#is not different than seeing the word knife on that blocked post

[woniiez]

𝙏𝙄𝙀𝘿 𝙏𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 S.mg

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. song mingi x fem!reader

𝗦𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮/teaser. You always thought of Mingi as nothing more than the spoiled son of a wealthy CEO. He was the kind of guy you’d hear about in the tabloids, always caught in the middle of some scandal, some drunken night out, or some rumored fling with the next “it” girl. His last name alone commanded respect, but it also made him untouchable in your eyes. He was everything you despised about people with too much money—arrogant, entitled, and far too used to getting whatever he wanted.

For you, the Song family was just another name tied to wealth and power. Your own father was a successful businessman, a man who’d built an empire from the ground up. But there was a difference between your family and his, your family had always struggled to maintain what they had, keeping the balance between status and reality. The Songs, on the other hand, seemed to live in a world that operated on a completely different set of rules—one that never knew struggle.

It wasn’t that you hated Mingi, per se. You just couldn’t stand the way he moved through life with no real sense of accountability. His arrogance was like a cloud surrounding him, blocking out everything. Every time he spoke, you could feel the cockiness in his tone, the way he knew his words would hold weight because of who he was. It made you want to roll your eyes.

And yet, in some strange part of you, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you sometimes. It wasnt anything serious, but in those moments, you saw the softness beneath his ego and arrogance the vulnerability he hid behind the confidence. You could see it when you both stood in the same room, but neither of you ever addressed it. Instead, whenever you were forced to interact it would be like a cat fight.

It was easy, then, to pretend he didn’t matter when your families were never really close. You had different friend groups, different circles. And when you had to endure forced family gatherings, he’d always disappear into the background, a silent figure in the corner, looking as uncomfortable as you felt.

But that all changed the day your father came home with a grim look on his face, news that would change your life forever.

Your father sat you down, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. His hands were clenched around the glass of water in front of him, his eyes looked tired, worn down. You’d never seen him like this before. Your father was always in control, always the one with the answers. But today, his voice was weaker than usual as he spoke, and you realized, something was seriously wrong.

“Sweetheart,” he began, his tone soft but firm, “the company… it’s in trouble.”

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t need to hear more. You knew what this meant. Your father’s empire,the business that had been the backbone of your family for years, was facing bankruptcy. But you would never expect the next words that came out of his mouth.

“Your mother and I have spoken to Mr. Song,” he continued. “We’ve come to an agreement.”

“What agreement?”

The words that he forced out sounded like they were being pulled from deep inside your father, something he was going to hate saying, but knew he had no choice. “You’re going to marry Mingi.”

|| 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁. series

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲. arranged marriage!

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. will be updated for every chapter.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩. (Open! Comment below if you wanna be added) @minkioswoo @yunhogrippers @hee-yunie @juicy-red @bee-gremlin @memorabxlia @yizhou-time @hoonsungs @in3pti0n

(hii I’m back. This took me really long to plan and then write, I’m not sure why I decided to make a series since I started writing just this year but I really love reading the series other people write and post and I haven’t read something with this genre (series) on mingi so I just started writing and saw it going somewhere so ig that’s how it came to be. I did take help from a few friends to improve the writing since I don’t have an extensive vocabulary so it’s better to read. Also i just wanna say that this is a 100x better than my first fic cause this took forever to write with making sure the paragraph formation was put together, vocab, and planning out the whole story line to make sure the first chapter would flow well with the others. I really hope you like this!)

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭.𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

Chapter Warnings: spoilers for the movie franchise Star Wars | mentions of the holiday Halloween being celebrated by others and reader enjoying it | Leigh is not my character creation, a shared character who @sweetsweetjellybean originally created & I put a little twist on for this story with her permission.

Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

9.4k words | A/N: I can't begin to express my gratitude for those who've read this story & those that helped me get through writing it, especially my beta extraordinaire @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz for helping me break that pesky wall of self doubt and writer's block always. I have a big long A/N on the epilogue that's posting right after these two chapters with more sap. Thanks for being here, I love you immensely if you've made it this far from the beginning or you're just arriving 💛

In the movies, they like to make those big plot twists drag out for the protagonist to let it really sink in. Or maybe it's more for the viewers. Special effects, camera angles, flashbacks, and poignant music playing - all to make seconds feel much longer than they are. 

