#i still think about these 'therapy sessions' daily

[idkwhatever580]

Embarrassed

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x enhanced!reader (Reader has powers like Wanda's but pink because I'm the author and I can do what I want, and my fav color is pink)

Prompt: Reader's best friend Wanda informs reader about this new thing she learned with Agatha that amped up their sex life. Reader decides to try it out with Nat, and the outcome is better than expected.

Warnings: SMUT, enchanted strap, bondage, slapping, daddy kink (daddy is not a reflection of your gender just a term I used i swear!) cumming without permission?/warning?, swearing, tmi? (Is there such thing as tmi between best friends?), teasing. Top!Reader (semi soft)

A/N: I already had this in my drafts partially finished but then I got a rq and I thought I could incorporate it into this so yeah :) thanks for the request @keirannoa420 <3 (I made reader afab but I think I made them gn for everything else I hope that isn't a problem!)

Today is a simple day for the Avengers. Almost nobody is on a mission today, so everyone is doing their own thing to decompress and rest. Especially since last week was horrible. It was just mission after mission for you and the others.

From what you know, Tony and Bruce are in their lab, Steve and Buck went on a date after visiting Peggy's grave to give her the monthly flowers, Clint went back with his family, Thor and Loki are back at Asgard until needed, Nat is reading in her library, Agatha is in a therapy session (she is still healing from her witchy trauma, good on her!), Vision is probably floating around somewhere, Peter is with Aunt May, the rest of the younger ones are out and about, while you and Wanda are catching up on a much-needed yapping session.

"Omg did you hear what happened on Sam and Tony's mission yesterday?"

You sit up being intrigued, "No, what happened?"

She giggles at the thought of what happened, and says, "He- he"

She can't even tell you what happened without bursting into laughter. "He what! Oh my gosh stop laughing and tell me what happened!"

Your need to hear what happened overpowering your patience, but Wanda eventually can control her laughs into a soft snicker every now and then, "He had to run into the building instead of his usual flying, and he ended up slipping and falling on his back and rolling around because it was raining! Sam got the whole thing recorded thanks to redwing!"

You burst into laughter at the thought of Tony slipping, this surely hurt his ego more than anything. You gasp and say, "Wait... can I see the video? Do you have it?"

She laughs and grabs her phone, "Of course I have the video! I would say I'm surprised you don't have it, but I forgot your phone broke."

You roll your eyes at the reminder of not having a phone to do your daily social media things, but Nat says you need a break from your phone. Joke's on her, you're just bothering her more. (She secretly likes it)

You're drawn away from your thoughts when Wanda holds her phone to your face, the video of Tony slipping funnier than you pictured.

(volume is not necessary for this one)

You both started laughing so hard that tears fell from your eyes, but you both eventually calmed down and were able to change the subject. "So, how's Aggie? I feel like I haven't seen her in months even though I've only been on a mission for a week."

She smiles softly and says, "She's good. Her twice-a-week therapy sessions are really impacting her in a good way. I think she might be having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the Avengers though. She still gets overwhelmed sometimes. Which is what I was scared about. I didn't want to bring her into this space after nine whole months of secretly dating just for her to regress on her progress, but I think she is getting there. Her communication skills are definitely getting better which is helping me accommodate to her needs you know?"

You smile and nod knowingly, "Yeah, I remember coming here for the first time from being a S.H.E.I.L.D. agent, it was terrifying, but my relationship with Nat only grew from where we were. Something is bound to blossom from her too. Anything else interesting with you two?"

Wanda sends me a small smirk and says, "I've been trying out new spells and tricks to cast and I happened to fall upon an interesting spell."

You raise an eyebrow with a tentative voice, "Interesting how?"

She giggles and says, "Okay, so obviously we talk about our sex lives a lot together, but this spell just made bedroom time way better. It's a spell to make an inanimate object basically a part of you. You can feel it and everything that happens to it. So, I tested this spell out on a certain strap-on that we use and let me just say I've never felt so good before. I think you should really try it on Nat, the first time I did it to Aggie, she literally cried because she felt so good."

You raise your eyebrows suggestively and say, "That is quite the interesting find Wands. I'm impressed. You'll have to show me the spell. I think I might try it out on Natty tonight if I can do it right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a few tries of this new spell with Wanda, you're able to feel everything that happens to the tv remote in your leg. You smirk at Wanda and go to exit the room just as Agatha comes back. You send your goodbyes and almost sprint to Natasha's library, making sure to stop by your room to get a certain backpack.

The joys of having your own floor with Natasha means that the things on that floor are only used by the both of you, unless otherwise provoked. So, you know nobody is going to be walking into this space. This also means that you guys can literally fuck anywhere on that floor, but you are so excited to try this spell on her.

You slow down right before you enter and you saunter in, even though Nat has her noise cancelling headphones on, so you know she won't hear you. You come up behind her and softly rest your arms on her shoulders slowly creeping down to kiss her cheek.

She pulls off her headphones and says, "Hello detka. Do you need anything?"

You simply nod your head and give her a soft kiss on the lips to distract her before carefully snatching the current book she is invested in. She lets go of it but not without a pout, "Baby, I was reading that."

You carefully set the book down after putting a bookmark in. Then you walk around and pull her headphones off her ears which makes her even more confused. Until you sit in her lap and snuggle up to her neck. She softly smiles and starts rubbing patterns on your back. "Aww baby, did you want cuddles?"

You nod your head innocently and she says, "Well I can do that while also reading my book so can I have it back?"

You shake your head, and she realizes there's something else you want. She raises an eyebrow, and skeptically says, "What else is it? Did you do something?"

You pull away from her neck and shake your head, "No, I didn't do nothin', but I'm 'bout to."

She furrows her beautiful brows in confusion but notices the glint in your eyes. She knows this look; she has seen it a million times before. How could she miss it? So, she pouts and says, "Aww is my detka a bit horny?"

You nod your head and whisper, "I want to try something new today."

She smirks and nods, always willing to try everything once, well, almost everything. "Of course, detka, what is it you were wanting to try?"

You smile and say, "You're gonna have to wait and find out."

She rolls her eyes at your antics, but you kiss her on the lips and the words that were on the tip of her tongue fade away quickly.

You both start making out softly, a tenderness infiltrates your hearts that only you two can replicate with each other. The kiss quickly turns aggressive though. Her hands falling to your hips to steady them when they start to move on their own, while yours go to her hair to softly tug on the luscious, fiery locks.

Moans start to spill out of you when your core starts to rub on her thigh, and she starts to unbutton your pants trying to get directly to the source, but you push her away. Before she can question your antics, you reach behind her lounge chair to grab the backpack and wave it in front of her face. She smiles and you both stand up to undress yourselves, not bothering to do it for the other, instead choosing efficiency.

Once she has the strap securely tightened around her hips, you push her back down and sit just before the silicon cock, butt resting on her thighs. "I need you to hold still and be quiet for a moment, okay?"

She furrows her brows and says, "Wait, what are you doing?"

You smile at her and say, "I just need you to trust me so I can work my magic." You kiss her doubts away and whisper, "I think you're going to quite like this."

You cast the spell silently and when it is done, you look in her eyes and there is nothing, but confusion written all over her face. "What did you do?"

You smirk and spit on your hand before softly rubbing the tip of the dildo making her hips jerk. "Woah."

You smirk and say, "Woah indeed. Did that feel good?"

She nods her head and says, "Seriously Y/n, what did you do to me?"

You giggle and say, "I made you be able to feel everything like it is your own."

You shimmy your body down to be eye level with the pink sparkly attachment, and you look up into her eyes with yours being doe like from this angle and you slowly take her length into your mouth.

This new sensation causing Nat to moan helplessly and thread her fingers through your hair. You softly start to play with yourself and stretch yourself out, while making sure to not give her too much stimulation. Once you deem yourself ready to take her, you pull away and Nat glares at you. "Why'd you pull away?"

You smile and kiss her worries away, "So I can do this..."

You grab the attachment and slowly slide yourself onto her. Moaning at the size. She always seems to be so big even when you take her all the time. She moans extra loud when you take her to the hilt, and suddenly her hips jerk and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

You force her to look into your eyes and then you start to bounce up and down while grinding onto her.

Although you are feeling very good, your sole intention is to make Nat feel good today. "How does it feel baby?"

She opens her mouth to say something, but only a measly gasp is heard. After a while, she finally is able to conjure a sentence, "Fuck... it feels- so good."

You smirk and say, "Yeah? You like feeling this pussy clench around you?"

She whimpers and nods her head biting her lip to stifle her sounds. Usually you wouldn't let that slide, but since it is her first time feeling this, you'll give her some grace.

You start to bounce up and down on her cock more aggressively and her hands tighten around your hips. She is completely still excepting the few involuntary thrusts her hips make, which make you moan at the spot she hits when she does this.

Nat's head is thrown back and she finally lets go of her lip, allowing all the beautiful sounds to tumble out of her throat. Her pathetic noises are so hot to you and even hotter when she tries to speak, "Y/n I- it feels, I-"

All of a sudden, her words are cut off with an almost pornographic moan, which makes you so wet because you never hear her be this vocal. Her hips start thrusting into you uncontrollably and her hands are scratching into your hips, not that you care.

You furrow your eyebrows as hers raise in surprise and embarrassment. You slow down and say, "Did you... did you just cum?"

Natasha lets out an exhausted breath and looks at anything but you, until you move her by her chin to look into your eyes. When she sees your eyes, she tears up a bit, "I'm sorry I don't know what's wrong with me! I usually last way longer than that! I wasn't even prepared for it; it just sprang up on me."

She starts to ramble, so you shut her up with a kiss and when you pull away you chuckle softly, "Natty baby, I don't know why you came so fast, but I'll bet you it has something to do with the fact that this spell makes you feel things you've never felt before huh?"

She nods her head, and you smile, "Do you want to keep going or do you want to stop?"

She frowns and says, "I want you to cum."

You smile and shake your head, "That's not what I asked darling, I asked about you."

She thinks about it, and then a nasty thought pops into her brain, and she says, "I wanna keep going."

So, you nod your head, and keep moving and grinding on her, this time she makes it about five minutes before the same thing happens.

You become beyond confused as it looks like she just came again. Once she calms down, you tentatively ask, "Did you just... again?"

Her eyes widen and her face turns redder than her hair. She tears up a bit and tries to shove you off of her to inevitably run off and hide from her embarrassment, but you push on her hips, and she moans again. She still tries to get away, so you cut her thoughts off with soft tone saying, "Darling, don't worry, it's okay if you did, you know? It is a new sensation, and it is normal to have a crazy reaction to it."

She previously covered her red face with her hands to hide, so you carefully pull her hands down and smile at her small frame. "Tasha, why are you hiding from me?"

She finally cracks and says, "Because! That was so embarrassing! I've never finished that fast! So, I am embarrassed because I didn't even get to last long enough to have fun, and don't even mention the fact that you didn't get anything out of it!"

You pout at her with fake pity, "Oh darling," You brush her already sweaty hair out of her face and clench your pussy on her strap making her moan at the feeling, "You don't have to worry about that, trust me, we are going to have fun all night. You'll be begging me to stop."

She timidly nods her head, and you say, "Is that okay?"

She nods and says, "I really want to keep going."

You smile and nod your head, but before you can start riding her again, she pulls you off of her swiftly and flips you over on your hands and knees, slipping right back into your wet cunt.

She leans over to whisper in your ear, "I'm gonna fuck this pussy so hard."

You can only moan in response because she's already thrusting deep and hard into your insides. You consider giving in to her and letting her take over, but you already made your mind up ahead of time and she is not getting in your way. So, with a flick of your wrist, she is flipped over, and ropes appear and tie themselves around her wrists.

You crawl up to her as the pink glimmers fade from your eyes, and shake your head, "Thought you could get away with it huh?"

She doesn't answer and you slap her breast making her jerk and yelp out, "I asked you a question, didn't I?"

She meekly nods her head, and you say, "Then I expect you to answer it."

She nods her head again and you say, "Don't make me ask again."

"Yes! I thought I could get away with it! Please daddy!"

You bite your lip at the power trip you're getting from this, but you make sure to soften up and check on Nat knowing she only uses 'daddy' when she's extra sensitive, "I want you to use the color system just like always, okay? Can you tell me a color?"

She doesn't even hesitate before saying, "Yes! Green, please daddy!"

A sigh falls from your lips at hearing that and you nod your head. "Okay baby, you know I'm not gonna be nice to you right?"

She whimpers and nods her head closing her eyes to center herself. You smirk and flip her over, making the dildo hit the bed when you push her hips down on the bed.

She moans out and you lean forward, your lips brushing softly over the shell of her ear, and you whisper, "Do not cum."

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head knowing she's already sensitive from previous orgasms, and she whines out, "No! Please daddy!"

You chuckle at her desperation and say, "If you're good tonight, I'll find a spell to make it so that you can cum in me too."

She shudders at the thought of being able to "breed" you and both of you feel it, so regardless of how much she already wants to cum, she nods her head and takes a breath to prepare herself.

Right before you are about to start, she yelps out, "Wait!"

You freeze in worry that she doesn't want this anymore, so you pause and look to her and let her speak. Her words come out the first time a quiet jumbled mess so you say, "What was that babe?"

She looks over her shoulder and says a little louder this time, "Can I hold a pillow?"

You think about it for a moment, and ultimately decide that if you're not going to comfort her until after, she might as well have something else to find comfort in, so you nod your head and she grabs a pillow. Once she is situated you wait for her queue and when she nods her head you begin to massage her ass a bit before pulling back and landing a harsh slap on her butt.

Natasha's hips jerk away from your hand, and in turn makes her strap rut against the bed stimulating her. She lets out a mix between a moan and a groan because she feels good, but she also knows you put limitations on her.

You continue your assault on her now red and pink ass, and the lewd sounds that are emitting from Nat's throat are making you more wet than you'd like to admit.

You slap her ass again, and she starts to uncontrollably hump the mattress, and you won't allow her to cum without asking so you grab her hips and lift them from the bed before she can stimulate herself any further. She groans and pleads, "Please. ugh please I need it!"

You simply chuckle and shake your head, "Need it so bad you're willing to give up cumming for a week?"

Her eyes widen at that threat and she whimpers knowing she might not be able to hold back since the last two came out of nowhere, but you lay her back down and say, "two more, then you can cum again."

She nods her head, crossing her fingers that she makes it, and out of nowhere the second to last slap is let out on her skin. It is way harder than all the others, so in turn, it makes Nat almost forget about what you said. Almost.

You hum and rub her ass tenderly, not letting her know when the last one is coming, and the second she whimpers again you pull back and hit her ass so hard it has her shoving her hips back into you.

She catches her breath and rolls around. You tell her to hold still as you are about to disenchant the strap, but Nat says, "Wait, baby, what are you doing?"

You furrow your brows and say, "I thought you said you were done after this orgasm?"

She nods and says, "I held it, I wanna cum with you on my cock."

Her eyes are so sweet and soft you simply can't refuse, so you let her win this time, riding her cock until the both of you come, and then you end up just laying together in a moment of tenderness.

"I love you detka."

"I love you too Natty, I'm glad you liked the surprise."

"Oh, I loved it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist

Taglist

@ilovesnat @ihartnat @marvelnatasha12346 @moistblobfish @justarandomreaderxoxo @lovelyy-moonlight @symp4nat @ale-estrabao

Comment to be added to the taglist!!! I have a list of prompts coming out after this :)))

A/N: I hope y'all liked it!!! (Did you catch my Love and Death reference???) Also, I apologize for the rushed ending, I really needed to get this out.

[coldwind-shiningstars]

Dungeon Meshi is obviously primarily about food, eating, and crucially survival through eating, but it's also focused on other aspects of survival. Sleep, rest, social ties and social exclusion. There's even extensive commentary on things like personal grooming (Marcille’s hair, Toshiro becoming depressed and no longer shaving), clean bathrooms, and other things. When it comes to disability these things are referred to as instrumental activities of daily life (IADLs), which are more complex things like shopping, housework, and cooking, which people need to do to survive, and activities of daily life (ADLs) which are the basic bare bones needs: eating, toileting, etc. Dungeon Meshi is concerned with the logistics of living and finding joy in those logistics.

This is super related to disability! Yes, Laios is autistic, this has been apparent from the beginning. But what does being autistic mean for him and the story? Mostly, it means his desires, goals, and the ways he goes about achieving them are strange, foreign, or baffling. He has different priorities than other people and the way he expresses those priorities are strange. They affect how he socializes, how he eats…

So, it absolutely makes sense that there would be a minor sideplot about activities of daily living and what it's like to be out of sync with everyone else when it comes to prioritizing things. It's Mithrun Time (he's gonna mith all over the place) and I'm so SO interested in the interplay of disability, caregiving and the logistics thereof, and intersectionality & privilege. Who needs care? How do other people feel about them needing care? How do they receive that care? And who do we think is worthy of receiving care and how does that interact with all these other factors?

Bunch of manga and extras spoilers past the cut:

“So, what's wrong with you?”

I see a lot of people talking about Mithrun's non-eye disability as a depression allegory, which I think is true, but I think it's also metaphorically/symbolically both a traumatic brain injury and a trauma response to sexual assault. The sexual assault aspect is pretty clear if you look at any of the symbolism of the actual disabling event: just look at it.

Mithrun is lying in bed and the goat comes to him, lifts him up and puts its mouth on his abdomen and lower pelvis. The eating is sexually charged, as is the particular way he struggles and protests. It's intensely violating, and things that were once desirable are lost. And the dungeon lord group therapy session involves a lot of people talking about the demons like an abusive lover; Mithrun, even though he wanted to kill the demon so badly, still says that they're gentle.

As for the brain injury, chronic TBIs can cause a wide variety of symptoms. Some immediately relevant ones are anhedonia (lack of enjoyment), executive function issues, poor interoception (trouble understanding what's going on in your body), cognitive impairment affecting ability to reason/multitask/plan/solve problems, changes in behavior and personality, depression, agitation, and restlessness. We see… basically all of these, in Mithrun, as downstream effects of the loss of desires. He can't tell when he's hungry, tired, or out of mana; he can't perform ADLs consistently even if he knows he'll die without doing them and dying without doing them will interfere with his long-term goal, he had drastic personality changes, he oscillates between impatient and totally withdrawn.

Brain injuries can also affect more complex tasks and ability to sustain lengthy periods of complex cognitive work. A common example is losing the ability to read and process longer passages; maybe you can read the words but you can't read a paragraph, or maybe you can read paragraphs but now you get a migraine after 15 minutes. Mithrun's skill loss is not related to reading but the effect is similar – he is and was extremely skilled in a particular area of magic, but also disabled in ways that specifically hinder his skill in this area – to teleport things properly you need depth perception and a sense of direction, and he lacks both of these! And while he's still an incredibly effective fighter it seems like he pretty frequently makes those sorts of mistakes.

This is treated often as a gag and it is genuinely funny but it’s also very real, to no longer be as good at the thing you were good at before you became disabled. Kui takes several throwaway gags seriously later on, not just this one. Another ~gag that's not really elaborated on is the bathroom thing, but I appreciate its inclusion anyway, since even if it's presented humorously it doesn't feel meanspirited in a way a lot of “diaper jokes” do. I think people need to talk a lot more about bathroom issues in a wide variety of disabilities, and I think it's nice that a guy I can already picture the “poor little meow meow” posts about also has this issue, you know?

Preferences vs Desire

Even referencing PTSD and TBIs it's hard to really grasp what having no desires means, and the characters don't generally ask, while Mithrun explains it in vague terms. “Desires” is a very broad term and indeed he has lost access to a wide but related variety of things. Unfortunately this lead to him often being treated as nonagentic.

Mithrun does still have preferences, even if he doesn't express them and has no desire which would drive him to seek out pleasant things and avoid unpleasant ones. He'll comment on the taste and texture of foods, for example – sure seems like he has an opinion!

People treat it like his preferences don't matter since he doesn't usually bring them up unprompted, and he's often in situations where there aren't other options.

Kabru seems best at not doing this (and, noncoincidentally, also seems to be the best at actually caring for him; the Canaries have a lot more Resources theoretically than Kabru And Mithrun Eating Monsters And Kabru's A Bad Cook, but although they are loudly distressed by the two of them disappearing it seems to have positively affected Mithrun's general health)

But, uh, acknowledgement that someone has preferences at all is a really low bar to clear and Kabru also doesn't seem to fully understand how Mithrun's brain works. Mithrun’s caregivers want him to eat when they want him to eat. They want him to rest and drink when they want him to.

He lacks the desire for a number of mundane things but also seems to lack the ability to tell when he needs them. He can't explain why he faints; is “I am out of mana” considered a desire for more mana, one that can be eaten? He can't sleep on his own; it's not only that he lacks “the desire to go to bed” but he can't do anything with his own exhaustion, even if he notices it. He comments on the unpleasant taste and texture of several meals; he may be unable to want to not eat it, but he definitely can tell when he dislikes something. But he also seems to be unable to tell when he's hungry.

Kabru will acknowledge these preferences but there's not really other food options, and Everyone Must Eat. Kabru doesn't know the details of Mithrun's condition yet but you can see the immediate frustration here and the way he offers food to him like Mithrun's a child.

Sure, he won't directly communicate preferences, so that makes it extra hard, but you can always just ask, and if he tells you he tells you.

The pathway between opinion and taking actions about it may be lost in Mithrun but the dungeon forces other people into a similar position – it forces them to eat food they don't want to eat so that they can survive or accomplish other goals. We've seen this with Marcille from the beginning. It's difficult with Mithrun because it seems like there is always going to have to be some sort of someone else overriding his autonomy – yeah, he's not hungry but he still needs to eat or he'll faint. Yeah, he's lying about whether or not he's clean but he still needs to wash or he'll die. Yeah, he needs to take a rest instead of keeping moving or he'll faint. But he's not unique in being in a situation where he has to do nonpreferred things. The difference is more that he lacks the ability to independently do anything when it comes to ADLs, preferred or not, which makes it into someone else’s choice and responsibility.

There's also a theme in Dungeon Meshi that comes up a bit of people being pushy about ADLs but from a slightly different perspective, and they're usually right. You see this in Senshi most commonly; he pushes the residents of the Golden City to actually eat even if they don't need to and can't taste it, and while he's correct in that Yaad does get enjoyment from the food even without taste he's still not quite listening to Yaad. Similarly, Kabru is correct in that he can get Mithrun to sleep without a sleeping spell, but he also ignores the way Mithrun says several times that he doesn't expect massage to work. There's a few aspects to this – wild but expected that the elves would choose the “just knock him out with a spell” route, the “easy way” Senshi always talks about when it comes to magic, instead of actually paying attention to other solutions. But also, generally, people know their bodies best, and sometimes even if you're really sure you have the trick to help them you have to listen to what they tell you.

tvtropes dot org frontslash DisabilityTropes

This is going to be a harder section just because it's so subjective; it's nearly impossible to think about the ways in which disabled people are viewed by the people around them/wider society with any degree of objectivity just because there are so many factors that go into it. But I do think Mithrun is consistently treated as relatively nonagentic and there are several ways this can manifest: being treated as a doll/pet/child, being treated as a weapon, and being a surface for people to project onto.

He's framed or treated as childlike intermittently through the manga; scattered about, just a little vibe in the way he's drawn, like the "say aah" above and Pattadol and Cithis through the teleportation scroll :

That's a middle aged man! And he's framed like a toddler getting picked up or misbehaving.

Which doesn't mean they care about him any less; his squad is really fond of him for someone who's technically like their parole officer. How dare you do this to our captain! They love him dearly; this is obvious and he comments on it! They respect him, too, as the leader and as a strong fighter. But loving someone and thinking they're a skilled fighter doesn't mean you respect their autonomy fully.

There's also an element of everyone projecting their own issues onto him; Kabru with their shared Dungeon Trauma. The canaries all suggesting wacky, midlife-crisis desires. He doesn't ever express that he minds any of this, except when they try to stop him from making particular decisions. They also don't often understand why he'd be motivated to do a particular thing, and in fact some of these projections may actually be correct! But while noodles and pottery may be good later-on goals for him, I think it's striking that a) Kabru was the closest to correctly guessing what desire Mithrun might acquire now and he was still guessing the exact opposite (suggesting a desire to not eat Falin but to help Laios, vs Mithrun's actual desire, which was to eat Falin with no thought given to the promise he made at all) and b) it's a desire that actually makes perfect sense with what we know about him, not something totally new.

And, finally, he's a weapon: people are willing to caretake him because he's good at killing things dead. If his only desire is to kill demons dead, it's easy to start seeing that as who he is. I don't think he'd argue that “trying to kill demons” takes up the majority of his life (it's his only goal and he's obsessed with it) but even if there's only one thing that matters to him he has autonomy (in the sense that he can make his own choices about what to prioritize and formulate his own plans) and personhood.

Politics and privilege – who gets to access care?

One of the things we're first presented with when it comes to Mithrun is that he is intensely capable at handling dungeons. Yeah, there's the immediately visible prosthetic eye and the navigation issues, but the Canaries are built up as being incredibly dangerous and skilled, and he's their captain; they all immediately defer to him. He's intense, he curbstomps an entire room of guards, he's efficient, he's brutal, he's strong physically and magically.

In short: yeah, he's very disabled. He's also still very useful.

At the risk of oversimplification, even within his particular disability, he's much more disabled than Marcille is (she lost something relatively simple and easy to miss, she has no catatonia-moment) but less disabled than Thistle, who seems to still have at least one desire related to the king but is still primarily catatonic. It seems like Thistle is not unusual among ex-dungeon lords, even if there's enough noncatatonic dungeon lords to form a support group later. When Milsiril finds Mithrun, she immediately intends to mercy-kill him – this seems to be a condition the elves are familiar with but consider terminal, at least to the degree Mithrun is affected, and people seem unfamiliar what it means to keep living in this state because Mithrun is unusual in that he survives at all. And he's “allowed” to survive initially because he's not as disabled as he could have been (still has a desire) and that desire is useful. They aim him at the dungeons and off he goes. It takes twenty years for him to recover enough to do it, sure, but they're elves. They can wait. He can still be useful.

Relatedly, when he loses the ability to pursue his desire he's immediately much worse off than he was previously.

The no-desire catatonia is something that can recur and the elves continue to not know how to handle it. If Kabru wasn't there to problemsolve I think he'd have just… stayed there with his increasingly distressed squad.

Speaking of his squad, there's also a fascinating power dynamic going on with just the inherent structure of the Canaries; criminals are assigned as his caregivers. There's the inherent unfairness to the criminal Canaries about them being given extra duties, this strange rich noble guy who's now their Responsibility. There's so much possibility for resentment in normal caregiving relationships, much less being forced by your jailor into caregiving someone. But there's also an element of the power the prisoner Canaries now have over him and his most basic ADLs and needs. Assigning Cithis to his care is such a can of worms! The dynamics of the situation are frankly awful for both of them; of course she resents him initially. It would be strange for her not to. When Pattadol catches her making Mithrun do embarrassing things, she instantly reminds Cithis of her lower-status – she's forced to care for this nobleman and then forcibly reminded that she's beneath him.

She's responding to having menial, low-status tasks forced on her by trying to humiliate him, and although he doesn't have the ability to care enough to stop her it's still a deliberate removal of dignity. He's the instrument with which she is punished and she punishes him in return (until it's not fun anymore and she understands him a bit more.)

Mithrun is a long-lived race, who has structural power over the shorter lived races simply because of how long they live. The dwarves and elves try to actively keep certain knowledge from other races, restricting their access to technology, and other expressions of distance. Senshi spends nearly the whole first season not listening to Chilchuck trying to explain that he's an adult and treating him like a child, and Kabru repeatedly says that the elves do the same thing (and tbh we see them doing it). There's even the fact that it took him twenty years to recover enough to join the Canaries again; a shorter-lived race might have died from old age in this time, or become too old to work in this capacity, and then wasted away without the drive to return to the dungeons. But they're elves; the other elves can afford to wait, and he's not going to age out of dungeoneering any time soon. Being an elf probably contributes to his wealth in the same way skin color contributes to wealth inequality in the real world.

