gaze.

For a moment, he almost pities you. Despite the faint glow of the room lighting, he can see the dark circles underneath your eyes and how stressed you look. For someone who is actively working to pay her fees while sustaining herself with no one caring for her, it must be hard being abandoned by society.

He can see why Emma picked you to be her friend, she always had a trait of picking up stray animals who had no one because she wanted something to protect. It’s no different with you, the way she’s so fiercely loyal to you and why she wanted you to be accepted by their family. No wonder she was hurt when you were vehemently rejected by them.

If he had a conscience, he’d feel bad for you. You love Mikey, of all people, someone who only saw you as a nuisance and to push the blame of his actions onto. All those times Mikey was cruel to you must have hurt the most because you truly cared about what he thinks about you.

He’s careful when he lifts your head from his lap, not wanting to wake you up. He puts your head on the chair and turns to leave, already overstaying his welcome. He’s done the thing he was supposed to, ensuring you stayed quiet about Mikey’s actions and there’s no need for him to be here any longer.

As he walked to the door, his mind goes back to you. In a way, you and him were similar. All alone, unwanted, with nobody in the world to care about you, cold, uncaring parents who didn’t think twice in terms of abandoning you both. The only difference between you and him is that he grew a backbone and you haven’t. You’re like a kicked dog who continues to stay on the ground to get kicked, in hopes the person kicking you stops eventually.

As long as you stay on the ground, people like him will keep kicking you.

He knocks loudly on the door and the locks turn. Kakucho opens it for him, peering inside with a worried gaze, his eyes settling on your body slumped over a chair.

“Did you hit -”

“I didn’t touch her.” Izana snaps at the taller male, stepping out of the room properly. “She’s fine, physically at least. Emotionally she’s a mess. But that’s Mikey’s problem to fix.”

“Huh?”

It wouldn’t hurt to tell Kakucho your little secret. “Apparently (name)’s in love with my dear brother Mikey so she’s keeping quiet what he did to her.” a cruel smile stretches across his face. “How pathetic.”

Kakucho frowns at Izana’s statement, but as usual he doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, his eye darts back to your form again, taking a good look at you, his eyes softening. Ever the gentleman.

“She shouldn’t really stay like that Izana, she’ll get a stiff neck-”

“Kakucho.”

That was enough to end the conversation.

special thanks to: (please turn on your mentions in 'settings' before filling the form.): @officiallyjaehyuns @haikyuusboringassmanager @ilybbg @merrymerrykiss @cockonoi @Rindou24689 @short-cxke @kokoch4n3l @GenAwi @ryuguji-sana @nuyoo @reiners-milkbiddies @kiwixpi @gh0stgirl333 @brisssaaa009 @fushiqruo @kawaiikoalagarden @damidamimongalam @raven-nevra @ilovetwodmen @kodzubaby @straightfromheaven @manchie55 @pikibee @tomeyano @matchamilktea-05 @tenjikusstuff4 @m0onz1 @hapikiou @rainnyzz @Lovelyartistz @lik0 @maraya-007 @thisismarisaaa @reeyy0-2 @littlemisspropaganda @cherie026

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grahstumhurts · 3 months ago

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Strawberries and Cigarettes

"𝙇𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨, 𝘿𝙖𝙮𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨, 𝙎𝙪𝙜𝙖𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙎𝙢𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨, 𝙄𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙤𝙡. 𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘾𝙞𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙨, 𝘼𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪"

Sophia x 7th Member! Reader

CW - Implied smut, Use of drugs ( weed)

Prompt - A is preparing themself to roll with their day. B walks on them wearing nothing but their shirt.

Being an idol is busy. Busy life everyday, but when you do have breaks you choose to spend them relaxing. Relaxing as in wearing close to nothing in the comfort of your own room and blowing smoke rings with the joint that Dani so graciously gifted to you. So here you are, Laying on your bed wearing only a sports bra, boxers, and glasses. You're watching some random movie that Manon had recommended you watch and snacking on some popcorn. You pause the movie and get up to stretch, Seeing as your popcorn bowl had almost run out you walk down the stairs assuming that the rest of the Kats had gone out on their day offs as they usually do. You sit on the kitchen island, waiting for the popcorn to pop while humming some random song. The buzz from the weed still settling into your system. You hear footsteps coming down the stairs but it doesn't register in your head that someone had actually been home till you hear a little gasp behind you.

“Have you been smoking again?” Sophia sternly asks you, Your head whips to the direction where her voice came from.

“Maybe?” You slyly grin at her just as the microwave Dings. You leap over to it and grab the hot bag with your fingertips.

“You should put on some clothes, The others should be coming soon.” Her face slightly flushed as you turn fully around to face her, Cheeks full of your hot snack.

“What, you don't like it? Seems like you can't keep your eyes off me, Soph.” You smirk, She sighs at your antics.

“I’m not saying I don't like it, but…” Your taken aback slightly at her boldness, she traps you between her and the counter behind you.

“My popcorns gonna go cold, Soph.” You smugly smile at her “Get to your point sweet cheeks,” You tap your finger against her cheek.

“You're so high aren't you?” She giggles,

“Mhm,” You giggle.

–

You take a puff of your blunt, breathing it out slowly with a slight burn in your throat that you’ve grown used to. She lays, facing you on your bed watching your every move.

“I never thought i would be smoking in front of you, Soph” You slowly cough out, Tapping the blunt into the ashtray sitting on the nightstand. Some random CD of yours quietly playing in the background as you two stare at each other.

“You wanna try?” You expect her to say no, but to your surprise she shrugs.

“I don't mind.”

“Do you trust me?” You take a puff as she nods, You slowly grab her chin, Straddling her waist. Holding her face between your thumb and palm, Her dewy bare skin glowing in the low light of the afternoon sun. You separate her lips slightly with your thumb. You mumble a “Open your mouth”, And she does. Allowing you to blow the smoke past her lips and into her lungs. She glances at your lips, then your eyes, then back to your lips. She coughs slightly at the burn, Her body jolting up right. “Breathe Soph,” You pat her back, stroking her cheekbones as she coughs. Some vapor escaping her lungs.

“Im okay,” She sighs. Her lips, Your lips. So perfectly spaced for someone to kiss another’s lips. Your eyes burn slightly, She bores her pupils into your face. Memorizing each blemish and freckle and birthmark and imperfection.

“You seem to be doing okay for your first time being high, hm?” You tease her, pushing the stray strands of hair out of her face. Grinning at her, You smugly comment “You look really good from up here.”

“Really now?” She tilts her head to the side teasingly, You lean in close.

“Like.. Really good.” you press your lips to her neck, Kissing her pulse point. You can smell her signature Jojoba hair oil and strawberry lip balm. You feel her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer into her body. Your hand trails down to the top of her sweatpants, You look up at her. “Can i?”

She nods, “No, I wanna hear you say it for me.”

“I want you, Please”

#grah speaks #katseye x reader #katseye imagines #katseye #katseye fluff #katseye smut #katseye sophia laforteza x reader #katseye sophia x reader #katseye sophia #sophia laforteza #sophia laforteza x reader #grahstumhurts

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gladiatorcunt · 10 months ago

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- # GIVE A FLY SOME HONEY !!

all roads lead to death valley

cw: southern setting & accents, sui ideation/thoughts, protected sex (are you proud of me), dead dove ending and undertones, sort of ambiguous, virgin cowboy!anakin x virgin afab!reader, ROTS coded!anakin, r2’s a horse, the force is in place of the christian God and is referred to as such at times, star wars being a fictional franchise in a star wars au fic, weird mix of a farm and a ranch, spanking, clit slapping, biting, reader’s inner freak has some crazy thoughts, mentions of humiliation and collaring/choking, anakin murders somebody (one scene of violence), what a heat advisory and the south’s sex education does to a mf, implied plus size and neurodivergent!reader, kidnapping????????????, mention of drugs, reader has a lot of internalized shame about where they’re from

wc: 4.2k (unedited)

what if instead of star wars it was called 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 wars

consider commissioning me!

Your unlucky streak rears its ugly head yet again. June was already shaping up to be a hot month, and your junkyard car wouldn’t start. You’re used to driving long stretches of road with nothing but livestock in fields to gawk at, it comes with the territory. But you couldn’t afford gas and decided to push your luck on the way back home, nevermind that the drive would be at least 20 hours. Moving to the city had its drawbacks, the road trip to and back being one of them.

“No, no. Come on, please work. Do you need me to fucking sing to you or something?” You groan, fruitlessly twisting your key in the ignition over and over.

Nope, “Tough shit.” Your engine mocks, death coughs sputtering out one after the other.

“ ‘You havin’ trouble?” A masculine voice shouts from behind you.

You get startled by the sound and gracefully slam your head up into the roof of the car as you turn around. You must look like quite the sight, clutching your now throbbing head and stumbling out of your broken down hand-me-down car on a long open road. Once you’ve blinked enough to adjust to the harsh sunlight, your eyes land on a tall muscular figure riding a horse. The clip clop of the horse’s dirty hooves on the gravel pierce your ears but the gentle sway of the man’s fluffy hair softens the blow.

“Um…. yes, sir. I am actually. My…. my car won’t start and I’m all out of gas.” You burn with embarrassment as you get through your explanation, trying your hardest not to throw up from the sheer social anxiety.

“Well that ain’t no biggy, I think I can help with that.” The man cocks his head and hops down from the horse, a white stallion with a few faded black-gray spots here and there. “Stay here, R2.”

You’re standing there dumbly, ignoring the tiny rocks digging into your shoes and the pounding in your skull as the cowboy wanders up to you. The sun bounces off his dark hat in a way that gives him a sort of halo, and you gape like a fish when he tips it down at you in a silent greeting, reaching out to shake your hand after. The silver spurs on his boots reflect sunlight directly onto your face, so you miss his open palm the first time.

His hand is rough, you can feel numerous old scrapes and cuts when you accept the gesture. But it’s so much bigger than yours, and there’s strange heat coming from his skin that you’re hesitant to pin on the southern summer sun. Too handsome, in a way that just can’t be possible, you quickly swipe a fingertip over his ring finger during the handshake and The Force must be looking out for you because there’s no ring. Not that you’re seeking anything out, but in the town you’re from, you’re lucky if anyone makes it past 18 without having a baby and getting hitched as a result.

Anakin tinkers away at your car for over an hour, finding more problems than just a lack of gas. Eventually he determines that you’ll die in this heat before you can back on the road, so he asks you to accompany him back to his ranch and he’ll send out one of his employees to bring your car around. You try to show him that you’re listening by ‘hm’-ing and nodding every so often, but it’s hard to rip your eyes away from a very attractive man bent over and sweaty while he’s fixing your car. You definitely do not want to cry when his flannel lifts up as he wipes the sweat on his forehead away with his greasy hand, revealing the slight softness over his muscles.

Since your car was no longer an option, Anakin grins as he gestures towards his horse, “R2’s a good horse, won’t give you any trouble. He likes to make a lot of noise and has an… acquired sense of humor, but I reckon we’ll get back just fine.”

He has you practice getting off and on the horse for a good while, the next step is letting you adjust to the feeling of being on one. You’d be embarrassed that Anakin’s having to teach you how to ride but his hands curl around your waist, keeping you steady and whispering in your ear to not be so stiff. Horses can smell fear after all, it’d suck to not only have your car be broken but your bones too. It’s a scene straight out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind that’s a tiny yellowed book sold almost exclusively in run down gas stations with a cover not far off from a porno.

Your cheeks are burning the entire way to the ranch, you relax as much as you can on an animal that’s a few hundred pounds of muscle with a searing hot body pressed right up against you from behind. It doesn't take long to get to your destination though, and before you know it sprawling fields bracket a mid size homey wooden building. There are some smaller pens for the cows to stay in and you follow their movement as an employee unlatches the gate and leads them out towards the left most field.

“They gotta switch pastures every so often.” He informs you, urging his horse into an energetic trot, “And it’s a good rule of thumb to have about an acre per cow.”

You tighten your hold on the reins and try not to focus on your fear of falling off. The pace of R2 isn’t one that you struggle to match but then again this is the first time you’ve ever ridden a horse in a long time. You’ve always been too skittish to do it regularly, and when you moved you got rid of the hobby entirely. You take a deep breath and let the horse’s movements travel through you, coming to enjoy the gentle jostling as you go. Anakin keeps his hands around yours on the reigns, making sure you don’t panic and seize up. R2’s not really beginner friendly unless he likes his rider, he has a tendency to just whinny and take off when the spirit moves him.

“The Force has done me good and given me a nice house on nice land, but it don’t mean nothin’ if i’m all by my lonesome. Ever since my dad passed and my ma’ died a few years after that, the workers and the cows are all I got, plus R2 of course.”

All right, he sinks into the jargon a little too much, but the way the sun accentuates the scar on his cheek makes it a charming quirk. You want to lick his teeth when he smiles, you think, before blaming it on an oncoming heatstroke. You’re no better than a man in this moment, and if you had seen him soaking up all of the attention in a crowded room in a bar you’d have no business being in, you like to think that you could pull him. You play with the slightly waxy feel of the leather reins, allowing the sensation of coarseness in the stitching to overpower any coherent thought.

“Why’d you name your horse R2?” You ask, ducking your head as you feel him guide the animal towards the stables.

“Oh uh, I was real wild over these sci fi movies from back when I was a kid. The hero had this robot called R2-D2, and I guess it just stuck with me.” He answers you with a shrug and a mild blush, curving his fingers around yours.

Your stomach warms at the feeling, but you refrain from returning the gesture, he probably isn’t even thinking that deeply about what he’s doing. He’s not obsessing over every square inch of skin that comes into contact with his own, not like you. You’re already missing the comforting weight of Anakin’s herculean body when he’s pulling the reins to stop R2 and hopping off, clamping his big hands around your waist and helping you down. You wobble for a bit and find your footing before you can pick up on how he momentarily froze in front of you, anticipating an easy opportunity to touch you again. Force, you really are stupid, bless your heart.

You glance up at him and start to say something but then you hear rustling in the bushes, Anakin must hear it too because before you can tug on his sleeve and tell him, he’s pulling his revolver out from its holster and striding off towards the sound. You’re quick to learn that he has a bit of a one track mind, especially when it comes to indulging the serpent twisting in between his ribs like a switchblade.

“I’ll be damned…”

You’re supposed to head inside and awkwardly linger around until your car is in good enough condition to get you back to Coruscant. The only thing is, you’ve now found yourself without your new security blanket, and your curiosity agrees with how much you don’t fucking want to speak to any of the people here without Anakin to hide behind. R2 loudly chuffs at you from his stall in the stables, either saying “That’s just how he is, leave him be!” or "What are you doing? You should obviously go after him!” You choose to believe it’s the latter, so you wander off into the distance, following Anakin’s lead.

You catch up to him quicker than you thought you would, and you have half a mind to scold him like a child if you weren’t catching your breath. All you can see is his wide shoulders because he’s hunched over something, your heartbeat quickens when you spot his gun being pointed at something. You circle around him to find a man squirming on the ground like a toddler, twitching every so often. Anakin seems almost enthralled by the desperate display, so he doesn’t notice you until you gingerly place a hand on his shoulder, soft and looking to soothe. Later you won’t remember the blood on the man’s temple or the matching stain on the muzzle of Anakin’s gun, because you didn’t witness that part.

He snaps out of it, turning his head to nuzzle his nose against your knuckles, “ ‘s alright, sweetheart, just a meth head too out of his mind to watch where he’s goin’. Had a knife with him, probably lookin’ to rob somebody blind.”

Your eyes flicker between him and the man, fully aware of how common stuff like drug addicts trespassing is and the old fashioned black and red ‘Trespassers Will Be Shot On Sight’ sign. You’ve grown up around guns, you’re more used to hearing them in a hunting or taking shots at beer bottles kind of way, but it’s not like Anakin’s the only one to have that kind of self enforced rule when it comes to his property. Still… killing a human man is different than making use out of a successful deer hunt, right?

“Maybe we should call the cops, he can’t hurt nobody like that…” You try to reason, casting a pitiful glance towards the cowering man.

There’s a scratch on Anakin’s face that’s still bleeding from the knife the guy had used before Anakin took it, it just barely missed his right eye, he could’ve lost it. You’ll ask to help him with it when you get back to the ranch, but you know that there’s no seeing to it right now. You don’t want to risk an infection just so you could brush your thumb across the wound, you’re not even sure why you want to, it’s like the urge just materialized in your head out of thin fog. Anakin gently shrugs your hand off and uses his free one to pull you against his chest, and it’s like you’re back on his horse, that same fear entwined with exhilaration like barbed wire. Your hearts are beating at the same pace, some folks say that’s how you know it’s love, that’s how you know it’s fate.

“You don’t got the stuff in ya to be a killer, that’s just fine, darlin’. ‘Cause I sure do.” His words dissolve into a previously unknown to you cold sneer.