In your experience, these plot twists are usually predictable. Of course that guy’s the villain, it was the best friend all along, he’s Luke’s father, et cetera, et cetera. You’re utterly baffled every time by a character’s lack of intuition to see it coming. You’ve booed at writing and acting and told yourself that in real life, it’s so different. 

Sure, surprises happen. Reality does not care about predictability, the fragile state of the human heart, or what’s fair. You get that. People cheat, they make mistakes, they die, they lose - and there isn’t some fade-to-black-happy-ending guarantee when they do. There isn’t a countdown on the bottom of a screen letting you know there’s still time left to make it all back from whatever happened, no assurance that it’ll all work out. 

To call something real - something happening directly to you - a plot twist, seems horribly wrong though. Is there another word for it? Those moments that manage to catch you off guard, that come without warning or a build up. Moments that hit you repeatedly like a knife to a chest in a slasher flick. Or feel like the instant demise of oxygen leaving your lungs as a door opens to space. That sucker-punch from a red glove to the jaw when you think you’ve just won the big fight. 

What do you call that shit?

Robin’s voice is an echo, muffled and distorted as if you’re deep underwater. “Oh my god, hi! Wow, you are so much prettier than Steve mentioned.”

Who is with Steve?

Robin keeps going, putting her entire foot in her mouth, oblivious to the way Steve’s eyes haven’t left yours. You only stop staring yourself, after what feels like hours, to finally take in their intertwined hands as Robin babbles. “Wait, I mean…no, see…alright, he told us you were pretty is what I’m trying to say, but like you’re even prettier…”

Who the hell is with Steve?

Her laugh cuts through the fog and your eyes finally focus on the woman attached to the sound. 

She’s pretty, just like Robin keeps saying over and over again.

Dark, shiny hair, piercing eyes that you can see - even from this distance - are a hazel to almost match his. A hypnotizing smile, curves and a confidence radiating off of her… everything you wish you were but aren’t.  

She laughs again, assuring Robin she gets it (in an infuriatingly humble way), introducing herself as Leigh Kensington.

Nancy perks up at the name when Robin gasps and shouts, “Oh my god! Nance!” Robin looks back, waving her over, “Just like Legally Blonde!” Her voice attempts to lower as she sighs to Leigh, “She loves Reese Witherspoon. It is Vivian Kensington right?” The question louder and directed at Nancy again. Robin doesn’t even take a breath to let her answer though, “Which is hilarious because Steve’s mom’s name is Vivian and you’re dating Steve and you work in legal, right? And-“

Emerald glass shatters around your feet as the bottle of beer falls from your hand, the sharp shards scatter quickly, too broken to ever be put back together. Your legs turn to lead and muscles are no longer in communication with your brain as it finally makes the connection to what you’re seeing and hearing and what that means for you. 

“Shit! Jesus, woman-“ Eddie jumps back from you as the glass skirts across the pavement further. 

Robin finally turns in your direction at the commotion, her brows knit together in worry. Face progressively getting more concerned as it tightens. Her hand lets a bean bag fall to the board with an echoing thump. “Hey, you look-“

Not waiting to hear the end of her sentence, you will your legs to work and spin, taking off in search of literally any place that isn’t there. Your feet pound against the pavement, thuds that vibrate through the rubber of your soles all the way up to your eardrums.

It’s seconds, less than a minute, and it’s as if the entire stadium - hell, your entire world - has spun upside down. Roars to your left, the rumbling of fan’s excitement from the nosebleeds down to the field mingle and harmonize with the rapid beating in your chest. As you keep running with no real destination other than away, your shoulders bump stranger’s, meeting their frowns and scoffs with whispered and rushed apologies. The familiar sting behind your eyes forms, eyelashes growing damp as you suck in a sharp breath. No more running, you need somewhere to hide. 

You’re not going to cry about this. You’re not. How could you be so stupid? How could you let this happen?