Dungeon Meshi doesn't really go into race in the sense of skin color much, and Kui is writing from a different cultural standpoint than I am. While tallmen are quite accurate when it comes to skin/hair color (yes, even Kabru and his blue eyes; it's rare but possible) and cultural references, the elves, uh, absolutely are not, both in the sense of “dark skin & pale hair and eyes trope” and sense of the royals having jet black skin.

Still, I feel like race is so connected to care and caregiving in the real-world west that I would be profoundly remiss not to mention it. Skin color might not matter to elves in the racism sense, but it matters to humans and humans are the ones writing and analyzing this story. (And I fully expect as the fandom grows with anime-onlies people will like Mithrun more because he's white (has white features) than they would if he had darker skin, because fandom is also baseline racist.)

I don't think we can just not mention that Mithrun is pale-skinned and both Cithis and Kabru, his primary caregivers over the story, both have dark skin.

Racism means white people are more likely to get good medical care, the type you need to get diagnosed and prescribed caregiving. Racism means wealth distribution is uneven, favoring white people. Race affects immigrants taking on undesirable jobs like caregiving for low pay. Racism is a profound stressor which means it contributes to who becomes disabled in the first place in that it can worsen health outcomes.

Similarly to race, gender may not be very obvious when it comes to this subplot within the story but the gendered dynamics of caregiving in the real world are something I do want to touch on. There's an oft-cited statistic about how men are much more likely than women to divorce their partners when their partners are diagnosed with a serious condition; I don't like relying too much on those sorts of statistics because they can be so misleading but it does gesture at something very real, culturally. Even if men aren't supposed to be caretaken, women are supposed to be the caretakers. Certainly, it's not Mithrun's fault that he can't cook and can't do laundry and probably can't do most housework, but I do also think about all the posts passed around about “my boyfriend who won't do housework.”

Again, none of these privileges make him less disabled and less in need of and deserving of care, they're just worth talking about when we talk about caregiving in general.

It's Rotten Work, Even If It's You

People expect disabled people receiving care to be grateful, to accept anything, and to try and make it easier for the caregiver if they're able. Requiring care is an incredibly disadvantaged position, even as actually receiving it can be so tangled up in privilege. Caregiving is tremendously difficult work, it's true, but there's a particular vibe people want from disabled people – all those movies about not wanting to be seen as a burden. Never complaining. Being grateful.

And, uh, well…

Mithrun basically accepts anything his caregivers do, but he's not grateful at all! I appreciate that in a disability portrayal. He'll also lie to and ignore his caregivers, which is Annoying but is definitely an expression of autonomy even if he's probably not doing it specifically to express his autonomy. He's not going to thank you. He's not going to make it easy. He'll accept a lot of things considered “undignified,” and he's not mean or unpleasant in the sense that he's taking advantage or anything, but he's certainly not a model patient.

He's running off back into the dungeons just when you think you've finally gotten him somewhere safe.

There's always a strange tension in caregiving, I've found. It is incredibly intimate but a lot of it is done by total strangers. A number of caregiving tasks are viewed by the wider world as entitled but placing those tasks in the hands of strangers is a remarkably tough place to be in. As a disabled person, I've had to accept my bowel movements being discussed with my parents’ friends, all sorts of being physically moved places not against my will but without my permission, even my pubic hair being shaved off by a stranger (nurse) while I was unable to speak or move. When people are feeding you, making sure you use the toilet, rubbing your feet to make you sleep, helping you with hygiene – people are working so hard to help you. Are you supposed to just accept them doing whatever they want to you?

There's also a dynamic where people will say they don't mind caring for you, they're happy to do it, and then as the years go by and you continue to need care the resentment just builds up. Caregiving is hard work. It's often thankless. The goodness of people’s hearts can run dry, when it's been twenty years and you still can't bathe yourself.

Aaand I need to continue in reblogs, because I'm out of space for images. Please hold. edit: you can find part 2 here

[psychabolition]

You talk about getting rid of the psychiatric system. But what do you propose should be done instead? /gen

I'm going to tell you a story . I once knew someone called Tim. When I met him he had already spent most of his life in drug addiction treatment centres, psych wards and prisons until he later ended up in a forensic psych ward. After he did LSD he 'never came down from his bad trip' and got diagnosed w schizophrenia. This diagnosis +the addict - diagnosis justified so many fucking human rights violations - it got him locked up, drugged up, strip searched, his privacy violated on a daily basis, isolated away from society and everyone he knew because apparently he needed to be 'saved from this illness in his brain that makes him do/think/feel' things he otherwise wouldnt and because he needed to be 'punished' into being a 'functioning', 'productive' (read: profit-generating) member of 'society' (read: hegemonic cultural norms & forms.) This is what psychiatry does - it doesnt help, it locks us up and tortures us. I dont need to be able to name alternatives to this lol . This is the worst possible way of treating anyone ever. It would help immensely to literally just STOP doing this. Even 'sane' people would go insane in places like these.

So the alternative to acting like an absolute asshole towards people who struggle severely and who dont have a place in society would be to 1)not isolate them away from society and 2)not torture them 🙏 . It would be to get rid off the psychologists' individual and the psychiatric systems' general saviour complex that only results in abusing people bc they act like the people who are labelled as mentally ill are (=their minds/brains) responsible for at fault for their own struggles. Instead we could show solidarity with each other and try to built a world where everyone has a place in and is valued as a person and where the suffering/madness of an individual is not seen as an incentive to literally abuse and socially ostracize them.

And @ everyone dont come at me w 'not everyone has these experiences w psychiatry' - any time you talk about systemic criticism you have to look at the most marginalized experiences. When talking about police defunding/prison abolition we also talk about police brutality that black disabled poor people face . And yes not everyone has bad experiences w every single cop , still ACAB . ALSO dont come at me with 'I know there ar GOOD psychologists who Actually want to help' ,1) fuck their savior complex 2)what individuals motives are for joining this system of oppression isnt necessarily the purpose of a system. The purpose of a system is what it does. The police isnt there to protect us, psychiatry isnt there to help us. We only have each other.

So, what you can do right now to get rid off the psychiatric system in your community? How can we stop relying on this authoritarian system that abuses and incarcerates so many of us ??

I think its important to educate each other on our rights. Because then we have the knowledge on what not to say in a therapy session so we dont get incarcerated or what to do when we are questioned by cops/psychs to see if we are 'at risk' or what to do when we or friends of us are already incarcerated so they can get out of there as fast as possible. Also educating your friends/family on psychiatric propaganda helps - a common myth is that if you dont 'look for signs' and call the cops to institutionalize a friend they might kill themselves. All while institutionalization/incarceration increases the risk of suicide extremely. This is important to know so no one in our communities calls the cops on us when we're doing really bad. Also educating each other on the biomedical model so everyone understands that we dont have an illness that we need to be 'saved from' (depression for example) or 'punished for' (aspd, drug addiction) and that we (=our minds/brains) arent to blame for our struggles Etc.

If you know that youre sometimes in extreme mental distress/pain you could also make a crisis plan with friends so you dont need to rely on the psych system - like for example the plan could be that a friend calls in sick for work/university and then stays at your place for 3-4days and is there for you/drinks tea w you, goes for a walk together w you, smokes a joint with you together until you feel better and arent acutely suicidal anymore. (Its also best to include several people in this plan bc it can get really overwhelming for 1 person). You can als include things in the plan like asking your friends to take away all knives in your apartment if you want to. Or if its a more permanent 'crisis' then a plan on how to move together with friends to get away from your nuclear family/abusive partner (just as an example).

Access to medication, knowledge on how to get off of them if you dont want to take them anymore and freedom and proper education in your decision on taking, weaning off or on staying on medication is not given in the psych system. So how do we change that? A common reason for 'crisis' is trying to wean off of psychiatric drugs (a lot of people get suicidal or psychotic bc of the withdrawal for example - depends on the meds, dosis and since how long youve been taking them though). You could plan when to do this together w friends. Theres anti psych guidelines on how to do this safely - a lot of psychiatrists tell you that you need to stay on meds no matter if you want to or not and they often dont know how to wean off of them or think youre 'at risk' and incarcerate you if you mention that you want to stop taking your meds -this highly depends on how stigmatizing your diagnosis is (=schizophrenia/bipolar are good examples for highly stigmatized ones) or if youre sb who get racialized for example (bc then psychs immediatly perceive you as more of 'a risk'). You could make a plan for example where you ask your friends to stay w you through this by living at your apartment w you for a few days, cooking meals for you and keeping your apartment clean. And then another friend of you could come by each day after work (for example) and also be there since its probably a lot for one person. Also LYING to psychiatrists is always a good idea. For example when youre trans and want to access gender affirming care its important not to mention any diagnoses in general but especially diagnoses like autism, schizophrenia, psychosis or PDs and then literally lie about yourself if necessary. You always know who you are and what you need best. Also dont blindly trust your psych on what medications go well together - look it up yourself !!! Theres a 'drug interaction checker' online where you can see if it might be dangerous to take certain meds at the same time. Also READ on what side effects are possible - make a diary for when you start your medication on how youre feeling/doing . Some changes are awful but still hard to notice bc youre thinking that it could also be a 'normal' worsening of your mental state that you think you might also have without meds. Also depending on what physical conditions you have/had you cant take some medications without it being dangerous - READ the whole instruction paper thing that always comes with your meds and/or google it !!

Also literally just sharing/collecting tips on how to cope w different struggles + harm reduction guides (suicidality, drug addiction, ...) is very helpful. There is a lot of community sourced material already out there.

I understand that the reason most people are severely struggling is because they dont have a community (=like when you only have 1 partner or 1 friend ,because youre (still) legal property of your parents, because youre stuck in a nuclear family,...) and not only because psychiatry divides our communities by blaming us for our struggles and isolating and stigmatizing us. Building community and relying on each other is the only way to get rid off the psychiatric system in the end. If we already had a real community that we could rely on, all the psych wards would be empty and therapists wouldnt exist. This is not the first step, its the solution.

Als there are already alternative institutions (that are already in practice) that are a replacement for psychiatry.

This is probably the answer that youre looking for 😂. I dont really care about these kind of anti psych concepts and practices since they seem out of my reach atm. Ik that theres an anti psych house in berlin whos guiding principles are 1)community care /peer support 2)full autonomy for everyone there and its specifically for people who are running away from psychiatric violence.

Other alternatives that I havent really looked into yet are : bethel house , peer respites, new models of therapy

[cmdrfupa]

“Perfect match.” Was all Shoko could say before she introduced you to Kento upon his return to the world of sorcery. It was always no marriage until he retired from his role and Nanami knew he should’ve kept his word. But you were a welcomed change to his always-exhausted mental and a challenge to his monotonous life. He just wishes he could pinpoint where it went wrong.

Hello! Refer here for information about this ongoing series! I appreciate you reading and sharing! I hope you enjoy ✨

REFORM

We're only a train ride away. Love you, and come to us anytime.- Iori

You read the attached card to the cotton percale duvet set Utahime and Shoko got you months ago. They never saw the light of day during your separate room trial. Nanami and you seemed to find yourself in the comfort of each other's arms against your therapist's better judgment every time.

The room echoed as you shuffled around, throwing the rest of your undergarments in your duffel. The new room smell had been gradually overtaken in the past few weeks by the orchid-scented soy wax candle you had treasured in your once-shared bedroom.

"It is important to maintain physical and emotional boundaries while you sort through your emotions."

Your brain was buzzing with your therapist's words as you rechecked the dresser's drawers for good measure. 

You were used to the house being cold, as you and Nanami agreed that anything above 68 degrees was inhumane. But the lack of furniture in the guest bedroom brought it to a bone-chilling cold. 

Air humidifier quietly hummed in the distant corner, the last bag of belongings on your shoulder as you walked down the hall one more time.

"Ken?" The living room showed no signs of him, and his keys were gone.

Was probably for the best he wasn’t there.

You left the note against a short glass on the wet bar in den. “Can’t say he didn’t see it if it’s sitting here.”

No argument. No tempting to keep you home.

You were gone.

  Divorce was going to be your demand until your mother said that was too harsh for a couple who hadn't tried counseling yet. Initially, you and Nanami decided on therapy and a few more date nights.

After the first two sessions, you both promised to make the pertinent changes to save your marriage. You almost had a bit of faith for a while as you made minor adjustments per your therapist's suggestion. But that never occurred from his end. 

You asked for a separation that would become legal once you figured out the following steps: living arrangements or possibly going back to your sorcerer clan and training whoever Gojo sent to you. Your options were not only limited but far more depressing than you realized. That night, Kento watched you move your belongings to the guest bedroom, giving up on making things right far too soon.

Living in the same home but being separated created a surreal and often uncomfortable atmosphere Nanami didn't expect. 

After six years of marriage, a sense of familiarity came with your daily routine—the smell of Chickory coffee brewing promptly at 6:30 as you hummed your gentle tunes, precisely putting on your makeup was his wake-up call. However, the feeling of being disconnected and distant became far more prominent when he reached over, and only a decorative pillow was in your place. Your hums were too far away to enjoy. Another rough morning. He sat on the side of the bed, gruffing as he scooted his feet into the slippers.

The sleep wore off as he walked towards the kitchen, the bright, smelling coffee filling his nostrils with each slothful step. As he hit the threshold, your familiar happy hum hit his ears. With your back to him, you stood there tasting your coffee, your robe hanging off your shoulders, your scarf wrapped to protect your hair loosely held on. "Mm. Just a little more creamer."

"Think of agreeing on scheduled times to use spaces like the kitchen. They can still make enough coffee for both of you if they like, but allow the other person time to make their coffee and leave the kitchen before you go to make yours."

The therapist gave the piss poor idea, and you ran with it. A stranger telling you what needs to be done regarding your marriage. And yet he did it because he wanted to make anything work with you, even if he genuinely thought it was a waste. You knew him; you knew everything about him. You'd known him at his worst and wanted marriage counseling to help pick apart something good from Kento's perspective.

He turned and stood in the hallway, putting himself directly in line with you. His heart ached, wishing he could steal a kiss and wrap himself around you the same way he had for years.

_____________________

The ticking clock filled your den's silence as you and Kento took a break from verbally jousting for the fourth time that week.

He'd come home after not calling you back much earlier in the day. You’d heard about a special grade curse roaming between the school and the local city hall he volunteered to see about. No communication, no sign of remorse.

"We've made strides." Kento slumped back into the chair, watching how your leg shook with each empty moment he created. "I'm home more; only every other Saturday is mandatory now, and we've been going to counseling. Is this not enough for you? Am I the only one expected to change?"

"We've gone to two sessions. Which the first you left early and the second you showed up in the last 15 minutes." Patience had run thin and the grace you were always willing to extend had worn. "You avoid discussing scheduling the next one even when its a good day for you. I have done everything but change my fucking first name for the sake of trying, Kento."

Kento swirled the bourbon absentmindedly. The conversation was going in circles yet again. "I have changed everything you've complained about. I asked what you needed from me as your husband, and you gave me nothing to work with other than you want to know how I'm feeling. Honey. I'm fucking tired is how I’m feeling and this isn’t helping. What's missing?"

You could only muster a laugh to keep the flood of tears from invading. "I feel like I'm forcing you to tell me anything more than half the time, Ken. Like I only get parts of you while everyone else gets all of you. Do I not deserve that? What's changed? What are we doing?"

His rich eyes found yours for a quick moment. "We're doing what you've been begging me to do. We're talking now."

—————————

"Well fuck, you said that? No wonder she's staying with Utahime."

A bitter taste punched the back of Nanami's throat before he looked over in Gojo's direction. 

It had been four months since that night, and he'd made it everyone's problem since. More annoyed than usual at work, Nanami had a quicker temper towards all staff and was facing his hell going back to an empty house night after night.

  "Despite me being the hottest, most desired person you've known since high school-"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Let me finish, Nanami." Gojo sipped his piña colada and licked his lips in the most bothersome manner possible. "Despite being gorgeous and desired, I am also very knowledgeable about relationships and everyone else's business."

From the end of the bar, Kento signaled for another whiskey sour.

"Alright. Tell me what you've perceived, six eyes."

Gojo sat up straight on the bar stool as if he had an audience to entertain. "Your wife often called me when she couldn't contact you. She called me asking if I'd heard from you when you would go on missions alone. I was giving her status updates on you. Why?"

Celebratory sounds filled the bar as the college students slammed another round of shots in the brightly lit booth in the corner. 

The ring on Kentos' finger suddenly felt five sizes too small.

"Utahime, of all people, called me when you weren't answering because she showed up scared shitless." boisterous cheers filled the space as someone named Jai chugged a pint down. 

"Your partner got on a 3 1/2 hour train ride to Kyoto when she didn't hear from you. When were you upset about seeing me at your house after midnight that night? I was there because I happily drove over 6 hours back and forth to get your wife."

"Enough, Gojo," the drinks seemed weaker as he downed this one in a single gulp before getting the barkeep's attention. "Another one, please."

Gojo knew he had a few more buttons to press before he could stop. "The day after her birthday, she called Shoko and started crying. Sobbing, really." slurping the last remnants of his colada, Gojo sighed heavily.

"Gojo." Nanami gripped the glass before him, muttering his name.

"Upset that you found something to nitpick before completely shutting her out. You're a real piece of work, you know."

Gojo had no time to move before Kento grabbed him by the collar.

"If I shove the stem of this glass through your ears, how far do you think it'll go?"

"Someone's touchy, Nami." The bar quieted by a few decibels as nearby patrons watched Nanami hold Gojo by his neck. "Those whiskey sours are starting to get to that blonde head of yours." Gojo's cheeky tone was like that of a toddler who had gotten someone in trouble.

Gojo cheesed as Kento let go of his collar.

Nanami downed the remainder of his drink, and the bartender wasted no time making his next one.

"Wanna talk now instead of making empty threats?" Gojo drank a sip of water before licking the sugary rim of his glass.

"I fucked up, Gojo." He was left with this: a late Saturday evening at a college bar, talking to Satoru about his failing marriage. Patting his breast pocket, Nanami seethed at the words written on the note you left him. "She said she doesn't recognize her Kento. That I'ma ghost of him or whatever."

Part of Gojo hated seeing Nanami sulking this way. Sure, they never saw eye to eye for years, but you were a common factor in their lives.

A positive one. And Nanami knew just as well as Gojo that they were the two men who knew you best.

You were hurting, but so was Nanami. And Gojo knew why.

"Nanami. Talk with your wife."

"We talked every damn day."

"No. You talk to her like she’s some intern you have a grudge against. It would help if you talked with her like a man who's afraid of losing his wife."

"How the fuck do you know so much about this?" Nanami managed to squint, his vision officially tanking as Gojo became a slightly hazy figure of himself.

"Elle magazine talks about shitty husbands pretty frequently. I read it often and can confidently say you aren't alone in the shitty husband community."

Sleep wasn't coming easy for you. You tossed around for 3 hours before getting up to sit out on the balcony, hoping the late-night breezes would calm you. The clouds broke sparingly, allowing the moon to peek through while you watched the stars try to shimmer through the thick blankets.

Four months of staying at Utahime's old home back in Kyoto led you to return to Tokyo because you knew putting off the divorce was doing more harm than good. You weren't running away. You just needed a break from seeing him in every hallway or advisory meeting.

With some help from Gojo, you hired a great lawyer who drew up the divorce papers within 12 hours, giving you a chance to serve them yourself when you stopped thinking about how the opportunity to do it would come up.

Feeling slightly more relaxed, you shuffled back in, locking up until a recognizable tone struck your ears.

"It's your husband. Please open the door," A familiar voice groaned from the other side of the door.

"Please. Gojo told me you were back in town staying with Shoko." His words slurred as he pounded on the door. The neighbors were definitely not pleased to hear a drunken ruckus this late.

"I need to see you. I need you." A thud got you to move swiftly to the door, opening it to find Kento with his forehead against the wall next to it. "Thank fuck." He lifted his head slowly as if it weighed more than the earth.

"What are you doing here? Did you drive?" The warm air of the hallway rushed into the condo as you stood in the doorway.

He was like a lost puppy. Warm eyes low like he couldn't look at you without guilt eating him alive. "No. No no. Gojo got me a cab." You saw blood on his hand as he brought his phone to your face. "Can you tell him I made it safely?"

Gojo got him a cab. Here. You'd be talking to him about this stunt later.

"Ken, you're bleeding."

"It's just a small scratch. It'll be fine."

Come in, and I'll wake Shoko to look at it."

"She already hates me for being a shit husband to you." The gash in his palm wasn't urgent, but the amount of blood on his arms showed it still needed attention. He finally dared to look you in the eyes as he spoke, "I'm fine."

"Can you fucking stop and let me help?" You tried hiding your longing behind your voice's assertion, but that didn't escape him. He couldn't stop trying to push you further away. Distance, at this point, felt like the only solution.

"I'm fine. Stop." The firmness in his voice forced you to take half a step back.

This wasn't a buzz from a few drinks with Shoko after work; this was Kento hammered, which was hard to get to but possible.

This state of drunkenness only happened once, and it was after being released from the hospital post-Shibuya. You watched him drink himself to sleep for months, telling yourself everyone has a vice while trying to have understanding. But it became too much for you and everyone close. Nanami's drinking was getting unmanageable yet again.

You grabbed his uninjured hand and led him into the apartment. Inert moonlight streamed across the room, and the dimly lit recessed lights were your only lighting source. You placed him in front of the kitchen sink, letting the water run over the wound. "Stand here, don't move your hand from under the water, and don't talk."

He watched you march away to rustle through the guest bathroom cabinet before emerging with a first aid kit. Without uttering a word, you stood beside him, watching the pinkish-red water circle down the drain until it cleared.

Gently patting his hand dry with gauze before spraying saline solution around the wound, you broke the silence. "How did you cut your hand."

A deep breath that smelt of pure alcohol filled the gap between you. "Grabbed a broken glass at the bar." hiccuping, Kento pressed up against the counter. "Broke it after some guy said Gojo and I were a cute couple."

Surely, you misheard him. "What? You tried to stab him?"

Kento smirked as he watched your bewildered eyes. "I'm not one for stabbing. You know I'm more of a slashing type of man, baby."

It's like the wires in your mind got sewn together. The tired smile growing on your face soothed that itch Nanami had for weeks. "I suppose."

Nanami scanned your arms and shoulders as you remained in close contact with his left side. He knew your skin was just as soft as it was months ago. Supple and warm when he would run his knuckles across your thighs during his evening unwind. A dull pain from the cold feeling of tweezers in his hand brought him back. "Shit." grunting through the uncomfortable feeling.

Small glass fragments clanged into the dish as you dropped it. "None of the pieces got too deep into the wound."

As you finished cleaning the wound, a few drops of blood surfaced. You quickly grabbed another clean gauze, tenderly covering the wound before applying gentle pressure to Nanami's palm. His fingers instinctively gripped around your hand as if holding on to you would make sure you wouldn't vanish from his side.

The close proximity made your throat dry as you dried the wound again, patting it more than necessary to avoid his knowing gaze. "Almost done." You opened the sterile pad and placed it on his wound, holding it down while you tried unraveling the rolled bandage with the chin and hand combo.

He watched you intently, knowing that all he needed was for you to look at him. He was burning to see a sign that you still hadn't totally given up on him. Kento needed to know he had someone with his best interest at heart, even if he couldn't be vulnerable without being an intoxicated mess.

You carefully tore the bandage and expertly wrapped it around his hand before tying it off. "And there we go." Trying to prolong the cleanup only made the air heavy while Kento watched you closely. For every two steps you took, he took four to stay close to you. "Are you close enough?" the heat from his upper body radiated on your back as you wiped the counter down. "Unfortunately, no. I'd rather be under your skin and inside of you, but I'm trying to work on earning that privilege back." "Kento." "Yes, my love?" Any attempt at a casual facade was gone, unable to shake the emotions that threatened to consume you both. "You can take the guest bedroom, and I'll take the couch. It's too late for you to go anywhere." Kento closed in a few inches. "We could both sleep in the guest bed. Ample space, no?" The low lights in the kitchen cast a warm, intimate glow over the room, and you became keenly aware of the scent of whiskey and his Initio Phsychadelic Love cologne as you moved closer. "Nothing more than sleeping." "Nothing more than sleeping. What else would we do in bed?"

There would always be a chance of falling back into the same routine. Apologies, sex that silenced the blaring alarms in your mind, a week of cohabitating in peace before the cycle of low-effort communication and quiet dinners would resurface. But, you allowed the only intimacy you yearned for the last month.

His arms surround you like a tight-fitting sweater taking you in. His arms were your shelter, and your heartbeat motivated him to live. You'd settled into the queen-sized bed after both successfully fighting off very apparent sexual tension marinating between you both. His lips traveled across your chest. Faint kisses left on every available part of your skin as you combed through his light locks. "I want to go back to therapy. I promise I'll be open and try." The feeling of his stubble-covered chin rested on your sternum. Looking down to meet those glossy brown eyes that showed exhaustion and the early stages of sobering up.

"I want honesty. No half-ass truths while there, Kento." "No half-ass truths from me as long as you are transparent about your thoughts. You can't HR yourself out of sharing your raw thoughts." Sticking your pinky out, you waited for Kento to link his. No hesitation, he locked his pinky around yours.

"We'll make it work. I swear on my life.”

[grapementos]

perseverance

aged up bakugo x reader

pt. 3 to this

numerous panic attacks had ensued since you were discharged from the hospital, but not all of them reached their final stages like the first had.

you’d grown better at grounding yourself and having some semblance of control over your anxiousness. slowly but surely, you felt the pain ebbing away.

it would never be gone completely, you knew, and every day you questioned the possibility of things being different.

what if katsuki hadn’t quit being a hero? what if he’d proposed just as he’d planned to? would your wedding have been beautiful? your marriage successful and healthy?

there were so many what ifs that hurt your heart just to think about.

yet, all you did was think about it—in the best, healthiest way.

you set aside your pride and fears and confided not only in your friends, but in a therapist. you had sessions weekly, and every time you walked out of the office, you felt a little lighter.

for the first time, you understood that it was okay to still love katsuki, to still want to be with him. in fact, they initially expressed how they wished the two of you had tried couples therapy before everything went south.

that was another what if that hurt.

you were always the more rational, levelheaded one. why hadn’t you thought of it, encouraged it? would it have made a difference? those thoughts kept you awake at night, haunting your mind and mocking you with images of a perfect life with katsuki. the life you could've had.

those thoughts were bumps in your path to recovery. it was only through those thoughts, however, that you learned that the road wasn't linear. you had amazing days when you felt strong and independent, days when you'd feel like you were in a colgate commercial. other days, you wanted to set your apartment on fire and disappear. you wanted to scream until your voice was gone, vocal chords torn to shreds. some days, you just wanted everything to stop.

through the good and the bad, you were able to persevere through the challenging navigation of a breakup. still, you granted yourself permission to still love him. to be in love with him. that love would never just vanish, you'd realized a few months into your journey. it dulled, flickered, and faded, but never vanished.

-

you'd found that implementing a routine in your daily life had greatly improved your overall mental health.

this morning, you turned on the news as you made yourself breakfast--a meal you forced yourself to consume, no matter how little it was.

as you grabbed what you needed from the cupboards, a name in the news had you pausing everything.

"...following his spontaneous philanthropic streak, former hero dynamight announces that he will be hosting a tell-all session at our local library. there, he intends to, quote, 'make amends with those i might have hurt with my words, actions, or lack thereof...' well, you heard it here. don't miss a valiant display of heroic vulnerability today at noon. in other news..."

you gaped at the tv, the glass bowl slipping from your suddenly clammy fingers.

philanthropic streak? where had you been?

the sound of the glass breaking reached your ears a whole minute after it hit the ground, snapping you out of your dumbfounded stupor.