Anakin clamps a burly, sweaty hand over your eyes as he empties the entire magnum into the tresspasser’s skull. The bright sun bounces off the brim of his hat, casting a shadow over his stormy eyes. He may not have let you witness the massacre, but you will never forget the sickening yelps the poor bastard gave to Anakin like prayer. And then he got put down in a more inhumane fashion than if he were a rabid dog. To your gracious host, there’s probably not a whole lick of difference. Between a wanderin’ sap and a deranged mutt, that is.

But there’s a far off expression on his face, maybe he was once at risk of having two bullets in his temple at the hands of someone unforgiving.

“Welp.” Anakin exclaims, making a point of slapping his thigh as he holsters his pistol. “Better head on home now, I reckon. Come on, honey, don’t want to lose you to the coyotes.”

It’s said like “kai-yohtes.” You balk at his teasing and obediently trail after him, a vulnerable duckling staying in line. The storm is hitting hard by the time you’re out of the woods, and you briefly wonder if the Angels up in heaven are gonna start bowling soon. A saying that got passed around in your family, when you and the ones before you would stare up in wonder and shiver in fear at the thundering purple skies as kids. You remember being surprised that one of the Angels’ bowling balls never fell down to earth, maybe it’d be somethin’ like a meteorite.

As is the case with many things, it’s easy to lose sight of the fresh corpse in the dry grass. Once you turn around and thread your finger through Anakin’s, dirtying them, it’s almost like that man never existed. There must be something wrong with you, sure the situation is so unimaginable that it would be hard to cope with, but shouldn’t you be feeling more guilt than you do? You feel bad, of course, but ‘easy come and easy go’ has always been the way of things in these parts. God giveth and God taketh away.

You’re back where you should be, a narrow dirt path going under a wooden fence to the ranch. Grand trees line the road forming a moss green canopy. A few workers are goofing off and playing a very amateur game of football, blissfully ignorant to the fact that Anakin can obviously see them from his place next to you.

It would be a peaceful place to die, a bright and clear afternoon-evening in the way that the world can only be when you’re about to leave it. That’s how you’d want it to feel, like you’re rowing a boat across the lake you used to go fishing at to see people you’d never thought you’d see again waiting for you. Fall leaves, blinding pale sun, a serene and calming quiet. You’d be the happiest you’ve ever been, skipping even though you never could as a kid. There’d be no sadness, only relief and a memento of everything that’ll only make sense when it’s someone’s turn to see you again. No buzzing from mosquitoes or chirping from crickets, only little lightnin’ bugs. Maybe you only get that kinda ending if you’re good, in the godly sense, if you come from something worth remembering.

Anakin raises an eyebrow and gently jostles you, and just like that your train of thought is derailed. He chalks it up to shock, and nods his head towards a clearing behind the building. A change of plans. You follow, as you are wont to do.

“That rat bastard had it comin’ to ‘im, hun.” He tries to reassure and squeezes your hand, imploring you to see reason. “The Force decided it was his time, sweet thing.”

You shake your head, not disagreeing, just in utter disbelief. “I just… most everyone in my life I've known that’s died did it when I wasn't there. I’ve never had to actually be there when they… you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” And that’s all he says, regardless of the truth.

It’s what you need, somehow he just understands exactly what that is. You’re starting to think that you certainly don’t have a damn clue. You look up at him again, really drinking in every facet of his entire being that you can latch onto and obsess over. You’re remembering why you were so anxious to get out of this sinkhole, it’s a miracle you ever got out of it in the first place. His hair’s all messy, dark curls strewn about like a windswept bale of hay. A storm is brewing in his eyes, like he could Earth to rotate in the opposite direction if he wanted it to. He works his jaw around in a weird way to get rid of the soreness after grinding his teeth.

It’s tantalizing, being the hand holding a man on the edge back from wreaking his God given havoc.

You dot a quick peck on his cheek, scrunching your nose up at the barest hint of prickly stubble.

His eyes widen, and the sun itself shines brighter. The cutest light dusting of pink spreads across his face, so he one ups you by pressing your lips together. It’s exactly how a first kiss should feel, a simple gesture that leaves you breathless and with more butterflies than a flower garden swarming in your tummy. There’s no fireworks, but you can hear wind chimes and birds singing as your lips glide together, the meeting of your tongues is so natural that you won’t be able to remember when his slipped through the seam of your mouth. You want to keen as he maps out your teeth, his spit has to have some kind of aphrodisiac in it.

Anakin works your jeans open and off your legs completely, his pupils expand when he sees your thick thighs in all their glory but he keeps himself from slapping them and acting like they’re the only part of your body. There’s an ever growing to do list in both of your heads, your combined inexperience brings a flurry of perverted ideas and porn scenarios to recreate with it, and you’re sad that you’ll very likely leave with none of them being fulfilled.

He yanks the collar of your tank below your chest, immediately leaving over to bite your cute breasts with all the grace of a rattlesnake. He doesn’t try to make any marks, he just wants to bite wildly and with reckless abandon, like he’s using your tits to self soothe. You’d do the same if he let you at his pecs to be fair, his chest is practically as big as yours if not bigger.

“This means somethin’ to me, hear that? ‘m always gonna remember my first.” He spits, clutching onto your bruised tit like he’s a split second away from sinking his hand into your viscera and dumpster diving for your heart.

He pauses pawing at your tits to reach in his back pocket and pull out a condom. It’s crumpled and the packaging is worn by rubbing against the denim of Anakin’s jeans, you can tell that he’s excited to finally put it to use. You’re glad that there’s some safety measures being taken, but your heart swoops in disappointment at the dose of reality. It’s the kind of thing that calls for the most diabolical, unhinged, strings of goopy fluid hanging from his balls as they slap against your rippling ass, raw sex. You don’t let yourself pout, Anakin’s making good use of the only working brain cell between the two of you. You scoot back on his lap to give him room to pop to button on his pants and whip his dick out. It makes a heavy ‘thwop!’ as it slaps against Anakin’s abs.

Your mouth waters at the sight, so thick with the just right amount of curve, it would scratch your throat perfectly. His hands shake harder as he rips the condom’s packaging open with his teeth and rolls it on his twitching length. You take a deep breath, finding comfort in the tense muscles on Anakin’s shoulders through his warm flannel. He curls a hand around the base of his cock and grasps it tightly, positioning it right under your empty hole. You’re lucky he didn’t have to tell you what to do, because working yourself down every inch would’ve been much more painful if you already needed to be taught a lesson. It’s weirdly sweet, the chaste pecks he presses along your nose and jawline as you adjust to what feels like a tree log forcing your tender folds to stretch around it. Your slutty body tries to twist itself in a pretzel with the way you’re swiveling your hips, trying to get more of Anakin’s dick inside of you when you’ve miraculously already swallowed him to the hilt.

“I want this pretty pussy weepin’ for me, I’m awfully sorry honey but i’m not stopping till it’s gushin’ all over me.” He speaks in between wet kisses up and down the column of your throat.

“Mmm- It’s okay, I want it like that, Ani. Promise- oh my god, so big.”

You make him feel like a man trying to outrun a forest fire only to get swept up in a tornado. Like there’s a fever in his brain that’s gotten into his blood, black tar dripping into his liver. Drives a man to drink so he can have a sliver of that feeling, that scalding need not even God could give you. There’s no finesse or coordination to anything, his lips frantically scurry along random spots on your upper body. His upward thrusts are heavy hitting and wrangle your breath out in stuttered gasps, he moves as if he were riding a horse, following only the imagined scent of old blood. Anakin’s cock is so big your walls could rip if he wasn’t always keeping a sharp eye on how much he’s bullying you. He doesn’t try anything crazy like fucking your cervix, it might shock you so much that you remeber exactly how long it’s been since he’s had your car “taken to the shop”.

His spurs dig into the dirt as he slaps your ass, the material of his gloves adding an extra bit of ‘umph!’ to the resulting sting. Anakin’s jeans are so warm against your ass that it takes a few more spanks before you really get the urge to bend over his lap and tell him to just have at it until you sob. You’re on an ecstatic high, living in the present with a near stranger’s dick balls deep inside of you. His eyes gleam gold when you make eye contact, and you find it so easy to fall down the rabbit hole, letting this man burn away all your responsibilities until he’s the last one left standing in a sea of ashes.

You don’t mind that he stops talking eventually, switching to gruff grunts and harsh yells. ‘Don’t be so stiff, let the movement roll through you.’ Anakin digs his fingers into the meat of your jiggling ass and delivers a final smack to both cheeks. You sigh in relief, but then you snap out of your cockdrunk haze to yelp at the cruel hit to your swollen clit.

“Need ya to keep squeakin’ sweets.” He orders. “Don’t want the townsfolk to think I fucked your brain out your ears.”

It’d be polite to make conversation with the people you meet when Anakin parades you around with his hat on your head later, something of a pre engagement tour. If the Force is good, you’ll be willing, because rope burn isn’t something you want to become your new normal.

“Chin up, buttercup,” He says almost bashfully despite how hard he’s pounding your puffy cunt, “We can get some ice cream at the fair after if ya like, make it a cute little second date.”

You whimper and harshly pull his hair, earning you a throaty moan and another slap to your clit, saying yes to him like you’ve already done a million times. You thought that the pure social anxiety of being around so many of Anakin’s employees would be nerve wracking, it’s nothing compared to having to speak to them AND keep their boss’s cum from oozing down your leg. Anakin’s discarded belt catches your eye when a sharp thrust sends your head falling back, and you picture the scuffed up belt buckle as the O shaped ring of a more traditional collar. The black stains from working on your car only add to the appeal, it scares you exactly how much you’d let the man fucking you with a cheap gas station condom get away with. You’ve already heard him kill a man, finding yourself in a relationship is pretty much the natural next step.

When he cums deep inside with a hoarse growl, there’s the sound of a bear trap slamming shut on an unsuspecting bunny rabbit. Your simultaneous orgasm is the tiny squeal it makes before it dies.

“I forgot to ask, hun, what stuffed animal do ya want me to win for ya?”

- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai

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unreleasedwrites · 1 year ago

Text

A Planned Coincidence (pt. 1) (pt. 2)

"Jackpot."

summary: You took a wrong turn into an alleyway and end up being attacked by a group of men in Mexico. You tried fending them off, when a man suddenly arrives and helps you at the expense of an atrocious and gruesome scene you had to witness. He eventually takes you somewhere filled with men that work under him, and you're stuck with him now.

character(s) included: Gitae Kim x fem!reader

cw: very suggestive, lowk yandere gitae?? kissing, slight noncon kissing and touching at first, a gun, blood, mentions of death, mentions of body parts and cartel, cannibalism (Gitae takes a bite out of fresh flesh but spits it out), cussing, reader is fine w what Gitae is doing!!, Gitae broke into readers hotel, Gitae Kim himself is a warning, implied kidnapping, long, implied stalking, mentions but no uses of drugs, i do not condone any sort of treatment like this in real life, this FICTIONAL!! if you dont like it, then just leave

unwrapped on: Friday Evening, April 19 2024

wrapped up on: Saturday Afternoon, April 20 2024

published on: Saturday Afternoon, April 20 2024

“Did you enjoy the show, little girl?” Gitae said as he turned his gaze over to where you were sat; on the hard floor, bruised up from head to toe. Some were from self defense, some from a group of men who attacked you in an attempt to take you to who knows where and who knows why.

You only nervously looked at him as a response, still mortified at the gruesome scene right in front of you.

You learned of his name, Gitae Kim, when he started a conversation with you— whom he saved from actual death by beating up the guys who were originally assaulting you. You were shocked to witness him fighting, as it was pretty much like nothing to him. Gitae just did it so effortlessly and carelessly, getting blood and parts of their bodies all over the place. At some point, a hand was almost thrown on you until he immediately caught it, all the while still tormenting them with his free hand. As much as you were horrified, he looked way too familiar, as if you’ve seen him a few times before.

“Thanks, Mister—uh, Gitae.. I better get going now, it’s already past 11 o’clock and midnight is approaching any minute now. And again, th-thank you so much, Mister Gitae, Sir..” You spoke as you were visibly shaking in fear from what you just witnessed.

“Leaving me so early? That won’t do, little girl. Not after what I just did for your ass and especially the tight little clothes that you’ve got on.” Gitae replied as he looked at you without a clear emotion written oh his expression. You were so scared that you had tears in your eyes.

“Tearing up so soon? It’s not like I’ve even done anything bad to you, yet.” Gitae said with a strange smile on his face.

You couldn’t read his expression or what he wanted from you. But all you knew was, he was definitely even more trouble than the group of guys from earlier.

Then you saw him picking up one of the fresh flesh of one of the men on the ground, and he took a bite out of it. You looked at him with pure disgust and horrification. “Wh-Why—” was what you managed to stutter out from pure disbelief and terror. Then all of a sudden, he spat it out with a clear expression spread among his face, “Bleghh.” What the hell was that about? You thought to yourself as you slowly got off got off the floor and subtly sneaked away while it seemed like he wasn’t paying any attention.

“Man, I thought he’d be tastier than that. Wasn’t worth staining my clothes and body.” He commented as he turned over to you, whom was nowhere to be found. But it’s not like he thought he lost you or anything, he knew very well you were escaping and just let it happen. He doesn’t mind a little mouse chase after all.

“What the hell did I just fucking witness? What was that..? Did he really take a bite out of tha..” You cut yourself off, exhausted from running as fast as you humanely can towards your hotel. Your bag was still at the gruesome scene with Gitae, you couldn’t risk your entire life to try and take it. Problem is that your wallet was there, however you do have your phone with you so you weren’t really worried about that too much— especially with what you just witnessed, that might’ve been the least of your worries.

“Hagghh.. What if he comes for me..? Am I even safe here or what if he’s watching my every step…” You sighed as you tried to dry your tears and got ready to take a very much needed bath.

You got into the bathub you prepared with a nice scent and relaxing setting, trying to cool yourself down. Still crying from what just happened but trying to stay calm with the intent of tending to your wounds later.

Meanwhile Gitae, who was still in the alleyway you were attacked by the group of men in, saw your little purse on the ground. Slightly open and covered in splashed blood.

Normally, he wouldn’t really care that much about it. But he decided to open it, and he saw your wallet in there along with some of your other belongings like hygienic products and your phone charger.

“Hoho, a wallet with her id and all the information I need to know about her,” he smiled as he looked at your id and the deceased morons in front of his eyes. “Jackpot.”

The following hours after the incident, you decided to just sleep and completely ignored your goal of ‘more exploring, less sleeping.’ That was until you felt a pair of strong arms on your waist, holding you close. At first, you thought it was just a dream until you felt a pair of lips making its way to your jawline, pressing somewhat aggressive kisses, and that’s when you knew that it was no dream.

You slowly opened your eyes and turned your head behind you, only to see the same man, Gitae, from yesterday. In your bed. Holding your waist and was just kissing you. Topless with a pair of jeans.

“Gi-Gitae—?!” How and what the hell are you doing here?!” You said, still sleepy and not a hint of fear in your voice, given that you were brave enough to say that to such a man who was barely inches away from you.

“What do you mean? Isn’t it obvious?” He shrugged a brow, “I’m here to claim my payment and take what’s mine.”

“Payment? You want money? You could’ve just said that!” You said. “Silly little girl, I never said I wanted money from you,” Gitae replied as he held your waist tighter and within just seconds, you were now under him. Pinned to the bed by his strong arms and under his piercing gaze.

“The-Then.. What the hell is it that you want f-from me?!” You tried to resist and escape but it was no use, he wasn’t even trying and was just seemingly laughing at your efforts and attempts.

“Isn’t it obvious already?”

“You want me dead?”

“What? When the fuck did I ever mention that?”

“Cmon’ mister, you never mentioned anything about anything, so how am I supposed to kno-” You were suddenly cut off when he raised his arms from pinning you to the bed and simply sat on the edge of the bed and sat you on his lap.

“You’re so naive, it’s just adorable, F/N.”

“How do you know my name..? I gave you a fake name yesterday!” You taunted as you moved around in his lap, causing him to groan. “A-ah, sorry for moving so much!” You suddenly added when you heard him and felt something poking you from his lap.

“Hoho, you’re so sweet too. Apologizing for riling me up? You’ve been at this since yesterday, sweetheart.” He said in a lower voice.

“What? How have I been doing tha— Hey! You never answered my first question!!”

“Oh the first name thing? You left your wallet with me yesterday, sweetie. You must really be a little girl to not have thought about that.” He said as he pulled out an all too familiar wallet with your id peeking out of it. “What a coincidence, huh?”

“Shit. I forgot about that..”

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, you’re coming with me, F/N. Do me a favor and cooperate so we don’t have to do this the hard way, mkay sweetheart?” He said with a strange smile.

The next thing you know, you were in a car, some other guy with a bunch of tattoos was driving, completely silent and emotionless. You were at the backseat with Gitae, sat on his lap, facing him, tearing up.

He gave you his leather jacket since you were still in thin sleepwear, a sleeveless thin top and some light short shorts. You thought that was surprisingly nice of him, he may be crazy but atleast he was kind of a gentleman towards you, he carried you around so that you wouldn’t have to walk, he brushed your morning hair, and he even toned down the aggression of his rough, calloused hands when you complained about them.