The familiar long line all women are accustomed to grabs your attention and you’re off again. Disgruntled and shouted annoyance from everyone in line echoes across the dull gray tile as you rush past them, yelling something about an emergency. You slam a turquoise door, sliding the silver latch with shaking fingers as your forehead rests on the cold material of the stall. You focus on breathing through your nose and out your mouth, this is fine. You’re fine. 

A buzz in your pocket once, twice, and then a third time, and you don’t have to pull your phone out to know they’re texts from him. Despite your better judgment, you look:

It buzzes a fourth time and you lock the phone, debating just chucking it into the toilet. 

The sleeve of your sweatshirt presses to your mouth as you clear your throat. No tears are falling for him, not today, not ever. 

You hate Steve Harrington. 

This was always the plan.

You hate Steve Harrington. 

It’s not like you were in love with the guy. 

Even as you think it, the panic turns to defense inside of yourself - scrounging around for rocks and bricks, reinforcing the wall around your heart you had started to let crumble for a boy you thought was worth it. 

“Girl, what the hell?”

A familiar pair of red converse with writing and doodles covering any space they can, mirror your feet at the base of the stall. You step back, fingers hovering over the latch, ready to tell her it’s fine. Robin isn’t an idiot though, and you’re certain that despite your denial, she’ll take one look at you and make you spill your guts. 

Her feet move closer, the familiar clink of rings meeting metal hits your ears, letting you know she’s pressing her palms to the door. Robin’s voice is softer and for one brief, horrible moment, you think she knows. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

The guilt that’s hovered over you for months like a storm cloud, releases, engulfing you completely, the promise of sunlight no longer on the horizon. Funny how just hours ago, you were thinking about Robin finally knowing, about how she couldn’t be mad, not when you were both so happy. Your gut twists. You’ve lied to your friend for so long, and for what? 

“Just, um, cramps.” The lies keep on building, pushing at the dam you’ve created to keep it all from her. You’re just buying time now, the pressure is going to reach its breaking point soon and you’re worried your friendship with Robin will be washed away when it does. 

At the mention of cramps, the disgruntled voices of those in line turn to understanding - muted solidarity in the form of tampon and painkiller offerings. 

“Robin, why don’t you grab her some food or something? Maybe a ginger ale? I’ve got stuff in my bag and we’ll meet you all out there,” another familiar voice suggests. 

“But I can-“

“That would be really great, Robs,” you interrupt her protest, pushing out the words to sound as eager as you can. 

A pair of white tennis shoes sneak between Robin’s and the stall door - like Nancy is trying to put space between the two of you, shielding her girlfriend from any more of your lies. 

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Robin starts hesitantly, “I saw this gourmet grilled cheese stand thing and-“

“No!” Fingers curling over your mouth at the severity of your interruption, you take a beat before quietly continuing, “Uh, um, actually, just some chips please?”

Your eyes close, willing the memory of your last grilled cheese away. Now is not the time to remember the man you shared it with.

How he looked at you.

How he asked you to open up, how it made you feel when he said he knew you.

How he kissed you.

You hate Steve Harrington.

The initial shock has stopped sizzling and is now a full burn, anger releasing over your frazzled nerves. What else has Steve claimed, what other things could be ruined when all you can do is relate them to him? But as quickly as the anger for him forms, you have to glance down and realize there are three fingers pointing back at yourself.

Why did you give him the opening?

“Roger that, kitten!”

You’re sure she gives a salute to your closed stall door, the red sneakers turning on their heels, her footsteps fading away. The pristine white of Nancy’s twist slightly towards the door. Her voice is quiet as she asks, “Can I come in there?”

Clearing your throat once more, you try to brush her off, “Nancy, really, I’m fi-“

“Bullshit.”

Maybe it’s the way she says the word - that a girl you don’t know all that well can see through your lies, be so sure you’re not fine. Maybe it’s because you desperately wish that you could have opened the door for Robin, to leave the football game and go drown in margaritas and dissect every little thing that led to this moment and let her tell you it was all going to be okay and boys are stupid. Or maybe, it’s the fact that you’ll never get to do that, never allowed to tell Robin, that makes you slide the latch unlocked for Nancy Wheeler.