"shit," you cursed, crouching down to pick up the pieces.

no, don't even think about it.

you looked at the clock, reading 8 as the time. plenty of time for you to get dressed and go.

no.

you could easily make it in time and sit in the back, just to see him and hear what he had to say.

no.

you'd wear something inconspicuous and hide in the back, just being silent. and then you'd leave, after ten minutes.

no.

every no carried a little bit of yes at the end of it, forcefully dragging you out of the kitchen and into the bathroom for a shower. it was closure, you argued to yourself, closure that you desperately needed.

it's going to be excuses, nothing but lies.

dark clothes are the best choice, you decided, anxiously changing into something you deemed inconspicuous. just ten minutes, it was all you needed.

don't throw all your progress away for ten minutes.

you stared at the mirror, trying to find a single good reason to stay home. yet, every thought in your mind convinced you that this, this is what you needed. you needed to hear him express his regret, his remorse to other people. people who once trusted and supported him in his endeavors, only to be woefully let down by his bouts of anger.

this will just make you hurt more. don't do this.

you discarded every invasive voice in the back of your brain and found yourself at the library come noon, hidden behind a bookshelf. you browsed the shelves with unseeing eyes, thoughts drowned out by the low murmur of the large crowd seated in front of the small stage in the center.

the library was home to many plays around the city, which you found ironic. would this be another display of dramatism and lies?

just as you found a book with a flattering cover, the mic whined with a little feedback.

"sorry about that."

you knew the voice, but the genuineness was foreign to you. you peeked over the row of books, your blood running cold as you saw katsuki sitting meekly on a chair on the stage.

"hello, everyone. i'm, uh, i'm bakugo katsuki, but most of you might know me as dynamight," he began, scanning the crowd, "a lot of you might not be fond of me based, um, based on my time as a hero."

many voices mumbled in agreement at that, which made him laugh, just the slightest. it made your chest swell with pride he didn't deserve.

"and i really don't blame you. i carried a lot of my immaturity from high school into adulthood. my biggest problem was that i saw heroism as a means to an end, a," he motioned with his hands, trying to find the words, "a stepping stone to being 'the best'--whatever that means. and i got lost in my obsession with my image."

you listened intently, at least half sure that you were listening to a complete stranger talk. the katsuki you knew had nowhere near this much humility.

"with that being said, my first apology goes to you, the people of this beloved city. you deserved someone who had your best interest at heart, and i'm sorry that couldn't be me. but, rest assured, i am very familiar with the current top ten and can say with confidence that they are the heroes you deserve."

you found yourself tearing up at his words, so awestruck by the complete 360 in his persona.

the crowd cheered at his words, as pleasantly surprised with his chanage as you were.

"thank you," he chuckled when the crowd quieted down, "next, i'd like to apologize to my friends and family. they definitely got some of the worst of it. for years, they suggested therapy for the anger that i just couldn't seem to control. and for years, brushed them off, over and over again. i insisted that my anger was fuel for my quirk, when in reality, it was detrimental. dangerous. so, mom, dad, all my friends, i'm sorry it took me so long to take your advice. thank you for standing by me."

you werent sure if the session was being broadcasted, but you sure hope it was. kirishima, mina, sero, and denki deserved to hear it. more than that, you were shocked to discover that he'd also been in therapy. so he really meant it..

another round of applause.

"last, and most important," he sucked in a sharp breath, "i'd like to apologize to the love of my life."

you stilled, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over your head. no, no way.

"i spent three amazing years with the only person i could ever see myself loving. they were the most patient, the most kind person you could ever imagine. they stood by me during every slandering headline, every angry episode, every single ugly moment. they were there."

you covered your mouth and crouched down to the floor, squeezing you eyes shut. no, hell no, you refused to cry.

he exhaled shakily, rubbing a sweaty palm against his jeans, "they were devoted to me, to us. i'd be nothing without their impact on my life, and i've done the worst job at showing it. i," he stammered, scrunching his eyebrows together, "i ruined what we had, and i've never regret anything more. i know all the philanthropy and therapy and apologies in the world can never take back my insensitivity, but i will never stop being sorry, and i swear i'll grow every day."

you had to clamp your hand harder over your mouth to prevent any sniffles or sobs from escaping and alerting everyone to your presence. his words were so genuine, so wholehearted that you knew he truly had changed.

"i'll love them forever, regardless of if they hate me. with that love, i'll destroy any semblance of the douchebag-asshole-monster i used to be." he smiled out to the crowd as a final goodbye, "thank you, everyone. you don't owe me your forgiveness, but i hope you'll consider forgiving me one day."

people clapped, whistled, cheered for him as he turned off the mic.

meanwhile, your heart was racing. you didn't have a single coherent thought in your mind other than the fact that he loved you. he loves you.

he wasn't begging or crying this time, his acts weren't out of desperation. he was completely and totally vulnerable in front of a group of people that he didn't even know included you.

as people flooded out of the library, you shakily pushed yourself to your feet. what now? how could you possibly be expected to walk all the way to your car and drive home in this state of mind?

with a quick breathing technique your therapist taught you, you calmed down enough to get your hands to stop trembling.

katsuki had started helping the security guards pick up and stack the chairs, making small talk with them as they cleaned up the area.

you wiped at your cheeks, hoping they weren't too blotchy. with a quiet breath, you silently crept away from behind the bookshelf and toward the exit.

unfortunately, your far-from ninja-like skills couldn't get past the years of hero instincts engraved in every muscle fiber of katsuki's body.

"y/n?"

you froze, shoulders tensing as you slowly turned around.

"hey, bakugo," you cleared your throat, averting your eyes, "that was, uh, that was nice of you. good job."

there was something undetectable in his face, something you couldn't put your finger on, "oh, thanks, i-" he stepped closer, but stopped when he sensed your hesitance, "i didn't expect to see you here."

"i didn't expect to be here." you said honestly, fidgeting with your fingers, "but i should, uh, probably get going."

he opened and shut his mouth a few times before he sighed and nodded, "okay. but i really meant it, you know? everything i said."

fuck, you were going to cry again. you didn't want to, not in front of him.

"i know." you nodded, "i don't.. hate you, you know? we both had issues that we chose to resolve separately."

"i just wish," he sighed, looking for the words, "i wish that was't the case."

you couldn't hold in your tears anymore, a few cascading down your cheek, but you quickly wiped them away.

"i know." you swallowed hard, trying to prevent your voice from doing that embarrassing, high-pitched crack, "i do too."

he opened his arms, offering a hug and you just couldn't say no. the space was so perfectly carved for you.

you hugged him tight, burying your face into his shoulder.

"i'm so sorry, y/n. i'm sorry for everything." he whispered into your hair, his voice wet with tears, "i never deserved you."

you just cried harder, knuckles white as you gripped onto the back of his shirt. you wanted to speak, to reassure him that it wasn't completely his fault, but you couldn't pause for a breath long enough to say a single word.

instead, the two of you dropped to the ground, arms wrapped around each other with a desperation that you only feel for each other. a once-in-a-lifetime desperation.

the two of you cried and held each other, and somehow you knew everything was going to be okay.

and this concludes the triology! thank you for the overwhelming support on this series that wasn't even meant to be a series!

taglist: @blackout-ice-biohazard @survivorofmath @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @odessa-is-my-queen @firesmokeandashes @valentineshiftz @sil-ver-shadow @echosfadve

[thevelvetvampyre]

Bunny to a wolf - Jonathan Crane x patient reader

“So go on bunny. Run for me.”

Warnings: Predator x prey dynamic, noncon, restraints and cuffs, victim blaming, sexual assault mentioned, he’s derogatory, creampie, dacryphilia, general smut and dark adult content

Note: this is basically an intense game of hide and seek (predator x prey kink on 🔝)

──── ──── ────

It had been a few months since the attack, the smell of musk still making your stomach turn and your face cringe.

The memory of how heavy he felt on top of you, the way he heaved against your limp body and his rough grip on your sides that bruised a deep purple the next morning. The only thing that made it more horrific was the fact that he was still out there, probably boasting about the young girl he cuffed and fucked on the side of the road after one too many beers, how tight she was and how she took him so well.

“Are you scared that it may happen again?”

Dr. Crane gazed at you expressionlessly as he held his notebook on his crossed thigh. Exasperated and bored from asking you the same questions after each therapy session, his time with you proving to be non-beneficial as each appointment came around.

“Very.”

Your voice shook as your eyes remained on your lap, unable to look your psychiatrist in the eyes as you felt him grow more irritated with you daily.

“Well- unfortunately there’s not much else I can do.”

He huffed, uncrossing his legs and widening his knees as he clenched his jaw. Pushing up the frames on his nose bridge and glaring at you disgustedly, he linked his fingers on his stomach and furrowed his brows as he analysed you.

The fear that radiated off your skin was hypnotic, capturing his affection with how weak and pathetic you looked. He could smell how scared you were. Of him or the context as to why you sat opposite him, he didn’t care. He felt honoured, blessed even, he got to hear your sweet voice string out sentences of his version of an erotic violence.

Your descriptions of the attack were pornographic to him, the way you sobbed as you went into extensive detail of the pain you felt was so arousing you’d think he was watching you get off. With each tear that rolled down your cheek, a bead of cloudy white leaked out his pulsating tip.

A seething jealousy prickled under his skin as he imagined a filthy, Gotham peasant thrusting himself into you, angry he couldn’t of been present that night to stop him. He often wondered how adorable your wrists looked cuffed together, bruising and bleeding as you tried to escape.

He dreamt of replacing the man’s drunken cock with his experienced shaft, squinting down at you begging him to stop as he felt himself spill his cum into the back of you.

Watching you now, seeing how you were still so hopeless after months of therapy, he felt he’d broken you down enough to take matters into his own hands.

“There is one more thing we could try…”

His words were slow and deliberate, the tone he emitted made it sound like he would present you with a gift, a glimpse of hope in your psychologically devastating situation.

You pull your eyes up to meet his, a small haze had covered your vision and you rapidly bat your eyelids to focus on his face clearly.

“You may be… scared.”

He tilted his head as he pondered what emotive affect his suggestion may cause, confused on how your sensitive emotions may arise during the ‘treatment’.

“But it will work. It has to work.”

His lips pulled into a grin, the corners turning upwards as his eyes flattened into a squint.

Nodding your head agreeably, you’d do anything to rid the trauma from your mind. Desperation was in your blood at this point, your heart thumping in defeat as you’ve accepted you may feel like this forever.

“Anything Dr.Crane… I’ll do anything.”

Cocking a brow up, he clenched his jaw as he stood up and took slow strides to his desk, pulling open the top drawer on the right side of the mahogany wood and looking up at you in amusement.

Reaching down, you heard a clanking metal scrape along the material and his fingers revealed a dangling, swaying set of silver handcuffs.

Your eyes widened and you gulped, the fear of seeing the restraints sending goosebumps onto the back of your neck and flushing your cheeks with a violent red.

He walked around the desk to sit on the tabletop on the opposite side, your body physically reacting as you pushed yourself further into the couch to create as much distance from him as possible.

Watching as he sat on the desk, the grin on his face made you queasy and on edge.

“Come here.”

His voice was low and husky, his eyes following you as you hesitantly stood up and carefully walked over. The knot in your stomach was bubbling with anxiety, twisting in your gut and making you want to gag.

Standing in front of him, he took a deep breath as his eyes fell over your face, basking in how scared you looked and ignoring his primal queue to pounce on you then and there.

“This treatment is called systematic desensitisation. Where aspects of the patients PTSD or trauma is gradually exposed to them in a safe environment- the end goal being…”

He swiftly grabs your wrist mid sentence, causing a gasp to escape your lips.

“The confrontation of the fear allowing the patient to overcome that aspect of their trauma.

He gave you a full smile as he tugged lightly on the free side of the cuff, looking down and humming in approval at the way your wrist fit perfectly under the metal.

“Dr.Crane I-“

A wave of uncertainty and panic rush over you, subconsciously trying to retreat your wrist as it proved to no avail, his fingers holding firmly on the other clasp to keep your wrist propped up.

“Be a brave girl… I’ll admit you if this doesn’t work.”

Your eyes went wide as they began to swell in tears, his threat of Arkham throwing you off guard as he’d never mentioned it before this moment.

“You’ll be a danger to yourself.”

His head tilted as his voice purred a tone of sarcastic, speaking to you like you were a stupid dog who didn’t know how to sit for a treat.

His face became blurred as a tear brimmed on your waterline, the icy blue that stared daggers into you feeling threatening enough over his cold words.

Swiftly pulling your wrist a couple feet to his left, he ducked down and cuffed the other side of the cuffs onto the leg of his desk. You followed behind stumbling with the force of his action dragging you downwards to attach you to the pole of wood.

Sitting down and bringing your knees to your chest, you curled vulnerably as your mind raced with your attempts to calm yourself, trusting Dr.Crane through your palpitating anxiety.

As he glared down at you, his eyes turned dark and an overwhelming sense of panic flooded over you. He looked at you like a piece of meat, wanting the floor to suck you in whole to avoid his hungry gaze.

“Have you ever considered that maybe, you were asking for it?”

Dr.Cranes words shocked you, furrowing your brows and opening your drying mouth to respond to him.

“W-what?”

Pulling your knees closer, your heart pounded in your chest as he pulled a chair in front of you and sat down, spreading his knees as you sat perfectly between them.

“Tell me again, what were you wearing?”

His words were venomous yet clinical and he spat them out onto you, your limbs began to tremble as he suddenly looked a lot bigger with you sitting down.

“That doesn’t have anything to do with-“

You were offended, confused as to why he was suddenly going against the comforting advice he’s been giving you since the first session.

“Oh but it does darling, this is Gotham- remember?”

His face pulled into a look of disgust as his eyes trailed along your frail body, shuddering as his gaze was eating you alive.

“S-skirt- I was wearing a skirt.”

You shamefully looked down and tears started to swell in your eyes, the pain in your chest evident as you started to breath heavy in an attempt to calm yourself.

Groaning and clenching his jaw as he rolled his eyes back and pictured you laying exposed on the side walk in a tiny skirt, he felt his cock thicken under his pants and he licked his bottom lip as he salivated.

“So you were asking for it.”

His eyes remained closed and yours snapped onto him, your jaw falling in shock as your tears violently fell down your cheeks.

“No! I wasn’t!”

He chuckled at the fight in your voice.

“Oh I think you were”

His eyes opened and his head nodded to his words.

“Only whores wear skirts in Gotham.”

You began sobbing and trying to pull your wrist out of the clasp of the metal, panic fuelling you into fight or flight and in this case, running was the only answer.

He chuckled as he watched you intently, enjoying the view of you struggling.

“Calm down…”

His voice was oddly comforting but to no avail, your wrist pulling harder on the desk and it proved to be much heavier than you as you winced.

“I said- calm down.”

He lent his chest forward and grabbed your scalp, pulling your face up with your hair as he remained inches away from your lips.

His eyes fell across your features as you winced in pain to his grasp, admiring how pretty you looked with flushed cheeks and black smudge running along your eyelids.

“Are you going to be a pathetic little victim forever? Or are you going to let Dr.Crane fix for you?”

He growled his words, showing his teeth as he spoke.

All you could do was whimper, causing him to pull back at your hair once more and snap your neck further back.

“Hm?”

You gulped down as you looked at him, his hum now a softer whisper.

“Dr.Crane to fix it for me.”

You mumbled, he let go of your hair and sat back on the chair, you swayed as you lost his grip and he cleared his throat.

You could only look up at him with furrowed brows, your eyes swollen and your scalp stinging. You felt pathetic, chained to your psychiatrists desk as he made you feel responsible for your attack.

Sighing, his eyes fell along your body and you shuffled back, anything to get out of his sight.

“I’m going to fuck you.”

He threw his hands up, stating his sentence as something that was obvious.

“And I’m going to fill your cunt until I’m finished.”

Your eyes widened and your brows knitted, a string of begs fall from your lips as your wrist started pulling violently on the cuffs.

“No! Dr.Crane-please!”

You began to sob, panic possessing you as you watched him chuckle.

He basked in your pleas, rolling his head back with his eyes as he furrowed his brows.

“I’ll do anything! Please let me go.”

You choked on your words, your wrist bone bleeding purple as a bruise began to form.

“That’s it… cry for me.”

The shock of his words left you sobbing louder, your chest heaving and a panic flushing your skin warm. You tried lifting the desk, sneaking your wrist out and opening the clasp manually, you were stuck under his control for as long as he had you chained.

His cock began throbbing as you cried, his months of patience paying off as he felt his veiny dick fill with blood.

He continued to chuckle, amused by your failed attempts of escaping.

“Please- Dr.Crane let me go!”

You extended your last word, sobbing through your mouth and whining like a spoiled child.

“Go?”

His eyebrows cocked up.

“Go where?”

You continued pulling on your wrist, the pain growing unbearable.

“Home- please… I want to go home.”

“Oh no bunny… not yet.”

He began tapping his foot, growing irritated at the sound of the metal pulling aggressively on the wooden leg.

He chuckled louder as you began to scream for help, screaming louder than your lungs could hold as a hot burn filled your organs in urgency.

“There’s no use darling. I’m the only one in my office.”

Your cheeks stung with his nicknames, a heat rushing across your skin as you felt you were knocking on deaths door.

“Oh c’mon…”

His eyes rolled.

“Nobody’s coming to save you. Fuck, no one can even hear you.”

His tone was flat, his words stabbing you deeply as you knew it was true.

His office was huge, basically the small section of the ward in Arkham was completely his. Three rooms, one of which you were currently in, and the reception. Nobody was ever there and you were alone in this apartment sized office, crying and begging your psychiatrist to not fuck you.

“Please… please let me go!”

Your whines grew annoying to him, rolling his eyes and groaning at the sound of your screaming voice.

“You just won’t have it, will you?”

“No-no, no… let me go!”

You shook your head in denial, your words rapid and rushed as your wrist started to bleed.

Sighing in defeat, he leans forward as a smirk grows on his face.

“Let’s play a little game, hm?”

He roughly grasped at your wrist, groaning at the sight of your exposed flesh that your desperately pathetic attempts to escape caused.

Looking up at him through your heavy, tear stained eyes, you frowned and felt your heart thump in fear.

“Are you good at hide and seek?”

His face was dangerously close to yours now, the bright white of his office turning your stomach as this monster was supposed to be your psychiatrist, your saviour.

He reached into his pocket to pull out the key to your cuffs, your eyes going wide and your chest fluttering in relief.

“We’ll play a round. You hide… and I seek.”

His voice was low and merely above a whisper, the undertone of excitement made you breath shakily in fear, unable to respond to his words.

“Please let me go.”

You whispered, his face still inches away from yours.

“I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, watching as his fingers clasped at the metal and his other hand turned the key to loosen its hold on you.

“So go on bunny. Run for me.”

As soon as you felt the cool air on your bruised wrist, you shot up and began sprinting towards the door.

You stumbled as your legs tried to move faster than you were capable of, sobbing and screaming as your knees moved fast.

You pushed past his office doors and he watched as you shoved yourself through the frame, clenching his jaw, flaring his nostrils and cocking up his brows as he remained bored at your panic.

Running as fast as you could through your exhausted pants, you ran through his reception and attempted to push the door.

He locked it.

Screaming a screeching sound of ‘no’ as your palms slammed against the door, you pulled at the door handle desperately as you sobbed in failure.

Staying seated in his chair, he flipped his wrist and pulled back his suit, watching as his watch ticked to thirty seconds since letting you free.

Standing up slowly before adjusting his tie, he took slow strides out of his office and chuckled as he saw you on the other end of the reception banging as hard as you could, your ongoing screams swelling his thick cock harder and tenting his pants.

“You just don’t listen, do you!”

His voice was loud and echoed through the clinical walls, swinging your head back to look at him as the panic stole the air away and switched it with fear in your lungs.

You heard the clanking of his shoes come closer behind you, bailing on your attempt at his reception door and deciding that maybe you could outrun him.

You were exhausted from the sobbing as your knees became weak and barely let you run, your breathing was erratic and you heaved in desperation.

Although you felt as if you were bolting around his office, his long strides seemingly caught up with your pathetic jog.

Feeling the heat of his arms, he grabbed you firmly and pinned you against the wall. He was bigger, stronger and faster than you and held you up on your tip toes as you struggled beneath him.

You felt his throbbing erection press into your stomach, sobbing out choked cries as his cock felt huge, bulging into your stomach and spreading a heat across your core.

“Is that the best you could do?”

You continued to squirm, avoiding his face as he was merely an inch away from yours.

“No wonder you were so easy. You’re not very good at this, are you bunny?”

He chuckled and pressed you tighter against the wall, grunting as he tried to keep you still.

You were on your tip toes as he held you on his eye level, wincing out in pain as the concrete was violently pushed against you.

Dropping you slightly but keeping you firm in his grasp, he wrapped his arms around you and guided you into the room besides his office. The room with the examination table, limb restraints on the bed and a rack of medical tools that ranged from blunt to flesh teasingly sharp.

Manoeuvring you onto the examination bed, he swiftly chained your wrists to your sides and made his way to your feet. You kicked at them in an attempt to hurt him, his grasp too strong and overpowering as he held you down and chained you up to the heightened stirrups.

“Don’t be so… difficult.”

He grunted as the final clasp tightly restrained your left ankle, your legs open and wide for his viewing.

Huffing out and placing his hands on his hips, he tilted his head as he admired how weak you looked chained up and legs spread, a smirk growing as he turned around and walked to the cupboard behind him.

Your chest heaved heavily and your hands trembled, fear possessing your body as tears violently sobbed down your face. Watching as he turned around with a pair of scissors in hand, your stomach turned and almost brought up breakfast in panic.

Watching as he held one hand to pull up your pyjama pants and used the other to slice the fabric down the center, you cursed yourself for not wearing underwear as the cold, clinical room hit your exposed cunt.

“Such an easy slut… have you learned nothing?”

His face was in disbelief, licking his bottom lip as he placed the scissors down next to him and ducked down to meet your pussy at eye level. He brought both his hands up to pull you apart and growled at the sight of your pink flesh.

“You’re very wet for someone who’s so unwilling.”

Your face flushed red as you cringed, turning your neck to the side to avoid looking at him analysing your dripping cunt.

He stood back up and his eyes turned dark, purring groans as his expression was now possessed with lust and hunger.

As your tears continued to roll down your face, your chest palpitated as you watched him glaring down at you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked like he was about to dig right in to your raw flesh and eat you alive.

After basking in how pathetic and easy you looked, his hands fell to his pants and he unzipped his middle, leaving his belt on as he shimmered his cock out from under his underwear.

“No- please Dr.Crane no!”

Your head rolled and your tears were flowing, the size of him frighting as it sprung out into the cold air onto his palm.

“You’re scaring me- please.”

Your voice remained as whisper as you lacked air in your lungs, feeling his hand grasp round your hip as he moved closer to your exposed cunt.

“That’s the point darling.”

He growled lowly, pressing his tip against your entrance before slowly dragging it up and down your wet slit.

His cock was already warm, a residue of liquid smearing along your opening as he picked up your arousal onto him. Whimpering under his touch, your body attempted to shift but proved useless, his grip too firm on your hips and your wrists heavily bound onto the table.

Pressing his tip against your hole, he sunk his head quickly and you sobbed at the feeling of his cock breaching your tight walls.

“Oh- bunny.”

He panted breathlessly, watching as his inches pressed into your unwilling cunt.

He groaned around your walls, after feeling how tight you were on his tip he impatiently pushed himself down to his base. His balls pressed against the bottom of your asscheeks and you couldn’t help but cry out a sobbed moan at the feeling of him inside you.

“That’s it…”

He pulled his hips out slowly before harshly fucking himself fully once more. Wincing in pain, his mouth fell open and his brows furrowed.

“Take your psychiatrists cock like the whore you are.”

He groaned and you squirmed in pain, his thick, veiny cock being much larger than your attackers.

Repeatedly dragging himself out before roughly fucking his hips into the back of your cervix, your cries became muffled as you laid there limp in acceptance to your situation. Occasionally shedding a tear as you whimper against his thrusts, he strung out praise on how tight you were around him.

“Taking my cock so well.”

He grunted, fastening up his pace as his balls slapped against your ass and filled the room with a squelching noise, his growls filling your ears as his pace remained robotic. Your stomach turned as he spoke, repeating the same words your attacker did, your pussy clenched around him in response and he grunted against the feel of you tightening around him.

Your crying was poetic, softly sobbing as you felt him ruin you. With each sob, his dick hardened and flexed.

“Cry for me bunny… cry- oh yes, just like that.”

Throwing his head back and rolling his eyes, you peered a look at your psychiatrist who was seemingly coming undone around your cunt.

You watched as his face blushed a soft pink and his lips were swelled, his mouth falling open as his eyebrows twitched in rhythm to how his cock flexed. His fingers remained deep in your hips, stinging at the sharpness of his nails in your soft skin.

You bounced off his hips as your skin slapped together, watching how his hair fell around his face as he scrunched it in pleasure.

“M’gonna- fuck- fill this cunt. Have’s you dripping my cum- mhm- all week.”

His words were breathless and whiny, his knees bucking as his thrusts became sloppier.

His cock stuffed you, ploughing into you hard enough to shift you along the examination table.

“Yes… yes- oh fuck bunny your cunt feel so good.”

His voice was trembling at a higher pitch, swinging his neck down to watch himself break you in half.

He whimpered as a circle of white covered his base and his cock glistened in the medical, white lighting in the room.

“M’gonna- fuck!”

His cock flexed and twitched violently inside of you as he met your eyes, watching as you bawl in pain undid the hot knot in his groin as he spilled his cum into the back of you.

It felt like a dam that had cracked, a monstrous amount of liquid seeping out of him as it sprayed along your walls.

Whining and panting as his thrusts fucked you pathetically slow as he came, his face was a deep red and his hair fell over his eyes.

His mouth was open and his brows knitted together into one, the strength of his orgasm overpowering him as he wobbled on his knees.

The liquid heat had filled your pussy, you felt the stickiness rub against you as he continued to drag out his cock and delicately touch the back of your cervix.

After slowing down his thrusts and panting through his whines, he pulled his cock out and it fell out softly in between his thighs.

His eyes remained knitted and tearful as they looked at you limp on the examination table, your shirt wet from tears and your nose runny from the force he fucked you at.

Collecting himself, he pushed his cock back into his suit and slowly removed the shackles around your ankles. Moving slowly and deliberate on your skin in a soft, gentle manner.

Unable to move as you continued to lie in front of him, even once he had freed all your restraints, you were defeated and stared at the floor, unable to meet his eyes as you were now weak and used.

Sighing as he looked down at you, he lowered his gaze and pressed his glasses up on his nose bridge.

Meeting his eyes he was shockingly giving you a sympathetic look, genuine or not you’d never seen him look so kind.

“You can go now, bunny.”

He whispered, bringing the back of his palm up to caress your tear stained cheek.

Huffing out at your lack of movement, he stood back up and left the room.

Your body began convulsing as he walked away, his absence from your side, or in you, feeling colder than you expected.

He turned around at the frame of the door to glance back at you.

“The session next week will be at the same time. Wear something… accessible.”

Your eyes rolled on the bed and you huffed out, a string of his cum tickling your slit as it rolled out of you.

[scarletlizzard]

Part 2: Remembering

Sessions Series

Pairing: psychiatrist Wanda x female reader

Tags Minors DNI: therapy, paranoia, mentions of mental illness, stalker, little cigarettes and drinking at the end

Masterlist

Current Fall 2018

"How did you sleep?" Wanda asks as she sits in front of you. You shrug, putting your hands in the pocket of your hoodie.

"Not too great. I uh, I sometimes have these dreams. Nightmares really, about that night." You swallow hard and look at the breathtaking woman in front of you. Even casual, in a yellow sweater and jeans, she would always be the most beautiful woman in the room. You blush at your own thoughts.

"You said you don't remember everything about that night?" She asks, you nod. "I believe you're blocking it out, mentally. Suppressing a trauma so hard you can't get yourself to open back up about it."

"So you believe me?"

"Of course, I believe you." Her tone is wavering.

"Every time I have one of these dreams, it reveals little pieces to me," you lean forward. "Maybe I can remember who it was, or more about them."

"But they were wearing a mask?" Wanda asks, making a note. You nod.

"They spoke to me, though.. I'm not sure. Sometimes they feel so close," you sigh, shaking your head. Wanda is still writing.

"And what did your shadow say to you?"