You eventually got so tired that you fell asleep in his arms, and he closely held you.

When you woke up, you were at a warehouse that absolutely reeked of a strange scent. You didn’t see Gitae around though, but you did see a lot of men in the same warehouse as you, all seemingly looked like a gangster or dealer of some sort. You were very confused and scared of what might just happen to you if you tried leaving, but you decided to try it out anyway. Calmly, you headed towards the open door of the warehouse. But before you could even reach the door, a man held a gun to your throat.

“And where the fuck d’you think you’re going? You trying to get us in trouble?” He spoke in an arrogant tone and eventually took the gun away and dragged you back to the boxes you were on when you woke up.

Shit. What do I do.. You thought to yourself as you saw some of the men seemingly talking about you but in a different language. If you had to guess, it was Spanish, since you are in Mexico after all.

Before you could even think about escaping again, you remembered how familiar Gitae seemed and how it felt like it wasn’t the first time you’ve met him. Yet you can’t seem to figure out where do you know him from and who he was. But you’ve already taken a trip in Mexico in the past, so this was your second time. He really seemed way too familiar, you swear that you’ve seen that exact man during your last trip and it seemed like he was everywhere you were. No matter what tourist spot or hidden, unknown spot you were at, he was also there, at a certain distance. And it felt like he was definitely watching you.

Before you could continue thinking about it, you suddenly overheard shrieks of agony from one of the men, who you assumed were doing something related to drugs, given what you had seen when you woke up. You immediately looked to where the noise came from, and saw that he’d been directly headshot with an axe. It was such a gruesome scene, blank faces were all scattered amongst the men and they had stopped what they were doing to look over to where the noise came from. They proceeded to look at the opposite direction, to which you did too, and saw Gitae. Covered in even more blood than yesterday.

He started speaking, in the same language you couldn’t understand from the men around the warehouse.

You just looked at him blankly, thinking about how familiar he really does look. You heard your name clearly being mentioned from what Gitae was saying and some of the men turned to you.

You looked back at them with a hesitant expression, then back at Gitae— who was know walking towards you.

"Everyone, listen up. This is the girl I mentioned a little over a year ago. I was able to track her down the same week I talked about her and I traced her plans of going to Mexico a second time in the following year, which is now the present." Gitae announced and added,

"Because of the last morons I trusted in trying to kidnap her last year, she was able to get away without even trying. So I decided to do the job myself this time. But make it your guys' job to make sure she wont escape or get into any sort of harm. Unless you wanna end up like him over there, of course." He said as he turned over to the guy he had thrown an axe at.

They all nodded while some just looked at you dead in the eye. Guess you're stuck there now, there is no escaping after all. But don't worry, Gitae is nice occasionally. But most of the time, he's as terrifying as death itself.

Because he's told you some of the tiniest details about what he does and the cartel, he absolutely refuses to let you go and feels as though you already know too much. You're his, and it will stay that way till the end of time.

notes: this is so bad im so sorryedjkewkdewbhdshe we dont really know much about him and i wasnt sure what to do but i really wanted to write about him and get something up since im not too busy atm, im so sorruryge im gonna upload another one soon or today hopefully, either about gun or someone else in my drafts.. also not so fun fact this is my ninth post and i love the number 9 so yay ig ALSOOOOOO I will be uploading a like masterlist and introduction or about me?? post basically like characters i write for and stuff yk the basics!! ANYWAY MY RANT IS OVER have a good day!! FEEL FREE TO REQUEST ANY CHARACTER BTW I DO MOST BUT I DONT REALLY KNOW WHAT TO DO FOR THE GIRLS EXCEPT MARY KIM!

- With or without proper credits, please don't try to steal or claim any of my works as your own

I genuinely appreciate opinions, feedback, likes, and reblogs

Once again, I hope this isn't too bad for my a character we know not much about, and i'll be doing more characters in lookism!!

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serialkilluh1996 · 7 months ago

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☠︎︎𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄☠︎︎

Possessive-Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female-Reader

Request (summarized): Possessive!Boyfriend!Ghost

Requested anonymously

Themes: fluff

୨୧ Stay in for the night. Ghost doesn't want you to go out alone. Besides, he'll spoil you rotten anyway. ୨୧

CW: use of '☆☆☆' in place of reader's name, implied age gap (it's up to you how big it is) possessive behavior (obviously),Ghost is a little rough with you, mentions of drugging, Contact me if I need to add more.

Ghost had issues. Mommy issues, daddy issues, anger issues; you name it, he's struggling with it. But, God, did my guy have trust issues. He had a habit of checking both your phones for the time just in case one of your devices were off by a minute or so. He initially couldn't help being this way. He's just so anxious. And it makes him...possessive.

Ghost sits leaned back on the couch, legs spread like warm butter on a pancake, still in uniform as he was too lazy tired to take it off. His hands are clasped together as he stares blankly at the TV, not even fully focused on whatever bullshit 90s romcom rerun was playing. He couldn't think about that right now. Not knowing you were in the other room, doing God knows what.

Simon had a heavy urge to burst in to see what you were doing, wondering if he'd find you sexting some random guy on tumblr (or whatever other social media platforms you had), but he knows even the slight implication that he thinks you're cheating will piss you off, so he stays in place, brown eyes hazed with thought.

His head whips instantly, his mind processing as you walk past him in some skimpy cheetah print (favorite color) dress, some chunky black heels, and your favorite necklace. He gruffs lowly, standing to his feet as you reach for the door.

He grabs your hand, turning you around.

"Where're you goin'?" His voice is low, yet animated, pointing out his frustration at your lack of even acknowledging your own boyfriend's presence. "Out." You answer flatly.

Ooh, he did NOT like your attitude. His grip on your wrist tightens. "Aren't you a smartass? Out where, love?" His tone is more sarcastic. "My friend's house. She's throwing a party." You respind, now frowning at his grasp on you.

Oh. Hell. No.

"Tell her you can't make it." "What?" "Ya heard me, love. Cancel. You're not going." He looks down at you, his towering stature adding a certain predatory feel to his serious gaze. "You can't decide if I go. You're not my dad." You pouted.

His brows loosen at that, eyes widening a bit. "You always do this, Simon. I'm not your little girl, I'm a grown damn woman. You think you can just boss me around cause I'm younger and shorter than you but you cannot keep doing this to me. You keep me locked in this house like a pet. You don't trust me." You snatch your hand away, folding your arms.

"...☆☆☆... baby. I do trust you. You're the only one I trust. It's everyone else I'm worried about. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I let you go out and something bad happens when I can prevent it." He explains, his hands easing into his pockets with guilt. He knows your right. He's always like this. Keeping you on such a tight leash.

You sigh, your gaze flickering between his eyes, seeing the shame. He was like a puppy being scolded for chewing to shoes. "...fine. I'll stay." You give in, walking past him and back up the stairs. He sighs, turning to watch you leave.

You lay in bed, arms folded as Ghost rests his head on your tummy. He looks up at you, pretty brown eyes filled with love as his thumbs caresses your hips. He's finally in something more comfortable, the fabric of his shirt between your thighs feeling oh so warm and cozy.

Neither of you spoke a weird, unsure if you were even able to talk to eachother. You were still a little cranky about his attitude, and he was still trying to suppress the guilt of pressuring you to stay.

"I'll make it up to you, love." "I'm sure you will." You respond flatly. "Don't be so uptight. I'll take you to your favorite restaurant tomorrow and we can get you a new band shirt from Spencer's." He rubs a hand across your stomach. "Bribery doesn't work on me, Simon." You turn away.

"I'll add on a new handbag and a little sweet treat too." He offers in a singsong voice. "Well,...I do want a little sweet treat." You run a hand through his dusty blonde hair. "Good." He squeezes your hips. "I'll buy you anything you want as long as you let me keep you safe." He smirks. You couldn't be mad at him forever. Not when he was so cunning.

୨୧ You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated. Have fun! And remember, take care of yourself.

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steviewashere · 2 months ago

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Back in My Head Again

Rating: Mature CW: Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Steve Harrington, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use (In Various Points), Mental Health Issues, Past Referenced Parent Death Pairings: Tommy Hagan & Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Steve Harrington's Father, Steddie Tags: Post-Canon, Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington's Father Being an Asshole, Steve Harrington Making Some Bad Decisions, Impulsive Steve Harrington, Good Friend Tommy Hagan, Protective Tommy Hagan, Tommy Hagan Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Tommy Hagan Cares About Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is Loved, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Eddie & Tommy Bonding About Steve, Childhood Friends, Hopeful Ending This one's a very personal piece to me. So please be kind, but also take care of yourselves. This one gets dark really fucking fast. Read all content warnings and tags, take care! <3 Also on ao3 (because this is long)

☎️—————☎️ Tommy’s the only one who knows what happened to his mom. It’s not that he’s keeping her death a secret, but it’s easier to just not say anything. Sometimes, when he’s quiet in a room, all the eyes around him are a bit more attentive than they’d be if he were just being stupid. He only found out because Steve needed an ear to listen and a brain that remembers when she had been sweet.

Not that his mom hadn’t been nice or sweet or motherly. She was just…different near the end. Combative. Argumentative. Angry. He could breathe the wrong way and receive an earful for the way his nostrils whistle. Had he known the inevitable, maybe he would’ve been a little bit more receptive to her comments, accepted them like soft punches to an even softer pillow, but as it was, he was just as angry—if not more.

With her gone, his dad became worse.

They weren’t, like, buddies before she died. But if they were in the same room? Well, it would take a whole lot of tongue biting, but Steve could manage it. With his nose cradled in the crook of his elbow, all his words muffled by warm skin, and hands curled into tight white fists. At least in the before, there were only a handful of times where he felt the need to be scared of his dad. The one afternoon where he came home from a basketball practice—pent up and exhausted, hungry as hell, sweating where the sun didn’t shine—and his dad had been furious about something probably ridiculous, and charged at him from the other side of the room. Steve had acted on a weakened instinct, one he thought he trained to be obediently dormant, but when his fists went up in front of his face and his eyebrows furrowed into the soft hoods of his eyelids, he knew he’d always had to be ready just in case.

Maybe he was just a spoilt brat. Maybe he was just an angsty teenager with too many misplaced emotions. Maybe he was just naive.

But he had been ready, always, to pack his shit, dodge some punches, and get the hell back. Though, when his mom was alive, he survived on her affection like a sick bee needing sugar. Now, without her? It was a matter of time before his dad starved him. Or worse.

Tommy knew, though, about his parents. That his mom died suddenly and too young. That his dad was an asshole. He knew about the always packed backpack in his closet, the overstocked first aid kit he hid under his bed, and that secret he let spill from his lips too late one evening, beer soaked on his tongue, a hunger for Tommy’s freckles in the deep pit of his stomach—I want to kiss you, is that weird?

Was it maybe too weird that he went to Tommy still? Even after everything? Even after telling him off in that parking lot? Maybe, but Steve’s never been one to make good decisions. But there was a certain sort of security blanket when it came to talking to Tommy.

After a bad hookup? He went to Tommy. Drank a little too much and needed somebody to not judge him for it? He called Tommy. Wet the bed from a nightmare like he did as a kid? To his childhood friend, Tommy, he ran to.

They’ve seen each other at their worsts. Well, the non-NDA, government cover-up worsts. He’d been there for Tommy when his parents divorced. Been there the first time Tommy had been rejected. Been there when Tommy was sick with the flu, threw up a little too hard, and gave himself a nose bleed. And in turn…

Steve trusted Tommy still, despite it all.

Was it unhealthy? To rely on Tommy in certain dire moments and then to recede as if it never happened? Oh yeah, Steve can recognize that. But would he go to Robin with information about his dad? No, unfortunately, he wouldn’t. There’s not enough time and comfort and days spread between them.

He’s known Tommy since he was seven years old.

If they weren’t such big piles of shit, to each other, to themselves, maybe they’d still be orbiting. But. They are, that’s the problem. They are.

Now, though, he needs Tommy.

Hugging a payphone by the nearby park, wrapped up in loose, thin layers, seventeen degrees and lips turning purple, he needs him.

“C’mon, Tommy…c’mon,” he mutters, breath puffing in front of him in a large white cloud. This is his last quarter. His cheeks are searing with tears. There aren’t gloves on his hands, his fingers are fucking numb and bluish. He’d go home, but his dad is there. Drunk and stubborn and angry, his dad is always there.

Finally, on the last ring, it’s picked up. “Hello?” Tommy answers gruffly.

Steve sobs, hard and sour and ugly, “T-Tommy.”

“Holy shit,” he hears, that voice now alert, “Steve, is that you? Oh my god, are you okay?”

His eyes dart around. The street is empty. There’s ice under his stupid sneakers, one wrong move and he’ll give himself another concussion. Words bubble in his throat, but all that leaves him is an awkward, dry retch.

“Hey,” Tommy whispers, “take…take a deep breath for me, okay? I’m—Take a moment, I’m right here.”

The breath stutters in his chest, hiccuping and sharp and painful. He heaves a sigh, is praised for it, and sniffles. “My d-dad f-fucking sucks. I hate him, Tommy. I fucking hate him.”

Over the line, Tommy shuffles—probably in his bed, this late at night; 3:23am, when Steve hazily glances at his watch. “I know,” he says softly, “what’d he do, Stevie? Or is he just…”

“He—fuck—I came downstairs to get some water, y’know, and…and I don’t know, he was just in the kitchen. I could…I could see the alcohol on the counter, so he was drinking, and he’s always drinking, Tommy…he’s always, always—but he saw me and h-he called me an asshole, I know I am, but I just—I was just trying to get some water and he just said it and he—he said it was my fault that my mom, that she…”

The moment ‘mom’ leaves his tongue, the sobs boil again in his throat. Gurgling and wet, he allows it to happen. Bile-laden sobs rip wild through his chest, staining the back of his mouth, heaving out of him because the breath burns through him too fast to mean anything. He blubbers, words incoherent through his teeth, slurred in a way only his dad knows how. And it’s within the blink of an eye, sorry on himself that he’s so close to being just like him, that he’s wrenching something deep from within his pocket.

On his sixteenth birthday, only a few short years ago, his grandpa had still been alive. Happy and well. There was one thing he gave him. A pocket knife. Heavy silver handle, sharpened silver blade, his name engraved in pointed letters. It was for self-defense, a good tool just in case of an emergency.

Is it self-defense if it was himself that he was protecting from?

Is it self-defense if it pierces between his ribs?

Is it self-defense if it was an emergency escape?

“Where are you?” Tommy asks. It’s urgent in the air, as if he’d already been asking it in Steve’s daze, looking down at the pocket knife shiny in his grip. “I’m going to come get you. Where are you?”

He could bite his tongue, he’s good at it.

But one thing about Tommy that nobody else knows is that he’s perceptive as hell.

Steve could swallow his own tongue, but even then, Tommy would pick up that something is going seriously wrong.

“That park near my house,” he mumbles in response, “you know where it is?”

“You see a bench nearby?”

He nods stupidly, humming without words.

“Can you sit on it for me, Steve?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, “I can do that.”

“Okay,” Tommy sighs, but it doesn’t sound put-out. It’s relief. “Stay on that bench and wait for me, okay? I want to be able to see you.”

Steve hums again. Bobbles his heavy, eyes-burning head. “Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Hurry?”

His hand fists tighter around the folded pocket knife. Thumbnail etching into his own name, eggshell white paint chipping at the pressure. One wrong move, one wrong thought, one wrong second—he takes a deep breath, the air burning inside him, and can pinpoint the exact spot where the blade would rest. It’d be just one quick push. One last scream. One last bout of terror. The metal is cold in the center of his palm, yet his fingers haven’t quite picked up on the temperature.

“‘Course,” Tommy murmurs, “I’ll find you soon.”

The phone buzzes dead in his ear. There are tears crisp and hot to the gentle wobble of his chin. He darts his eyes to the nearby park bench, lonely and dark with a gentle spattering of snow along its back, and he begins the gentle path forward. Tiptoeing around sheets of slick, thin ice. Fog in the air hanging, clouding the dark sky to be a semi-permanent pale grey. He settles himself on the bench, the cold seat against his pants.

In his hand, the knife rests uneasily. It’s a light thing, but tonight it’s especially heavy. Especially daunting. He blinks, still looking at it with his tired, seeping eyes, and curls his fingers around it. It doesn’t go back to his pocket, though.

He doesn’t know, really, why he took the little knife with him. As if, possibly, there’d be a demodog out there searching for him—that’s the only truth he can bring to the forefront of his mind. That he’d be hunted down by something he could only control with the folds of his own flesh, but even that’s a sorry excuse; the demo-creatures have long since been rid of, they were connected to Vecna, and Vecna’s as good as dirt. If he had to think of a reason, Steve could conjure up reality with a simple blink. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the need had always been there.

To kill himself.

That’s as bluntly as he could put it.

Even that brings a fresh churn to his ever-churning stomach.