She slips in quickly, her brown curls that are clipped in a half up-do bounce as she tilts her head quizzically at you. Her arms cross over the embroidered team logo on her sweatshirt, her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She’s got this way about looking at you that, without saying anything, makes you want to tell her everything. An energy radiates off of Nancy, a quiet curiosity bubbling under the surface - or perhaps it’s frustration. You’re being studied, a puzzle she can’t crack. 

Her lips twist as she clearly debates her words before she finally settles on a simple, “You didn’t know?”

Nancy’s question makes your stomach drop, solidifying that she not only knows about you and Steve, but that Leigh is not a new or unknown development. Your mind swirls to their argument on the beach, Nancy finding you in the bathroom - how long has Steve been seeing Leigh? 

“No,” your response comes out in a half laugh, trying to cover up any feelings that attempt to sneak out and reveal too much. The toe of your sneaker scuffs at a knick in the tile as you avoid her eyes. 

She tucks a curl behind her ear and sighs. Her face pinches into that quizzical look again, huffing, “He’s an idiot.”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. You don’t want to dwell on how she connected the dots about you and Steve or how you’ve all been lying to Robin, and you especially don’t want her pity. “Nancy, I really don’t need you to comfort me. I’m fine. Can we just go?”

At the clamp of Nancy’s mouth shutting and the purse of her lips, you regret the icy tone almost immediately. Squeezing your eyes closed, you try again. “I’m sorry, I’m just…” trailing off because where do you even start? You’re mad, hurt, confused, blind-sided, the list could go on and on and you don’t care to reach the end at this moment. You force a smile, changing the subject all together, “Don’t you want to get out there and hear how incredibly little Robin truly knows about sports?”

Nancy’s lips twitch and her arms drop to her sides with a sigh. “Right, well, if you change your mind, I like to think I’m a pretty good listener if you ever want to talk about anything.”

Sometimes, people say things to say things - like they feel as if they’re supposed to say a certain thing when a certain situation calls for it. One look at the kindness in Nancy’s eyes, the small smile on her lips, and you know that is not the case right now. She genuinely, truly means she’s there to listen if you need it. Despite lying to all of them, despite barely knowing her, and the realization has tears forming behind your eyes for an entirely different reason than earlier. 

“Thanks,” the word leaves you quietly. It feels small and inconsequential in return for a gesture you’re not even sure Nancy realizes the weight of. 

That is, until she turns from the door, her hand hovering over the latch as she faces you again. “I should mention though, that one of you is going to have to tell Robin. Sooner rather than later. And I make no promises it won’t be me, but she should hear it from one of you.”  Her tone is adamant with absolutely no room for arguing.  

Your guilt tugs you down harder now, only able to nod in response. 

Nancy’s head bobs once in return, silently agreeing to drop the subject unless you bring it up again, and she leads the way out of the bathroom. 

You hear Robin before you see them. She’s passionately arguing her case about a new musical group that Eddie is scoffing at. Leigh holds her hand up at Eddie’s argument and begins agreeing with Robin, who beams before sticking her tongue out at him. 

“Hey.”

The word freezes you and Nancy clears her throat as she makes her way towards the others. Steve pushes off from the brick wall as you turn to face him. 

You’ve seen many looks in his eyes before now. When they glint with mischief and charm as he flirts, how they soften as you tell a story. When they’ve turned darker as clothes are shed and they get to roam freely over your body, taking you in like an artwork. How they seem to melt like honey all over you when you’ve found them staring and they don’t care to appear ashamed he’s been caught. 

Now, they’re looking at you with far too much pain behind them that doesn’t seem fair. He shouldn’t get to look at you like that, he shouldn’t get to look sad. 

Steve extends his hand, a green can with beads of condensation running down the sides of it in his palm. You ignore how your fingers touch and they way his try to linger as you take the soda from him.

When you don’t say anything, he pulls the sleeves of his maroon sweater over his fingers, the toe of his boot scuffing the pavement as his brows meet in the middle. Several pieces of hair fall over his forehead that’s wrinkled with concern, letting you know he’s run his hands through it too many times to have already broken whatever products he’s put in it. 

“Can we go somewhere and talk for a sec?”

A sec. 

A quick conversation, one he just wants to get over with. To tell you what? Things you’ve already concluded from his surprise today? That he’s with someone. He wants to stay friends. He never felt the way you were starting to feel for him. This was always the plan. 