"They told me to run."

Wanda is silent for a moment, her eyes searching yours for something. Did she really believe you? When she had a list of your mental disorders and police forms at her fingertips?

"When your shadow told you to run," She stands and looks to the fire that was burning behind her in the fireplace. Her hands held behind her back. "What did you feel in the moment? What was your first thought?"

"I-I didn't know what to feel. Panic? Fear?" Your cheeks heat up, as you think back to the haunting voice. You were almost too embarrassed to speak. "But after, after the fear sunk in it felt.. exhilarating."

Wanda smiles at the fire, her back still to you. "So in your fear you felt, excitement. For what, why?" She asks thoughtfully, and you're thankful she still had her back to you.

You had thought about this a long time, every day. Why? "My life is the same, every day. The routines, the job, the same bottle of wine. Everything. You know I used to paint?" You ask Wanda. She turns to look at you.

"Really?" She asks with a smile, sitting back down.

"I had some work in an art gallery actually, in the city. Back when I felt.. more alive," you sigh again, looking into her emerald eyes.

"What made you stop?"

"My mom got sick, I had to take care of her. Then she died and I moved here and.. things were never the same."

"Your OCD intensified, essentially trapping yourself in your daily routines."

"That's how it feels, yes," you reply with a nod. Wanda reaches her hand out to rest on your knee. Your skin ignites under her touch.

"We'll bring you back," Wandas words are sure, you find yourself resting your hand on top of hers.

***

Summer 2017

You ran throughout your house, footsteps following close behind you. Before you can close the door to your bedroom, a strong hand reaches out, hitting the wood hard and swinging it wide open. You fall to the ground, heart racing, chest moving rapidly as you crawl backwards. Your shadow steps closer, taking 4 heavy steps towards you.

Another head tilt down at you, examining you. Behind the mask, under the hood, red strands of hair peak out.

***

Current Fall 2018

You stared at the brunette in front of you, a playful glint in her eye. "What?" She asks, leaning forward.

It had been a couple of weeks since your sessions with Wanda had started. Your anxiety had taken a backseat, and the compulsive thoughts in your head were easing. The two of you had even been flirting back and forth even, lingering stares and touches.

Wanda knew it was unprofessional. You knew it wasn't right. But neither of you couldn't help it. Each time she touched you, you felt your skin ignite. Each crooked smile ran up your spine with a shiver of pleasure. You look at her hands and count 4 rings between the two of them.

"Nothing, I really shouldn't say," you chuckle to yourself and sit back against the couch. Wanda grins, twirling one of the rings on her finger.

"No point in being shy now, Y/N. We practically know each others whole lives at this point," She says casually and mirrors you, leaning back in her chair. You think about her words.

"Actually, I don't know much about you, Wanda. I mean, I know some details, but you seem to have the upper hand."

She chuckles and lifts out a hand as if offering to you, "Ask away."

"Where are you from? I notice on some of your words, there's an accent." There's a blush on your face as you think of the way she says your name, her tongue sharp.

"Ah, you caught that, huh? I was born in Sokovia. I've lived here most of my life, though, the American accent kind of snuck in," Wanda thinks fondly of her home, it makes you smile.

"Do you visit often?"

"Not as much as I'd like. Last year, I had to go home for quite a while to help out my brother, Pietro. He got himself into some trouble," Wanda sighs and shakes her head. "We're twins," she smiles.

"Twins! Wow, I'd love to see a picture of the two of you sometime." You think of Wanda being a twin, not being able to imagine he was anything like her. She nods and crosses her legs.

"I'll see if I can find one for your next session," She says with a smile. You nod and smile back politelty.

"What did you do before all this?" You ask her and point to the room around you.

"I lived in the city for a while, actually. But I found something more... worthwhile here." Wanda grins, goosebumps on your arm arise.

There's a comfortable silence, and the fire behind her crackles softly.

"Tell me more about your art," Wanda says, a glimmer in her eye and a warm smile on her face.

"I wasn't good, by any means. But I wasn't bad. I was creative, if anything," you laugh as you think back to your paintings. "There is one hung still, I think, at the gallery I told you about. It's my favorite one. My last one."

"What was it?"

You find yourself laughing hysterically as you think of the painting, leaving Wanda confused. She leans forward to rest a hand on your knee.

You start to sob at her touch.

You think of the large painting that hangs in a gallery. People passing by not realizing it would foreshadow your own current state.

"It's of a beautiful woman.." You speak between cries.

"A woman running from her own shadow."

***

Summer 2017

"What do you want from me? Just leave me alone!" You shout at the figure standing above you, watching as they shake their head.

The shadow kneels down, a gloved hand reaching up to brush their thumb across your lips. Their eyes are hidden behind the white faceless mask, yet you can feel their gaze burning into you.

A spark of adrenaline and excitement fill your own.

"Game on," your shadow says.

***

Current Winter 2018

You awoke quickly in sweat covered sheets, thunder rumbling from outside. You rub your groggy eyes and reach for the nightstand to flick on the lamp. Your hand reaches for the notebook and pen you kept for this reason, and you began writing down your dream.

They were happening more frequently now. The details are becoming clearer each time. You had never felt so close. You were closing in on your shadow.

Yet, everything felt wrong. There was something you were missing. You read and re read the journal the rest of the night.

"How are things going with Wanda?" Natasha asks over lunch. She had invited you out today, hoping to hear some good news.

"Pretty great, actually," you smile at her, not telling her that you were still chasing your shadow. "I've actually started painting again." You look outside the window of the Cafe, seeing snow begin to fall.

"Have you really?" Natasha says in disbelief, but a smile on her face. "I knew this would be good for you! Almost two months and look at the progress you've made.." She beams at you, a guilty feeling rising inside of you.

"I'm having my Christmas party early this year, I'm going to spend actual Christmas at Yelenas this year. You'll be able to come, right?"

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it," you smile, counting 4 snowflakes land on the window.

As you walk home from lunch, the snow beneath your feet crunches with every step. You wrap your arms around yourself, wishing you had worn a warmer jacket, when suddenly you're aware of another set of steps from behind you.

You freeze, standing still. You inhale deeply, then exhale, and slowly turn around... to nothing. Empty air besides the light snow that stuck to the ground below.

Your hand reaches for your phone, dialing Wandas number. "Hello?" She answers on the 4th ring.

"Wanda.. can I come see you?"

"Do you need me to meet you somewhere?"

You look around, still seeing no one.

"No, I'll come to you."

You finish the walk home and grab your notebook and a warmer jacket before driving over to Wandas. When you get there, she's standing on the porch waving to you.

"Y/N, is everything okay?" She asks worridly, putting her arm around you and leading you into the warmth of her home. Wanda gets a fire going and watches as you sit on the floor in front of it. Instead of questioning it, she sits next to you, her warm body pressed next to you.

"What if it isn't real?" You finally admit, staring into the red and orange flames.

"What if what isn't real?" Wanda asks, looking at the notebook you clutched to your chest.

"My shadow," you whisper, feeling Wandas hand on your back. "You told me you believed me.. what do you believe?"

There is a silence between the two of you while Wanda sighs. She knew you would eventually ask this question.

"I believe that the mind is an extremely powerful thing. It's capable of persuasion and delusions. It can hide the truth from you.." she trails off, tears fall from your eyes.

She didn't believe your shadow was real.

"You believe... that I believe it's real. Right?" You ask and turn to her. Wanda nods slowly.

All this time spent chasing and running, you were tired. How many innocent people would have to get hurt before you gave up? How many more lies would you have to tell yourself and others?

You held out the notebook to Wanda. Her fingers brush against yours as she takes it from you and opens it up.

"My dreams, of a faceless shadow. That's all it is anymore. I'm done chasing it."

The rest of November passes quickly into December. You were back to your routine, ignoring the paranoid delusions of your mind. You continued your sessions with Wanda, trying to figure out why you had imagined up this person. You took medication. You still locked all the doors and windows. You painted. You dreamed.

***

Summer 2017

When the words came out of your shadows' mouth, you lift your leg, kicking them hard in the stomach and onto their back. You're able to run past them into the hallway, but you're quickly knocked down. Your shadow climbs on top of you, pinning your hands to the floor and straddling your stomach.

The two of you breathe heavily, adrenaline coursing your veins. "Such a pretty little mouse.." The shadow whispers.

***

Winter 2018

The party has long started by the time you walk in, a bottle of rum in your hand. The house is filled with familiar and unfamiliar faces. People in ugly Christmas sweaters, some in just red or green. You look for Natasha and wish her a Happy Christmas, along with a hug.

"I brought rum," you smile, holding up the bottle.

"Yes! Ugh, you know this is my favorite thank you," she laughs and hugs you again, clearly has already had a few. You decide to catch up with her, taking a few shots and pouring a cup of rum. After a while, the cup is empty, and you find yourself sweating in the heated house, filled with warm bodies.

"I'm gonna step outside," you say to Natasha, who is all but preoccupied with the girl in her lap.

You step out front, sighing in relief as the frigid air hits your skin.

"Alright, there?" A voice sounds, you turn to see Wanda standing in the driveway, leaning against her car. "Nasty habit, I know. I usually only smoke when I drink." She holds up the cigarette, letting out a puff of smoke.

You walk over, soaking in her appearance. "I'm alright.. alcohol goes straight to my head," You chuckle and stand in front of her. The alcohol also boldening you to reach out and take the cigarette from her, putting it between your lips. Wanda watches with playful eyes, putting a hand in her pocket. You take a slow drag, blowing into the air between you and handing it back to her.

Wanda wets her lips, shaking her head as she takes it back from you. "You're something else, you know that?" She says in a husky voice. You can smell a hint of vodka and mint coming from her as she leans closer. Your hands rest on her chest, tugging on her jacket. A familiar excitement swells in your chest.

The cigarette is tossed into the wet snow, her hands moving to wrap around your lower back. "I'm probably crazy," you whisper to her, a smirk on your face. Wanda chuckles and leans closer.

"I can deal with crazy," She whispers back, taking your bottom lip in between her teeth. Your blood runs hot, and you let out a small moan at the feeling. Wanda wastes no time connecting her lips to yours, both of you in familiar territory as your tongues sloppily twist together. Her grip is stronger than you remember as she pulls you against her chest.

"Your place?" You mumble into the kiss, not wanting to fully part. Wands hums and continues to kiss you. You feel her lips pull up into another crooked smile.

"Let's go," Wanda says after she finally pulls herself away from your lips, her green eyes darker than you had ever seen them before.

Goosebumps cover your skin. Everything in your body tells you to run. The feeling of your shadow was looming over the two of you.

You look to the house, then to the gorgeous brunette in front of you. There was no doubt in your mind that you would be going home with her.

[adviceformefromme]

Do you have any resources you would recommend regarding healing, & inner work? (Like YouTube, books etc)

Books that have changed my life:

Taming your inner child - Susan Anderson (this book taught me how to journal with my inner child which truly helps me to this day when I am feeling stuck or icky inside)

The Secret - Rhonda Byrne (full of positivity, so easy to read and helps shift my mindset from fear based thinking to expansive thinking based on love)

Return to Love - Marianne Williamson (this book truly changed my life, introduced me to the idea of God and surrender)

The Untethered Soul - Michael A Singer (introduced me to the ideas of spirituality and soul)

The Power of Now - Echartt Tolle (taught me about the tricks of the mind & power of meditation)

Youtube:

I grow a lot from listening to the interviews on Women of Impact - Lisa Bilyeu, I generally just search for what I'm healing on and each month there will be someone interesting I learn from which changes. But consistently I have loved the message of Sarah Jakes Roberts, her journey with overcoming shame and suffering has resonated with me a lot.

As I have been on my healing journey for over 10 years now, there are things that have been transformational and things that haven't...

Transformed my life!!

Forgiveness list. Learning about forgivness, forgiving those that hurt me, forgiving myself! I wrote a list of every single hurt in my life from as early as I could remember and went back and visualised myself giving me love in that moment and comforting the suffering version of myself to release the past. THIS HEALED. It cost me my time, and I did this over the course of a few months.

Spiritual Coach/ Mentor. Someone spiritual who can guide you, and direct you during your healing period is going to move you further along than you could ever imagine. This could be a spiritual mentor, someone from your community, or a specialised spiritual coach.

CBT - Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. I got this free in the UK (don't believe the long wait list, that doesn't need to be your story). This truly allowed me to see how my past behaviours have been holding me hostage.

EFT - Emotional Freedom Tapping. I found a very affordable coach on Fivver, and started recently private sessions to clear out old wounds that are still showing up for me in relationships.

Building my relationship with God. I cannot tell you how this changed my life, not religion - but personal relationship with God. Listening to his direction on my life and taking steps has led me to so much peace and abundance.

Meditation. Learning to create peace in my mind. I started with 10 mins almost 10 years ago, I can now meditate for 1 hour.

Daily exercise, even if its 10 mins stretches. But presence is running - this CHANGED my life. Allowed energy to flow and renew my thinking even with as little as 10 mins on the treadmill.

Waste of my time:

Yoga retreats

Instagram Life coaches

New age spirituality - believing in the universe

Courses by femininity coaches

I hope this helps, please DM if you want more guidance!

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | The day has come when you finally return from your suspension, and Eddie is there to provide the detailed account to the tribulations that occurred, but one thing is to be noted: Eddie Munson stayed by your side through it all.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, therapy, bullying, sexist slut shaming, brief allusions to an eating disorder, slight mentions of unwarranted touching, strained parental relationship, harassment, minimal violence, mentions of domestic abuse, and mentions and childhood neglect and abuse.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Watched Harry Potter during writing, so I inserted a reference that totally didn’t exist in the timeline, lol. But I do wonder, do you think Eddie Munson would have liked Harry Potter, and what house is he in?! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

“I’m tellin’ you, Ms. K, it was like straight out of a movie!”

Ms. K, he had gotten comfortable. It was good. Great even. Because that Thursday morning, the entire hour-long session consisted of I don't know’s, maybe’s, and I guess’. And yes, Ms. Kelly is a licensed counselor, but she’s also human, and it was starting to frustrate her a bit. Just a teeny tiny bit. But it was progress, nonetheless, and she had let Eddie Munson know that he had her full attention and that there was no judgment. And for that, he was forever grateful. Now, she’d never compare nor expose the intimate details of other students’ tribulations to anyone, but my god, was Eddie Munson a unique character in comparison to the others. There was a switch in him, and evident one. Because that impromptu talk that Thursday morning, she had seen the hardening exterior of Eddie Munson that he casted on the daily basis. No conversation. Blank face. Vehement resentment to vulnerability. But she had studied this field for six years of her life, and she took notice of the yearn in his eyes that was telling him to just speak. Talk. Let it all out. And fortunately it came. By Friday afternoon, he had detailed the events of his life, the weakness of his mother, the ruffian character of his father, and the mistakes of his life as a result. You. Though, he chose to refrain from using your name. There was still some slight embarrassment from telling a school faculty member about his crush. The last thing he needed was Ms. Kelly grinning across the parking lot to him when you returned. And by Monday afternoon—today, the day you came—he’d spoken to her like she was his best friend.

“Was it now?” There was a lingering smile on her face, as Eddie confided about his day, completely relaxed and comfortable with speaking. No tense shoulders. No rigid posture. No nasty tone. “In what ways, Eddie?”

“Well, you should have seen the way she walked in. I mean, my god! Complete badass- oh, I’m so sorry,” He corrected his word choice, “I mean, like totally cool, like she didn’t care what anyone had to say.”

If you knew how Eddie was describing your return to Hawkins High, you would have wished it to be that glamorous. But as it’s been established before, reality is the biggest pain in the ass, and you were terrifyingly panicking in the front seat of your father’s BMW.

Ms. Kelly chuckled at his revelation. “I’ll take your word for it, Eddie.” She nodded. “But while I’m sure this particular person made their grand entrance, I want to know about you. How did seeing them make you feel after taking that needed time apart? Take me back to this morning.”

“Okay.” Eddie agreed. “Uh, this morning…”

-

This morning.

The crowded parking lot had been filling with the cars and bikes of students loitering before the shrilling ring of the commencing bell. Yearbooks. Yearbooks were everywhere, in the hands of teenagers eager to have their friends commemorate the ending year with the valued signature of friendship and camaraderie. It fucking disgusted him. Everyone smiling about as if they didn’t cast out the one person who dedicated their high school years to taking the very photos everyone was gushing about: the Homecoming dance, the Winter Formal, spirit week. Everything. Every memory that made the school year so great, captured by your work, yet everyone was seemingly ready to throw you away because of him. 

It was why he was camping out in the grand lavishness of his van. Black Sabbath was yelling beyond the walls of his vehicle, prompting to receive the dirty looks he’d been all too accustomed to, as he sat back with a lit cigarette hanging from his dry lips. Grant Goodman and Gareth Emerson had been stationed by the bike racks, where Jeff Best had just arrived on his trusty wheels. His friends. Conversed like normal, probably waiting for the arrival of Eddie, as they did everyday, but Eddie had no plans of coming out of his car. Yet, at least. Looking a little to the left, he took notice of Dustin Henderson spewing nonsense to the once infamous "King" Steve Harrington, who once actually bumped into Eddie’s shoulder in the hallway and threw him a dirty look during their shared years. He always wondered what Dustin Henderson saw in “The Hair,” maybe he’s changed? I mean, he does seem to be the personal chauffeur of Robin Buckley, who he was once in a band with before he abruptly quit after seeing the mandatory outfits. And she was always cool. Weird, but cool. Mike Wheeler had joined their conversation, alongside Lucas Sinclair, which is when he caught wind of Nancy Wheeler rushing into school with her quiet friend, he believed her name was Barb Holland. Looking at them walk away, Eddie wondered what would be the possibility of convincing Nancy Wheeler into letting you rejoin the Yearbook Committee. Surely with the way sales were booming, more help was needed, right? And she had to feel bad for what unfolded for you, right? And with the quickest glimpse away, he followed the shy figure of Chrissy Cunningham, who walked with her books held tightly, and a talkative Jessica Lewis trailing behind, seemingly attempting to question the cheerleader. Because when Eddie looked to the other side, he saw Jason Carver longing for his leaving girlfriend with a look of dejection, and Andy McAvoy on an endeavor to hype him up. Trouble in paradise? Eddie Munson could sit and ponder on the endless possibilities of the lives of his peers, but his meaningless thoughts were adjourned under the sudden stop and stare of every student.

You. 

“Hey, look at- look at me, damn it!” Your eyes peeled from your entangled fingers that sat trembling on your shaking legs, and looked over to his stern glare. He pierced his disappointment into you, drilling into the anxiety of already returning to school after everything that had occurred. “You go in there and stir up any more trouble with your school work or that filth I caught you with, you’re dead. You understand me, young lady? Huh?!”

“Yes, dad.” You mustered up a whisper. 

“Go. Don’t be fucking late and ruin for your future more.” Your hand clutched the door handle, and for a second you stopped. God knows what would happen when everybody saw you. Monday’s cafeteria scene didn’t exactly leave everyone with the greatest impression of you and you knew exactly how high school students operated in a small town like Hawkins. You were branded with a title, a degrading one that was farther from the truth, but what good does the truth do when claiming that the sweetheart of a cheerleader with a bright future of success gets fucked by the satanic cultist in return for a favor is far more entertaining for the gossiping lives of high school teenager? By now, you were either pregnant with the devil’s baby or coked up with drugs on the side of the street, or both. People had their bets, the more twisted the better. But not a single thought of your pain. Not a single thought that you were hurting at the sheer size of all that went wrong, just because you were simply being nice. Because thinking of the repercussion of their words took the fun out of everything. And to them, people like you don’t deserve the time of day. You were like Eddie Munson now. And Eddie Munson deserved the pain of the world because he was… different. That was Hawkins, Indiana. That was reality. You begrudgingly pulled the handle. “Remember,” your father stopped you, “those kids say anything, just remember you put that on yourself, and you better take it as a lesson. Go.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. His words were his words, not the world’s. You had shed enough tears over the years of childhood, and his reign over you wasn’t going to continue. You could repeat that mantra over and over, and maybe in the long run it would finally cement that his words were not the truth. But for now, you could only pretend it didn’t hurt until it would eventually not. But inside, there was a little girl asking what was so wrong with her that her daddy couldn’t do the one innate job that came with parenthood: to love her. You wouldn’t know it, but a seven-year-old Eddie Munson was wondering the exact same thing. 

You got out with a slam to his face that verbalized all the screaming you couldn’t do. Your eyes met his through the window, and it was different. What once used to be cordial civility, where he asked and you did, had now entered its endgame. Something so severe it lacked the chance of recovery. And maybe that was okay. Maybe that was for the best. Because like he did with his emotions, he ran. And the screeches of his tires left the remnants of a relationship that was once so profoundly beautiful when your tiny fist curled around his finger. This would be the end between you and your father. And you were ready to accept that. 

You blinked any tears away, as you stood suffocated by the exhaustion of his BMW, leaving you vulnerable in the empty parking spot. Because when you peered it up, your chest heaved at the sudden realization that everyone was staring at you. Glares. Whispers. Snickers. The pointing. The so obvious pointing that your peers were conspiring against you. The ones who once smiled and waved at you. The ones who once greeted you so kindly. All of them, whispering and pointing followed by their teasing laugh just at the mere sight of you. 

Everything was bombarding you so fast.

The clamminess of your hands. The constriction of your throat. The pounding of your heart. The deafening ringing in your ears. The stinging of your nails, as your hands balled so tightly against themselves, but you deserved the crescent shape burns to your palms, you deserved the pain, because you put that on yourself, you better take it as a le- no.

For years, you endured and cemented the hateful words of your father as veracity, letting his speech be the reason why so badly ached inside to perfect every endearing mistake about yourself. Thursday, you scrubbed your body with the refreshing scents of your shower routine and ate full dinners. Friday, you purged your room of any remnants of your old life—polaroids, scrapbooks, notes, memorabilia—discarded to let you know it was okay to move on. Saturday, you wake up in the early hours of the morning, long before the sun rose, and followed the path Eddie Munson once rescued from—onto the roof, over the trimming, down the trellis—and you ran, ran down the dark streets of your neighborhood until you excreted all your pain of your body through the glorious sweats of a morning run. Sunday, you swore to never accept your father’s words ever again.

You were you, and that was perfectly okay. You make mistakes, but that’s what makes you profoundly magnificent. You saw that in others, and you were going to see that in yourself. 

Eddie’s head whipped in the direction of others, and through the smudges of his dirty window, his eyes melted at your frozen stature. This is what he was waiting for. He jumped out of his car, the rattle of his door echoing, following the slam he didn’t intend to be so harsh. But it got your attention from across the parking lot, and that’s all that mattered. 

You met his kind eyes, ones so round and deep, you couldn’t believe they once glared at you with such seethe just last week. But they weren’t now. In fact, they creased at the corners, as his small smile plumped his cheeks. And though small, that smile was the very reassurance you needed. He looked great- healthy, even. The dark circles of his eyes were not bruised mauve from a drunken haze of staying up all night and hungover throughout the afternoon. No, they were merely there from the natural pigmentation of his skin, as the scleras of his eyes shined white with innocence. His cheeks were rosy and full, letting you know he’d stuffed himself with some needed food outside a six-pack of beer. And though it was a habit he knew many were not fond of which honestly made him want to do it even more, he plucked the smoking cigarette from his lips and put it out with the step of his foot. You recall the moment from early September, long before you knew Eddie Munson, when he stalked up to you and Chrissy with the biggest grin on his snickering face asking if you had a lighter on hand. You, the goody two-shoes cheerleader who had the healthiest set of lungs, as the idea of nicotine made your nose scrunch with grimace. You and Chrissy Cunningham would have been the last people on Earth to have a lighter on hand. While you answered him with a shake to your head, Eddie ticked his tongue in disappointment, but before he could begrudgingly leave, you softly spoke, “Be sure to be careful, don’t want you getting sick from those. That’d be awful.” You had heard the news of what led down the road of cigarette smoking. And while Eddie would have typically told anyone who tried to place their unwarranted input on his life choices to fuck off, his grin merely grew ten times its size at your consideration, “‘Preciate that, sweetheart, I’ll keep that in mind.” Eddie felt like his heart was going to lunge out after you as you walked away. You didn’t know it, but Eddie had driven himself up a wall debating on whether or not to ask you that simple question. You were always just so breathtakingly mesmerizing, it was nerve-racking. 

Yes, Eddie Munson has had a long time crush on you.

Your nails released from their stabbing hold into your palms, as your hands relaxed. Eddie saw your softening composure and sighed with relief, seeing that torturing breath that nestled in your throat finally escape into the spring air. As much as Eddie Munson would have loved to tell his fellow schoolmates to fuck themselves and leave you alone, he knew his interference was the last thing you would have wanted. So in the most gentle way possible, he subtly threw you a thumbs up with a stupid grin that made the twenty-year-old metalhead look like a jolly child trying to cheer up their friend.

But it made you quietly giggle, and that’s all he cared about. 

You readjusted the straps to your backpack, and took a deep breath. And though you were internally screaming inside, you strided past the gossiping clumps of judgmental teenagers, and their choice to deduce you into degrading, misogynistic names held no merit against your faux confidence. Head held high with a stern gaze to the school, you walked through their whispers with a straight face to let them know they couldn’t get to you. And it was convincing enough. Because Eddie Munson was bouncing on the balls of his feet with bursting gasconade at your powerful strut. Eddie wishes he was half as cool as you. 

-

“So, yeah, it, uh, it made me really happy. Like, just seeing them being so… okay with themselves and not taking any of the crap that other people were saying was great. I, uh, I loved seeing that.” He lips smiled tightly into a thin line to restrain from busting out into a hearty grin, though Ms. Kelly could see it in his face just how important this moment was for him. 

“That’s wonderful, Eddie. So the break was good?” She leaned over her desk to ask.

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded his head. “Um, I’ll be honest, at first- that first day I really wanted to call them to let them know I was taking the steps to be, um, y’know, better, but I figured them seeing me now would have been more important, I guess.”

“Yes.” Ms. Kelly agreed. “That was a good call on your part, Eddie.”

“Yeah, so as much as I wanted to just talk to them, I made sure I didn’t.” He assured. “And I really liked that I held back. Um,” Eddie nervously chuckled, as he picked the threads of his jeans, “would it be stupid to say that I’m proud of myself for that? That I was actually able to work on my self-control and boundaries even if it was just something small?” 

“Of course, not, Eddie!” Ms. Kelly flashed him a kind smile, which had Eddie shyly grinning. “That’s an incredible thing to make progress on, and nothing in your journey will ever be too small to recognize, okay? I want you to understand that. I know it’s difficult to acknowledge these steps as a win, and I know it’s even harder granting yourself the right to be proud, because you believe you’ve committed too many wrong to ever feel for yourself, but remember Eddie, those hesitations are merely the result of the words that were placed upon you with intent to hurt you, and they don’t dictate your life. You do. Don’t give those words the power to hurt you. You deserve to be proud.”

A fervent nod to his head proffered the understanding that he was taking in her truth with deep care. The insistent curses of his dad and the bullshit rhetoric of students or the townspeople held no value to the words in which Eddie thought of himself. And if he wanted to be proud, he should be proud. 

“Yeah, um, I am proud of myself- I know it’s like the bare minimum, but I’m happy.” He smiled. “And um, it was pretty amazing knowing that they were in the same boat as me, like, while I’m trying to get better, they are, too. I know that they struggle with what other people say about them, too, and seeing them walk in with all the confidence in the world was really… it was quite literally the greatest thing ever. I’m happy they’re getting happy; that we’re working on ourselves.”

“And how’s that going with you specifically?” Ms. Kelly attentively asked. “What else have you done to progress?”

“Well, um, I took your advice and opened up more with my uncle.” He huffed a laugh at the memory. “You should have seen the look on his face when I told him that I was basically in therapy.”

She questioned, “Was he angry?” 

“No, not angry. More, like, ‘I didn’t even know this kid knew what therapy was’ kinda shock. He definitely didn’t expect it when I sat him down, but he’s a good man, and he, uh, listened to me. The whole time.”

“And how was it?”