The need had been there, though. An etch to the sketch of his whole person. A fleeting thing. Maybe since the first time he’d been left home alone—eight years old and confused. Maybe when he called the police after his dad had hit him the first time—ten years old and told that that’s how bad kids are punished, a spanking. Maybe when he drank himself into near hysteria—thirteen years old and puking up his lungs in his mom’s nice peonies outside the kitchen window. Or maybe it was after the demogorgon—seventeen.

Could’ve been in part because of Nancy or even Jonathan. Possibly Carol. Even Barb. At one point, definitely, Tommy.

But even he knows pointing fingers at friends is pointless.

This need, this feeling, the weight of the knife in his hand—

He’d always held the handle. It was just a matter of sensitivities that controlled the blade.

Why this time?

Why now?

Because he was an asshole? Whatever. He’s been an asshole. Because his dad was home? Whatever. Steve’s always wanted him home. Because his mom was dead? Whatever. She’s been dead for over a year now. No Vecna to get her, no demogorgon to savor her—he had been eighteen, she had been sick, like really fucking sick…it was nobody’s fault.

So why now? Steve couldn’t even pinpoint the reason.

It was a build probably. Unresolved shit from the Upside Down, hand in hand with his failing minimum wage job, with his spiral of never-ending college rejection letters, on and on. He never went through with flicking open the blade. Had to protect and whatnot. Is it because there’s no reason to protect? Is it because he doesn’t have to now?

Sure, he was staying because of Dustin, Max, the lot of them, Robin, and Eddie.

He wasn’t staying for himself, though.

Why would he? Who could?

He’s always had this need to never truly pocket the knife. Despite its name.

It belonged to him. Name on it and everything. And as fate should see it, maybe it was a sign.

Read: Steve Harrington is fucked in the head and is going to do something about it.

Read: Steve Harrington brandishes a weapon and he knows how to use it.

Read: Steve Harrington wants to die and has wanted to for a really long time.

Longer than he cares to admit.

He flicks the handle, blade unsheathing with a quick schtick! It’s shiny and clean. Never used. There’d been a back up pocket knife, one he was given from his dad; it was only ever used for shotgunning beers. Couldn’t bring himself to use it for anything else outside of that. And he couldn’t ever hurt himself, not when he was swimming and playing basketball. Everybody would see. Everybody would know. He was known, sure, but not known, and the prospect of that brings a fresh wave of goosebumps to his arms. Unless that’s the cold. But the point still stands.

The knife he currently has, shiny and clean, it could use a little grit to it. Some roughage.

Why hadn’t he killed himself, though? Was it the blood that made him squeamish? The fact he’d hurt anyway? He could drown, but then there was the problem of his bloated corpse. And there was the possibility of overdosing, but then somebody would go all detective on his stupid body, trace back the ketamine in his system to Eddie…Eddie doesn’t deserve that.

He’s had plans. They were kind of…intrusive, though. Made in a split second decision. The ketamine one, he almost went through with that. Bought as much as he was allowed to purchase in one sitting, whatever Eddie was willing to part with—years ago, he has half a mind to squander, he doesn’t sell like that anymore—and then he’d return a few days later, stock up some more…he was just gonna go for it. All in one sitting. Lock the bathroom door behind him. He had even brought in a dining chair the night he was going to, set it up underneath the doorknob and everything, yet when it came to the actual drugs…

The toilet had a very open mouth and very willing stomach that night.

There was the quarry. He’d only been there a few times. Not since Will’s “body” had been discovered, but he’d been there before. It was always during a morning jog. Crisp autumn air, low hanging fog, nobody on the roads. Steve would make a detour, in his short sleeve t-shirt and even shorter shorts, and he’d jog right up to the edge.

It was farther and farther and farther down the more he went. The more he grew. Even when he sat, he was taller than the time before. Sometimes he’d throw a rock, watch it skitter down the sharp edges of other rocks, listen until the sound disappeared, until the only thing that gave proof it was there were the ripples in the water far below. There was always a passing thought, though, that he’d leave a lot more evidence behind. Every sharp edge stained with proof of him. He wanted nothing left in his wake. Wanted it to look like somebody had just snatched him while he was out, dumped him in the water, had very little care for his body. Because who would care? No, if he went through with his plan, there’d be evidence. The news would break: Steve Harrington, age 15, Death By Suicide. Or would they publish it? Beat around the bush, probably. Save face and all.

Point is, there had been plans steadily over the years. Each one getting smaller and smaller and lesser and lesser. It was always the clean up that startled him. The fear that little bits and pieces of him would be left behind. Vomited foam from his mouth, blood from his head, the wet shadow of his body pulled from the pool. He’d be everywhere. And everyone would know.

Steve Harrington was suicidal.

King Steve Harrington had problems.

Steve Harrington was a scared little boy, hardly a man, and oh how fun that is to laugh at.

Who would miss him? Well and truly miss him?

At eighteen? Dustin. Maybe Nancy. Maybe even Jonathan. They’d would’ve gotten over it, wouldn’t they have? Poor Steve Harrington, the ex and the babysitter. At fifteen? Just Tommy and Carol. He always imagined it, people like Barb and Nancy and Robin and Eddie, all of them adrift by the news, but later getting over it. Just a ‘who cares’ thrown over their shoulder, a ‘good riddance’ in the back of their mind they’d never admit to. At twelve? Bobby in the A/V club, who always welcomed Steve with a gap-toothed grin and his wide bright eyes, making sure there was always space for his confused questions. The kid that some time later, Steve watched get his head swirled in a toilet, laughing at how he sputtered. At eight? His mom. She would’ve been inconsolable. Though, she would be young enough, maybe she could’ve tried again.

Now, though?

There’s…there’s too many people to even name.

God, way too many people.

He was staying for them, never himself. Got a best friend and a few pseudo siblings, his adopted dads in Hopper and Wayne…and he’s got a boyfriend that nobody knows about. He’s got everything.

Why is he still here? With the knife in his hand? In the cold? Frostbitten and scared?

Underneath all the scars, the anger, the hair, he’ll always be that scared little boy. The little boy afraid of his dad—the monster he lives with. Of drunk hands and slurred words, cigar smoke and stale dinners, wooden paddles and leather belts. He’ll always be the little boy that cried in his knees, hidden in the depth of his closet, under tens of old clothes, hanging on for dear life. Always be the kid that called his best friend, Tommy, when things went to shit. Phone cradled to his ringing ear, a slap still stern across his cheek, and needing instructions from Tommy’s parents on how to use a first aid kit.

He’s gotten better at discerning what he needs from the kit. Not because of alternate dimension beings, though. No, due to the monster that sits at his dining table, sipping Jack with glazed eyes and sorrowed brows, angry veins and angrier words. Asshole.

Steve was scared. Vulnerable. Soft-bellied. And he was small, despite being so big, he was always smaller than he showed. Any sign of himself—this true self, squirmy and squeamish and small—that would be it. He didn’t want to be known. Didn’t want to be found out.

But then, here he was, holding the knife.

Distantly, he hears the slow jog of heavy steps. He has the wherewithal to recognize he should stow away the knife, deep in his pocket where nobody can see. Though, as it glistens and blinks—mesmerizing him—he leaves it wide open.

This isn’t the first time he’s been here.

It needs to be his last.

“Stevie!” Tommy shouts somewhere on his left. Steve’s head swivels to the sound of his own nickname. Jogging up one of the clearer snow paths, Tommy’s making quick work of getting to him. He’s in heavier clothes than Steve is: a beat-up Carhartt jacket, thick and long jeans, brown work boots, a tartan red scarf wrapped messily on his neck, mittens, and a beanie with a big pom-pom on the top. As he gets closer, Steve can hear his heavy breathing, see the puffs that emanate from the frigid air. Still got that boyish way to him. A million freckles, those soft brown eyes, his pearly white teeth. The first boy Steve ever thought to kiss; the first and last boy to break his heart. “Steve,” Tommy murmurs now that he’s close, “hey…hey, I found you.”

He can’t move from his spot on the bench. It’s cold. His bottom aches from the chill of the wood, but he can’t make himself get up. Legs like lead. That knife still heavy. And he might cry if he speaks right now.

Tommy can see him. Truly see him.

For the first time.

Steve can catch the exact moment Tommy spots the unsheathed, flipped open knife. His eyes widen a fraction, eyebrows shooting up to the edge of his hat, his light smile fading into the paleness of his cheeks. He stutters in his settling, standing frozen to the spot. Like he became one with the slick ice. He’d do something like laugh at the expression, but again, it may just catch like a sob.

“You…you have a knife,” Tommy dumbly points out. His eyes dart away from the blade, though. He’s forcing himself to not look. To ignore it. Setting his focus on Steve’s face instead. “Your lips,” he whispers, “what’re you doin’ out here without a scarf? And your gloves and coat and…you need to be warm.” With great speed, the same quickness Steve used to see on the high school’s track, Tommy is unwrapping the scarf from around his neck. Gently, he tucks it on Steve’s, forcing it to sit tight against his going blue lips. Then, he’s tugging off his jacket, slipping Steve’s left arm through one of the sleeves. But by the time he makes it to the right—“Stevie, can I…I need to take the knife from you, okay? I need to get you warm.”

He can’t move his hand.

But his eyes stay on Tommy’s. Big on his sunken face, burning hot with fresh tears, chin wobbling. He can’t even ask.

“I’m gonna take it,” Tommy gently says, “put it in my pocket, okay? Just for a little while.” Slow now, he reaches for the knife. When Steve doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even flinch, he takes it in his grip. It’s probably the only thing about him that’s warm, if the surprise on Tommy’s face says anything. But he ignores that, too. Simply folds it up—schtick!—and buries it deep in the front left pocket of his jeans. Just like that.

Like it was nothing.

The outline of its handle in Tommy’s pocket is something, though. Heavier than it seems.

Had it looked like that in Steve’s sweatpants? All weighted and obvious?

He pities himself—the fool.

Tommy continues to take care of him, though, one piece of clothing at a time. The jacket all zipped, mittens on Steve’s numb hands, beanie on his big head. And when he’s done, he steps back with a tight, light smile. “There,” he breathes, “all done.” He tucks the scarf tighter again, as if he can manifest it to be warmer. Then, softly, he takes Steve’s hands in his own, rubbing them with his palms. Forcing them to get warmer. “Can I get you to come with me to my car? Let me turn on the heater and warm you up?”

Steve blinks. The first thing he feels on his face since he finished sobbing on the phone—a single hottear. “Are you taking me home?” he asks, wobbly and so unusual, even for himself. It makes him sound like a little kid. A little, vulnerable, very afraid kid.

“No,” Tommy murmurs—simple—“I’m not. We are going to drive around for a few, so you get warmed up in the car, get you a gas station hot chocolate—which will taste and feel amazing right now—and then I’m going to take you wherever you want to go.” He pats Steve’s shoulders with both of his hands, almost like he’s reminding himself that Steve is still right there. To touch. Alive. “How’s that sound?”

He nods once. Then, he blinks and shakes his head. Nods. Shakes. “I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, muffled by the scarf, “I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, no, I don’t want an apology. No apologies allowed. I’m glad you called.” Tommy squeezes Steve’s shoulders, looking dead on. There’s something watery in his gaze now. He doesn’t let it fulfill. “I’m really glad you called, okay? Let’s go to the car to warm up. And if…if you want to talk about it, we’ll talk. My ears are yours and my lips are sealed, you know that.”

They make their way back one slow step at a time. Their arms are hooked like they’re on some winter wonderland walk date. It’s fucked sideways, completely fucked, but Steve smiles small behind his scarf anyway. Tommy’s trying to fill the silence, something about baseball and little league and coaching, but Steve’s too lost in the warmth seeping through his body. The heat that makes him feel truly like a dancing flame, alive.

He’s still bad enough to know that once tonight is through, wherever he ends up, he’ll be left bereft with the consequences of his own actions. Probably something about disappearing in the middle of the night from his dad, something worse if his mind’s eye isn’t playing tricks. A lot of people will have questions as to why they’re seeing Tommy Hagan around a lot more—wandering into the Family Video just to talk to Steve, swooping into their local diner just to grab some fries with a wave at Steve, hanging around the arcade just to catch Steve beating his own high score. Nobody has to know what happened tonight.

But if he doesn’t talk, eventually he’ll self-immolate. Implode.

Steve Harrington, 19, Found Dead in Ditch; does not sound appealing. It wouldn’t make sense, he’s a great driver. He’d make it look like an accident, though. He’s still too much of a live-wire for a million and one questions, let alone all the queues being dispersed among so many people.

He needs help, he knows that. How does he ask for it, though? Who’s going to be less judgmental when he finds the strength to ask? Or is it going to be just as he feared? Under a microscope, people poking and prodding, local town pariah for being so mentally unwell. It happened to Eddie’s mom.

Maybe he’d be the only one to truly grasp it.

The conversations that have to be had, though, are daunting. Less daunting, however, than the knife still stowed in Tommy’s pocket.

He’s just sat in the passenger seat, reclined the way he likes with the door shut behind him, when Tommy abruptly turns on the car and starts messing with the dials on his vents. Pointing every single one at Steve, cranking that heat up. His radio is on, too, playing a mixtape on low volume. It’s the one Steve made him in their freshman year—“Nowhere Man” by The Beatles is just starting.

“Rubber Soul?” Steve finds himself mumbling.

“Hm?” Tommy stops moving for a moment, seatbelt halfway to being buckled, darting his eyes to the radio. “Oh—yeah, yeah! Remember, you showed me this album? One of my favorites, man. Always liked this song the most…you put it on this tape twice just to make sure I heard it.” He smiles at Steve. Bright and happy, his eyes squinting and his freckles bunching. It’s always been a great smile.

It’s been a while since it was pointed at him.

He likes it.

Wishes these were better circumstances. That they had been better people. That they’d survived. Maybe if they both weren’t so conniving and embarrassing and crude. One day, he thinks he can forgive Tommy. Not now, not for a while.

Tonight, though, he can learn to thank him.

Maybe that in itself is forgiveness enough for Steve, but even then, it takes more than a few good years of near radio silence to pass them by.

“Let me just”—Tommy whispers, leaning in. He reaches for the seatbelt, stretching it across Steve’s rigid body, and safely clicks it into place. There’s a moment where he lingers, staring, darting his eyes over every minuscule part of Steve’s face. Up close, there are definitely unshed tears in Tommy’s stare, but he just smiles. Small and safe, just for them, he smiles again. He pulls back to his own seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hovering over the gearstick.—“there we go, all tucked away. Sorry if the jacket is a little tight, it was the only winter coat I could find, guess it’s getting up there in years.”

Steve blinks and settles his head deeper into the headrest. Exhausted, he doesn’t say anything else.

Tommy seems to allow it, pulling away from the curb and back onto the empty street. He’s going at a snail’s pace, most likely because he doesn’t have chains on his tires. But he keeps his focus on the road ahead, unlike the him of previous years. Sitting passenger in Steve’s car, talking directly at him, not sparing a glance out the window. Instead, he looks forward, occasionally squeezing the leather of his steering wheel tighter. His eyes are darting, though. Nervous. Scared.

They pass by a few dark houses. Some small stores.

And then the gas station is pulling into view, Tommy slowing to turn into the parking lot, putting it in park. He turns to Steve, eyes big and dark in the dim light of his car. “I’m gonna go in there and fetch a large hot chocolate for you. D’you want me to grab anything else?”

He shrugs.

“Hey,” Tommy murmurs, “let me take care of you for a little bit, okay? Drive you around, get you some things you need.” He reaches out, gently squeezes Steve’s left forearm. His thumb is tracing the seam of the jacket’s sleeve. “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, “…maybe just some peanut butter cups?”

Tommy nods. “‘Course. Want some Reeses Pieces, too? I remember you liked those.”

“No, it’s okay. Shouldn’t put you out like that anyway.”

The fingers still resting on his forearm tighten. Squeezing so hard, Steve can feel the bite of his fingernails. “You aren’t putting me out, Stevie. It’s no big deal.”

Up close, he can make out the eye bags and dark circles under Tommy’s eyes. The tired fold of his smile. Laziness creeping back onto his face. Probably tired as hell.

“Just those things. Don’t need anything else, promise.”

For a brief, brief moment, Tommy remains rooted to his seat. Something flickers through his face. A shuttering shimmer of daylight, darkening in the edges the way a vignette photograph does. It’s not confusion or disbelief or anger. A sadness, maybe. A fear.

But then Tommy is heaving himself out of the car, keys still in the ignition, radio volume low, heaters pulling their weight.

Steve glances out the passenger side window. At the chainlink fence on the edges of this gas station parking lot, curled into itself and overgrown with wild weeds. Some needles are littered at the base of the fence—he wonders where those people are now. Were they looking for a little relief? Partying with the hard stuff for the sake of it? The thrill of it?

How many of them were like him?

How many were there?

His reflection is blinking in the glass of his window, peering out softly at the needles. What if there was only one? Just as young. Just as scared. With nobody there to pick them up, take them out of their head, be patient. Nobody, not even an old friend, not even a neighbor. He wonders if this person—this figment—was running from something. Feelings, responsibilities, the very thing they feared. Seeking shelter, semblance of a normal in the dark parking lot of their local gas station chain.