You’re not interested in anything Steve has to say any more. 

“Game’s about to start, Harrington, maybe later.” Your tone is clipped and short, smile forced. 

His brows pinch closer together as he tilts his head, the harsh line of his jaw flexing. “Really? Cause the way you ran off and that tone could have fooled me.” 

“I’m fine, I don’t know exactly what you’re hearing, but if you have something you’d like to say, by all means Steve, let’s hear it.” 

Steve closes his eyes and a long breath leaves his nose, “Please-“ his plea is cut off by her. 

“Hi, I’m Leigh. It’s so nice to meet you, Steven’s told me so much about you! I hope everything is okay? Everyone was so worried…”

She reaches forward, arms wrapping around you and your stiffening body. 

She’s fucking hugging you. 

“Uh, yeah, you…too. And yes, thanks, I’m fine. This will help.” Untangling yourself from her, you hold up the can and force another smile. “Thanks Steven.”

Leigh beams at him, grabbing his hand and you just can’t help yourself, turning to him again. “Actually, Steven was just letting me know he had something to tell me, what was so important, buddy?”

Eddie coughs as Steve narrows his eyes. Nancy claps her hands, interrupting the tension filled moment, “Alright, ready guys?”

Robin points towards the bleachers. “I’m ready for tip off! To our seats!”

Nancy gives you a look, some sort of attempt at bringing light to the moment in front of her, before she wraps her hand around Robin’s arm and starts to walk away. “It’s kick off, hun.”

Leigh laughs as Robin lets out a long ‘Oh’, Steve and her following. When Steve glances back over his shoulder at you, the full can of soda meets the trash as you turn towards Eddie. Stealing the fresh beer from his hands, the plastic cup tips to your lips, foam slowing you down as you chug. 

“Woah, woah, woah! Easy killer.” Eddie tugs on the cup, pulling it from your mouth. “From my understanding, football games are long and we need to pace ourselves. Stevie is not worth a two in the afternoon black out.”

Your mouth opens to protest and he waves his hand in front of your face, “Ah, ah, ah, you can squeeze my fingers or something whenever you feel like punching him instead.”

“Ed-“ you begin, adamant you need another drink (or twenty) to deal with the day you’re about to have. 

He begins to walk away, waving his hand dismissively, “No really, I’m a secret masochist, I’ll love it.”

Your eyes narrow, hating the way your lips fight a smile that wants to meet his mood. Despite everything, you’re grateful for him and Nancy. Unsure of how to even attempt to show them how much you appreciate them. Especially after Nancy’s reminder that someone was going to have to tell Robin eventually, and these two had been lying for the both of you, keeping your secret when they didn’t need to.  

Up ahead, you hear Leigh laugh, catching her head thrown back and his smile, the squeeze of her fingers on his bicep and you gulp. Your feet plant to the ground harder and you tug on Eddie’s wrist. As the group rounds the corner, heading to their seats, he turns to look at you with his eyebrows raised. 

Eddie must see something in your expression because he mumbles, “Such a fucking idiot,” before he turns to the nearest vendor. “Yeah, hi, I need four very large beers. And I’m talking take your idea of large and triple it.”

This time the smile wins just a little. It’s quick to fall though, when Eddie taps his cup to one he hands you and proclaims, “If you can’t date ‘em, drink about ‘em. To the losers who break our hearts.”

“I-“ ready to tell him that’s not it at all, but his look makes your mouth close. 

You don’t say it out loud, you don’t dare to speak it into existence - Eddie is wrong. You’re not broken hearted, you’re just mad Steve didn’t tell you. You’re mad that clearly they all knew, so why not you? That’s all. 

Your cup taps Eddie’s again and you let the beer wash away the bitter taste in your mouth. 

Screw Steve Harrington. 

As the third cup of cheap beer hits your lips, you risk a glance down the line of your row again. Immediately regretting it like you have every other time. Leigh pushes the loose strand of hair on his forehead back and your eyes return to the field quickly.  You’re sure your skin is turning just as green as the artificial turf, the beer making it a little easier to admit to yourself that you are jealous of the intimate moment. Your gut twinges slightly at the remembrance of only a few short weeks ago when you purposely tried to make him feel what you are now. You have no right to be mad at him. 