“Hard and strange.” He gulped. “See, my uncle, he’s endured a lot for me; he’s an old man who works his ass off to pay the bills and provide basic, crappy dinners and I- I honestly feel really fuc- bad. I feel really bad. That, y’know, he has to do all that stuff for me when he didn’t even want to, like, have kids in the first place.” Eddie sighed. “And, truthfully, I just didn’t want to burden him with anymore of my problems, like I did to my mom and dad. I’ve already caused enough issues with the cafeteria incident, not graduating twice, getting in trouble with the cops. I just- I just know he has to be tired of me, so I was scared to talk to him.”

“Eddie,” Ms. Kelly grabbed his attention, “do you feel that if you hadn’t acted a certain way, talked a certain way, your parents wouldn’t have… touched you as a child?”

His once relaxed composure stiffened under her sudden interrogation. His eyes bolted around the room, trying to refrain his mind from wandering into the suffocating memory of his chubby hands spilling the last of the juice that was supposed to last his family for the rest of week all over the floor. He wanted to be a simple baby who was capable of listening to his mommy's words and just wait a minute, but his tiny throat was hurting from being dry and mommy had forgotten about him when daddy came home screaming about the place being a mess. His little mouth gasped in fear, running to the counter, his short arms reached and reached and his efforts had to turn to opening the bottom cabinet that was a couple inches above the floor and provided him the extra height to finally retrieve the paper. Feet pattering back to his proliferating spill, his hands haphazardly ripped a multitude of sheets and threw them to the floor. But the juice was not absorbing as fast as he wanted, and his tiny body was beating with terror, as daddy’s voice was booming through the walls of their house as he yelled at mommy in their room. He whimpered in panic as he tried to clean and clean, but the $3 pack of store brand tissue merely bled through, the jumble ball of paper causing his sticky mess to spread. It was to no avail, and daddy soon marched his way back to the kitchen. The second Eddie heard the towering footsteps, he peered up through his neglected hair that barely made life visible over his eyes, and saw the big scary face that hurt him every day. Eddie cleared his throat and murmured, “I don’t know.”

She signed a sympathetic breath, “What your parents did to you as a child has nothing to do with who you are or your personality, and it is absolutely not your fault.” Ms. Kelly spoke her declaration with firm gentleness. “You, Eddie, were not and will not be a burden in anyone’s life. You were dealt a misfortunate hand in life, but you were nowhere near the cause of it. You merely survived.”

Rubbing his eyes before his tears could soak his lashes, Eddie sighed, and sat back in his chair quietly. “I, uh, I said it was strange, and it was, because my uncle and I don’t really talk of that matter. When I was younger, he’d tell me it was okay to just let that life go, that I was okay with him, and it did help in that moment. But I kinda feel like it just gradually grew to become this big elephant in the room that we always avoided for the sake of peace. But during the weekend, I finally got the balls to just do it, and well, it was definitely uncomfortable but in a good way. I told him what was happening with me and how I felt, and he did the same, which honestly I wasn’t expecting. I-it was good. Great even.”

“These moments of clarity are valuable, Eddie.” Ms. Kelly spoke. “These times when speaking is all you do with another person are important to have and the uncomfortableness, the rawness, of it all paves the way to recovery. And it may be disturbing, absolutely not linear, but these are the steps that matter. And you’re doing an amazing job, Eddie.”

“Th-thank you, really, Ms. K.” He nodded his head gratefully. “I, uh, I always knew I talked a lot, my friends always teasin’ me about it, but I’m really enjoying it. Talking these things out with you and others.” He smiled.

“I enjoy it, too. Wouldn’t have spent thousands studying it just to hate it.” She joked, which gave him room for a small chuckle. “Want to tell me about the rest of your day?”

“Oh, yeah,” he sat up, wiping the sweat from his palms onto the worn denim of jeans, “lunch was pretty great, too, so basically…”

-

That confident facade of yours had broken in the midst of third period.

There was only so much scrutinizing stares you could handle from students- even staff who had sipped their coffee and gossiped about the day of your demise, discussing how their perfect student fell under the wrong influence right under their noses. Having to hear their patronizing “We’re here to help you catch up after your… circumstance” that was seemingly always followed by a grimacing look casted by a fake smile of sympathy that made your mouth want to heat up and hurl the stew that was your breakfast. 

But third period had been different. Worse. 

Unlike your previous classes—where you’d been indebted for having sane teachers who let you choose your own seating, prompting you into picking the back desk in the furthest row that provided some shielding to the obtrusive scowls—your third period had not been granted that same privilege, as your third period had Mr. Fitzgerald holding the reins to the functionality of the class. A bitter bitter old man who denounced the teenagers of Hawkins High as the devil incarnate, you should have seen the sheer look of terror and disgust when he first came face-to-face with the Eddie Munson. 

And that infamous look matched that of the look he gave you when you stepped into his AP Calculus class that midday for the first time in a week. “Ms. Y/N, back already?” He stopped you the second you stepped foot in his dungeon classroom.

“Uh, yes, sir-”

“I sure hope you are well aware of the fact that this Advanced Placement class holds no room for coddling, and I can assure you no one will be holding your hand through the lessons you deliberately missed during your vacation.” He pontificated in your face. Your cheeks flared in a crashing heat as your settling classmates chuckled at the spotlight he casted upon you. “Come on, front and center.” He pointed to the empty chair that was surrounded by students in the center of the classroom, and meticulously sat right next to Andy McAvoy, who was daggering a provoked face of wrath at your presence. 

Mr. Fitzgerald had practically placed a dunce hat on your head for everyone to laugh at. 

You shrunk in your seat every passing minute, as glares laser beamed into you from the front, side, back. Your palpitating heart had no room to rest, as Mr. Fitzgerald took it upon himself to randomly select you—every single time—to answer questions about a lesson you weren’t even present to have learned about, enabling the other fourteen students to snicker at every stuttering I don’t know you had to mutter with shame and embarrassment that flared your body with burns of embarrassment. 

The ache in your head had pounded your focus into oblivion, making the numbers and letters of your worksheet blend into incomprehensible blurs that had your hand twitching with the belief that you were already failing, and that dazzling A+ that made your father pat you on the back when he demanded your report card would slip into your biggest fear: an A-. In retrospect, an A- was a highly respectable grade, but when you’ve been conditioned to dictate your self-worth on the basis of academic validation, having your grade slip seemed like the biggest indication that your father's words were the truth. You were going to fail in life. And right now, all you wanted was the thumbs-up of a particular boy to let you know everything was going to be okay. 

And everything started crashing down when you heard it.

“Freak’s whore.”

Andy McAvoy had full intentions of letting everyone hear his vile conviction, murmuring for the surrounding people to hear but taking advantage of Mr. Fitzgerald’s aging ears and whispering it so it went unknown to the authoritative figure. 

“Can’t believe she tried to get with me.” He smiled to Karry Koven, as she giggled and stared at you.

It was a lie. It was the most loaded lie you ever heard. For the past two years, Andy McAvoy had made it his life's mission to claim you as his own, after Jason proffered the idea of double-dating with him and Chrissy. The idea hadn’t been too bad of an offer, until you actually went, and his sleazy hands felt the need to wander your body despite your consistent attempts to keep things at a platonic level. With Chrissy Cunningham and Jason Carver coupling up, it only seemed fair for their best friends to follow suit, and such belief left Andy’s arrogant mind to believing to be entitled to your body. 

“Such a gross slut, can’t even imagine what that freak gave her.”

In the last ten minutes of class, you excused yourself to the bathroom and silently cried in the lonely stall. 

It was a setback. A major one. And your old self would have cursed at you for letting some meaningless words get to you, but you were allowing yourself the mistakes that came with the experience of being human, and if being hurt by the sexist comments of a jock who got a shot to his ego because a girl rejected them, then so be it. You were distraught, and words were bound to get to you. Crying was the release you needed to let yourself recuperate and continue your day. 

The bell had rung for lunch, you quickly wiped the remaining tears of your face with the rough paper towels stationed at the sink, and caught yourself in the reflecting glass of the mirror. Truthfully, how embarrassing would it be to give yourself a pep talk in the grimy bathrooms of your high school? Last time you entered the lunchroom, hell had broken loose, and your image was severed with the humiliating speech of Jason Carver and the deafening punch of Eddie Munson’s fist.

But before the optimistic phrases that you gathered from every movie you ever seen could be spoken to yourself, the cacophonous laughs of a group of girls pummeled their way into the bathroom, but they were quickly silenced upon seeing your presence. You knew what would come if you stayed, and you genuinely did not need more nasty comments thrown at your face, so with grace, you flashed a friendly smile that they predictably did not return on their scowling faces, and walked past them into the bustling halls.

It was now or never.

“C’mon, you don’t even like peaches!” Dustin slumped in his chair, as his efforts into devouring Jeff’s fruit side came to bust.

Jeff smiled with pleasure. “Yeah, but there’s something about not letting you have it that just makes me really happy.” The table chimed in with laughter. 

“You guys are all mean.” He huffed with crossed arms, which simply elicited more laughs. “Mean, mean, mean people.”

“Don’t pout, Henderson, I’ll be sure to have Jeff’s character fall off a cliff in this week's campaign.” Eddie chucked down a pretzel with a teasing grin.

“What?!” Jeff sat up, as the laughs turned against him. “You can’t do that, you’re totally just bluffing!”

“You might as well.” Grant chuckled. “It will make it more interesting, and we deserve interesting after you bailed on us Friday.” He sternly pointed his spork at Eddie, which quickly met the table when he smacked it away. 

“I told you,” Eddie sighed, “I was busy.” One day he'd tell his friends of his therapy sessions. But at the moment, they were acting like high school boys, and today was not the day to reveal so.

“Aw, were you pretending your guitar was a girl?” Gareth snided with kissy faces, that made the boys obnoxiously laugh harder, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Please, Emerson, I can’t remember the last time a girl spoke to you that wasn’t your mom.” He retorted back. “And I’d be careful if I were you, Gareth the Great could have the same demise off that cli…”

Eddie had trailed his words into silence when his eyes landed on you.

There, through the heavy doors of the crowding cafeteria, you were once again making an entrance that was completely out of your control. If you had it your way, your figure would be dismissed, like a ghost people could not perceive. But that was never an option for you. Even before, happy waves and nice greetings were always following you, but the current trend in the bubble of Hawkins High was picking the next girl to surmise as a slut because you made the decision to be nice to a group of boys, and how dare you do so, especially when those boys were no good satanists who would perform human sacrifices in woods in the middle of the night? It’s funny how high school worked in the isolation of a small town. 

So once again, the stares were happening, as everyone decided to switch their hushed conversations to the entertaining topic of you; laughing their harsh opinions to their circle of friends or seeing how far they could fabricate more rumors. Your eyes landed on the table you once sat at, your designated chair no longer reserved for your being, but rather piled with sneakers of Jason Carver who decided to use your seat as a footrest. It didn’t take a genius to know you were no longer welcomed within that group, their blatant stares making it beyond the realms of obvious. 

But you didn’t need them. You didn’t need Jessica Lewis’ patronizing comments. You didn’t need Andy McAvoy’s unwarranted touches. You didn’t need Jason Carver’s pesting control over everyone. 

The neglected half of the lunchroom table where the kids of the drama club took residence on the other end would be perfectly okay for you. Ignoring their judgmental looks, you sat quiet in desolation, as everyone around you chortled at the downfall of the perfect cheerleader. 

“Eddie!” Gareth waved his hand in his face, snapping Eddie back to reality.

“Holy shit, you were totally checking out Y/N!” Mike laughed. 

“N-no, I wasn’t.” His hair fervently moved with the vehement shakes to his head. “Everyone is fucking staring at her.”

“But you were staring staring, Eddie.” Jeff teased with a big grin. "Like how you stared at that one older chick with the huge boobs at the Hideout that one time."

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

With heavy sigh, you decided the best option was productivity, and the sweetness of your precisely cut strawberries were fueling you with the needed energy to focus on the piling stack of missing work you were due to accomplish. Equations and word problems could provide enough distraction from the myriad of bullying that was hurtling against you, and in a very unlikely case, homework was easing your mind into a peaceful state. If this is how you had to finish out your senior year, then it was something you’d be okay with coming to terms with. Aloneness could be a scary thing, and you were facing it in the terrors of your dark room where you were shut in and locked away, as you held yourself while the tears dampened your pillow case. But aloneness was also a wonderful thing, where in moments like these, when it felt like everyone was against you, you could lavish in the company of yourself—food and task at hand—because you liked the way your mind worked, you liked the way you perceived the world, it was unique to yourself and it was a beautiful thing to explore on your own. 

But a soft tap to your shoulder had pulled you from your studies, and you peered up, being met with a comforting smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Chrissy.”

“Is it okay if I sit with you?” She pointed the chair across from you.

Your agreeing nod led her to plopping down and pulling her lunch out, as though this interaction was something of normality. You looked around, the stares had intensified with the sudden movements of Chrissy Cunningham joining you for lunch. While the act of two best friends eating together was everything but abnormal, the events of last Monday had foreseen your rumored recent fuck punching her boyfriend, and the idea of you and Chrissy would have assumed to be severed. 

But here she was, sitting with you without a care of the world. 

You watched her dejectedly sigh at the sight of her pre-packed lunch clearly made by the hands of her mother. Green. Bland. Portioned so small it wouldn’t stuff a toddler. You pushed your tray of food to her. “Have some of mine.” You smiled, switching her plate with yours. “Maybe we can give yours to Mrs. Durberry’s pet lizard.” And she laughed that grateful laugh that you always seemed to cause whenever you’d save her appetite from the terrible choices of her mother with a joke to make her feel better. And she comfortably took the other half of your sandwich.

“Have, um, have people been saying stuff about you?” She delicately asked with a mouthful of food.

With a smile on your face, you nodded. “Yeah. Nothing I wasn’t expecting, though.” You shrugged. “Are you, uh, are you okay sitting with me? Like Jason might-”

“I broke up with Jason.” She interjected. 

Looking back, you met his disbelief scowl that was certainly blaming you for the ending of his relationship. “You did? Already?”

She nodded her head. “I didn’t want to wait it out, because I knew that if I took too long I would just procrastinate, and I probably wouldn’t get the courage to actually do it. But I did.” She sighed.

“Are you okay?” Three years of a relationship, filled with young love, innocence, and first times were all gone in a matter of seconds when Chrissy arrived at the doorstep of Jason’s house. But a revelation Chrissy had to come to terms with was the fact that years together, the length of a relationship, holds no merit to the satisfaction of one’s mind and heart, and Jason Carver was simply someone he used to not be. The once skinny sophomore who sat the benches of all games had grown to be a young man with screwed priorities that came at the expense of his girlfriend’s comfortability, especially when she was becoming someone she didn’t want to be. 

“Yeah.” She quietly answered. “Um, he didn’t exactly take it well, and my mom can’t seem to wrap her head around the idea that I just didn’t like who he was anymore. They both keep pestering me about it.”

“Don’t listen to whatever they might be saying.” You advised. “Really, if getting away from him is what you want- what you need, please don’t let them take that away from you.”

“I won’t.” She smiled. “Hey, are you still coming back to practice? Coach has been dying to have you back. As much as Jessica likes to think, she is not a good flyer.” 

You giggled. “Ugh, I would have loved to see that. But yeah, I told my dad I’d be staying for practice. Though, I’m heavily expecting to come out with a broken leg, because those girls are totally dropping me for, you know, associating with he who must not be named.” 

“Don’t worry, coach has literally been on a frenzy ever since you left, she’ll take care of them. Seriously, Y/N, as much as they’d like to admit otherwise, we have been a mess without you.” Chrissy reassured. “And um, how are things… w-with your dad. I, uh, I saw the locks when-”

“It’s fine, Chrissy, really. Don’t worry about it.” You murmured, more as an excuse to forget about it. “I’m learning to deal with it. But let's just talk about something else.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. 

Chrissy agreed for your comfort. Because for once, speaking with Chrissy about the miniscule things of life felt like the stability of normalcy you had been yearning for. 

“You’re totally staring at her!” Jeff laughed, as Eddie once again was caught up in the glimpses of you.

‘Wh- How many times do I have to tell you I’m not?” He slid back in his chair in embarrassment. There was only so much lying he could do to cover his averting eyes, but the truth was screaming past any attempts of delusion. 

“Oh, so you were staring at Chrissy, you like her then?” Gareth smiled, as Eddie sauntered right into his trap.

“No! Not Chrissy, Y/N’s the one- ugh!” Eddie’s head dropped into the safety of his hands, as his friends’ laughter echoed around the table. While he truly had nothing to be embarrassed about—he quite literally drunkenly admitted his feelings to you already—the discomfort of letting his feelings be known was still new territory for Eddie, and building a friendship on the basis of teasing the living shit out of each other didn’t exactly make his progress any easier. Though, under that frustration, a small teetering curl to his lips and blushing cheeks were appearing behind the cover of his hands. Talking about you did that to him.

“You should totally talk to her.” Dustin reached over to hit his arm, but a switch had flipped in Eddie, and his head shot up with his hand grabbing the boy’s arm before it could make contact. 

Everyone was taken aback by his sudden reflexes. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Don’t tell me you're nervous.” Dustin laughed, as he pulled his arm away with sass. “It’s not like you haven’t talked to her before. Granted you were basically an ass and she probably hates you.”

If only they knew. 

“Wait,” Mike interjected, “is that why you punched Carver in the face last week?”

“And why you left lunch to go find her friend that one time?” Grant added.

“Okay, okay, okay.” Eddie sighed. “Not that this is any of your guys’ business, but yeah- and that’s all you're getting out of me, so knock it off with the interrogation, please?” He shoved a handful of pretzels into his mouth to cope with the stress.

“Why not just go talk to her and apologize?” Jeff suggested. 

“Do you honestly think someone like her would like someone like him- ow?!” Gareth chuckled before a crushed can of soda hit the side of his head. 

“I did apologize to her.” Eddie disregarded Gareth’s comment, answering Jeff with a mouth full of mush and crumbs. “Just don’t wanna bother her with anymore of my talking.” His denim sleeve wiped his lips.

“Well,” Dustin sighed, as he retrieved something from his backpack. “I’ll go bother her.” He smiled, and Eddie cocked his head to the now standing kid.

“What?!”

“You heard me.” Dustin affirmed. “She’s the only reason why my sexy photo is in this yearbook,” he patted the glossy cover to the infamous book, “might as well get her to sign it.”

“Wait! No, Dustin!” Eddie gritted through his teeth, but the young freshman had a goal in mind, one that his Dungeon Master could not interfere with. Even if it meant his character would be doomed with a fateful death at the bottom of a cliff that coming Friday. “Please, Henderson!”

The curly tendrils freed from the cap on his head bounced as he happily ignored the stressed calls of Eddie from the table. In truth, Eddie’s tensity came from a place beyond whatever stupid comment Dustin might make about him to you. He had spent the last four days respecting your boundaries despite his desires to talk to you, and Dustin’s presence might lead you to believe this was his way in getting someone to speak to you on his behalf—something you strictly told him not to do when he was crying hungover on your bed—he’d definitively ruin his chance at ever getting you to trust him again. 

But Dustin Henderson had all the confidence in the world, something you would come to admire in the boy as you got to know him, and he placed himself at the end of the table, where you and Chrissy had resided, interrupting your talks of dinner plans.

“Uh-hem.” He cleared his throat with precise certitude. “Ladies,” Dustin then turned to you, “Hi! I don’t know if you remember me, but I���m Dustin Henderson. You took the photo of my club, Hellfire.”

“Yeah, yeah, Dustin, I remember you." You smiled. 

“Awesome!” He squealed on the tips of his toes. “I didn’t actually think you’d remember me.” He giggly confessed. “But anyways, I was wondering if you’d like to, um- would it be okay if you signed my yearbook?” He opened the page to the appointed spot where signatures were entitled to, his page particularly filled with the names, messages, and small doodles of his friends.

“Oh, Dustin, I’d be so very honored.” His grin consumed his face at your acceptance. 

“Oh!” Chrissy perked. “Here’s a pen you could use!” Handing over her trusty pink pen that had recently grown accustomed to the tribulations of your friendship. 

Muttering a small thank you as you took her pen, you uncapped the lid to meet one of the many large spaces of white that surrounded his page. Your heart had gently ached at the realization that not many people had signed his yearbook. The sophistication you oozed defied the laws of coolness in the Dustin Henderson Doctrine. While Eddie Munson’s ability to create and personify some of the greatest campaigns of Dungeons and Dragons he’d ever seen was downright incredible, and Steve Harrington’s ability to sway any cute girl’s Friday night plans to now revolve around him was thoroughly unbelievable, your coolness was surpassing those of the men he looked up to. Maybe it was because you were a beautiful girl who was actually nice to him. Maybe it was because he knew you could play into his antics. Either way, you were ranking yourself to the top of Dustin Henderson’s Favorite People List. And if he ever found out you made way better chocolate chip cookies than his mom, he would have placed you above the woman who birthed him. Because you wrote a, albeit short, cute little message just for him:

Has't a most wondrous summ'r cutie, t's been the greatest privilege knowing thee, kind solid'r - Y/N

“Thank you so much!” He gushed at your writing, making you laugh. 

“Anytime, Dustin.” You gave Chrissy her pen back. “Anything else we can help you with?”

“Ooh, yeah!” He got extremely excited at the open invitation. Your kindness was placing him at a vulnerable spot, that vulnerable spot being the potential strangling hands of Eddie Munson if he ever found out what Dustin was about to do. “So, uh, y’know, Eddie, right?”

Your burrows furrowed playfully. “Hm, yeah, I know, Eddie.” 

“Well, uh, see don’t tell him I told you this, because he would totally kill me, but he kinda sorta has a crush on you.” You turned around and briefly caught Eddie Munson staring at you before his eyes went big and he snapped his head to the other side of the cafeteria as if he didn’t get caught. Ugh, he was just so-

“No way!” Chrissy gasped with fake dramatics as she squealed. “A cute boy likes you!” She sprightly spoke.

“You’re totally messing with me, aren’t you?” You joined in on her theatrics for the sake of letting Dustin Henderson believe he was the brains behind the union of his two friends—as if the confessions of last week's events didn’t happen at all. “The Eddie Munson likes me?! There’s no way, he’s way too cool!” You rhapsodized. 

Oblivious to it all, Dustin jumped with excitement for his friend. “No, he actually does! He totally blushes and everything when we talk about you!”

“That’s so cute!” Chrissy effused. “You guys should, like, totally get married, you’d be so cute together.”

“Oh, totally!” You playfully giggled before turning to Dustin. “Dusty, be sure to tell Eddie to let me get my nails done first before he proposes. I can’t have my hands looking ugly for our engagement photoshoot.”

“Uh, y-yeah, okay!” Dustin shrugged along, completely heedless to the idea that you and Chrissy were just joking around, but his lack of communication with girls had him believing whatever this conversation was transpiring to be was merely the normal gist of what girl talk had to be. Also, there was a small part of you that wanted to give Eddie Munson a heart attack when Dustin returned with the grand news.

“Great, it’s settled then!” You smiled. “I have full trust that you will relay the message, good sir.” You popped a strawberry into your mouth, as Dustin swiftly shook his head. 

“Yes! Yes, totally!” His curls shook with his head. 

“Alrighty then, Dustin, maybe you can talk Eddie into letting you be his best man.” You smiled. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks again for everything!” He waved you both off excitedly, eager to run and tell Eddie the good news.

Chrissy and you watched him nearly trip over his own two feet as he speed-walk to the table he had came from—not wanting to fall victim to Mr. Long’s threat of no running on the school grounds, as he monitored the lunchroom. “He’s so adorable.” You two giggled as you both watched him flee. 

Dustin had plopped in his chair with a heaving chest, as his table began torpedoing an onslaught of questions, Eddie’s queries being the harshest. “Do you literally want to die?!” The metalhead slammed his hand onto the table, ignoring the stinging burn that came right after. “Why would you go up to her?! What did you say?! What did she say?!”

“She said…” Dustin huffed too long for Eddie’s thinning patiences, “she said that I was a cutie-”

“What?!”

“-and that she wants to marry you.”

“What?!”

You and Chrissy Cunningham laughed across the cafeteria at his booming voice. 

-

“So yeah, that totally means they want me, right?”

Ms. Kelly had suddenly turned into a love coach. 

“Uh, well, I’m sure the feeling is… mutual between the two of you.” She hesitantly answered, not sure how to exactly approach the love life of her teenage students, but glad enough her response made Eddie smile. 

“Okay, good, I think that, too.” He giddily adjusted in his chair.

“But remember, Eddie, don’t determine your happiness on the basis of this person.” Ms. Kelly reminded. “Root that within yourself, because if things don’t… work out in a sense, we don’t want you losing that progress.”

“No, I know.” He quietly muttered, as his hand rubbed the slight stubble of his chin. “That, uh, that’s actually one of things that really scared me into getting help, I guess. See, remember those, um, terrible things I did when, y’know, they said they didn’t want me around?” She nodded her head gently to allow him to continue. “I, um- my dad would do those things. Like, whenever my mom had done something he didn’t like, he would just get plastered, say these gross things, and then, um, start…hitting.” Eddie huffed out a large breath that burned his chest. “And seeing me be that- be my dad- becoming him was just a scary reality check that I’m just like him, a-and I don’t want to be. I spent years wishing so hard that I wouldn’t be, y’know, that I wouldn’t be those kids who turned into their parents, that Wayne taught me better than that, but there I fucking was scaring her- them, scaring them. Sorry.” He cleared him through shamefully as he got worked up.

“Don’t be sorry, Eddie.” She smiled. “This is your moment to let your thoughts and feelings be known. And by hearing you, I want you to leave today’s session vitalizing the importance that you are not your father. You’re not your mother, either. Or your uncle, or anyone for that matter. Eddie, you are you. There is a pattern within you that wavers from trying so hard to stray away from hurting others like your parents did to you, to straying away from the possibility of getting hurt like your parents did to you. And it’s wonderful that you’re recognizing that, but you need to understand that you’re merely getting stuck in an endless cycle of trying to satisfy those end goals, that your mind is running in circles and blurring the line between what's working and what’s not, and it’s doing harm.”

Eddie chewed on his thumb nail taking in the revelation. “I don’t know how to fix that.” He defeatedly admitted. 

“You need to not be driven by fear, Eddie.” Ms. Kelly answered. “That image of your father is a scary thing to come to terms with, and I’m not saying you’re wrong for being terrified of it, because it truly was a dark part of your life, but you need to face it rather than run from it. You mentioned that you and your uncle rarely speak of the life you once had with your parents, and that suppression- that shut in, that’s what’s inhibiting you from growing to be someone that is not like your father or mother. Your upbringing has rooted a fear in you that’s scared of being hurt, and it’s not unusual, the majority of the world is scared at the possibility of being hurt, but the majority don't acknowledge that that fear is the cause of why our personal progress is being stunted. No one wants the uncomfortable conversations. No one wants to face the reality of the world. But the truth is Eddie, it’s better to be hurt organically by the troubles of the world rather than self-destruct our minds under the guise that we’re protecting ourselves. It’s good to focus on oneself, but we need to understand when we’re crossing that boundary into self-immolation, which is far more scary.”

Eddie Munson had sat in silence for a minute to digest her words. “And that’s what I’m doing.” He whispered to himself.

“But you’re getting help.” Ms. Kelly interjected his thoughts with a delicate smile. “And that’s far more progress than most people get to.”

“I think, uh, I think it really, I don’t know, frustrates me that I didn’t understand that in the first place. Because, well, I mean, even you know I’m not the smartest person around-”

“Academic intelligence has nothing to do with this, Eddie.” Ms. Kelly assured. “Even the smartest people have difficulty understanding their problems.”

“Yeah, I guess what I’m trying to say is that… I just get angry that I can’t be smart enough to figure this stuff out. Like, I know you said this isn’t based on intelligence, it’s just that when things don’t work out the way I want them to, and it turns out my plans were actually stupid, I just get so aggravated with myself, and then I get so aggravated with the other person for not doing as I want, even though it’s not their fault.” He released a puff of air from his cheeks at the admission 

“Would you say your anger has become an issue?”