Maybe they made it out. Got away from their head in that manner. Maybe they see the needles, too. Putting themself in those shoes, some of them new, some of them dirty, some of them laced, some velcro. He hopes they got their peanut butter cups and hot chocolate. Hopes they got a soft ending; wherever they may have ended up; whoever they ended up being.

Glancing out the windshield, he spots Tommy looking back at him, as if checking to see if he’s still there. His stomach turns over, clenching hard at the reason why. The fact he put that worry there. Shit.

And then, finally, he gets a good catch of himself in his overhead mirror. There are barely any lights around that illuminate his face, just whatever shines outwards from within the little convenience store. His hair is tucked away in the beanie, not wild from the wind like he had been expecting. His cheeks are puffy, starting to redden with color, from the heat in the car. But his eyes.

Flat, pink, bloodshot, yet empty.

No wonder Tommy keeps looking at him. He put that worry there, in the absence of himself, he instilled that worry. The fear.

Tommy eventually comes back out, swinging into the car with a to-go carrier of hot chocolates, and a crinkling plastic bag in the crook of his left elbow. He settles in his seat, off loading the carrier to Steve, regaling him to divvying out the drinks. Once he’s in, buckled and warmed, he reaches for the ignition.

“Can we stay here for a minute?” Steve meekly asks.

All at once, Tommy stops in his tracks. Sitting back. “Y-yeah, dude, sure. Just figured you’d wanna see around first, give yourself some time to…to think, I guess.”

He hands off one of the hot chocolates when Tommy reaches out for it, saying in the process, “I feel like I’ve done enough thinking tonight. Enough for a lifetime.”

There’s a sharp inhale at that. “I get that,” Tommy murmurs, “seems like there’s a lot of empty time on my hands these days.”

Steve sniffs, takes a swig of his drink, hums unconsciously at the flavor. “What are you up to these days? ‘Sides saving my sorry, stupid ass.”

“You’re not stupid, Steve. Don’t say shit like that.” He’s momentarily frozen in his seat, as Tommy’s eyes ice over to him. “And I already told you, I’m glad you called me.”

“You were asleep. You could’ve told me that. I would’ve found somebody else.”

“I wanted to get you,” Tommy insists. “It doesn’t matter how much time or space or whatever other garbage is between us, if you call me, I’m gonna be there. Even if you need me to—fucking, I don’t know—tie your shoes or something.”

Steve traces the lid on his cup with the thick thumb of his mitten. Words caught splintered in his throat, dead.

At his silence, Tommy lets out a sad little sigh. And then he goes quiet for a moment, too.

The air isn’t exactly tense, but it isn’t pleasant either. Thick, heavy, and warm. Maybe it’s the heater vents, the million layers he was forced into, the hot chocolate in his hands. It’s not even a good hot chocolate—Wayne Munson is the king of that—but he can appreciate it for what it is. A chance to make sure that he isn’t going to collapse in on himself.

It’s an appeasement. In a way, he’s being convinced to stay.

“What would it take to show you that you’re worth caring for?” Tommy suddenly breaks through. “Because I…I know I was going to let you talk about it in your own time, but…Steve, I want to be there, but I can’t always be there. And I. I have to be honest, right?

“I’m always going to try and save you. I’ll always come to your side when you call me, even if it’s been months or, shit, even years. But what happens when the next time I’m out here in the cold, your toes are too far over the edge? What if I go to grab the back of your shirt and it rips in my grip? What if…what if you can’t be patient anymore?” He won’t look up from the lid of his cup. Won’t answer, not yet. Right, passes through his head, he’s right. You know he is. Tommy’s gaze is set on his face, shiny in his peripheral. “I love you with every piece of me, again, no matter what, I’m always gonna love you. Just…

“Steve, I’m worried one day I won’t reach you.

“Or that I’m gonna come across…that you won’t be there by the time I arrive,” he stresses, “and I don’t want any of that to happen. Seriously, whether you’re my best friend or fuckin’ best enemy or whatever, I still care about you. You were still my first friend, the first person outside of my family that I was hugging, my first camaraderie, and you were my first wake-up call.”

Finally, he drags his eyes up. Burning, heavy, aching, Steve blearily looks to Tommy. Caught up in the blur of his own vision, unable to see even two feet ahead of him. His whole everything aches. Every ember of his soul. The drip of his blood, rushing straight to his toes, up to his no longer numb fingers.

The world’s a fireplace around him, words sound like near deathbed confessions, and he can taste his stale breath cutting through the chocolate. He never did get his glass of water. Can’t believe he let his dad play into this. Into tonight.

“Tommy,” he chokes out. “I don’t…I don’t know what you want me”—

“Sorry,” Tommy whispers, “I’m sorry. That was a lot and all at once. I just care about you, man.” He reaches out, grabbing for Steve’s forearm once more. Fingers tense and tight in his jacket. “I’d hate to see you gone. You deserve to be here, to be cared for. Please, Steve, just let me care about you for tonight. Please.”

Bending forward, Steve places his hot chocolate in the cup holder closest to him. Having his ear closer to the speaker, he can hear “Nowhere Man” again—or what must be for the second time. Tommy was always trying to make Steve feel better, even if sometimes how he showed it seemed impossibly stupid; but maybe the song wasn’t purposefully put on the cassette twice, he has half a mind to realize, Tommy didn’t want him to feel dumb for what he did.

Slowly, he peels off his mittens, fingers sweating with anticipation to not be so damn hot. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tommy begin to lurch forward, stop him, but Steve only works faster. Just so he can place the naked skin of his right palm over the back of Tommy’s. Their skin joins in a puddle of malleable warmth. And even further, the hand under his turns, palm now up, gripping tight to his fingers. He rests his head against the passenger window, looking out at the bottom of the fence again.

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs.

“Stop apologizing. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I”—

He’s silenced with an even tighter pressure to the tips of his fingers. So hard that he can feel the way Tommy’s wrist shakes with the force. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m not asking for it. It’s not necessary.”

Steve nods against the window. Beanie pushing up, hair falling free against his forehead. “Okay,” he crackles.

Again, Tommy’s moving, his shirt rustling against the leather seat. But he’s closer, if the warmth of his shoulder bleeding into Steve’s says anything. “Hey”—he tugs their joined hands, Steve glances over—“you think you can talk to me? Tell me what happened?”

Shrugging, Steve sighs. “Just…what I said earlier. Trying to get some water, Dad’s in the kitchen starting shit. Guess I just…just pussy-ed out. Went running out the door.”

Tommy swallows hard. “Did he…”

“He tried to get his hands on me,” Steve admits quietly, confessing what Tommy already knew. “But he was so drunk, he swung and stumbled. Made it out of there with my hair still intact.” His shoulder hurts in this angle. But he doesn’t want to pull his hand away, not when it gets another squeeze, not when he earns Tommy’s thumb rubbing into his knuckles. “I think he’s waiting up on me,” he whispers, “I can feel him, even here in the car, standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the front door. Like he did when I had weed that one time…couldn’t lay on my back after what he did that night.”

“I hate him,” Tommy darkly murmurs. “I’d kill him if I wasn’t so much shorter than that fuckwad.”

Dryly, Steve snorts. Rolls his eyes. “You’d give him a swirly and his face would get all red from how angry he’d be. From humiliating him. We’d call ‘im cherry cheeks for a week. ’Til he caught on.”

In the reflection of his window, he can see Tommy nod in agreement, smug little smirk on his face. “Until he caught on.” He shifts again, shoulder melting into Steve’s. “And then you decided to go on a midnight walk…did he take your car keys or something?”

“I didn’t really think about the car, Tommy. I just went. It was a dumb thing to do. But, well, I don’t make good decisions,” he states bitterly.

“Well, you called me and now you’re here.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to that.

There’s a squeeze to his hand that has him looking over. “So…did you…were you planning on…”

He shakes his head. “Guess I grabbed the knife without thinking. Self-defense or something, I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Tommy mutters. And there he goes, squeezing at Steve’s fingers again. It’s nice, though. The contact, warmth, the reminder. He twists his head so that they’re looking straight on each other, even as his neck contorts uncomfortably. “I’m glad I got to the park when I did,” he murmurs, “the world wouldn’t be the same without you, Steve. It really, really wouldn’t.”

“You’re just saying that,” Steve mumbles.

“Hey, I mean it. Who else would be there to call your dad cherry cheeks? Tell him he looks like a big, ugly oaf?” He snorts at that, a smile itching to make itself known. Tommy nudges him, shakes him, smirks. “Also, dude, the world needs a little bit more light, don’t you think? Who else is gonna call me on my bullshit? Knock me upside the head to tell me how much of a bigoted turd I’m being. You keep the balance, you bring the laughter, you bring the warmth, man. Nothing would be the same if you just…”—poof!—“left,” he whispers.

“Think someday I’ll believe you.”

Tommy shrugs. “Someday is better than never. But you better. Because I’m right.”

“When have you ever been right about something?”

“Well, I may be kinda thick in the head…but when have I lied to you?”

“I don’t know, think I can think of a few…”

“Those were well meaning lies! Like for your birthday that one year! You almost saw me wrapping up that new pack of baseballs—no way in hell was I going to let your snooping little ass ruin the surprise I had been sweating over for hours!”

There’s a big fat smile on both their faces, mirrored in each other’s all too expressive eyes. Tommy’s alight, Steve’s finally full. The laughter they share trickles out into shaky, steadying breaths. And for a moment, things are just like normal. Another late night with his old best friend, kicking rocks and talking shit. A time before.

Oh so before.

Tommy nudges him again. “You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

Steve chuckles, shoulders jumping with it. “Sure, dude,” he sighs, “let’s get outta here.”

The hand in his lingers for a beat, then two, a third. It tenses, pressing deep into his knuckles. And retreats. Thrown into his lap is the crinkling plastic bag from the store. Inside are at least three packs of peanut butter cups—way more than he asked for.

He looks up at Tommy, ready to protest. Instead, he gets a wink. “Our secret, Stevie-boy, you peanut butter fiend.” And then they’re off, driving aimlessly on the empty streets of Hawkins.

As the sun begins to rise, coloring their cheeks with tangible warmth, snow beading on the sidewalk, brown wrappers tossed aside, Steve is somewhat content. Rustling with nerves, knowing full well that Tommy still has that knife. But he’s…relaxed, nerveless, almost free.

All without the pain. All without the task of planning. All without the fear of saying goodbye—Steve is free.

They wind down familiar roads. Until, eventually, Tommy cracks with a yawn.

“Getting tired?” Steve mumbles.

“Oh, I’ve been tired. It’s fine, though. I can be out a little bit longer.”

“Nah, you don’t gotta. Think I’m ready to hit they hay, dude.”

Tommy sniffs. Runs a hand over his mouth, lets it fall back down to his lap, hitting the handle of the knife with the hilt of his palm. “Where do you want me to take you, Stevie?”

“I…I have an idea. But, uh, you’ll promise to keep the secret to yourself?”

He shifts nervously, catching Tommy give him a confused little quirk. “As long as it’s not gonna hurt you, sure. What…this sounds big.”

Steve swallows, nods, squeezes his hands into fists until his nails just begin to bite. The passenger window is enticing. “Remember that one secret years and years ago? When, uh, when we were kinda tipsy and hanging out by the pool and it was just us and”—

“The kiss thing, right?”

He inhales sharply. “Yeah, the…the kiss thing.”

“You can talk to me, Steve. I’m an asshole, but I’m not Brutus, man. Not gonna betray you for spilling your guts.”

“You promise you’ll keep it to yourself?”

In the blink of an eye, Tommy is pulling over to the curb. Slow and careful like. Twisting in his seat to face Steve, he only swivels his head to follow suit. “My ears are yours and my lips are sealed, remember? Hell, you don’t even need to tell me if you think it’s not safe to do so.”

Steve nods, slowly, absorbing. “Um…I-I have a partner.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Tommy asks, voice dropped low like anybody within a 100 mile radius could hear them. It’s a startling question, but it’s a soft one nonetheless.

“Yeah…he…he’s really good at taking care of me, y’know. And we look out for each other. He tells me I can come to him any time, if I need anything…anything.”

“Is it okay if I know who it is? Or is that…”

“I mean, I figured you’ll need to know to take me there? But, uh, Eddie Munson? Forest Hills?”

Tommy’s eyebrows raise slightly. He blinks. Takes in a slow breath. Then, quietly, “At the far end of the park, right? Near those swings?”

“Um…y-yeah. Yeah, near the swings.” Without responding, Tommy turns towards the steering wheel, shifting gears, pulling away from the curb. He makes a U-turn, back the way towards Forest Hills. “Is that…you’re not gonna say anything, right? Please don’t say anything.”

“My lips are sealed,” Tommy repeats. “I’m just…little surprised, I guess. Not about—Not that you two are, like, gay and into each other or something. Just…you guys have things to talk about? Get along okay?”

“He’s crafty. So, sometimes, we’ll watch a game together—whatever’s on—and he’ll listen to me rant and cheer and stuff, ask me about the stats…usually, he sits next to me and paints or draws or whatever. We keep each other entertained.”

Tommy nods in his peripheral. “Good, that’s good. Does he know about your…your mom? Your dad?”

“You’re the only one who knows about my mom. Figured it didn’t matter to bring it up, I guess. I mean, Nancy might know, but…I don’t know. It’s not important.”

“‘Course it’s important, Steve. Her death kinda hit you sideways…in a lot of ways, actually. It’s good, y’know, to talk about that kinda stuff. Plus, well, I’m sure Eddie would understand, right?” Steve shrugs at that. Tommy must be able to see it. “You don’t know about his mom? That’s a conversation you guys should have, dude. That was pretty big, last I remember.”

“Why do you know that?”

“This kid was picking on Eddie back in high school. Picking on him about his mom. Think I gave that kid a black eye or two…what a shitty thing, shitting on somebody ‘cause their fucking parent died.” Tommy begins to slow on the road, blinker clicking as he signals turning into the Forest Hills drive. “But he’d understand, that’s all I’m saying. Plus, you need more people in your corner. More people to rely on. Not that—I mean, I love being there for you, dude. I just…it would be good.

“When my parents divorced, I relied on you, sure. But I had a few other people, too. Some teachers. Principal Higgins. Even Mrs. Byers…which kinda shocks me, considering how I treated her kid. Makes me feel sick thinking about that.”

Steve blinks, notices they’re outside Eddie’s trailer, parked next to his shit-box of a van. He gets a good look at Tommy’s side profile. Gently aged. “You grew up,” he states.

“Best fucking feeling in the world. Should’a followed in your footsteps, Stevie. Should’a quit being an asshole when it was time.”

“But you did eventually.”

Tommy gives a slow nod, unbuckling himself. “Yeah, well. There’s a time for everything.” He looks over to Steve. God, his big brown eyes look even bigger in the sunlight. Even gentler. Even sweeter. “Can I walk you up to the door?”

“I don’t know…Eddie might”—

“I kinda need to talk to him anyway. It’s important.”

“Yeah, okay…okay.”

By the time they make it up the steps, peanut butter cups stored deep in Steve’s pocket, Eddie’s already swinging the door open. There’s a look of apprehension on his face, darting his eyes between Steve and Tommy. A bite behind his lip that he’s very noticeably trying to hide away. “Stevie,” he greets softly, “what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Um…I…I had a bad night,” Steve quietly admits, “thought I’d come here, after Tommy helped me.”

The screen door opens wider. Eddie’s face goes soft, deeper. “Everything alright? Nobody’s hurt, are they?”

Steve swallows, shifts uneasily. “I don’t wanna talk about it right now, please. Just…can I hang out for a bit? Maybe nap?”

Eddie’s already placing a hand on the center of Steve’s back, ushering him in. “Of course, just go in and get comfortable, I’ll meet you inside in a second.”

As soon as he steps inside, the door shuts behind him. Muffled conversation is all he hears, retreating to Eddie’s room. In a matter of minutes, stuffy jacket taken off, he’s dozing.

——— “Alright, what’re you doing here?” Eddie asks, finally addressing Tommy.

In front of him, Tommy shifts uncomfortably. “Listen, I know you don’t trust me. I get it. But I…I just need to talk to you, okay? It’s about Steve.”

“If you’re here to talk shit on him after he was lookin’ like that, then you can take your sorry ass”—

“He called me, ‘bout a couple hours ago, sobbing on the phone. His dad’s being a real piece of work. Just a total shitbag, okay? And he called me from the park by his house, talking to me about his dad, and I couldn’t just leave him there. Kept zoning out on the phone, sobbing, I couldn’t just leave him there.” Tommy thrusts his hand into his pocket, producing a pocket knife from it.

Eddie startles back slightly, a half-step backwards. “Why do you”—

“I found him there, completely out of it on a bench, with this fucking knife in his hand. It was open. Like he was…and I took it from him, kept it from him. Took him around town for a bit, trying to get him not to spook, y’know?” The knife is warm, placed heavily in Eddie’s palm, fingers curling tight around it. “He was going to do it. If I hadn’t gotten there, if he had never called me…I don’t even want to think about it.