The players blur as they move in an intricate dance only they know before anyone else. You’ve always liked sports, but today has been a good reminder as to why. Players and teams practice and memorize skills and plays that work - but there’s no guarantees. They need intuition to know when to use certain moves, to have a good defense and follow their gut and deviate from the plan when they think the other team is pulling a new play. 

It’s all predictable, but not at the same time. Risks and playing with the odds, yet revolving around something incredibly low stakes like a ball in a net or getting past a painted line on fake grass. It’s also realistic. Sure, there are once in a lifetime passes like the Minnesota Miracle or a ball sinking into the net from a distance unfathomable as the final buzzer sounds - but most of the time, it’s just about who’s the best that day. Who ran faster, who slipped through someone else’s mistake. You like that the players can pour themselves into it and it’s still not going to be a win every time, because it’s just not sometimes, and that’s okay. They lose and they get up and they do it all over again. They also know that if they win, it doesn’t mean they’ll keep doing so without hard work and dedication. 

Poetic to your circumstances, really. Steve was just better at the game, and you knew the eventual outcome of your deal with each other. So really, is there anyone to be mad at here other than yourself?

Steve’s laugh echoes down the line and your jaw clenches, because maybe Steve was better at the game, but he certainly wasn’t playing fair. 

Yeah, you can still be mad at him. 

Your eye twitches as Robin and Leigh gush over horror movies they both love, a breath you didn’t know you were holding leaving you when they head off together for a bathroom break. 

His eyes actually burn your cheek from the way they stare down the row in your direction now that he doesn’t have her to focus on. Clear to you now that all you are - all you ever were - is an afterthought, something to pass the time. 

Refusing to look his way, you try not to feel bad about the sigh you hear all the way from five seats away. 

Oh, I’m sorry Steve, are you mildly upset that I don’t want to talk to you after you got me to open up just to blindside me?

You’re not surprised when a dark denim leg presses against your shoulder, his large brown boots landing on the open seat next to you as he climbs over. As he sits, you stand, quickly making your way down the row, occupying Robin’s empty seat on the other side of Nancy. 

Steve stands, hands on his hips as he frowns. “Are you being fucking serious right now?”

Turning your attention back to the field, your knees bounce with restless energy, anticipating his next move. An intricate dance just like the players below you. 

Steve climbs back over, and you can’t help but relish a little in his groan and mumbled comment about being twelve under his breath as you shimmy between Eddie and Nancy, shoving Eddie into your old seat, ignoring his grunted protests. Unable to help yourself, you smirk into your beer, watching out of the corner of your eye as Steve’s jaw clenches. Making him irritated seems only fair under the circumstances. 

You’re ready for his next attempt, sure he’s going to make Nancy swap with him or come up behind you. So when he puts his foot on the chair, you move to the edge of your seat. Steve pounces, tumbling over the back of the row in front of you instead. He’s breathless, cheeks flushed pink as his hands land on the armrests of your spot. His arms cage you in as he leans over the back of the blue metal chairs, ignoring the grumbled complaints of those he bumped out of the way in his pursuit. 

His face fills your vision, freckles that dot the sharp slope of his nose, the light scruff he’s let grow more highlight’s the angle of his jaw and the curve of his cupid’s bow. For a second you forget you’re supposed to be mad when you finally meet his eyes. They steal all of your attention and you hate that you can’t look away. 

You hate him. 

“We’re gonna talk,” he huffs, catching his breath.

“You should hit the gym.” A sad attempt to change the subject, to hurt him a little. Your eyes flit down to his lips in a mistake. You can’t look at his eyes again so you settle on his cheek, trying your best to ignore the endearing pair of freckles. 

“I know you’re mad, and if you just let me explain, I-“

“You’ve had plenty of chances to explain before today Steve!”

The hush of the people around you makes your eyes close, taking a moment for a calming breath. Eddie coughs into his fist on your left and squints at the field, Nancy scratches the denim on her thigh and clears her throat on your right. 