Eddie huffed a shameful chuckle. “God, how much of an ass would I be if I said yes? Sorry for the language, Ms. K, but I really am such an asshole. Pretty cynical, too. And nihilistic. Pessimistic. A person even said I was a sulking asshole if the picture wasn’t clear enough for you.” He nodded with a tight-lipped smile.

And though it may have been a little unprofessional, Ms. Kelly allowed herself a small chuckle at his words. “Well, those are quite some characteristics to have.” She kindly joked. “How often do your efforts result to violence, Eddie? Is it a gradual transition from yelling to hitting for you?”

“Uh, yeah, it definitely is.” He sighed. “I mean, I think you’re aware of how many fights I’ve been pushed into-”

“Would you say you cause most of them?”

“Um, not necessarily cause, more so… provoke.” He laughed.

“Instigate for a reaction?” Ms. Kelly questioned.

And with a snap and point of his finger, Eddie agreed. “Ooh, yeah! Instigate for a reaction sounds a lot better.” He smiled before doubling down. “But, uh, totally know I shouldn’t. It’s just… kinda fun.”

“Fun?”

“Well, yeah, y’know, most people at this school don’t like me.” Eddie emphasized. "Even the teachers don’t. And, I guess, poking fun at the groups of people who hate me kinda shows them I don’t care, if that makes sense? Like I can make fun of them just as they do to me and my friends. So, I guess getting angry does kinda happen often, and it does always seem to escalate. If people aren’t listening to my yelling, then they’ll definitely listen to me fighting them, y’know?”

“Is that what happened during last week’s cafeteria incident when you hit another student?”

“Basically.” Eddie nodded. “The dude, he was just spewing a bunch of bullshit about someone, and well, when I told him to shut up and tried to “save the day,” I guess, my anger definitely got out of hand and I punched the guy. Honestly, I hate the guy, so I had no problem doing it, but I also thought that I was, uh, stopping the other person that he was talking about from getting hurt more. Like we, uh, talked about- the thing that I do. And obviously, my judgment was severely off, and well, it only made the situation worse that I only ended up hurting them, too.”

“So you’re seeing where these patterns coincide?” Ms. Kelly asked. 

“Yeah.” Eddie acknowledged. “And if I’m being completely honest, I almost made the same mistake again today.”

“How so?” Her eyebrow raised.

“Uh, well, I almost hit the same guy for bothering that person, again.” He sighed. “Kinda happened right before I got here, actually. It was after school…”

-

The once crowded halls had dissipated into quietness, as the final bell had rung to announce the coming end of the school day fifteen minutes ago. 

Stalling. Stalling is what you were doing under the guise that you were merely reorganizing your locker, and any straggler who walked by would have seen that, given that your locker never approached the definitive line of chaos. But your heart was hammering at the thought of returning to cheer practice, and the coolness radiating off the metal lockers was enough to keep your forehead from sweating. There were no butterflies in your stomach, no, those insects had turned into the pesky creatures of crickets who bounced around with an end goal of causing turbulence in your worrying stomach, like the annoyance they cause during an attempt at peaceful sleep during a quiet night. 

There was something deathly petrifying about high school teenagers. Their judgment. Comments. Bullying. Rumors. You knew now why groups of adults thoroughly went through the endeavors of avoiding them in public spaces. You’d just spent an entire day on the receiving end of their hate, and it was draining. 

At the south end of the hall, the familiar faces of the members of the cheer squad pummeled out of the girls’ bathroom in loud conversations and giggles. You watched them walk together, laugh together, like you once used to do before they made the ultimate decision to lavish in your reputation’s demise. But as you followed their movements into the grand doors of the Hawkins High gymnasium, your attention had diverged you from the impeding steps of an deranged man’s end goal in mind, and the sudden slam of your locker door closing left you snapping your head to meet Jason Carver’s huffing breath before he cornered you against the lockers. 

Nostrils flared with heaving sighs, his forehead pressed down against yours until your head shoved harshly onto the metal. “You think you’re funny telling Chrissy to leave me?! Huh?!”

Eddie Munson had been on his second cigarette of the day, waiting in the sanctitude of his van, just as he did in the early hours of the morning before school started. But where a pervade of parked cars and students once rested, just an empty parking lot stood, and it provided him the peace of mind to gather the thoughts he want to speak about before he entered the counselor’s room and sat down with Ms. Kelly for what had become their fourth daily session. He grew to like Ms. Kelly a lot. So when the digits of watch striked green of the numbers of 3:45 p.m, Eddie put out the shortening cigarette onto the pavement of the ground, and entered the school building, so as to not be late for their meeting. He’d grown to respect her too much to contempt the time she chose to work overtime just for him. 

“Get off of me!” You pushed his chest away, allowing him to stumble and put some distance between you two. “I didn’t tell Chrissy to do anything!”

“Bullshit! Everyone saw you two hanging together at lunch, and conveniently right after she broke up with me! Do you really think I’m that stupid?” His reddening face started walking closer to you, but you kept up with his movements, as the adrenaline in your system moved your feet back with every inch of him coming closer.

“Chrissy broke up with you because you’re an asshole, not because of anything I told her!” You stressed. “God, literally look at what you’re doing, what you did to me- to anyone who’s different from you, of course, she doesn’t want to be with you anymore!”

“Everything I’m doing is for her! It’s your fucking fault I have to stoop this low!” He screamed. “You wanna be a slut and fuck around with that freak, then fine by me, but I will not let you drag Chrissy down with you!”

As unfortunate as the situation was, Eddie Munson strolled in at the perfect time. Upon opening the double, glass doors of the school, he was impaled by the screaming match happening between you two. The second his eyes landed on your fraught face, that anger- that anger that seethed with vexation at the need to protect you from getting hurt was coursing through his bloodstream with a strangulating wave of worry that was going to hurtle its way through any obstacle to make sure you were okay; just as it occurred when Jason Carver ambushed you in the cafeteria, just as it occurred when your father ambushed you in your bedroom.

Eddie was desperate to ensure your safety and security. 

Too distracted by the yelling words of Jason Carver, and with the jocks back turned away from Eddie’s stature, his presence went unnoticed until his ring hand clenched around the collar of his letterman jacket, and threw him up against the lockers with a bang.

“Are you fucking bothering her?” His calm voice gritted through his teeth, as Eddie pinned him to the wall. “Because last time that happened, it didn’t turn out so well for you, did it?” The threat lingered heavily in Jason’s head. The Hawkins High Tigers were paving their way through playoffs, and the championship game was right at their fingertips, but the crashing sting of Eddie Munson’s ringed fist on his face or body could hinder the basketball team's progress. 

“Eddie.” Your quiet voice lulled him away from the worries of Jason, and he watched your distressed figure of cinched brows and a chewed up lip trembling feet away from the violence of angry men. 

Eddie dropped his hold from Jason’s jacket, and stared down at the comb-over that peered up to him with irritated eyes. “You come near her again, and you’ll be fucking dead.” He whispered, far too quiet for your ears to pick on, and he did that with honest intentions. 

But before Jason could curse the words he wanted into Eddie’s face, the heavy doors of gym opening turned everyone’s attention to Chrissy Cunningham and cheer coach, Coach Hannigan, who walked out with large smiles—though Chrissy’s dropped faster than the speed of light upon seeing the three of you uncomfortably together.

“Oh,” Chrissy squeaked with confusion, but enough pep to let Coach Hannigan believe all was good. “Um, there- there’s Y/N.” Chrissy hesitantly smiled, as that had been the entire reason why the two of them walked out in the first place, to find you.

“There’s my girl!” If there was anyone who truly showed their support for the girls of Hawkins High, it was Coach Hannigan, who dedicated her faculty years to teaching the inner workings of American Literature by day and coached her girls to be the best representative of the school, because she believed you all deserved to be seen by night. “It’s been far too long! That Higgins doesn’t know what he’s doing, am I right?” Her boisterous laugh echoed through the halls, as you, Eddie, and Jason tried to appear as normal as can be. “When I got news of what he did to you, I was like "man, excessive much." I think we’re all counting the days until he retires, ha!” She spoke enthusiastically, as she patted you on the shoulder, which is when she took notice of Jason Carver and Eddie Munson looking nervously uncomfortable. “Woah, odd pairing.” She joked to you, to which you had to join in with an awkward laugh, Eddie and Jason abruptly separated under her comment. “You lot, okay?” Her colloquial use of British slang with her deep Midwestern accent was surely fitting to the oddity that was Coach Hannigan, but my god, was it comforting in a time like this.

“Just fine.” Jason muttered. “Better get to practice.” He raked his hand to adjust the hairs Eddie had disturbed during their minor push and shove, before walking away past everyone. 

“Well, I guess we should, too!” Coach Hannigan signaled over to you and Chrissy to get along. “I’m tired of seeing that dang Jessica girl tryin’ to stay steady in air, dangnamit.”

As the three of you walked away, you turned back to meet Eddie’s anxious eyes. His fears racking in his mind, wondering if he’d just done the very thing you asked him not to do, overstep. He didn’t want to scare you anymore. He didn’t want to hurt you anymore. But he believed his being was doing you more harm than good, and his stomach churned at the possibility that maybe you’d be better off if he just got out of your life and left you alone. But in a blink of an eye, Eddie watched your small hand aim him a subtle thumbs up with an ever so tiny grin. Eddie released the breath he’d been holding in. 

Everything was going to be okay.

-

“You know, Eddie, if you’re watching someone be harassed, it’s okay to tell me.” Ms. Kelly calmly responded.

“I-” Eddie dejectedly sighed, as he leaned back in his chair. “I know I should, it’s just, y’know, they don’t even know I’m talking about them to you, hell, I haven’t even had a full conversation with them today. I don’t know how long they want to continue this “no communication” stuff, and I really don’t want to make them feeling like I’m, I don’t know, betraying their boundaries. I’ve done a lot to them already.”

“Well,” Ms. Kelly huffed, “if you do get a chance to speak with this person, just know it’s okay to encourage them to speak to me.” She smiled. 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks.” Eddie relaxed. 

“Can I ask you, Eddie, is the reason why you didn’t choose violence with this bully because of this particular person?”

“Uh, yeah.” He answered. ‘Like I said, last time I did, it really hurt this person because of how much the situation blew up. And, uh, I just really don’t think they like the… hatefulness that comes with hitting. Like they're scared of it, and I don't want to scare them anymore.”

“Are you scared of it? The violence?” She questioned. 

“Honestly, no- the, uh, physical stuff, no, I have no issue with it. When I was younger, yeah, obviously, I was a kid, but now, um, I know getting violent kinda let’s people know not to mess with me, I guess.”

“Because it gets you your way.”

Eddie winced at the truth behind the comment. When you had hung up on him that fateful night, aggression had surged within Eddie, because you were slipping through the cracks of weakness. Doing your own thing. Making your own decision. Doing the right thing. It was great, but it was something Eddie couldn’t come to terms with. It was why he chose the inebriations of alcohol to throw him over the precipice of sanity and persuaded him to do the actions he knew were wrong. But he couldn’t do that sober. His moral compass wouldn’t allow that. It’s the only reason why he showed up to your window in a drunken haze. Because Eddie Munson couldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand his feelings. His thoughts. Why his mother always stayed with his father when that man was doing far worse, and you were choosing to give up on him so easily. Verbalizing the words in his head made him want to throw up, because he knew how disgusting it was to think like that. 

“God, I hate hearing that.” He murmured in shame, as his fingers stressfully brushed over his eyebrows.

“But it’s true? At least to some extent?” Ms. Kelly delicately asked. He could only nod his head in agreement to her statements. “Your mother, Eddie, if you don’t mind me asking, what would she do whenever your father got violent?” 

He sadly sighed. “She’d just, y’know, take it. Would only get worse if she didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Ms. Kelly shook her head along, as his words confirmed the ideas in her head. “Eddie, seeing that at any age, let alone as a child, can be truly detrimental to the mind and its development. What I’m evaluating is that your father’s intolerable acceptance to the word “no” has manifested onto you. Witnessing your father’s beratement and abuse, and your mother’s inability to leave has decisively skewed your perception and ego to lead you to believing you are entitled to have things- have people do as you say, and when they don’t, you lash out… like you were taught to do.”

Eddie’s stomach sank at the admission of Ms. Kelly’s findings. The truth laid in her words, and Eddie Munson was coming to terms with the fact that there were aspects of his being that truly did not make him a good person. Was there room for improvement? Yes, there was, and that was the whole purpose of Ms. Kelly’s evaluation. It was not to point the finger and ridicule him. No, it was to lay the foundation to discovering the ugly truths behind what makes us us, and unfortunately for Eddie Munson, his upbringing of hatred and abuse had developed him into an angry man yearning for what? Stability. Maybe you and Eddie Munson were a lot more alike than you both realized. 

“Eddie, I’m going to revert back to what I previously said, I want you leaving today’s session vitalizing the importance that you are not your father.” Ms. Kelly reiterated, and Eddie shuttered a breath. “Your decisions may reflect his, but you’re seeking help. You’re talking about your problems. You’re ready to put the work in and make a change.”

“I’m not him.” Eddie spoke to himself. 

“No, you’re not.” Ms. Kelly smiled. “You’re a good person who was left to make bad decisions. Don’t let your father take control of your life. Don’t give him that power. Face your fear of him, and don’t give him the authority to let you become a bad person. You are not him.”

Eddie nodded his head, absorbing the words of today’s session, as their hour-long conversation was coming to its last minutes. “Thank you.” He softly gave his gratitude, just as he did at the end of every meeting. 

“Like always, Eddie, it’s no problem. Was there anything else you wanted to mention before you leave for the day?” He gently shook his head, spilling all that he could and digesting every truth and advice his brain could handle. Today had been a good day. And he really needed that.

“No, I think I’m okay.” He assured her with a small smile, as he stood and adjusted her chair back to its original position.

“Can I expect you tomorrow afternoon?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah, I can make it.” He answered after slight deliberation. Corroded Coffin wasn’t expected until well into the night, and he was surely certain his buzzing crowd of five drunks wouldn’t mind if the guitarist ran a little late for their weekly taste of garage metal.

With a bid farewell, Eddie left Ms. Kelly's office with a heavy mind. 

Ms. Kelly had delicately put away his file before making a mental note to speak with Jason Carver first thing in the morning about his harmful actions. Eddie’s attempt at anonymity hadn’t thoroughly worked out in his favor. Ms. Kelly knew of the cafeteria incident, and who it involved. Ms. Kelly knew of Jason’s infamous reputation. She’d received a number of saddened students in her office who had fallen victim to his words. She was able to place the puzzles of his story with ease, though never announced it for his comfort. She would be sure to have a long talk with Jason the following morning. And she’d be sure to be on the lookout for you whenever you were ready to talk. Again, Eddie was quite oblivious to the obvious nature of anonymity. But at least he meant well.

Approaching the doors to the school, Eddie was already yanking his pack of cigarettes from his jacket, ready to finish the evening off with his third of the day. That was until he stepped outside, and saw you waiting at the entrance in your practice clothes, leading him to getting flushed with a wave of deja vu, as you looked exactly as you did the day you took his picture. 

You turned at the opening of double doors, an endearing smile posing on your face as you saw him abruptly stop at the doorway. “Oh, hey.” You waved to him kindly. Holy shit, you were actually speaking to him. You know, Eddie Munson had dedicated the entirety of his weekend rehearsing what he wanted to say to you, the right words and everything, he’d even came up with a short script of lines as to what to say that were currently residing in the back pocket of his pants, but it was long forgotten by this point, and he couldn’t muster up a single word. You giggled at his frozen state, “You can say “hi” back, Eddie, it’s okay.”

But instead of a greeting, Eddie had walked up to you frantically. “Look, I’m so sorry, I swear I’m not, like, following you around or anything. I was just coming back from a-”

“Hey, Eddie, it’s okay, really.” You softly nodded. “I didn’t think you were.”

He swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say exactly, so he landed on a simple “How have you been?”

“I’ve been… decently okay.” You shrugged.

“Getting okay?” He awkwardly asked.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “slowly but surely. Trying to, at least.”

“Y’know, if you wanted to, you could always talk with Ms. Kelly.” He sincerely spoke. “She’s, uh, she’s helped with a lot. I just, um- we just finished my fourth session. I’ve been seeing her since Thursday.”

You cocked your head in surprise. “Really?” He nodded his quickly. “You’ve been talking to the counselor?” You briefly spoke with Chrissy about her weekly sessions, but it had never been something you dived into for the sake of her privacy. Seeing Eddie Munson turn to therapy was exceeding beyond the expectations of what you had subconsciously set for him when you told him to get better.

“Yeah, it’s been helping me process things- my emotions n’ all.” Eddie smiled, because just last week, that would have been something he would have been embarrassed to admit. 

“That- that’s really great, Eddie. I’m proud of you.” Your eyes twinkled with admiration for his effort. “Yeah, I’ll definitely think about it.”

Once again, Eddie’s brain was short-circuiting under your highlighted features that were glowing from the setting sun. You could visibly make out his eyes raking your face before quicking peering into the parking lot, as to not look so creepy. “So… uh, did practice- is practice over already? You waiting for a ride? Need one?”

“Coach Hannigan let us out early after Jessica Lewis puked all over the field.” You laughed, as he grimaced. “The school’s lunch choice of lasagna was definitely not cut out for tumbling. But, uh, I’m just waiting for Chrissy.” You pointed across the parking lot, where Chrissy was speaking with her father. “I convinced my dad to let us have dinner at Benny’s Diner, and now she’s trying to convince hers.”

“Ah,” Eddie nodded, “y’know, speaking of lunch, uh, Dustin had some pretty- pretty interesting things to say about his little visit to your table.” He smirked behind a piece of his hair that he decided to play with to ease his nerves. 

You giggled at his antics. “Did he now?” You played around.

“Yeah, he said, uh- the little shrimp said you called him a cutie. Like absolutely wrote it out and everything.” He felt giddy inside that he was making you laugh right now. “And, hey, y’know me, I’m totally not the jealous type or whatever, but that little shit sure did have a blast rubbing it in my face.”

Despite the burn in your cheeks, you couldn’t stop the giggles that were coming out. “Oh, that reminds me,” you opened and dug around your cheer bag, pulling out a damn yearbook, “Nancy had stopped me before the end of the school day and gifted me this bad boy. You wanna be the first to sign it?”

Eddie’s eyebrows had creased his forehead with their sudden rising. “Really? Me?”

“Yeah,” you handed him the book with a retrieved pen from your backpack, where he began his work, “it’ll also give you good leverage over Dustin, and he’ll be begging to sign mine once he finds out you did.”

Eddie laughed, as he scribbled onto the white page of the book. “Y’know, if you need me to talk to Nancy, I could probably convince her to let you back on the committee.”

“Are you crazy?” You huffed out a chuckle. “I committed treason against Nancy Wheeler, I’ve been exiled from the land of Yearbook Committee, there’s no hope of going back for me.” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He smiled, as he continued his writing.

“Do you have a really long middle name I don’t know about?” You tried peaking over the book, but he simply scooted away. “Hey, what’s taking you so long?”

“I gotta make this special for you, sweetheart.” He grinned over to you. “Not every day a pretty girl asks me to sign their yearbook.” 

You bit your lip to suppress the ever growing smile on your face, as your cheeks heated with fluster. And soon after, Eddie finally handed back your yearbook, where you were met his three-worded message, and an adorable little sketch of a pretty princess being protected by her knight in shining armor—coincidently sporting the lushes locks of a very metal hairstyle—who was saving her from the scary, large dragon:

For the prettiest princess in the land - E.M

Your finger delicately traced his harsh lines, and Eddie melted as he noticed your beaming smile shining brighter than the sun. “I, uh, I would totally let you sign mine, but see, I’m actually protesting the Yearbook Committee for the human rights violation they oppressed onto their ex-member. Totally standing in solidarity for her. And it’s definitely not because I can’t afford one.” He smirked.

“Oh, yeah, no, I totally get it.” you giggled. “Don’t worry, we’ll revolt against the tyrants of the student body government for their complicit association, and overthrow them for the proletariat.”

Oh my god, you were going to make his knees give out. 

Eddie rubbed his face with his hands to get it together, but his reddening face was peaking through his cracking facade of staying collected, and you loved it.

“Y’know, Dustin had also mentioned something else during lunch… something about you wanting to marry-”

“Y/N!” Chrissy shouted and waved over. “He said yes, come on!”

You turned to Eddie with the biggest teasing grin on your face. “Oh, saved by the cheerleader. Guess we’ll never know.” You smirked.

“You little-”

“I’ll see you around, Eddie, bye-bye!” You waved him off.

“Have a good night, princess.” He smiled back.

“Be careful,” You pointed to the pack of cigarettes that lingered in his hand. “I don't want you getting sick from those. That’d be awful, Eddie!” You shouted, as you walked away to Chrissy’s father’s car.

Eddie Munson had to run away immediately, his knees were beginning to buckle.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | @sierrahhh @harrysgothicbitch @niallerlover8022 @aunicornmademedoit @spring-picnics @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @freakymunson @princess-eddie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @negativity4you @nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64

@redlovett @goldstars-to-all @eddiesguitarskills @goslytherin @sashaphantomhive @maxinehufflepuffprincess @emeritusemeritus @angel-upon @middle-of-the-earth @scarletwitchwhore @my-tearsricochet @pixiepaintt @ericasdumbworld @animechick555 @gewrgia-black @hookandchain @roseanddaggerlarry @prestinalove @sebismyhubby @maddsunn

@zoeymunson @corrcdedcoffin @sweetmariihs2 @thefemininemystiquee @monserat @findmeincorneliastreet @sheneedsrocknroll92 @silent-stories @batkin028 @btbabyy

[slut4thebroken]

Exposure Therapy pt. 7

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane × reader

Summary | Your usual daily session is interrupted and chaos follows not long after.

Warnings | 18+, sexual content, smut, praise, degradation, face fucking, deep throating, exhibitionism??, grinding, fear gas, angst, kind of? He’s just not good at emotions, but you are very persistent lmao.

Words | 3.3k

Notes | I hope y'all remember what happens in Batman begins lmao. (Okay I’m worried I made the end too complicated because I had to reread some of the things he said multiple times and really think about it to understand what he was trying to say… lmk what y’all think of it pls)

Ao3 link | <3

Fic Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Part 6

You started a nice routine. So far he’s only been gone one day, but other than that you would always come to his office sometime around lunch, depending on if he was able to let himself have a break from his work or not. Usually after you ate was when he would give you a few things to do, but sometimes he got too impatient and fucked you instead. He learned very quickly though that your come drunk mind is not able to complete anything he gives you, so he does his best to wait and save that until after you’ve done a decent amount of work. He still hasn’t had you help with the experiments directly yet though. Which you thought was weird given how eager he seemed for your help. Okay maybe not eager…

Two weeks passed by quickly and you found yourself looking forward to each day, which you haven’t felt since you got here. You tried not to think about that too much though. 

He brought pasta today, in to-go containers, and you ate it eagerly. He was mostly used to your eating habits by now, understanding that you’re only getting one decent tasting meal a day, but he still often reprimanded you for eating too fast. 

“How much time is left of your lunch break?” You asked as you finished your food and he glanced at the clock on the wall. 

“Half an hour.” 

“Good.” You stood up, discarding the empty container on his desk, and walked over to him. When you dropped to your knees, he raised his brows and eyed you curiously. “Move back.” You said, glancing down to the chair. Without saying a word, he rolled the chair back and you slipped under the desk, using the arms of the chair to pull him back in. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked, but it was amused, not a warning. You placed a hand over his already hardening cock, making his breath hitch. 

“If you really don’t want me to, I guess I can stop.” You said, knowing he wouldn’t dare do anything of the sort. When he didn’t respond, you worked on freeing his length, then took it in your hand, stroking it to full hardness. He let out a shaky breath and both hands came down to your hair, making you pause. 

“Keep eating, doctor.” You teased and his cock twitched. He huffed, but removed one hand, the other threading through your hair. You continued stroking him, then leaned down and enveloped the tip in your mouth. His grip on your hair tightened, but he gave no other indication that he was affected by your ministrations. Which only made you want to try harder. You swallowed him deeper in your mouth, hand stroking the base, then started moving up and down at a slow pace. He let you maintain control for a while, his hand tight on your hair but not pushing you down just yet. 

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you placed both hands on his thighs and forced yourself down as far as you could without gagging. He let out a choked moan and his hand suddenly forced you down the rest of the way, making your eyes widened as they filled with tears. He let out a low moan as he held you there, even as you dug your nails into his covered thighs. When he finally let you pull off, you coughed lightly, but quickly continued. 

“So eager. Do you like sucking me off?” You moaned around his length in agreement, never slowing the bobbing of your head. “I can tell. I bet you’re already soaked.” He chuckled and your face heated up. You let out a startled moan when he suddenly pushed his leg out between your thighs, pressing it against your core. You took the stimulation greedily, rutting against his leg as you hallowed out your mouth and pressed your tongue against the underside of his length. 

You weren’t sure if he was still eating, but his free hand was still above the desk and he stopped talking for a moment so you assumed he was. When you went all the way down and froze again, he pushed you down the rest of the way until his cock passed your throat barrier, making you choke. 

“That’s it. You just need a little help getting there, don’t you?” He said through a moan and your hips bucked faster at the passable excuse for praise. “We'll have to work on that though. I shouldn’t have to do all the work every time, should I?” You sputtered around his cock, tears falling down your cheeks, staining the fabric of his pants. When you tried to push yourself back up, his grip on your hair turned painful and he forced you down impossibly deeper. 

“Shh, just take it.” He uttered softly at your panicked choking. Finally stopping the pressure, you quickly pulled away, coughing and almost hyperventilating, making him roll back a little to see your face. “You can take a little more right? I’m so close.” Even though his tone sounded a little mocking, you were pretty sure he was genuinely asking. So you cleared your throat and nodded, letting out a raspy, “yeah.”

“Good girl.” He said, giving you a proud smile, and your hips stuttered forward at the praise, making his smile turn into a small smirk. He rolled back in and let you pick up where you left off, bobbing your head up and down his length, now very encouraged to help him reach his orgasm. He seemed to grow impatient though and he moved your head faster, fucking your mouth, almost breaching your throat barrier with each thrust. He fucked you like that a few times before someone knocked on the door. Your eyes widened and he forced you all the way down, holding you there. 

“Dr. Crane?” Someone called out from the other side. 

“No sounds.” He warned, tightening his grip to hold you flush to his pelvis. “Come in.” You were so incredibly glad that the back of his desk was covered when you heard the door open. 

“Miss Dawes is back. She’s asking about Falcone.” The man said. Your eyes burned and so did your lungs the longer you went without oxygen. When you let out a choked whimper and instinctively tried to pull off, he released your hair to instead place a hand on the back of your head, holding you against him with an iron grip. 

“I am on my lunch break.” 

“She’s insisting.” The man above you let out a heavy sigh. 

“Fine. Tell her I’ll be there in a few minutes.” The door closed and he released you, letting you pull off as you coughed and sputtered, a trail of saliva connecting the head of his cock to your lips. He waited impatiently for you to recover before using both hands to grab your head and force you back down, starting a brutal pace of pounding your mouth. Each thrust made your choke and gag as he forced his cock into your throat every time. When he cursed under his breath and his hips started bucking with each move of your head, you knew he was nearing his orgasm. 

He pulled you all the way down with a low moan and you felt hot come hitting the back of your throat, not even letting you swallow it because of how deep he was. You let out a muffled whimper as he continued holding you there, only letting you pull away once his cock stopped twitching. 

As you recovered, he used the napkins he brought for lunch to wipe his cock before tucking himself back in his pants and moving the chair back. 

“Come here.” He said softly, holding a hand out for you to take. You crawled out from under his desk and used his hand to get to your feet, leaning against the furniture behind you. When he stood and used a clean napkin to wipe your face, your cheeks heated up. “I’m sorry I cannot stay with you this time.” He said, focusing on the task. 

“It’s okay.” You croaked, clearing your throat when you heard how hoarse your voice was. 