“But he told me that you guys take care of each other. And he told me that if he had something, he could go to you for it. I’m just. I’m worried, okay? I can’t always be there to save him, he needs more people in his corner—people who are not going to judge him—because I can’t fathom with”—Tommy’s voice wobbles, thickens—“with losing him. And I know you’d be absolutely wrecked, if what he told me ‘bout your relationship is true”—

“You know about us?”

“That’s not important,” Tommy emphasizes. “Just don’t let him get this, okay? Keep an eye on him. He needs it. I care about him, even if it doesn’t seem that way, I do. He was my whole world up until our junior year. If something happened to him—fuck—I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t know…I don’t…”

Eddie’s not used to people crying around him. The only people who have are, well, Wayne and Steve.

But Tommy’s shoulders shake, his whole back heaving. Each sob caught on a choked breath. His eyes squinting into themselves, skin going splotchy with the effort.

Without a care for image, Eddie is stepping forward again, wrapping Tommy in a tight hug.

He doesn’t get Steve and Tommy’s whole dynamic. Not at all. All he knows is that they had a falling out. But he gets it, calling on the past to try and ground the present, that’s something Eddie’s been doing his whole life. Nostalgia or something. Relying on the lucidity of memories to bring him back. But if Tommy says something’s bad, sobbing so bad he’s choking with it, then it’s something worth tucking away.

And with that knife heavy in Eddie’s hand, he sees what Tommy’s doing.

He understands it.

He fucking gets it.

“Sorry,” Tommy muffles into his shoulder, “shit, I’m sorry. The world wouldn’t be the fuckin’ same if he—god, shit—he’s too good to do shit like that.”

Eddie’s squeezing so tight his knuckles hurt. “I’ve got him,” he swears into Tommy’s hair, “I’m not letting him get away like this again. I promise, man, I fucking promise.”

“Be easy on him,” Tommy murmurs, “he’s easily spooked.”

“I know, fuck, I know.”

Tommy pats him on the back in that dude-bro way. And then he’s pulling away, wiping hastily at his eyes. “If you guys need anything, you can call me. I know I’m not the best person, but I can try. Fuck, for anybody in Steve’s life, I can try.”

Swallowing down his own wave of tears, Eddie nods. “You in the yellow pages?”

“Yup. Leonard Hagan’s residence. Think it’s somewhere in the 130s.”

“I’ll reach out. ‘Specially if I can’t get to him.”

“I got him some peanut butter cups. Works wonders with trying to get him to open up.”

There’s a small little smile on Tommy’s face, knowing and soft. Eddie chuckles airily. “Yeah, he’s a peanut butter goblin or something. Think he ate eighty percent of my last jar, honest to God.”

“He’ll do that to you. Think he still owes me at least three jars.” Tommy reaches out again, patting Eddie on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Eddie. Keep an eye on him for me, yeah?”

“Nothing else I’d rather do.”

☎️—————☎️

#stranger things #Tommy Hagan & Steve Harrington #steddie #steve harrington #tommy hagan #eddie munson #angst #heavy angst #read all content warnings and tags #hurt/comfort #hopeful ending

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astarionancuntnin · 4 months ago

Note

Hello! No idea if you’re taking requests, or if they are only Astarion x f!reader, nor how dark you go.

But you think you can write a Gale x f!reader in the third person (Name is just Tav) and Gale is obsessed with having a baby that he and Tav do it every minute even when Tav is asleep?

I'll go as dark as you allow me to go bb (also thank you for your patience oh my god i swear im gonna get through all my requests eventually). fair warning that this is my first Gale fic and i haven't done his romance in game, with that being said-

Silent Night

pairing: gale x tav (fem, not decribed but its implied she looks younger than him by a few years)

rating: E

word count: 3.7k

cw: 18+. smut, mentions of pregnancy, obsessive anxious thoughts, porn with feelings, coercion, unprotected sex, drugging, somnophilia, non-con, breeding kink (and breeding), creampie, using cum as lube, cock soaking, gaslighting, this is a dark one y'all have been warned. full list on ao3.

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

Ever since getting rid of the Absolute, Gale’s life had been exactly how he had pictured it, and that meant spending most of his days lavishing his wife, Tav. Not a day could go by where he and his beloved did not indulge each other. Not only did they spend every single night at it - it was every single moment they had together: out on a picnic date, while they were cooking, when they were snuggled up on the sofa reading - as if their primal urges could never be satisfied.

Especially Gale’s.

After getting married, he had made it his primary goal to make sure his wife was satisfied at all moments and Gods above did he deliver. Truth be told, his drive had only gone up since they discussed their future, and potentially having a family — a child! Gale could hardly believe it; it was one of his wildest dreams and it was now just within reach.

Growing up alone with his mother, he still struggled with the idea of being a father as he feared to not be up to everyone's expectations — moreso Tav’s — but he couldn’t deny how he hoped he could eventually get the chance to be the father he always dreamed of having. Give his mother grandchildren that she could visit, make their friends aunts and uncles, even new company for Tara; finally have a real family of his own.

They had been careful in the past, however. Tav would always drink a potion that acted as contraceptive before doing anything, and it had been Gale's greatest disappointment. Every time, he wished she'd forget or would dismiss it so he could finally have it his way with her.

Thankfully, Tav was interested in the idea, but he noticed her doubts everytime the topic was brought up.

After everything they had gone through and the uncertainty of their future because of it, she had asked for some time to think about it. Make sure they were appropriately settled in — had a house, a stable income, a place secure for a child to grow up — and yes, of course, that was reasonable, but Gale couldn’t keep his mind from picturing her, with her breasts full of milk and rubbing her belly, swollen with their child.

My, what a sight.

It was enough to get him in the mood to put a damned baby in her.

But, Gale was a patient man, he could wait. Surely, she would make up her mind and have a clearer idea soon enough. She wasn’t saying it just to waste her most fertile years away, only to watch the opportunity fly out the window, or waiting for the next best option in terms of partners. They were married, for Gods’ sake, they had vowed to stay together until death did them apart, and after what they had survived, they were assured to live until their old days; they would be together forever.

…Right?

She wouldn’t just leave him now of all time, now that they were safe and secure. She didn’t just stay out of convenience, surely not. She couldn’t have lost interest since their adventure ended and was just looking for a way out — buying her time until she could safely discard him as Mystra had done to him in the past.

Oh Gods… but what if she was?

It’s not like he was getting any younger. If anything, the stress of destroying the absolute had taken a toll on him that must’ve made him age twenty years in the few months alone it had taken them. It only struck him when he gazed upon his beloved, still the very depiction of youth, as opposed to him. She remained beautiful as time passed by and he loved to admire her, but it was a constant reminder that he wasn’t getting any younger, and the orb in his chest hadn’t helped in the matter either. Even if he figured out a way to live longer, a skill he could learn as a wizard, she wouldn't have the chance to be blessed by those same powers Gale had; he would outlive her and he would be left behind — alone.

Again.

She would have every reason to look for someone more younger, who could age with her, and less broken than he was, and the darkest parts of him couldn’t accept this reality — wouldn’t accept it.

It didn’t matter that they were married, or how many times she had reassured him, those same thoughts came back crawling like a pest.

So that night, before heading to bed, Gale prepared Tav's herbal tea as usual: with chamomile, citrus, and honey — just warm enough to be comforting — and a dose of a special potion he took care of obtaining at the market during his errands earlier, just to make sure she would sleep through the night undisturbed.

Such a good husband! The merchant had exclaimed after he had explained his wife was suffering from insomnia. Taking care of his wife and tending to her utmost care, so thoughtful!

Oh, if only they knew.

They explained in detail the exact effects of the potions, and he didn't need further convincing before dropping a pouch of coins on the table and taking off with the magic concoction.

Upon watching his wife drink the tea he had so kindly prepared, Gale could only see how right the merchant had been — Tav wasn't even halfway through her cup that her eyelids grew heavy, her head wouldn't sit straight, and her entire body screamed at her to go rest.

Gale, the caring and loving husband he is, took it upon himself to bring her to bed and lay her down comfortably, still in her night clothes, with her breathing already heavy with sleep. He pushed her hair aside, letting his knuckles brush against the supple skin of her cheek as he took in the sight of her.

His beautiful wife — almost bare as she wore a short, lilac silk nightgown, and a soft pair of lace underwear, one he would eventually remove tonight to finally take what was rightfully his.

It would be preferable if she were awake, of course, but with the way her own doubts had plagued her mind, Gale thought it fair to give her head a vacation. She could rest peacefully, and he could give her a gift she didn’t know she wanted; he would help her see reason this way and she would have no other choice but to accept it if it just happened to her.

It was for the best, for both of them — he had always been careful, always so damned careful, respecting her wishes; what about what he wanted? What about his needs?

To breed her in the dead of night, leave her with a sticky mess between her legs to wake up to, then offer her another round of morning sex to cover up the soreness he would've caused her the night prior so she could stay completely inconspicuous until her sickness shows up and her belly grows swollen with a new life and—

Oh, Gods above, no, what was he thinking?! He couldn’t do this to her — not like this; not when she was asleep, but… Hells, he couldn’t ignore the throbbing erection this vision had given him. The sheer fabric of his underwear rubbing against his cock made him groan; he wouldn't be able to let it go now… And she was right there, out cold, it’s not like she would mind it if he were to just use her a little, right?

He sighed. Fine, just a touch then, just enough to ease the ache.

He let his hand reach down and underneath his underwear, where his fingers wrapped around his length, hard and angry, and he let go of a heavy breath as he pumped himself just once. Once too many, as it only made him more desperate for what could be around his cock instead of his hand.

Just a few strokes, just enough to satisfy my needs so I can go to sleep.

His grip was strong, but he pumped himself slowly as he eyed Tav's sleeping form. His thumb moved to the head of his cock, where he found a bead of pre-come already dripping, calling out for its home that rested between his wife’s legs. He rubbed it against his tip and slid it over his shaft to lubricate himself — hoping to find some relief with his own arousal — but only found himself wishing it were from his beloved, laying right there in front of him.

Gods dammit… Fine — just a touch, then… just a little… touch…

While one hand kept stroking true, his other one found comfort in the softness of her warm breasts. Small compared to what they could be if she were carrying their child, gorged in milk, but nothing short of delicious, as he remembered their taste in his mouth, his tongue circling around her plump nipple…

Oh, the taste of her–

As she moved in her sleep, he let go, afraid that he had woken her up, only for her to have simply slightly moved her legs apart, naturally lifting her nightgown up above her thighs and allowing Gale a clear view over her beautifully wrapped entrance — all of this without him needing to even lift a finger.

He chuckled nervously, thinking only for a moment she might have been awakened by his lewd touches. Still, she remained unconscious, and he remained painfully aroused by the sight of her barely covered cunt, with her legs wide open. She was right there, ready for the picking, just for him.

Hells, why was he second guessing himself, he had already spiked her tea, it's not like she would know either way; in for a penny, in for a pound, right?

Okay, okay, just a finger, just to pick up her moist and apply it over myself. That's all I need. Nothing more.

He pulled her legs together, just to slide her underwear off, only to be hit with the scent of her arousal completely coating the silk he had pulled away from her entrance.

By the Gods, my love. You're positively soaked. What have you been dreaming of, I wonder?

He brought her underwear to his nose, breathing in her aroma, and a shiver ran down his spine as he let his thoughts wander once again to his original plan. As he looked back to her, legs spread open and slit glistening wet, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind anymore; by the time he would be done with her, her womb would finally be claimed by his potent seed, and she would bear his child whether she wanted to or not.

Hells, forget the finger, I must taste you.

Letting go of his night robe and sliding down his underwear completely, he crawled over the bed and between her legs, settling comfortably with his face right besides the warmth at the apex of her thighs. He wrapped one arm around her soft thigh, while the other hand slid up to her wet slit, squeezing her puffy lips to push her juices out and admiring it drip over their bedsheets.

“Heavens above, my love,” he whispered against her cunt, his low, raspy voice carrying the lust he was done denying himself. “You look simply delicious.”

Bringing his face closer, he pulled his tongue out and pressed it flat against her entrance, swiping up along her slick ever so slowly to collect her essence. A shudder ran down his spine at her taste as he swallowed down her juices.

He murmured, against her core, “Not even the Gods could rival your taste, my heart.”

Using his thumb and finger just below her clit, he spread open her lips to expose her fully to him; pussy wet and enlarged by her arousal, almost as if she knew he was there, as if she subconsciously liked it.

Wanted it.

He breathed heavily over her slit, his mind hazy with lust as he finally dipped his tongue deeper into her folds, working his skilled tongue in and out of her. He took his time to collect her arousal in his mouth and tasted everything she had to offer him; he wanted to please her more than anything else, even as she slept through it all. His tongue circled around her clit and his mouth latched onto it to suckle, until he felt her reaching her first orgasm as she whined faintly in her sleep and her legs twitched — but she remained unconscious through it all, allowing Gale to eat and drink his fill of her.

Pulling back with his chin coated in her essence, he licked his lips with a smile. If this continued to go just as well, he would need to go back to the seller to thank them again.

Satisfied with her taste, and with his cock practically begging for her as he had smeared the bedsheets with his precome, he sat up on his knees and lifted her legs to bring them up and around his waist, then pressed his length over her cunt with a breathy sigh.

“There, there,” he purred as he rubbed his cock along her flushed and wet lips. “That’s a good girl, lying still for her husband. I just need a bit of you, love; you can rest. Just be good for me.”

If there was any doubt of her arousal, now it couldn't be ignored. Despite Gale’s assault of his mouth on her and the certitude he had drank every drop of her come as she climaxed in her sleep, a faint line of her juices dripped down from her entrance as he coated himself with her wet and stained the bed just below them.

I'll just slide the tip of my cock against her entrance, just enough to feel her— Gods, I need to feel her warmth.

No bed sheets or underwear in the way between her and him anymore, which made it all the more simple for him to align her waist with his and push her legs apart as he leaned against her with his arms on each side of her head. His length easily found its way around her warm lips, as he slid between them.

So very soaked for me, fuck— so wet and warm. Just stay like that love, your husband just needs you a little more.

Carefully moving his hips back, he pushed his tips against her entrance, and it didn’t take him long to come to a dreadful realization.

I can't wait any longer — I need this, please forgive me, Gods, I need this.

Slowly, he pushed himself all the way inside of her, and a broken gasp escaped his throat as he hit the end of her channel, filling her completely with his cock. Despite having completely sunk inside of her depths, it still wasn’t enough. He would only be satisfied when she would be filled to the brim with his seed, burst after burst of his cock spilling inside of her until she was leaking with his cum.

He picked up a rhythm — slow and careful at first — but it quickly fastened as he lost himself in the feeling of her tight walls around him, squeezing him even as she was sleeping.

“You little vixen–” he whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke to her as if she were conscious. “Ahhh… Just take it, take it for me. That's right, just like that… Oh, you little tease— you've wanted me to do this, haven't you? Have your husband come and fuck a baby into you as you slept? Are you truly this depraved, love? Are you this much of a whore for your lover?”

As she turned her head around and her arms moved up to touch his chest, Gale thought of the worst right away and slowed down his thrusts once more, but never stopped completely; he couldn’t find the strength within himself to stop now that he had gone this far.

He brought a hand up to softly cup her face and stroke her cheek, “Shhh, please don't make me do this, please, my love.” He whispered, pleading. “Don't fight it, just let it happen, you were doing so well.”

She whimpered, either from a nightmare or the potion wearing off, and brought her floppy arms up to weakly push against Gale's chest. Asleep or not, he couldn't allow her to try and stop him, not now. He picked her wrists and pinned her to their bed as he picked his rhythm back up, pounding into her.

“None of this now, dearest,” he growled. “Your husband is fulfilling his rightful duties to you, and I know you want this, your cunt has been begging me to put a baby inside of you for weeks now. This is for your own good; our own good— fuck—”

When her eyes began to flutter open and she mumbled his name half-asleep, he didn’t need to think twice before casting a sleep spell on her to make sure she would remain calm and docile. He wouldn’t back down now, the best he could do was minimize the damage on her.

His head fell forward, with strands of his hair falling from his messy bun to cover his face and tickle hers.

“I'm sorry my heart,” he pleaded as she slept through his assault, and he wasn't sure anymore if he tried to convince her or himself the most. “You gave me no other choice, I need to take you tonight. I need to make you mine and mine alone. It's for your own good, I promise.”

As if his words had slipped past the veil of her consciousness the moment those words left his lips, he felt her cunt clench around him.

“Oh Gods, even asleep your cunt wraps so tightly around my cock.” He moaned, biting his lips to muffle the desperate sounds fighting to leave his lips. “It's okay, you don't need to use that little head of yours, your body speaks for itself with how it's milking me.”

He wrapped her legs back around his waist and cast mage hands to keep them locked in his back. There was only one way tonight was ending, and he wasn't going to back away until his job here was done.

Despite the sleeping spell and the potion, Tav whimpered as Gale fucked into her recklessly, with a rhythm nearly desperate.