Steve’s eyes narrow, his top lip pulls in, tongue licking over it before he lets out a cold laugh, “Jesus Christ, what was I supposed to do, tell you while we’re fucking? Or how about after you told me about your parents? I-“

The beer in your hand splashes across his face as he coughs and sputters. His fingers wipe over his eyes and you stand, pushing past the gawking crowd and down the stairs. 

Nancy and Eddie were right.

Steve Harrington is a fucking idiot. 

You’d rode the train past your stop twice, both your airpods in and a look about you that dared anyone to even glance at you the wrong way. At the sight of the sun sinking past the horizon, you bite down on your cheek, willing your gut to stop twisting as it attaches a thing you love to him. Steve Harrington was not going to ruin sunsets for you, you draw the line at fucking grilled cheese and football. 

The flick of your entryway lamp illuminates your place, the lyrics “You call me strawberry wine…” drift out of your airpod as you remove it from your ear. You’ve had enough of the universe’s poetic irony today. Tossing the case and your keys into their dish as you turn the lock on your door. 

The sunset is the least of your worries, what didn’t he touch here? Your door, the coffee mugs he proclaimed as his favorites, the counter, the fire escape. You reach for the bottle of wine on top of your fridge as you click on the Instagram notification. 

A caption reading ‘We just hope both teams had fun🏈 ’ below her photos. A selfie first, Robin’s bashful face filling the screen, getting her cheek kissed by Nancy. Another, this one with you - she must have caught it during bags - a shot of Eddie and you mid-laugh. The last one clearly taken after you left, the group in the stands, Steve’s sweater gone, replaced by a dry light blue t-shirt. You click your phone locked again and drink straight out of the bottle as you walk down the dark hallway. Old wood floors creak underneath your feet as you make your way to your room. 

Fuck, your room.

It’s a moment that perhaps you should be crying during, do normal people cry when boys like Steve Harrington blindside them? When a man you start to break down for was spooning you fully clothed at the start of the day and getting a beer tossed in his face by the end, shouldn’t some sort of despair come out in the form of dramatic tears? Nothing leaves your eyes though as you strip the sheets off of your bed. Steve’s not worth any. No guy is. 

Tugging harshly at the last corner of the fitted sheet with a frustrated grunt, you throw all of your bedding out into the hallway and slam the door. The flutter of paper on your desk as the door swings closed catches your eye, your chest tightens at the realization of what you left there. 

The glow from the setting sun outside washes over the photobooth strip as you walk towards it, lit up in a perfect square of tangerine. Your thumb brushes the last photo as you pick it up, wondering how it all went so wrong, so fast.

It rips easier than maybe it should have, diminished to something small and as broken as you can make it before you toss it in the trash in your bathroom. Your eyes linger on the shower curtain and then your shampoo. The wine bottle presses to your lips again as you make a mental note, adding those to your list of things to replace tomorrow as well. 

Your phone pings again, the group chat you’ve just been recently added to: 

Your thumb presses the lock after turning it to silent, the dots from Robin appearing letting you know you don’t want to keep reading all of them talk. Your bare mattress stares at you as you drink more wine. They’re home. Together? In his apartment? In his bed?

It doesn’t matter, good for Steve, hope he’s happy. Good fucking riddance, right? 

Opening your bedroom door, you sigh at the pile of bedding, stepping over it and making your way to your couch. Your protective wall is still standing, your armor dusted off and polished once more. It’s time to pick up the pieces, replace what’s broken, and move on from what others like Eddie may want to tell you is heartbreak, but you would argue is just called life. 

And life is pain, and anyone who tells you differently is selling something, right?

Halloween season used to be one of your favorite times of the year. Parties and opportunities to dress up like someone you’re not. Evenings to be a character in a story far different than the one you were living, with lines already planned for you to say, an ending meticulously thought out. Now, however, the red fabric that clings to your body serves only as a reminder of how your life is the furthest thing from picture perfect. 

Originally, when you found the dress thrifting with Robin, it had felt a little like fate. A tiny and gentle nudge from the universe in the right direction - a sign. Now, you’re sure it was actually some twisted joke. Someone, somewhere out there, is laughing it up as they play with you like a plastic doll. Because even meeting Robin, a thing you were positive was divine intervention, is now wrapped around him. Some evil force at work as they had you meet her, then him, while they cackled and said ‘Ha! Watch this! This one’ll be good.’