“Before I forget,” He discarded the napkin then reached into the plastic bag from the restaurant, pulling out another to-go container— this one much smaller than the other one— and handing it to you, “I thought you might enjoy this.” You took it from him and could practically feel your mouth salivating at the sight of the brownie in the box. It was nothing fancy, just a plain brownie, but you haven’t had dessert in weeks and you started to miss chocolate. 

“Oh this looks amazing. Thank you.” You smiled, looking up at him, receiving a nod and a tight lipped smile in response.  

“I will escort you back.” He said, taking a step away from you to let you move away from the desk as he collected his things. “Grab your bag.” He said, when you started walking without it. 

“Right… sorry.” You said sheepishly, feeling a blush creep up on your cheeks. He made no other comment about your mistake as he led you to the door while you put the container in your bag. “Who’s Miss Dawes?” You asked as you walked down the now familiar hallways. 

“No one of your concern.” He said coldly, but he seemed to notice his tone. “Someone who’s been getting too close to what I’m doing here.” He explained, tone still void of emotion, but not as harsh. 

“I see.” You said, then added, “You can’t do anything about it?” He turned to you with an almost amused expression on his face because of what you were implying.  

“No. She works for the DA's office.” 

“Oh.” You arrived at your cell and he opened the door for you. 

“I will see you soon. I am not exactly sure when that will be though.” He said, easing your nerves, probably because of what he did the last time he returned you to your cell. 

“Okay.” You walked inside, then turned and gave him a small smile, receiving a curt nod in response before he closed the door. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you finished the brownie, got through six chapters of a book and covered two pages of the sketch book in drawings before you started growing a little tired. Not knowing what time it was, you decided to just lay down and try to sleep, but a loud noise followed by an alarm had you bolting up in your bed. You got up to try and see anything through the small window on the door, but the hallway was empty. Deciding not to feed into your anxiety, you turned back around, but froze at the sound of your door being unlocked. Was whoever was responsible for the alarms coming for you now? 

You all but sighed in relief when Dr. Crane was on the other side of the door, but your brows furrowed in confusion when you saw the open straight jacket he was wearing, as well as the scarecrow mask in his hand. 

“Hurry, we don’t have much time.” He said, holding his free hand out for you to take. You grabbed it and he started briskly walking down the halls to his office, practically pulling you along behind him. 

“What’s going on? Why are you wearing that?” 

“I’ll explain later, please just trust me right now.” Another loud sound came from outside and he stiffened, then sped up significantly. When you walked through the doors he went straight to his desk and grabbed a gas mask, then tossed it to you as he put on his scarecrow mask. You stared at him in confusion as he walked toward you. 

“Put it on.” His tone was stern but it wasn’t out of anger it was out of fear. You obeyed and as soon as the mask was on, he was grabbing you and pulling you into the hallway toward the front door. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, voice muffled by the mask. He opened the door and you were met with the sight of pure chaos. People were attacking each other in the street, police horses were running wild, their riders nowhere to be found. He led you over to a horse and lifted himself onto it, then tried to help you on before you stopped him. You could barely get a word out before he was interrupting you. 

“Just get on.” You nervously eyed the wriggling horse before sighing and lifting yourself onto it with his help. You sat behind him, not sure what to do, but when the horse bucked up and started running, you let out a startled scream and quickly wrapped your arms around his torso. 

“Where are we going?” You had to yell over the screaming people you were passing and honestly for a moment you weren’t sure he even heard you. 

“Somewhere safer than this.” You passed inmates, police officers, and civilians alike, all of them yelling and either running or attacking. When you saw something flying in your direction, you thought you had truly lost it, but he turned down a street to avoid it before you could get a good look at it. 

As he continued down the panic filled streets, there were less and less people and you saw water up ahead. He stopped in front of a warehouse near the docks and jumped off before helping you down. 

“What the hell was that thing?” You asked as he led you inside. 

“Gotham’s self-appointed protector, a deluded soul in a costume.” He said, voice dripping with loathing and contempt. The darkness of the room caught your attention, shifting your focus away from the questions you initially wanted to ask about his response. 

“What is this place?” 

“When the Bat started sniffing around, I moved some of my belongings here.” He closed and locked the door, then walked over to a wall to turn on the dim lights. “It should be safe to take off the mask now. If it’s not, I prepared an antidote, just to be safe.” You tentatively removed the gas mask after he removed his own. 

“That was all your toxin?” You asked, shocked. 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“It was not my plan.” He defended. You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest, gaze drifting down to the straight jacket.

“Why are you wearing that?” 

“I have the Bat to thank for this.” He said bitterly. You stared at him, trying to psych yourself up to ask what you really wanted to know. 

“Why did you come back for me? Why didn’t you just escape?” When he turned around and started walking to a desk in the center of the room, you thought he was just going to ignore you. 

“I’ve worked too hard on you. It’d be a pity to let that go to waste over something as simple as not stopping by your room.” He said simply, making your brows furrow. You followed after him and when he turned back to face you, he read your expression easily. “First you complain about being there and now you complain about me taking you somewhere else.” Despite his annoyance, there was a small smile on his lips. 

“I’m not complaining, I'm just confused.” 

“You said you’d help me. Now more than ever I need assistance. Have the few minutes of freedom changed your mind already?” He almost seemed… hurt. 

“That’s not-“ You let out a heavy sigh in frustration. “Why can’t you be honest with me?” 

“I am,”

“You’re not. You really expect me to believe that you took me just because you need help? When you could’ve gotten any lowlife to do it instead?” 

“Yes.” He said simply. You clenched your jaw and stared at him, then let out a dry chuckle. 

“Fine. What do you need help with?” You waited in agonizing silence as he studied you. 

“Why are you so bothered by this?” That made you scoff. 

“Are you serious?” You asked and when he didn’t respond, you continued. “I’ve given you everything— everything that wasn’t taken from me— and in return, all you do is treat me like one of your experiments.” You watched his jaw tick as it clenched, but you couldn’t stop, not now that you’ve started. “You want my help, you want me to eat with you, you give me a fucking sketch pad, but you come back for me just because it would be a pity to let your work go to waste?” You could feel tears welling in your eyes as you said it out loud. 

“Why can’t you give me something— anything, to prove that I’m not just an experiment to you.” You said quietly. He swallowed thickly and looked away from you. Just say it, you begged silently. Please just say it.

“What do you want me to say? You want me to tell you that I like being around you? That I couldn’t harm you again, no matter how hard I tried? That the thought of leaving you in that place, without me there to protect you, is enough to make me risk my life?” When he finished, his expression was something you’ve never seen on him before. 

“If it’s true.” You said quietly, holding your breath. 

“Even if it is, you expect too much of me. I am not able to give you what you truly want.” 

“I just want you.” You took a step toward him, but froze when he took one back. 

“No. You want someone who can provide you with more than just books or art supplies and simple kindness. You want someone who can make you feel like more than an experiment and I am not able to give that to you.” Even though you understood that you had nothing to do with his attachment issues, your chest still ached knowing that you’re not enough for him to want to try. 

“I know that your ways of expressing affection are unconventional, but it’s enough for me to just know. You don’t have to say it.” 

“I may not be a good person, but I am not selfish enough to keep you from finding what you truly desire under the basis of false affection. No matter how much I wish to keep you by my side.”  

“What I desire is to be by your side!” You said, exacerbated. “I don’t need emotional confessions or labels. I can feel it in the way you touch me, the way you speak to me, the things you do for me.” He was silent for a long time and you forced yourself to maintain eye contact, even as your eyes were filling with tears once again. 

“That is not how you really feel and as the one who’s emotions haven’t been manipulated, it would be wrong of me to continue taking advantage of you in your current state,”

“You made me like this!” You yelled, feeling a tear escape your waterline. When you continued, you tried to lower your voice to a normal level. “You made me feel like this… Please don’t pretend like all of this is just in my head.” When he remained silent, you whimpered out one last, “Please.” 

“Eventually you’ll realize that I’m right- that all of this was just a coping mechanism.” You let out an irritated sigh, getting over this back and forth very quickly. 

“Tell me.” You said, significantly harsher than before. 

“What?”

“Tell me to my face that I’m nothing more than an experiment. Tell me and I’ll drop it.” He clenched his jaw and let out a heavy breath through his nose, not able to maintain eye contact. The longer he remained silent, the harder it was to hold in the tears. “Please.” You whispered, making him look at you again. 

“Even if you aren’t, the confession would be inadmissible,” 

“It wouldn’t!” You yelled and he let out another heavy sigh. 

“I will only disappoint you, but to satiate your masochistic tendencies…” He paused with a sigh and you held your breath. “You are more than an experiment.” 

Part 8

[howlsofbloodhounds]

nckdnsk howl you can't keep having these bombass headcanons while i'm still compiling stuff to write my fics (it's me, crowshipping anon) 😭 i'll probably share them when i'm done 🫣

jokes aside, since you want some two cents on killer and color being apart from each other...

cross takes the role of teaching killer about boundaries in relationships. he belatedly realizes that "wait, does killer have any hobbies or other friends apart from color?". and so it turns into a daily exercise of forcing killer (usually with violence sadly) to socialize with more people and find his own hobbies/activities not related to color. cross gets killer a secluded place to live (cross might have blackmailed ink into helping). cross makes killer decide on interior furniture, letting him have some choices in his living environment. baby steps, baby steps.

unlike color, of course cross is busy with his own stuff and responsibilities. i imagine he's on community service for what he did in the past. so cross is not just killer's only caretaker/parole officer. sometimes dream is there, sometimes blue, sometimes murder and/or horror (if they escape nightmare and once they're well-adjusted - i imagine they'd have an easier time than killer for... reasons), and there are other people as well. it's not a one-person task to rehabilitate a bad person - it's a community effort to reform them to be better!

(though i imagine for safety reasons, people usually take on shifts in groups. killer is still dangerous after all. i think murder, having previous beef with killer, will enjoy having legitimate reasons to fight killer and taunt him over his failures of controlling color and how he's not that dissimilar to nightmare. needs some tough love to get through killer's thick skull after all.)

after a while, cross thinks about getting killer some cats, though he is skeptical at first. it's not that he can't trust killer to take care of cats - he's just wary the caretaking duties and ownership might trigger killer's control issues again. so at first it's cat therapy sessions with ccino. killer has some alone times with the cats. maybe once ccino can reassure cross that killer can be a responsible cat owner, then it's time to GET KILLER SOME CATS!!! killer can adopt some hobbies, like crocheting so he can give his cats some fun accessories, or journaling so he can vent like crazy. oh yeah, and he needs a therapist too.

meanwhile, color is on his multiversal road trip with delta and epic. he feels excited and apprehensive at the same time. excited, because it's been a long time since he has time to spend with his old friends - he misses this so much. and apprehensive, because he can't help fretting over whether killer is okay or not - last time he saw killer, cross was dragging him away quite aggressively. epic is like "nah bro, cross won't kill him, don't worry. let's just relax"

so color is relearning how to be himself around people he love. sometimes color hurts delta/epic out of habit for not listening to him, and he's appalled by his actions. sometimes he begs them to let him see killer again, just a call, and epic and delta just have to flat out deny it for his own recovery. he can only hear updates through cross. sometimes he tries to sneak out to return to killer (yay portal powers!), but gets caught and coaxed into not doing anything reckless.

this is me assuming everything go swimmingly for both of them, though for killer it'll be much harder. imagine something goes wrong. like killer finally weasels one of his caretakers into bringing him to color, or color successfully sneaks out to see killer. imagine killer says to color that everyone is out to get them, to separate them. let's just leave everything and run away together. killer knows just a universe that nightmare has destroyed where no one can suspect. imagine color is reluctant at first, but then killer pulls out his guilt-tripping card again. he was miserable the whole time color wasn't there, so is color okay with leaving him? killer knows color knows killer is a terrible person, and yet color still tries to connect with him, not to fix him but to show him a better way to live. and isn't killer content with being with color, just the two of them against the world? whatever color decides to do, killer will agree. but, as killer proposes, if they stay, killer will not be happy, and will color live with that?

Grr yess thank you I Am eating this up more please 🙏 🙏 (crowshipping anon may I please be able to read your fics when you’re done with them???)

I am conflicted because I am like yes killer get worse you fucking vile creature and in the next I want to snap his fucking neck. I wonder if ink shares my emotions on this (characters in a story after all)

I can’t imagine what killers fucking journal would be like. probably alternating between literally everything about color and then just violently wanting to rip cross and dream and fucking dust to shreds because how dare they

it is probably the equivalent of that one post that goes “*writing in my journal with a glitter pen* I am losing touch with my humanity”

I know his bitch ass immediately zeroed in on his past victims—blue, murder, horror—and started tearing into them. probably knew cross would prevent him from physically doing so hes gonna do it verbally. hows fucking papyrus doing huh? hows that eye treating you baby blue? trick your brother into eating anymore meat horror? does he hate you now?

his ass would immediately use his knowledge and experience with/about nightmare to fuck with dream too. you can’t even save your own brother what makes you think you could save me?

he would most definitely attempt to sabotage cross’, murder’s, and horror’s “redemption arcs.”

theyre all gonna fucking hate him in these moments and its gonna take a whole lotta patience and understanding to not immediately murder him. (maybe thats what a part of him is hoping for) (looking at you stage 1, even tho you havent likely made a appearance yet)

his ass would definitely fake cry and pretend to be getting better only to just clock whoever is watching him out and attempt to escape (goes nowhere because he wasnt even allowed to know where color is)

but imagine the relief for a moment if color did sneak out to see him. before his guilt tripping bullshit.

like. like. cause I know his codependent ass was on the edge on a perpetual breakdown even when he tried to hide it and suppress it under his apathy and dissociate. his experienced mind is conjuring up images every horrible fucking thing that could happening to color, and stage 1’s anxiety is causing fucking constant nightmares and flashbacks and it makes it worse because I know he tries very often and frequently to shove stage 1 all the way down. (Nightmares still out there he hates color colors not safe)

no. no. he would just ruin everything, hed try to kill them—he wouldnt understand what killer is doing. killer cant die, color still needs him. stage 1 would be stupid enough to buy into cross’ bullshit.

i can just imagine the relief that almost sends him to his knees when he finally sees color. eyes looking him over everywhere—wheres the scars? wheres the bruises?—shaky hands (uncharacteristic) roaming over colors form. maybe even does something as dramatic as slams color against a wall with his body just for the drama of it all.

He’s real. He’s real he’s real—solid underneath his hands. Colors real. maybe so relieved there’s even some cheek nuzzles and maybe even some kisses from colors cheek to his throat.

and. and. and killer failed him. he failed. he failed to protect him.

he needs to be punished. he knows. color probably doesnt know but its okay he’ll teach him later.

and then there’s comes the exhausted but content full body sigh before killer melts against color and then here comes the apologies. for failing.

theres some reassurance from color—no don’t apologize its not your fault im okay epic and delta would never hurt me/let me be hurt—then it loops around to the fucking guilt tripping. killer im gonna snap your neck you prick.

oh boy imagine being killers therapist during this. hes gonna make your job miserable and like pulling teeth. hes gonna observe you and start using what hes noticed against you—the kids dont call anymore therapist person? oh your husband is dead..im sure its your fault.

and i can imagine back with delta and epic and color that if anyone tries to talk about killer he immediately starts defending him. like no it wasnt okay what killer did but come on he doesnt know any better (color knows logically that its killers responsibility to learn better anyhow)

id imagine that the experience with killer and the subsequent effects of instinctively hurting delta and/or epic mustve led color to those “hurting my loved ones” nightmares that delta is quite familiar with. and delta hates killer for this. he hates that he made color afraid of himself, that he did all that to someone he claims to care about more than anything.

“care about” his ass. this isnt love. this isnt what you do to those you love.

anyway i need color and epic and delta to cuddle up all nice warm and theyre there to comfort color when he wakes up screaming/crying. often times color just wants killer (the devotion when he looks at color is as comforting as it is terrifying), so at most epic and delta settle for something that could remind him of killer. a photo? killers jacket?

delta should get to punch killer in the mouth for this yes siree. epic gives him the immediate “yes” to the signaled question. (murder gets to beef with killer and also talks shit about killer out loud to papyrus & although killer doesn’t know it reaper and grimm know all the juicy details (murder talks shit while at their altars lmao) and are judging him harshly) (theyre like ‘damn bitch you live like this???’)

[nekohime19]

Heart behind the lie # 15 : recovery party

First therapy session let's go!

Sun Wukong was pacing inside of his bedroom, looking at the outfits laid on his bed with narrowed eyes. His fur was perfectly cleaned, perfumed by a light peach-scent (thanks to his shampoo), and carefully brushed by his troop. His fur had never been so shiny before, perfect strands similar to the purest rays of light. His marshals teased him relentlessly when they learned that Macaque would be present at the party, saying that he wanted to look good for the warrior. Which wasn't fully wrong, but Sun Wukong would never admit it. 

"Should I go in my armor?" Mumbled the King as his eyes glided over his golden armor. "No, it's too formal. Maybe my usual wear?" He took his favorite piece of cloth, the one he wore on a daily basis, but the red glistening cape and the long phenix feathers seemed too heroish. He didn't want to be seen as the Monkey King, he didn't want to frighten his moon." I'm not gonna go in my tiger pelt." Sighed the King as he removed the outfit from his journey, his eyes lingered in the bright yellow beret he used to wear in his brotherhood days and he removed it from the bed with a tight throat. "The hoodie is too casual… I don't want him to think I'm not taking it seriously." Groaned the sage as he removed the hoodie, he turned towards the leaves kilt innocently laid in the far left of the bed and immediately scowled. "No, definitely no, why did I keep that?" 

Desperate and without any proper outfits, he summoned a clone, hoping to get advices from the one person he could trust with his looks, himself. Sun Wukong gestured to his bed with a hopeless face, still in his bathroom towel. The clone snickered, perhaps finding his problem funny, and eyed the outfits with a thoughtful face. 

"Definitely not the armor." Chimed the clone as he removed the golden piece of metal and the whitish underwear. "Why not your usual wear?" 

"I don't want to be too heroish."

"You're a hero though?" Questioned the clone with furrowed eyebrows. 

"You know what I mean." Sighed the sage as he awkwardly scratched his cheeks. 

"I don't think he would care that much."

"But I do."

"Hm." The clone turned towards his wardrobe and dived in the further back, he took out some old hanfus he never got to wear. "Why not one of those?" 

"I don't know if they fit me, I never wore them."

"Well, if you never wore them then it's not tied to bothersome memories." Argued the clone with a raised eyebrow. 

"… Which one is better?"

"I like the violet one." 

"Yeah, and write “desperate for Macaque” on my forehead while you're at it." Groaned the sage with flushed cheeks. 

"Don't be a grump, it’s just a color." The sage glared at the clone and the rude little thing rolled his eyes. "Okay, what about this one?" He raised a reddish hanfu with a pearl-white slash and trims, paired with light golden pants. 

"Don't you think it's too… garish?"

"Well, you can't know if you don't try it. We're the handsome Monkey King, boss, don't get so insecure it doesn't suit us."

The King glared at his clone and took the hanfu with a scowl, he dressed himself quite fastly and stood before the body length mirror laid in one corner of the bedroom. 

"You see, it's not bad." Happily chirped the clone. 

"Yeah…it's really… red."

"Red is not a bad color, it suits our golden fur."

"Don't you think it's too pretentious? I mean red is usually for royalty or something, I don't want him to think I'm arrogant or-"

"Do you prefer red or violet?" Cut the clone with narrowed eyes. 

"Red… "

"That's what I thought. It's good, you look good."

"Yeah, okay. You think I should wear make-up?" Asked the sage as he twirled on himself. 

"You want to?" 

"Maybe something light, I don't know, it's true I don't wear make-up that often, maybe he would think that's weird." Muttered the King as he gazed at his reflection.

"Hey, don't think like that boss." Sighed the clone as he rummaged through his drawers and took out an ancient make-up box. "We look good with make-up."

"… Something light, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Chuckled the clone as he waved him over. Sun Wukong sat on the edge of the bed and let his clone work with his face. He was quite satisfied with the result, his eyes were slightly highlighted with black eyeliner and a touch of red was smeared on his lips, nothing too garish, just as he liked it. "Now go get him, tiger!" Cheered the clone, Wukong dispelled him with a flustered flick of hands, why were his clones such menaces?

Sun Wukong took the bag beside his bed table and left the shack with an eager wag of tail. He jumped on his cloud and soared in the sky, flying towards the docks of Megapolis. The sage did propose to host the party on his mountain, but according to the kid it wasn't a place others could easily reach, as such they decided to party in Sha Wujing's reincarnation house, Sandy, he believed. Sun Wukong never went there, and he would be lying if leaving his mountain didn't stress him a little, but he was ready to stomach everything if it meant seeing Macaque again. 

The King could easily spot Sha Wujing's soul with his golden vision, he landed in front of a half immersed sumarin and took a deep breath. He checked inside of his bag, and was relieved to see the warrior's scarf neatly nested there. This piece of cloth helped him greatly these last few days and the sage wanted to thank Macaque for this, as well as returning his scarf, he knew how much this cloth meant to the other. 

Maybe he selfishly avoided washing it, wanting to leave his scent on it, but he knew Macaque wouldn't be too bothered by this, besides washing a century-old cloth was a bad idea. The sage knocked on the door, and shuffled on his feet a little, trying to brush some strays of fur while looking at his reflection on the sumarin windows. 

Sandy opened the door, he looked a little bit disheveled, a cat was napping on his right shoulder, curled up in his neck nook. Sun Wukong couldn't fault him for his appearance, it was quite early after all. 

"Oh, Mr King, you're here early."

"Yeah… should I come by later?" It was quite obvious that nobody was here yet, in his excitement Sun Wukong forgot to look at the time, he guessed not everybody woke up at dawn (something he was quite used to since his nightmarish nights).

"I can invite you in and you can wait for the others if you want." Gently replied the water demon, the sage considered the option and decided to come in, he knew he would only torture himself if he waited at home. 

"If I'm not a bother…"

"I assure you you're not, everyone is welcome here."

"Thanks."

Sandy's house was nice and tidy, full of light, pots and cats. Sun Wukong sat on the couch in the middle of the living room, beside a pile of sleeping cats. One of the fluffy creatures looked up with a faint “mrrp?” and squinted at the King, it stretched, leaving the pile, and trotted towards him, sniffing his hand. 

"Oh, hey bud." Awkwardly chuckled the King, the cat meowed at him, eyeing him curiously, before jumping on his lap. "Do as you please, I guess." The orange furred cat meowed happily and pawed at his hanfu. It was particularly adorable because its paws were entirely white, as if it was wearing socks, like a little gentleman. 

"That's Sock, she's usually not fond of strangers." Informed Sandy. 

"Well I'm honored, little one." Laughed the sage as he carefully petted Sock, she settled on his lap as if it was her personal throne. 

"Do you want a cup of tea?" 

"O-oh, yeah, why not?"

"Which one do you want? I have green, black, oolong, purple, matcha and earl gray."

"Hmm, purple?" Replied the King, he didn't know much about tea, he only chose a color he liked in general. Sandy nodded and disappeared in the kitchen, reappearing a few minutes later with a fuming cup. 

Purple tea tasted good, it had a slight woodsy flavor he quite liked. Sandy settled beside him with his own cup. Sun Wukong wasn't keen on idle talks, but he guessed he, at least, had to be polite with his host. 

"Sooo… you like tea?" A terrible way to begin the conversation really, but Sandy seemed to beam at that. 

"Oh yes! Tea has so many effects and meaning, a nice cup always lifts my spirits."

"Well I never tried tea, not so much, I quite like this one."

"Ohh, if you never tried tea before you have much to learn."

"I guess." Chuckled the King. 

"But I must say you're quite the early riser." 

"Sorry to bother you, I guess I was just excited? It's been a while since I did this sort of thing."

"Oh no, you're not a bother at all. The others will be there in a few hours. MK was quite excited about you coming too."

"He was?"

"He did talk about it a lot, he was also quite excited for Mr Maquack." Sun Wukong straightened at the mention of the other monkey, his tail wagged a little harder. 

"Yeah, I guess Macaque isn't the type to get out a lot, he never was."

"You two seem quite close."

"Not really, not anymore." Nervously chuckled the King, he hid behind the edge of his cup. 

"You know, Mr King. If Mr Maquack and you ever want to talk about your issues, I'm always happy to help. Of course, I'm not a professional therapist, but I do know a thing or two."

"… Thanks big guy." Mumbled the sage, he distracted himself with Sock, carefully scratching behind her ears, the little fluff ball was really picky with her pets. "Anyway, you talked about tea?"

"Oh yes, there are many teas that exist!" The giant went on a long speech about teas and their effects, the King quietly listened while asking one or two questions here and there. It was surprisingly insightful, he didn't know tea could have such depth. 

The kids arrived after a few hours, they came into the house with booming laughter, petting all the cats that dared to approach them. MK lit up like a thousand fireworks when he saw him, he walked over with a skip in his step and a beaming smile. 

"Monkey King! You came early."

"Yeah, didn't want to miss it." Awkwardly chuckled the sage. 

"Yooo, you look good Mr King!" Chimed the dragon girl as she finally freed the poor cat victim of her aggressive pets. 

"Thanks, but, well, I'm the handsome Monkey King, I always look good." Replied the sage with a puffed out chest, MK laughed a little at that. 

"Pigsy and Tang will come in a bit, I don't know about Macaque though." Informed the kid. 

"Our emo boy will come last, he likes to be dramatic like that!" Snickered the dragon girl. 

"That's true." Chuckled the sage as he drank the last drops of his tea. 

Tang and Pigsy arrived after a few minutes, they all settled around a table, nipping at the food prepared by the pig. Sun Wukong wasn't on the best terms with the pig, the demon was still very upset with him (and for good reasons) but fortunately the chef was kind enough to not start any arguments, only side eyeing him from time to time. The sage noticed that his kid, and strangely enough the dragon girl, looked quite tired, their eyes were circled by darkness and they were more sluggish than usual. But when he tried to breach the subject with his mentee, MK immediately brushed aside his words, talking instead of how he was doing with Macaque. 

Sun Wukong decided to stop asking questions for now, seeing as it made MK uncomfortable, but it wasn't over, he promised to get to the bottom of this. 

Macaque arrived at midday, he walked in after being welcomed at the door by Sandy, silent as always, greeting everyone with a nervous wave, settling on the far side besides a pile of cats. His eyes lingered slightly on the King, something that made Sun Wukong's heart soar, before turning towards the kid. It was short, a second at most, but Macaque didn't scowl nor did he growl at him, his face was almost soft, something Sun Wukong would consider a victory today. 

The King hesitated after that, playing with the strings of his bag, debating over and over again if he should head to the warrior. He made his mind up when he caught sight MK's encouraging thumbs up, even if they didn't get to talk much, he should at least give back his scarf. Sun Wukong moved Sock from his lap (she was quite hissy about that) and skipped over the ebony monkey. Macaque looked up at him before he could sit, he seemed to hesitate a moment, before scouting a little, making room for the sage. 

Sun Wukong gulped, throat tight and hands veiled by sweat. He sat and petted the nearby cats, trying to soothe his beating heart. 

"H-hey, here.".Stammered the King as he handed his bag to the warrior. Macaque carefully took it and peered inside with curiosity. 

"Oh, thanks." Mumbled the macaque. 

"Yeah, i-it helped me, thanks."

"You… you wanna keep it a bit longer?" Tentatively asked the warrior. 

"I can?"

"Yeah, it doesn't bother me."

"Thanks." Muttered the sage as he took his bag back, the scarf still nestled inside. His tail thumped slightly on the floor, some cats pawed at it with wonder. 

They stood in silence for a bit, neither knowing what to talk about, or even where to begin. Sun Wukong decided to busy himself with cats, trying to ease his nerves with fluffy paws and cute whiskers. They tried to talk, but each time one of them dared to open his mouth, words would stumble in an incomprehensible way, and they would stop trying in embarrassment. 

"Sandy proposed to help us talk, said something about therapy, I don't know.".Mumbled the sage after a little while. 