“Fuck, you moan so prettily when you take my cock, I might just burst yet—”

His thrusts started to become sloppy, losing his clean rhythm to replace it by one borderline animalistic as he pressed himself wholly against her body, her breast crushed against his chest with each push of his hips. In the dead of this warm, silent night, the only sounds keeping them company were the sloppy splashes of his hips against hers, his balls slapping against her tight little asshole, and his breathy moans that grew only louder and out of control, barely noticing just how loud he was getting.

“Please let me give you the life we deserve,” he begged, not caring for the sound of his voice anymore. “Let me breed you, bear my children, make me a father– fuck!”

His body pinned Tav down, his cock completely buried into her as he spilled himself in the depths of her womb. With his concentration faltering, she started whining through her sleep spell as if she had fought through it to wake up. With his cock still pulsing his white, hot come inside of her, he brought his lips over hers to muffle her sounds with a one sided kiss.

“Shhh, it’s okay my love, it’s over. You’re okay, I’m right here. I’ve got you. Shhhh…” Gale ushered in her ear as he kept his body pressed against hers, his breath hot against her skin, and brushed away the hair from her face. “Let’s just stay like this for a moment. I need… I need this.”

He stayed inside of her for a few long minutes, until his breath came back to him and his cock went soft inside of her, only then allowing himself to pull out and lay back next to her; it was all too soon when he lost the warmth of her walls around him, and even soft, he knew his cock was missing it's home as it rested sadly over his belly in a puddle of his cum and her essence.

Making sure to avoid any doubt from her, he got up to slip his briefs and her panties back on before sliding back into bed and pulling the covers over both of them, then turned away to pretend to be sleeping. As he finally broke the concentration on his spell, Tav slowly woke up to a sweaty, but very much seemingly asleep Gale.

She shook his arm to take him out of his daze, “Gale? Gale… wake up!”

He turned around as if just woken up, “Gods, Tav,” he mumbled, feigning his fatigue. “What time is it?”

“Did you…” Her voice is sleepy and confused. “Did you fuck me while I was asleep?”

“What?” He exclaimed, raising himself up on his elbows and rubbing his eyes. “Gods, love, who do you take me for? I would never impose myself onto you like that, you must've had a nightmare. Are you quite alright? Come here–”

He brought the back of his hand to rest over her forehead, as if to check her temperature, and pulled back with a worried look.

“Poor thing — you're burning.” He brought her head to rest over his chest as he pet her head, trying to soothe her back to sleep. “Hush now, you're safe, I've got you. Shhh… You’re okay…”

Within minutes, if not seconds later, she slipped back into a restful sleep, with her head moving to the beat of his chest rising, and Gale couldn't help but admire her, chasing away the guilt of his actions as he realized the necessity of it.

The faint light of the rising sun exposed the glistening laying between her legs and pooling over the bedsheets past her panties, and he instinctively licked his lips at the mere thought of it.

Now, there would be no doubt in their future, only a certitude swirling around in his mind.

In time, she will be the most amazing and caring mother.

He just knows it.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard @hellethil @frankie-mercury @ariajc79 @ladycroft5245 @lets-just-daydream @pursuitseternal @longjohnsilverfish @asterordinary @charmandabear @moochiepoo

#my posts #my writing #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #gale x tav #bg3 #bg3 smut #writing request #gale smut #baldur's gate 3 #gale x reader

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ghcstao3 · 2 months ago

Text

was??? going through old wips for inspiration and??? no clue when i wrote this, nor where i was going with it, Nor if i’ve ever shared any of it so. let me know if i should continue

‘09 ghoap AU — “one last job” / cw implied drug use

The world comes to in a series of sluggish blinks and hazy memories, and Simon already wants nothing more than to crawl back into the hole he’s just emerged from.

The sweat pooling at his temples isn’t exactly conducive to comfortably resting against the wall of the toilet cubicle, skin slick with perspiration keeping his head upright about as effectively as a newborn baby’s neck. But he has no choice so long as he wishes to keep the scant contents of his stomach intact, especially with every swoop and pulse of nausea that washes over him in rhythm with the muted thump of music from the club whose loo he’s been occupying for an indeterminate amount of time. It’s probably disgusting—is disgusting, getting so intimate with the sharpied cocks and vulgar words and stains of mysterious origin plastered all over the partition in such a way, but Simon is dizzy, the wall is solid, and this is hardly one of the worst positions he’s ever been in.

Simon’s leg bounces erratically, the curved edge of the toilet seat digging into his thigh as he struggles to blindly fish his phone from his pocket. His fingers are clammy, tremorous; a frustrated growl tears from his throat when the device slips from his grasp more than once before he’s able to pull it out and pry it open like it isn’t currently the most offensive thing to his senses.

But he pauses, then, not entirely certain why he needed the phone at all in the first place. There had to have been a reason, surely, but as Simon glares at the backlit numbers through a single squinted, bloodshot eye, he can’t find it in himself to be arsed to remember. If he’s honest, he can’t really recall much of anything at the moment, much less why he thought the old burner would serve as any kind of solace, any kind of cosmic saving grace. As it is, the phone is merely a foreign object, silver and scratched and impossible to comprehend the longer Simon stares at it.

An idea strikes him after many minutes have dragged by, whether or not it’d been the one he’d originally forgotten, and he begins dialling his brother—until about halfway through he thinks better of it, knowing that on the off chance Tom actually picks up at this ungodly hour, his voice and inevitable spiel would be more grating than it’d be reassuring, and Simon has already discovered enough new kinds of headaches in the past several minutes to last him more than a lifetime.

He sighs a raspy, crackly sort of exhale, then unceremoniously snaps the phone closed and shoves it back into the lint-filled depths of his trousers. His eyelids are leaden, his shoulders burdened, and he’s content to slump further against the wall and slip back into the embrace of that unconscious void if only because it’s the one thing he can manage without making things worse for himself.

A sudden, sharp rap on the stall door startles Simon just as he’s succumbing to that temporary relief, setting off the drum of his heartbeat like a jackhammer in his chest, a crescendoing panic unhelped by the intruder’s insistence, their continuous knocking on cheap metal. With strength previously entirely sapped from his body, Simon’s sitting up, alert, prepared to flee, even when his aching limbs and substance-addled mind are so adamant to keep him tethered to this, quite literally, shitty place.

“Oi, you right in there?” A Scottish brogue demands of him, booming, deafening; it rattles Simon’s bones, seizes his spine, worms beneath his skin. The words have Simon inexplicably ill all over again, and once he manages to wrench his mouth open to respond along the lines of either fuck off or fuck you, he discovers his mouth has been stuffed with cotton, his lips cracked and tongue stapled in place.

Another resounding beat of knuckles on the door, shoes shuffling on the dirty tile outside. Simon’s heavy gaze drifts downward to loafers far too pristine for an establishment such as this, too expensive and too polished and too out of place, and suddenly he’s even more terrified, more baffled by this individual so keen on seeking him out. Why should someone be so concerned of his rotting away on filthy porcelain, if not for some ulterior motive? If not to ruin him further, somehow more irreparably?

“I know you can hear me, Riley,” the voice says, low and gruff and teetering on the verge of threatening. It speaks a warning, Simon thinks, but he also thinks it could be a million other things he hasn’t the time nor capacity to consider. This warning means little to him, is no more significant than the sweat still beading on the nape of his neck, and he shoves it from his mind with the ease of swatting away a particularly bothersome fly.

He still can’t force himself to reply. Simon smacks his lips instead. He has second thoughts about not calling Tom.

#reading through the wip i was like okay okay i like where this is going #i wonder what happens next #and then it just ended #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #writing #fic wip

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fr0mthefires · 4 months ago

Text

haunted. - vampire!shigaraki x f!reader / part 1

In which you’re down on your luck, taking the first job that will have you after being laid off from Endeavor Dynamics. There, you cross paths with a certain mysterious, red-eyed individual who seems to be harboring a secret, and (un)fortunately find yourself tangled in a web of obsession and danger you’re not sure you can handle. Or stay away from.

cw: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced drug and alcohol use, death, loss, not beta read

~5.9k words

Christ. What day is it?

You're barely awake, a lingering dream still blurring the edges between sleep and awareness.

You weren’t privy to keeping up with time much these days. It all seemed to bleed and blend into a blur now, minutes feeling like seconds, days feeling like hours or sometimes vice versa, the sunlight too hidden behind the thick black curtains you’d hung weeks ago to truly know whether it was day or night. You simply go through the motions, sleeping or gaming or watching whatever mindless content you click on and stare at absently to fill the overwhelming silence in your apartment.

Some would call it heaven to be holed up like this with no real responsibilities; you, however, have taken to calling it the Void. That’s what it feels like, anyway. A black hole of nothingness, chewing up time and spitting it out whatever which way it chooses.

You’d been laid off of your computer tech job a few weeks ago, Endeavor Dynamics having suddenly decided to do away with your particular position in the company in favor of funneling that money into lining their own pockets and beefing up their marketing, all in hopes of bringing in more poor, unsuspecting unpaid interns who were fresh out of college and hoping to make a name for themselves in the world of corporate greed.

You had enjoyed the newfound freedom at first after the initial shock and despair wore off. You could sleep in past 6am for the first time in ages, could spend all day grinding in your favorite games for legendary cosmetics and leveling up your stats, got to catch up on your anime watchlist and eat shitty takeout whenever you wanted. It truly felt like the life, until it didn’t anymore.

Your savings account had begun to noticeably dwindle after the first three weeks. No big deal, you’d told yourself. A new opportunity would come soon. You’d spent all that time and money grinding for that fancy college degree, after all. You had a decent resumé with slightly-more-than-decent references. But after your sixth application to various companies in the city returned no results, you began to worry.

As it turned out, employers didn’t really care all that much about degrees in Computer Science and Game Development. Not when they had to narrow down their options in the shit job economy to other candidates with flashier degrees like Business and Accounting. And now, nearly five weeks into unemployment, the pickings are slim. The amount left in your savings will likely only cover rent and necessities for this month if you’re frugal, and after that, you’ll have to make your way to the nearest dumpster and pick out a nice cardboard box to call home.

Unfortunately, you're not one of the privileged souls out there with family to rely on when you’re down and out. Life had sobered you up to reality at a young age. Your mom never did live up to her title as such; she never put in any effort to connecting with you, caring for you, or loving you beyond what was necessary to keep up appearances.

It was clear even at such a young age that she wanted nothing to do with you. You were a blight on her life, a responsibility she never really wanted, and she made it known in as many passive aggressive ways as she could get away with without your dad noticing.

Your dad, on the other hand, was the polar opposite of your mom. He loved you in a way that was loud and all-encompassing, and he made it known to you in any way your little mind could understand. Trips to the park, countless stuffed animals and toys, more books read at bedtime than you could count on your little fingers, bear hugs and kisses on your forehead as he tucked you in for the night. He made up for all the love you lacked from your mom ten-fold.

He was your safety blanket, the first and only best friend you'd ever had. But life was cruel, and it made sure you knew that. You'd never forget when your dad collapsed that first time during your sixth birthday party. The second of silence that followed that seemed to stretch for hours before the panic ensued. The sound of the sirens blaring as the ambulance screeched to a stop in front of your house.

He was always so tired after that day. The trips to the park went from three times a week, to one every other week, to none at all. The animated way he would read your favorite bedtime stories was replaced by your own little voice while he laid next to you, his eyes closed as he nodded his encouragement.

"The a- animals saw the tree and knew that Fox was still a part of them. Owl raised his gran- his gran-"

"Grandchicks, darling." His voice was barely there when he'd help you pronounce the words you struggled with.

"Owl raised his grand... chicks on the br- branches. The tree gave love to everyone who loved Fox."

"And so, Fox lived on in their hearts forever," he mouthed along with you, a shiny bead trailing down the side of his face. You traced it with your little finger, and he gave you one of his most tired smiles.

He was gone by the time you'd turned seven. His body was too riddled with cancer for him to withstand it anymore. He left the world with one final, unsteady caress on your cheek and a barely whispered "I'm sorry, pumpkin." Your mom left the room, left you as you cried and cried and cried. She made one of the nurses drag you out to the car.

It didn't take long for your mom to pick up habits after that. The kind of habits that made the house smell like chemicals and made her sleep for hours and hours, or the kinds that made her breath smell gross and sour when she'd yell at you for leaving your room. If she wasn't passed out on the couch she was gone for hours at a time, late and long enough that you learned how to tuck yourself into bed. You didn't really like bedtime stories anymore, anyway.

She met your stepdad around the time you turned eight, a wanna-be drug lord with a serious heroine addiction. You figured maybe him and your mom were meant to be in that regard. She needed someone to rely on, after all. The addiction made it impossible for her to function on her own, let alone raise you. A couple months after that, the neglect evolved into abuse.

Your mom was often too out of it to realize or care what she was doing, but on the rare days she was lucid, she made it a point to let you know it was all your fault. You’ll never forget the way she’d look at you, her eyes distant and slightly unfocused as they trailed over your cuts and bruises.

"He always loved you more than me," she'd murmur, almost sounding sad, before her eyes would refocus, sharp with anger and loathing. “This is your fault, you know. If you’d never been born, I could have been happy. Your dad could still be here. We would have been happy without you." Young, impressionable you believed it more and more each time she’d spit those words at you, right before her hand cracked against your cheek, your step-dad laughing as he watched.

You learned how to disassociate by the time you were nine. It was a skill you valued a lot as you got older, made it easier to drift through your life however you pleased before you decided to get your shit together.

Now, freshly 24, you’re able to recognize that your mom likely just projected her own feelings towards herself and life in general onto you. You were an outlet far more than you ever were a daughter to her. But no matter what you know now, the facts don't always make reality easier to cope with, and they don't erase the memories. You didn’t go to her funeral when she finally died of an overdose a few days after your nineteenth birthday, and word on the street was your step-dad didn’t either.

Her death was what spurred you out of the life you'd been living up to that point, a glaring reminder that you were on a path to becoming just like her. It was maybe the one good thing she'd ever done for you.

Your fault. All your fault.

Your eyes fully blink open as the echoing remnants of those words die with your unconscious mind, quickly shoved in the box you keep locked away in the back of your mind with all the other shit you never really tried nor wanted to unpack and face.

***

Thursday. It's Thursday.

You notice the date displayed in the bottom right corner of the screen, absently taking note that it’s already the middle of October. You think that should be more impactful than it actually feels. Sighing, you shift your attention back to the task at hand, scrolling through the first page of job listings you’d filtered as “Sort New to Old” and unfortunately seeing nothing fucking new at all that you haven’t already applied for. You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes out of irritation, tiny little bursts of colors appearing behind your eyelids from the force.

“Fuck this,” you mutter to nobody but yourself and stand abruptly, a newfound determination born from nothing but the dejection and exasperation flaring up inside you. If you haven’t had any luck online, maybe you’re looking in the wrong places. Maybe good, old-fashioned face to face interaction is what you’re missing. Companies still did that in this decade, right? The possibility is better than nothing, you guess.

You peel off the sweatpants and baggy shirt you’d been wearing for a few too many days, take a much needed shower, and dress in something you feel is appropriate and fitting enough for a depressed and desperate individual searching for a job who is trying to look put together and not at all depressed or desperate. Whether or not you convey that, you aren’t sure, but you’re out the door without a second glance.

The sunlight feels like it’s cooking your retinas the moment you step outside, and for the first time in awhile, you wonder how long it’s really been since you’ve left your cave. The street you live on is right outside the main heart of the city, but it’s still alive and busy with people hustling back to their 9-5s after their lunch breaks, coming and going from the few cafes and restaurants, or just out for walks in the mid-October chill.

You take a moment to observe, let your eyes adjust, realize the world has in fact still been turning around you since you’ve been holed up, and then set off down the sidewalk in the direction of the busier part of the city. You start simple. Modest. Coffee shops, ramen houses, small stalls and tourist traps. You even try the lone fucking GameStop that’s somehow still in business.

You’ve resorted to the barest of minimums, all of which telling you they’re not hiring or you’re “over-qualified” for the job, whatever the fuck that means. Each bell chiming over your head when you exit leaves you feeling more dejected than the last. It’s not until you’re at a crosswalk waiting for the little green stick figure to pop up on your way back home, fully intent on spending another night buried in despair and self-loathing, that you see it.

A lone flyer haphazardly stapled onto the pole below the crosswalk indicator, the red color of the paper so faded and the words so hardly legible you’re sure it’s been out there awhile.

Now Hiring

Nine Lives Nightclub

Apply in Person Only

It doesn’t give you much to go by, like, at all, but you’re so desperate for any type of income at this point that you’ll try anything. You realize the word “anything” maybe shouldn’t literally mean anything though after you pull out your phone and google Nine Lives.

It’s located on the shadier side of the city, the area you wouldn’t dare be caught in alone without at least a can of pepper spray and your keys wedged between your fingers, even during the day.

You shift your weight from foot to foot, assessing your options, but it’s not long before you’re turning around and walking back the way you came, passing through the vibrant part of the city and eventually into the emptier, more industrial side. Your pace becomes more cautious, your attention more focused on your surroundings and the people inhabiting them as the welcoming, well lit ambiance is replaced by cracked brick walls and long, dark alleyways the deeper you go.

It’d be hard to miss it. Nine Lives is nestled in the corner of a dead end, the vibrant neon sign boasting the name flashing in a dark red the same color as the flyer. It’s almost blinding in the setting sun and sticks out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of the gray, dingy spaces surrounding it.

You can tell right away, all the other many red flags aside, that this place is seedy. Somewhere the people shunned from the main city go to do things that are heavily frowned upon a few blocks up the sidewalk. The type of place where everyone turns a blind eye to anything and everything because they’ve all committed sins of their own.

If you were smart, like you think yourself to be, you’d turn the fuck around and-

“Um, hello,” you murmur to what you assume is the bouncer at the front door with all the confidence you can muster. It admittedly isn’t much. His gaze is faintly disinterested as he tilts his head forward to stare down his nose at you, his eyes beady and black. His head seems too small for his ridiculously muscular frame, obnoxiously on display in the red tank top he’s wearing that seems to qualify more as a sports bra than a shirt. His blonde hair is short and chopped haphazardly, and the cold smirk he’s now leveling you with seems to say he knows you’re intimidated by him.

“What’s a little mouse like you doing in a place like this?” he asks in a tone that makes you want to shiver, his gaze unabashedly roaming over you from top to bottom. It makes your skin crawl, and you have to hone every bit of confidence you have left to answer him evenly.

“I saw a flyer about a job opening here. I wanted to see if it was still open.” He crosses his arms over his hulking chest and seemingly assesses you for what is longer than strictly necessary, his gaze hard and unrelenting before it shifts into something like amusement. It just serves to set you more on edge. “Still open, alright. Think the boss’ll love to meet ya.” He says it in a way that sets a faint alarm bell off in the back of your mind, but before you can dwell on it much, he’s shifting his huge frame out of the way of the entrance.

“Just go in and straight to the right, to the bar in the corner. Ask for Kurogiri.” You nod once and duck your head, unable to hold eye contact with him any longer. “Good luck, little mouse,” he chuckles as you hastily pass by, a harsh sound that grates your ears. “Hope they don’t eat ya alive.”

***

The first thing you notice, oddly, is there are no windows, and the next, more obvious thing is how busy it is even on a Thursday. The bass of whatever dark house mix they’re playing is loud and reverberates through your entire being, the ground subtly shaking beneath your feet. It’s completely dark, save for the red and white neon lights flashing in random strobing intervals over the surprisingly large space, and there’s a fog drifting through the room that adds to the already unsettling atmosphere.

It smells like a mix of weed, liquor, and smoke, not as unpleasant as you expected but not necessarily good either. It’s an onslaught on all your senses, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You'd had your fair share of experience with nightclubs back when you weren’t a complete recluse and admittedly fairly self-destructive, but never anywhere like this. Only the types of clubs more upper-class people frequented, the kinds in the more upscale parts of the city. The safer parts that the men you once used for empty entertainment preferred to stick to.

This… This is fucking overwhelming, to say the least. Dangerous, if the people packed in like sardines are anything to go by. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen a couple of these faces on news broadcasts for various crimes of varying intensity.

You push through the crowd towards the bar after the initial stun wears off, ignoring the looks you get; some of annoyance, some of less than admirable interest, all of which set you even more on edge. Fuck, have you really stooped so low? Goddamn Endeavor Dynamics, goddamn Enji, you'd make him curse the day he ever decided to-

“What can I get you?” the overly cheery blonde girl behind the bar asks you, looking just old enough to even be in a place like this, let alone working in it. Her wide smile gleams as the strobes pass over her face, and you swear for a second her eyes glow yellow. “I- Um, I’m looking for Kurogiri?” It comes out more like a question, as uncertain and lost as you feel. “I’m here about a job opening.”

The girl perks up even more if possible, the messy buns on top of her head bobbing in time with the excited nod she gives you. “Ooo, yay! There’s way too much testosterone floating around in here!” She wastes no time maneuvering around the bar, abandoning the other poor bastard to man the bar by himself. He throws a disbelievingly panicked look her way, but she’s far too busy grabbing your hand and yanking you away from the crowd to notice or care, leading you towards a staircase in the far corner of the club.

“I’m Himiko Toga! Oh, you’re so pretty! I already know we’re going to be great friends!” You’re bewildered by her enthusiasm and seemingly immediate like of you but give her your name anyway, offering her an unsteady smile as she unclasps a red rope and then swiftly replaces it after you pass through.

She tugs you up the stairs faster than you think someone of her stature should reasonably be able to move, and as you hit the landing, you realize she’s brought you to what you think is some sort of VIP area. It’s far less crowded than downstairs, but there’s still a few shifty looking people lingering around. It’s quieter, which you’re grateful for, but still just as dark; the strobing lights below don’t quite reach up here, and the only real source of light is a couple of dim sconces on the walls that may as well not be lit at all.

There’s a balcony lining the entire top floor providing a view of the swaying crowd below and a few dark red leather couches scattered around the space. Black velvet curtains line the back wall, complimenting the surprisingly clean dark hardwood floor. There’s a small bar on the right wall with a few stools in front of it and a lone door in the far left corner that leads… somewhere.

Toga pulls you along too fast for you to really get a look at anyone, but you can tell the people milling around know her well based on the various hellos and nods thrown her way. You do manage to get a look at one person as you pass by, a tall guy about your age with jet black hair and the most shocking blue eyes you’ve ever seen. More shocking than that, however, are the angry scars covering the skin you can see. Burn scars, you think. You realize you’re staring when you notice he’s smirking at you, a gleam in his eyes that both unsettles and intrigues you as he raises his glass to you. You look away quickly, stumbling after Toga.

She doesn’t stop until she reaches the bar, only one man behind it. He’s wearing a white button down with a green vest over top and a black tie, something that strikes you as odd compared to everyone else in this place. Dated almost, like he came from a different era. “Kurogiri, my friend here is interested in our job posting!” Toga beams at him, her teeth surprisingly sharp.

Her volume has caught the attention of the few people lingering around, all of whom seemingly more interested in this budding conversation than you think they should be. You ignore them despite the eyes burning a hole in your back. You swallow dryly, offering Kurogiri your name and what you hope is a confident smile, but you can tell it doesn't quite hit the mark.

“I see,” he says almost robotically, his voice void of any emotion. The full force of his gaze turns to you, his dark purple eyes scrutinizing you in a way that makes you want to squirm. The color is so unnatural that you wonder absently if he wears colored contacts. You remain still with effort and meet his gaze head on despite the instinct to do precisely the opposite, your drive to not be homeless the only thing keeping your feet firmly planted on the floor.

“Do you have any experience working in a place like this?” Your already fragile smile falters slightly. You hadn't expected that question, but you push to keep your voice confident as you opt for honesty. “I don’t, but I’m a fast learner. I pick things up very quickly. And I have open availability.” You tack the last part on hastily to hopefully sweeten your chances. After a moment of hesitation, you continue. “I- Um, I really need the job. I promise you won't regret it.” It pains you to say, makes you feel as weak and vulnerable as you sound, a spiral already coming on and ready to suck you in. Failure, failure, failure.

Kurogiri stares at you for what feels like ages, and you can feel the spiral start to take hold before Toga speaks up again. “Come on, Kurogiri! She’s my friend, and we need another girl in our group! There’s too many of you guys skulking around, it’s depressing.” She almost sounds petulant, making you again question if she’s even old enough to be here. She nods her head toward the dark corner on her left and gives him a meaningful look, but you can’t make out what she’s looking at.

Kurogiri glances towards said corner and then returns to stare at you a moment longer, his blank expression giving nothing away, before he finally puts you out of your misery. “Very well. You’ll start tomorrow night. Be here at 8pm, and do not be late. You do not want to displease him.” He doesn’t clarify on who exactly he’s referring to, instead picking up a glass you’re sure is already clean and beginning to polish it, effectively ending the conversation.

Toga squeals, bouncing up and down in excitement. It baffles you that she's seemingly more excited about this than you are. “Yay! Oh, I’m so happy! You’ll love it here!” She grabs your hands and grins up at you, and you’d be lying if you said her enthusiasm wasn’t rubbing off on you a little bit. Maybe it won’t be so bad. You offer her a tentative smile of your own, letting her lead you over to one of the couches as she dives into everything she claims you need to know.

She rambles on about the basics; what you’ll be doing (a server, basically), who you’ll be reporting to (Kurogiri, who is apparently not the actual boss but the infamous He who is yet unnamed), and the people you should make it a point to get to know (her friends, who apparently are here every night. You ask how they don't get tired of it, and she just laughs like you'd told a very funny joke.) “Oh! And make sure you wear… well, not that.” She gestures vaguely at your current outfit of choice, the one you’d chosen with the expectation you’d be applying to places not like this. “Just take a look at some of the clientele if you need inspiration!”

You try not to grimace, having already seen what some of the “clientele” down there were wearing. You guess you should have expected as much, if her own outfit was anything to go by. She wraps up her rambling and offers to walk you back down but you decline, thanking her for all her help. She pulls you up into a hug, all but yells when she tells you how excited she is for tomorrow, and you think you’re already kind of getting used to her overt friendliness. Maybe you’ll even make a friend out of this gig.

You wind your way back the way you came, pointedly not making eye contact with anyone, and descend the stairs, your heart in your throat. You’d finally fucking done it. It certainly wasn’t your first pick by any means, but at least it was a job. A source of income. And it was only temporary, right?

You’re too caught up in your own mind, trying to ignore the fact that your mom would have frequented a place like this and hoping you’re not on a path back to your own self-destructive tendencies to notice the pair of eyes trailing after you from the balcony above.

***

He’d been watching you from his place in the corner since he’d heard Toga’s grating voice babbling about yet another incompetent fool interested in the opening. Kurogiri had put those flyers up weeks ago, and it had been a constant revolving door of rejected idiots ever since.

None of the ones that had been interested so far had been good enough. None of them had been special. They were all too excited, too bubbly or too loud. Too fucking irritating in every sense of the word. They all had one underlying thing in common - too much life left in them, an annoyingly glaring light in their eyes that told him immediately they had no place here, no place in his presence.

None of them would have been up to the job anyway, the true job behind the facade they were putting on. He's fine with that, if he's being honest. He still doesn't understand why Master insists on doing things differently now. They'd been just fine the way they had been for years. Sure, they've had to indulge a little more lately to keep up with the number they now have in their circle. And sure, maybe it's been a little more difficult to cover their tracks. And fine, he's mature enough to admit that the amount of missing persons cases in the area have increased enough as of late to maybe cause some problems for them if they aren't more careful.

But things were fine. Are fine. He doesn't want some nobody at his beck and call every time he needs a pick-me-up. He prefers sticking to the randoms below, the ones he can swoop in on in the midst of their drug and alcohol induced hazes and drag them away into the shadows before they can realize what's happening. Fast, easy, efficient, no brainless coercion involved. One and done and he's set for another week.

But Master says it would be safer to have a constant source, for now. A drip he can leave alive and take a little from each day instead of adding more numbers to the growing missing persons list in the area. Long enough for the news to die down a little bit, and then things can go back to normal. The others could travel to other cities if they needed to. He preferred to stay local.

He figures Master has been around long enough to know what's best, if he's to be rational. It's why he's blindly followed him for so long, not to mention he owes him everything. He wouldn't have what he does now if not for Master finding him when he did. Nine Lives had been built for the sole purpose of enshrouding him in the shadows while he adjusted to his new life and doubled as a base of sorts for Master’s hobbies, as he so elegantly puts it.

An easy way to get what he needed while he learned and grew into himself, somewhere he could easily prey on a few lives at a time that likely had no one at home to notice they'd gone missing. It just happened to be a plus when it ended up attracting certain individuals that he and Master could benefit from keeping around.

The ones currently in his circle were handpicked by him alone before he'd brought them to Master for final judgement. He'd seen something in all five of them, something that told him they were just as ruined as he had once been. Desolate and empty, but still longing for a taste of the divine. An insatiable desire for something more than mere humanity could offer, an escape from the world that had wronged and abandoned them.

That was something he could understand more than anyone, and he'd given them what they’d wanted, in time. Only after they'd proven they'd stick by him, offer their servitude in exchange for the opportunity to have something grand.

But he'd somehow miscalculated somewhere along the way, and now five on top of himself, Master, and Kurogiri had become too many to remain as inconspicuous as they were before Shuichi joined. And now, here you are as consequence, a reminder of that rare failure, another worthless human he'd never see again once you're turned away like the last. It makes him itch just thinking about it, makes him want to claw at his own fucking skin at the sight of you knowing you'll be no different than the rest.

And then you speak, your voice so timid and quiet he would've missed it if not for hearing like his. "I- Um, I really need the job." The way you say it gives the impression that you're down to your last resort. Like nobody else out there wants you. Already, you're different than the others based on that sentiment alone.

He looks at you a little closer then, daring to shift partially out of the shadows, his head tilting to the side slightly as he eyes you. You look like you're trying to come across as confident, but he's been around long enough to know when someone's pretending. The slight tremor in your hands, the waver in your voice, that look of uncertainty in your eyes as you speak, it all gives you away. More importantly, you likely have nothing left to lose if you've willingly stepped foot in here when you look like you want nothing more than to be anywhere else.

You look like you're one more bad thing away from crumbling, like this is the last opportunity you have before there's nothing left. There's no light in your eyes no matter how long he stares. He starts to consider then that maybe he was wrong about you.

So far, you've ticked none of the boxes that would have him wanting to throw you out the door himself. It helps that you're also not bad to look at. Unassuming, but not plain by any means. He'd maybe even call you beautiful if he wasn't so disturbed by that word manifesting in his mind. But that's what you are regardless of what he does or doesn't want to call it, the only word that fits the quiet way you carry yourself, the sadness that seems to cling to your soft, fragile features.

He shifts his gaze to Kurogiri, who has now glanced to him thanks to Toga's irritating ability to read anyone like a book. The exchange lasts a mere millisecond, just a simple nod of his head that would be imperceptible to anyone else, but Kurogiri understands. He always does.

You perk up a little at the good news, but it's overshadowed by Toga's incessant enthusiasm. He can tell you don't understand her yourself. If only you knew how long they'd all been waiting for him to come around and choose someone, then maybe you'd understand. He watches as she drags you away out of his current line of sight, surprised at the way his body twitches like it's primed to follow. He doesn't like that, the way his subconscious doesn't want to let you out of his sight. But you were his now, weren't you? Whether you knew that yet or not. And he's always taken care of his things.

It's not until you've disappeared down the stairs that he allows himself to leave his corner, scowling at Toga before she has the chance to make any comments. She just gives him a pointed, saccharine smile before she fucks off, mercifully sparing him from whatever bullshit she'd had primed to say.

He watches you from his spot on the balcony, observes you as closely as the distance and strobing lights allow. It’s not that difficult with sight like his, really. He again notes that wariness about you, more obvious now that you think nobody's looking, like the world has wronged you somehow. He banks on that, hopes for it. Maybe even preys on it, just a little.

There’s a slight downturn to your lips, a little v between your creased eyebrows. Your eyes are clouded over and your shoulders are slumped slightly as you move through the crowd, surprisingly graceful despite your absentmindedness.

He finds himself wondering what you’re thinking about so intently, what could possibly be bothering you, and then promptly wonders why the fuck he cares. Already, you’re making him notice you, and that’s not an easy feat to accomplish. Maybe Master was on to something after all.

Yes, he confirms, there’s something special about you. He can’t put his finger on it yet, but he knows something’s there, hiding beneath that demure air of yours. You’re like him somehow, the old him. Lost and forgotten, the weight of the world on your shoulders that he hopes you’d do anything to alleviate. His gaze tracks you all the way until you disappear out the door, and even then, it remains lingering on the spot you’d just been.

He feels something then that he hasn’t felt in a long time - anticipation.

***

The music continues to blare behind you even as you make it past the exit, the massive bouncer throwing a knowing smirk your way before he focuses back on the line queuing to get in. It’s a particularly haunting beat, one you could see yourself getting lost in if you were more like who you used to be and less like who you are now.

The lyrics echo in your mind and your bones long after you’d made it back home.

If I were you, I’d find a place to hide.

If I were you, I’d stay inside.

If I were you, I’d run for your life.

***

note: well, hello if you've made it this far, and thank you for sticking around to the end of this first part. this is the first major work I've ever posted, and I have high hopes for it. I have a lot of ideas swimming in my head for this story, so there's a lot to come for dear reader and our enigmatic red-eyed man.

I currently have the next part in the works as I post this. unfortunately, it is not beta read, so I apologize if there are any errors.

the song at the end is run. by arya x, if anyone is interested.

see you in part two.

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #mha shigaraki #shigaraki x you #mha fanfiction #bnha fic #mha x reader #mha x you #vampire au #tomura x reader #tomura x you #hauntedfic

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