"M-might help us, if you want to?" Asked the warrior with a nervous twitch of tail.

"Y-yeah, why not, I mean yes, not why not, because I definitely take this seriously and it's… yes. When do you want to do this?" Stammered the King with red coated cheeks. 

"I don't know, tomorrow, or the day after, let's just enjoy the party for now."

"Tomorrow morning sounds good." Admitted the sage, he turned towards the cats and awed at their cuteness. He felt the warrior's tail brush against his own, a touch so light it might have been an illusion, but something there, so undoubtedly there, it made his heart beat faster. Therapy might do more bad than good, but he was willing to try, he was very willing to try if it could heal the shattered bond he shared with the ebony monkey. 

The silence following was a little more comfortable, filled with purrs and the distant chatters of his mentee's friends. It was nice to see joy flourish on their faces, to hear their laugh, their useless talk. It was nice to simply be here, to enjoy something as mundane as this, to exist in a place without struggling. It felt good to be beside the warrior and to not fear his claws. His presence, his scent, his warmth was something so instinctively comforting, Sun Wukong caught himself staring more than once. 

The party was nice, they ate a little and talked about everything that crossed their minds, cheering for the Bone Demon's end and the King's full recovery. Macaque left in the evening, perhaps tired by all the noise, the King himself was beginning to feel quite tired, not used to that much social interaction anymore. He hugged the kid, and waved over to the others before jumping on his cloud, his bag tightly clutched in his hands. 

He entered his shack with a soft smile, happy at the way he managed to work with the warrior. Yes, it would be undoubtedly hard, and one talk wouldn't be enough to breach everything that happened between them. But it was a start, a wish to sort things out from the both of them, and the mere fact that Macaque was willing to try was enough to made him unbelievably happy. The sage cleaned himself and put on more comfortable clothes. He curled up in his nest, the red scraf tightly warped around his neck. He nuzzled the fabric, greedily inhaling his moon's scent, tail widly thumping on his sheets. 

He stopped the moment he saw three very smug shadows perched on his windowsill. Sun Wukong jumped on his feet, face flaming, and quickly hid the scraf under his pillows. 

"W-what are you three doing here?" He stuttered as he walked over his window, towards his three very amused marshals. 

Ma was looking at him the same way a tired parent looked at their dumb child, Beng was trying to hide his chuckles in his palms while Liu was openly cackling, tears nipping at her eyes. Sun Wukong sighed, he leaned over them when he caught a whiff of a familiar scent. 

"You smell like him…"

“Six-ears fine”, chimed Ma, “looked happy” added Beng with a soft smile. Sun Wukong felt warmth spread through his chest at the idea, his marshals must have felt his joy, they excitedly chirped in between them, af if celebrating a victory. Ma waved him over and patted him affectionately, “good job!”, she chirped happily. Liu, after calming her hollering laughter, tenderly nuzzled him. They left him alone after a few more pets, returning to the lushuring trees. 

Sun Wukong closed his windows, this time making sure the curtains were drawn, and threw himself on his bed. He took the scarf hidden under his pillow and shamelessly dived in it, holding it tightly as if it was a precious treasure, it might as well be for him. He slept well, intertwined with the red cloth, losing himself in the softness. The Bone Demon whisper was still very present, brushing against the shell of his ears, ghostly claws grazing at his heart each time he dared to breathe, but it was bearable, more so than when he was without the scarf. 

He rose early, slipping out of his sheets at the crack of dawn, too excited (and admittedly too scared) to lie-in. They never specified an hour, and heading there too early would only bother Sandy (they did forget to tell him about this sudden talk, now that he thought about it, he hoped the tea-lover would be kind enough to welcome them). Some part of him wanted to find Macaque, and maybe offer him to head over Sandy together, but he knew this was pushing it, and probably uncalled for in their situation. He had to be patient, to not cross any boundaries, for he knew their relationship wasn't strong enough to survive too much pushing. 

Therapy sounded frightening, if he was honest, Sun Wukong wasn’t sure if he could confide in front of a stranger, no matter how sweet Sandy seemed. But if it could give him a chance to see Macaque, to hear him and be heard in return, he was willing to put his unease aside. It was worth it, if it could bring them closer. 

The sage took a long bath, playing with peach-scented bubbles, pawing at them like an over-excited cub (something he did when nobody watched him). Some very embarrassing memories came to him, about him playing with water while the macaque was washing himself, but he decided to not process them. It wasn't the first time Sun Wukong saw quick flashes of his life as a feral monkey, they were always blurry and confusing, but he couldn't stop them from coming. So he observed them with an estranged eye, putting a distance between the feral monkey and himself. 

Sun Wukong dried himself after nearly falling over the bathtub in a desperate attempt to chase after a wandering bubble, something he would take to his grave. He put on his hoodie and comfortable underwear, and munched on peaches while he waited for the sun to rise a bit more. He left his shack around the late morning, soaring through the sky towards the tea-lover's sumarin. His heart was becoming more and more frantic the more he approached the docks, almost leaping out of his chest when he recognized the warrior scent floating around the house. 

He landed in front of the door with a struggling breath, he lightly knocked while playing with the hem of his hoodie, trying to ease himself. Sandy opened the door with a soft smile, inviting him joyously. Sun Wukong walked in with a nervous skip, freezing slightly when he caught sight of the warrior sitting comfortably in the middle of the sofa, cats covering most of him. 

"Do you want a cup of tea, Mister King ?" Gently asked Sandy, bringing him out of his stupor. 

"Yeah, hm, purple, if you have."

"Of course."

The sage slowly approached the warrior, nervously sitting beside him. Sun Wukong was immediately swarmed by meowing cats, some playing with the tip of his tail, others pawing at his ears, climbing his arms. Sock took a seat on his lap with ease, looking up to him with pride, her tail flickering in contentment. 

"So you've been swarmed too?" Muttered the macaque with a playful tone, Sun Wukong chuckled faintly at that, petting the cats swarming him, enjoying being covered by so many adorable fluff balls 

"Yeah, I don't mind though." Softly replied the King. 

"Me neither." Macaque removed the cats playing on his head and leaned over the table, sipping on his cup. 

Sandy put his own cup of purple tea on the table, in front of him, and took a seat in front of the two monkeys. The sage shuffled uncomfortably, feeling the gazes of the other piercing his skin, but he repressed his fear, standing strong. Macaque seemed as nervous as him, even if he was better at hiding it, the nervous twitch of his tail was undoubtable. Sandy offered them a light smile, he petted a bluish cat, one with the same hairstyle as him, and put his own cup down. 

"So I was quite surprised to see Mr Maquack this morning. I'm glad you're both trying this though." Gently began the blue giant. 

"What is… “this” exactly?" Questioned the warrior, which was something Sun Wukong was also quite curious about, he wasn't very well-versed in therapy. 

"Well, it could be anything you want truly, I don't have any specific guideline. It could be a time for the both of you to talk and try to express yourself on different matters, to hear the other, or simply a time to bond. It depends on what you both want, and if you want to continue after today." Sandy waited for the both of them to gather their thoughts, not minding the awkward silence veiling the room. Sun Wukong thought long and hard, trying to put words on his feelings, something he always found hard. 

" I… It would be nice if those could, I don't know, make us talk? D-does it make sense?" 

"The desire to talk and express yourself while also hearing the other is completely natural, Mr King." It felt good to be validated, his tail wagged joyously.

"I think I feel the same." Sighed the macaque. "I would like if those could help me talk about what happened and, well… if it could help us be… better." Sun Wukong's heart skipped a beat at that, he turned towards the warrior with wide eyes. 

"Yeah! Me too." Mumbled the King with an awed face. "I would like that too."

"That is nice, wanting to be better is always the first step for healing and improvement." Nodded the tea-lover. "Do you both want to talk about a particular subject today? Do you want my aid with that? Or do something else?"

"I… I would like to talk about the…most recents issue… me taking care of him and all that, but I don't know how to even begin." Mumbled the warrior as he leaned further in the couch, almost hiding himself behind the cats and the pillows. 

"I… yeah…I think we need to talk about that." As much as Sun Wukong wanted to avoid certain thoughts, he knew they needed to be addressed, he knew he needed to hear the warrior's true feelings. 

"We can begin with something light, if you both feel nervous about it. I have some exercises to help you express yourself if words don't come to you."

"That would be nice." Replied Macaque with a soft voice. 

"Well, you can try to begin your sentences with “I feel” or “I felt” in this case to describe this experience. Me and Mr Wukong will not interrupt you, and simply listen until you're sure you're done." Sun Wukong nodded to show his approval. 

"Okay…" Macaque took a deep breath and petted the cat nestled on his lap. "Well, I felt nervous, I think, to be near you." Macaque stopped a little, eyebrows furrowed, as if he was thinking of a better way to phrase this. "Maybe I felt confused, I mean you were so… monkeyish and all, I never saw you like that. I felt angry to… see you being hurt, and weak." The warrior closed his mouth, hands lost in the fur of a purring cat, there was a storm raging in his eyes. Sun Wukong wanted to reach him, to hold him, to hide him from everything, but he could do nothing. Frozen still, bewitched by what he heard." It felt bad, and overwhelming, because there was so much going on at the same time. I felt overwhelmed because I had to deal with you, the mountain, my own situation, it was tiring." It hurted to hear that, but Sun Wukong didn't dare to even utter a chirp, Macaque seemed almost lost in his own world, curled up inward, focusing on himself." But I felt good too. It was nice to be back on the mountain, to see the troop. It felt nice, in a way, to live peacefully. It felt nice to stop scheming and hating you, it felt kinda nice to spoil you too. But I felt scared of that… because it was good, it scared me, I thought you… you would kick me out once healed. I felt upset, when I learned of your lies, I felt used and… foolish, and scared, because I didn't want you to know… to see this side of me, and I didn't want to leave, I was so sure you would kick me out I just... I'm not… that upset now. I just feel confused, because I don't know what to trust… You don't act like you did before, it's confusing. And I want to feel better." Sun Wukong was trying his best to not let his tears run down his cheeks, an impossible feat, really. 

"This was very insightful Mr Maquack, I thank you for your sharing. Do you also want to express yourself on this particular event, Mr King?" 

"Do I have to use the “I felt” thing?" 

"If you want to."

"Well, hm, it… I… felt… scared. The…my state was weird, and unclear, and… weird, so I felt scared." He didn't want to dwell on that, her ghostly touch wasn't something he was ready to share yet. "I felt confused, when I sensed you, like really confused, so I waited for the trap, but it never came." It was hard to search for the good words, he felt like he was unclear and unhelpful, like he couldn't truly express what his heart was suffering through, it was frustrating. But Sandy and Macaque only listened quietly, waiting for his words, so he pushed through his frustration, setting it aside. "I felt good, when you cared, it felt very good, very nice. I… needed that. I felt… curious? About you, about this side of you. And I felt bad, for lying, but I couldn't…it felt so good, to be cared for by you, I couldn't stop. I...felt bad about leaving the kid, but I… I wanted to stop being scared. You made my fear go away, you made me feel so much better, and I'm sorry I hurted you. I want to feel better, I want to be better, I want to hear you." He stopped talking after that, words stuck in his throat, eyes glistening with unshed tears, he saw the warrior hiding his own tears under a blanket, draping it around his face, retreating in the darkness. 

" I thank you for sharing this with us, Mr King. Do you both want to keep going?" 

"I… I'm sorry… I don't think I can talk more." Awkwardly chuckled the sage. 

"Me neither." Shyly replied the macaque. 

"And that is fine. Let me get some snacks for the both of you, and then we can talk about if you would like another session. I can even share simple exercises you can do at home to help with processing your feelings."

Sandy left his chair and walked in the kitchen, Sun Wukong wiped away his tears, ashamed of them, and scouted a little further on the couch, broadening the space between him and the warrior. 

"You want to do another session? "Quietly asked the sage. "It was nice to be able to talk."

"…. Wukong, we're literally in tears right now, you think we should do another?" Replied Macaque. 

"Yeah, and we will probably end up crying next time too, but it was nice, wasn't it?"

"It's not gonna be nice when we will broach our deeper problems."

"Maybe, but it will help, no? I do wanna get better, with you, if you want."

"… I mean it sounds nice but… can we even get better?"

"We lose nothing by trying."

Macaque didn't reply, but his tail brushed against his own, a familiar weight that spoke of tentative acceptance. Sun Wukong hesitated a moment, before very loosely intertwining the tip of both of their tails, Macaque let him do it, and he couldn't be more overjoyed. 

This was a start of an arduous road, something painful, but also healing. Something he wanted desperately. 

Ch 1 / Previous / Next

[b1ngosstuff]

Hey! I saw that you recently opened your blog, do you mind if I ask you a fanfic with Baji, Draken, Kazutora and Mikey where the reader suffers a stroke from a overdose and like she needs to learn how to walk, talk and eat again and they’re like always for her?

Tysmm 💓

//Hello!! Thank you sm for requesting 😁!!! Sorry that I'm late on this. I didn't know if you wanted separate or together but i did separate i hope it's not a problem , did some research as well so i hope this is some what accurate 😊!! // i did headcannons cuz i was lazy to write a fanfic 😭😭//

Baji,Mikey,Draken and Kazutora supporting a reader recovering from an overdose.

//Trigger warnings: drug overdose , little bit of angst!!

Thats its really these guys are just sweet and try their best !!

---

Baji Keisuke

- Baji would be absolutely devastated when he learns about your stroke. He’s the type to blame himself, thinking he should have been there to prevent it. He hides his guilt behind a tough exterior, but his eyes show how worried he really is.

- Baji would spend every spare moment at your side, pushing aside everything else to help you through your recovery. He’s not great with words, but his actions speak volumes. Whether it’s holding your hand as you try to speak or helping you move during physical therapy, he’s always there.

-Baji would take it upon himself to learn about stroke recovery, reading books, and watching videos, so he knows how to best support you. He’ll even try to teach himself how to cook !! This man can't cook fr

- He’s incredibly patient with you, offering gentle encouragement whenever you get frustrated. He’s also the type to crack a joke at the perfect time, just to see you smile or lighten the mood during tough therapy sessions.

- Baji would be fiercely protective of you during this time, ensuring no one causes you stress or discomfort. He’s always ready to shield you from any negativity, be it from others or even your own frustrations.

---

Draken (Ken Ryuguji):

- Draken would take care of you without a second thought. He’s practical and organized, making sure you have everything you need for a smooth recovery. He’ll be the one coordinating with doctors, therapists, and even researching treatments.

- Draken’s strength and patience make him a great partner during your physical therapy sessions. He’d be there to help you with exercises, ensuring you don’t push too hard but also encouraging you to keep going.

-Draken knows this is a difficult time for you, so he makes sure to be your emotional anchor. Whenever you feel overwhelmed, he’s there to listen, holding you close and reassuring you that you’re strong enough to get through this.

- He would help establish a routine that balances your recovery . Whether it’s setting up a daily schedule for therapy or finding small activities you can still enjoy together, he makes sure your days are structured yet comforting.

- Draken is always there, often silently supporting you with his steady presence. His dedication never wavers, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you feel loved, safe, and supported.

---

Kazutora Hanemiya:

- Kazutora would struggle a lot emotionally after learning about your stroke, feeling a deep sense of fear and guilt. However, he’d channel those feelings into determination to help you recover, knowing he can’t let you down.

- Kazutora would be incredibly gentle with you, understanding how difficult and frustrating recovery can be. He’s always mindful of your emotional state, offering comfort and encouragement whenever you need it.

- He’d find creative ways to make your therapy more enjoyable. Whether it’s using music, drawing, or other arts as a part of your cognitive recovery, he’d incorporate things you love into your healing process.

- Kazutora would celebrate every small victory with you, whether it’s saying a word clearly or taking a few steps. He’s always ready with a bright smile and words of encouragement, making sure you know how proud he is of your progress.

- Through helping you, Kazutora would also find healing for himself. He learns to be strong for you and realizes that this journey, while challenging, is bringing out a better, more compassionate version of himself.

---

Mikey (Manjiro Sano):

- Mikey would initially be in shock, refusing to believe that something so devastating could happen to you. It would take time for him to fully process it, but once he does, he’s fully committed to being by your side.

- Mikey isn’t great with expressing his feelings verbally, but his actions show how much he cares. He’d spend hours sitting with you, holding your hand, and just being there, making sure you know you’re not alone.

- Mikey would push himself to stay strong, even when he’s scared or sad. He takes it upon himself to keep you motivated, using his own strength to inspire you to keep going, even on the hardest days.

- Sometimes, Mikey doesn’t need to say anything at all. His presence alone is comforting, and he has a way of making you feel safe just by being there. He’ll often bring you your favorite snacks or show you something that reminds you of better times.

- Mikey is relentless in his support. He’ll never give up on you, no matter how long the recovery takes. He’s patient, understanding, and always ready to remind you that you’re strong and that you’re going to make it through this together.

---

Each of them, in their own way, would be unwavering in their support, helping you rebuild your life with love, patience, and dedication.

//HOPE YOU LIKE IT!! I did my best to be accurate as possible and i think i did a good job!! Please give me more requests i loved writing them!!//

[maxdibert]

What does your daily routine consist of?

I wake up at 6:45 am. I want to die. I check my phone until about 7:15 am because I need between 20 minutes and half an hour for my brain to decide it can be 1% functional. I force myself to get up. I still want to die. I take my meds because I have ADHD and a diagnosed anxiety disorder, so I need the pills to keep myself from shooting myself, you know. I usually shower at night because if I shower in the morning, I waste too much time since my timeline management is awful, so I get dressed, pack my bag, and head to work. I try to get on the metro, which feels like a very complicated mission at 8 am when I arrive—it’s like having to push through people and fight aggressively retiring ladies. I end up crammed into the car like a sardine between people who want to die and university students who also want to die but not as much because they can still be happy until they graduate and real hell begins. I get to the office, make myself a matcha latte because I can’t drink coffee as caffeine wrecks me. I have it with oat milk because I’m lactose intolerant, thanks. The first thing we do every day at 9 am is a meeting with the bosses, the psychology team, and the social workers to review the day’s plan. Then it depends on the week—some weeks I’m almost always at the office reviewing paperwork and the "boys" (the users of the organization I work for) come here, other weeks I go to supervised homes to interview them, and other weeks I have trials or hearings at court and spend the day out.

On Fridays, we have a general team meeting to talk about the cases of the people we manage, how they’re progressing, and unresolved matters. The social caregivers are also there; they work directly with them and give us feedback on the week, basically telling us about all the rules they’ve broken because they literally behave like teenagers who think their parents don’t notice their messes—but we do. And well, after that, we have some sessions where the users come in, and we run a progress check and evaluation with them. Not with all of them, just one or two each week.

My schedule is from 9 am to 6 pm, and there are days when I end up with a horrible migraine, days when I end up at the bar drinking to forget, days when I go straight home exhausted and can only watch True Crime on TV to stop thinking, and days when I’m in a reasonably good mood, and then I write my fanfiction, which I’ve committed to updating regularly as an exercise to work on my ADHD and the consistency it takes from me.

Every two weeks, I have therapy, and occasionally I go out with some guy I met on Tinder or during a night out, and well, not much else.

The good thing about days when I’m in the office and have lots of meetings is that most of them are on Zoom, so I can ditch all the tools my psychiatrist and therapist have given me to stay focused and answer questions like this while having five or six minimized faces on the screen talking about things I half-listen to because I’m incapable of paying attention to non-face-to-face conversations for more than 10 minutes. Fortunately, my boss is very happy with me because I get the "boys" everything they need and we share the same terrible rage when someone tries to harm the "boys" so he acts like he doesn’t notice when I dissociate or get distracted.

And that’s my life, the normal routine of a young adult with a teenage soul immersed in the social precariousness of depressing adulthood, already starting to experience an early 30s crisis.

[rayatii]

What War Is

(A sort of poem by me.)

What is war?

To me, war is

The streets of my city lined up with makeshift tents

The run-down school next to my place now hosting refugees

Every public school now closed because they are hosting refugees

Seeing places that were once so familiar to me, get destroyed in a wink

Passing apartments destroyed by bombings, and

Seeing workers already working on rebuilding them

The instructions and maps for bomb shelters on the website of my university

My professors constantly reminding us that we are going through uncertain times (but please take your responsibilities seriously)

The countless online lectures on stress management and living through times like these

The hybrid class arrangements where only a maximum of four students show up to class in-person, because many are out of the city or even out of the country

The extra burden of balancing stress from this situation and class requirements we fell behind on due to schools and universities closing for a while at the start

Learning the difference between the sound of a sonic boom and a bomb

Briefly mistaking every loud noise I hear for a bomb sound

Hearing more sirens outside than usual, and

Wondering more than usual where these sirens are headed to

Anticipating every day the familiar buzz of a reconnaissance drone over my city (I keep trying to troll it)

Losing sleep from being startled awake at night by distant bombings

The most depressing kind of packing for a trip ever

Living half a live in one place and half a life in another

Missing things I once took for granted

Texting and calling loved ones living in a certain area after a bombing, to see if they are still alive

My family always leaving the TV on for news and updates while I am catching up on my assignments

Me and others telling each other jokes about the politicians and military forces perpetrating the destruction

Feeling a certain sense of extra kinship with my fellow countrypeople

Discovering new points of view, on- and offline, new allies and new enemies, surprising or not

People online, living thousands of kilometers away, who see us as collateral damage or think we somehow deserve this suffering because of our political situation

Finding out how very little some people know about our lives here

Sometimes resenting people overseas for living their best life

Reminding myself not to let the situation corrupt my mind and turn me into an asshole

Learning more and gaining wisdom (but at what cost)

"Relatable" posts on Tumblr taking a whole new meaning

Understanding famous stories of war, real or fantasy, the true effects of war, more than ever

My friends and loved ones overseas asking me near-daily if I am okay, and

Me replying every time that yes, I am okay, I am safe

Being grateful that I am alive and well, but still not being quite happy

The awareness of the unreality of the situation

Living through historical times, and resenting it

Agreeing with others that we are experiencing a Lite™ version of survivor's guilt

My weekly therapy sessions now becoming more necessary than ever

Generational trauma becoming not-so-generational-anymore

Oscillating between complete desperation, and determination to not give my enemies the satisfaction of my submission to fear

The tiredness and stress I carry, often without knowing, and

Being aware that everyone around me carries that same tiredness and stress, often without knowing

Reflecting on hypothetical scenarios

Reflecting on where to go

Reflecting on whether the next bombs will drop on me or on people I know

Reflecting on what I might leave behind

Reflecting on the possibility of suddenly losing everything I hold dear

Reflecting on the possibility of suddenly losing everything

Reflecting on the very possible eventuality of death

Reflecting on my life itself.

But even so, I see that I am privileged, because

I still have access to food and clean water (some don't.)

I still have a roof over my head (some don't.)

I still have access to my education (some don't.)

I still have enough money to afford those basic needs (some don't.)

I still have all of my brain, both my eyes, ears, my nose, both my arms, legs, and all my fingers (some don't.)

I still have nearly all the trinkets and indulgences, useful or trivial, that are dear to my heart (some don't.)

I still have some time to focus on leisure (some don't.)

I haven't developed any serious mental issues from all this (yet) (some did.)

I live in a relatively safe area (some don't)

Me and my family have at least one option for areas to retreat to (some don't.)

My loved ones are all still alive

I am still alive.

(some are not.)

[artiststarme]

College is for me but only if it’s us

No angst today, I just got accepted into my master's program so I'm thrilled! All humorous/fluff/good vibes stories today. I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

It took Eddie three long years to graduate high school and even then, it was by the skin of his teeth. He barely scraped by with straight D’s and even then, his grade in history threatened to hold him back for his fourth senior year. Luckily though, with Nancy’s flashcards and Steve’s motivation while studying, he was able to pass all of his finals and his classes. Eddie army-crawled across the stage, ignoring the anger and slurs from the self-righteous townsfolk,  as he received his diploma. He waved to the Party sitting in the audience and smiled at his uncle. Eddie didn’t think he’d make it here but here he was

He, Max, and Steve were in the hospital for weeks following their Spring Break from hell. Eddie had had daily blood transfusions and enough skin graft surgeries to last him for a lifetime. There were still moments where he would feel ice-cold pain flash across his body in a spot deep enough he couldn’t reach it. 

Max was in a coma for two weeks before her blurry eyes opened to a world she would never see quite clearly. She still had to attend near-daily physical therapy sessions to be able to walk without the assistance of a walking aid for balance. She would probably never skateboard again.  

Steve was in a bad way too despite his reluctance to accept treatment. His wounds from the demobat bites caused him to develop sepsis that nearly killed him. He had to get his system flushed with saline for days to fight off the septic infection and he needed several surgeries to repair the damage done to his sides. 

Even still, they all made it. They were moving on with their lives and Eddie had finally graduated. His friends and Uncle Wayne were of course thrilled. They knew he’d graduate with time but he could tell that they were glad his attempts finally paid off. They expected him to devote more time to his music or get a full time job out of town or something. 

No one expected him to go to college. 

But when Steve expressed interest in enrolling in a local community college and some apprehension in doing so for fear of what their friends may say, Eddie jumped at the chance to take the heat off of him. And boy, did it. 

When Steve announced to the Party at one of their regular gatherings that he was going to college, he got some mixed reactions. Some of the Party gave uninterested grumbles, some asked if he was serious, and some pointed out that it would probably just be a waste of money since he wasn’t good at school. Robin was the only one, besides Eddie, that congratulated him on moving onto the next step. 

Eddie wasn’t impressed with any of them. No wonder Steve was afraid of their reactions, no one seemed to care and those that did were pointing out how ‘dumb’ he was. So Eddie did what he did best and created a distraction. 

“I’m going to college too. Steve and I enrolled together and if we increase our GPA’s enough, we might be able to go to a state school later. We might even move in with each other and get our own place.”

That caused an uproar. Mike and Max were arguing about why he wanted to go with Steve, Uncle Wayne was cheering and toasting him with his beer, Dustin and Will were congratulating him, Jonathan and Nancy were looking suspiciously between him and Steve, and El and Robin were looking on in confusion. But Steve was beaming at Eddie. He’d never seen smile so broadly, so happily. 

Eddie watched as Steve ignored all of their friends and stalked up to him. “Hey Big Boy, sorry to steal your thunder-”

All thoughts left his mind as Steve grabbed both sides of his face and brought him in for a deep kiss. Holy shit, Eddie felt like he died and went to heaven. If Eddie knew that this was what would get Steve Harrington to smooch him, he would’ve made plans to go to college with him a long time ago. 

Once Steve pulled back for air, Eddie started hearing all of the comments that their friends were making. He pulled back to see a variety of expressions. Some of their friends were supportive like Nancy and Robin who were cheering and wolf-whistling. Others were somewhat offended or disgusted. The most notable voice of the group was Murray who was screeching at Hopper. 

“I fucking knew it! Didn’t I fucking call this, Jim? You said I was out of my mind but I was fucking right!” 

“Murray, shut the hell up,” Hopper hissed at him. 

“Very much like you to doubt the truth, Jim.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” He asked him. 

When Eddie made eye contact with Dustin, the kid leapt to his feet and pointed an accusing finger between him and Steve. 

“What the hell is this?” Dustin yelled in confused outrage. “You’re not even friends!”

“We clearly are, dude. And more,” Steve told him in a tone that said it should be obvious. Dustin just opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water in response. 

Meanwhile, Mike was throwing up behind some bushes muttering nonsensically about Steve ‘doing it again’ and ‘hooking up with his brother too’. He obviously wasn’t over Steve dating Nancy all that time ago. 

Steve just shook his head at all of them and pulled Eddie in again. “I’m really looking forward to going to college with you.”

“I can tell, Big Boy. Kiss me again.” At his request, Steve kissed him again. They ignored the pitiful protests of Hopper, the fake gags of Max and Lucas, and even the supportive cheering of Joyce and Wayne. With Steve’s lips on his and his arms around him, nothing existed in the world but them. 

Sure, they had some talking to do and some shovel talks to hear. But they would get through it all just as they had before. Things were only looking up for them now. ‘86 really was Eddie’s year.

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