Your costume now a cruel oxymoron - a girl who resents love dressed as someone who cherishes it. Pretending to be a girl who loved a boy endlessly, so devoted, she claimed to die the day he supposedly did. A girl who-

“You know,” a finger pokes your cheek, “For a princess, your sour look is not very princessey.”

Robin raises her eyebrows at you, hands on her hips, orange fabric of her skirt swishing around her thighs as she turns. Her sparkly red turtleneck and shine of her black mary jane’s glint in the strobe lights that are making sweeps over the room. 

You try to smile, if only for the fact that Nancy actually got her to wear the costume. Crossing your arms, your eyebrows raise as you respond, “Well, you must be a detective or something, Miss Dinkley.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but fights a smile, fiddling with the magnifying glass in her hands. When you don’t say anything more though, her big blue eyes soften as they glance up at you through fake glasses, and she reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “Seriously, is everything okay? I feel like…” she trails off, shaking her head, at a loss for words it seems - an unusual thing for her. 

The line for the bar shifts forward and you nod, that terrible feeling still sits heavy in your stomach like a bag of rocks - you’re weighed down, to be left at the bottom of your guilt to drown. “I’m fine, Robin,” it slips out when you repeat the words quieter, because maybe if you say it enough times it’ll come true, “I’ll be fine.”

“Aha!” She points a finger in your face, “You just said be fine, implying something is in fact not fine currently and-“

“Robin,” your laugh is unconvincing even to yourself. You rub your temples as you face the bar. “Quit being a meddling kid.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out with a little more bite than you intend and her mouth shuts quickly. It’s silent for only a few seconds though, before her shoulder bumps yours. Her question quiet, “How long were you waiting to use that one?”

Your head rests against her shoulder in a silent ‘I’m sorry’, hers against yours in an equally unspoken ‘You’re forgiven’ as you sigh. “Oh, just since you put on the costume.”

She hums and then lifts her head and faces you. “Last thing, and then I’ll drop it, I swear.”

Facing her, you swallow harshly as she stares at you with eyes that feel like they can see everything. Even more so when she says, “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but you’re important to me. And if there’s something going on…” she trails off before smiling sadly and continuing, “You can tell me, okay? You can open up and I’ll probably talk too much and offer too much advice, but comes from a place of love and-“

You hug her tightly, Robin wraps her arms around you just as fiercely as her sentence breaks off. Your response sticks in your throat, an alarming hope of ‘what if I told her?’ rising in you that you need to squash down quickly. She can’t know, despite Nancy’s warning that she should. If she did find out, you’re not certain she’d be on your side anyways. It was all your idea to lie to her, it’s selfish of you to ask her to comfort you in this situation. 

Especially after you made her practically drag you to the party tonight. Eventually giving into her puppy dog pout (for a girl who easily falls for it, she has a pretty convincing one herself), your guilt all but consuming you at this point. You could put on a smile, a brave face - you could pretend to be someone you’re not, just tonight, and just for her. 

You haven’t seen Steve since the football game, ignoring any sort of notification related to him in your phone. But in the process of trying to remove anything Steve from your life, you’ve removed Robin from it as well - a packaged deal. Each ignored message, each call you watched ring and left unanswered, every dodged lunch, were just more punches to your gut, pieces of your heart ripped off and stepped on. You missed Robin so much, one night out, forced to make small talk with him, was a fair price to pay for the deceit and lies - if it meant you got to see her again. 

When you break away from the hug, it’s your turn for the bar finally. Both of your eyes widen at the sight of the specialty drink menu. ‘Bootini’s’ and things like a cocktail called ‘Vampire Kiss’ making both of you frown at the dollar signs next to each. You’re suddenly grateful for the tequila that’s still filling your stomach with warmth and Eddie’s insistence on taking the shots before leaving Nancy’s. 

“They do have like, a regular bar, right? Cause your girl is on a budget and…” your sentence trails off as Robin smiles at something, someone, over your shoulder. 

“Well, there isn’t much money in revenge.” 

His voice alone is enough to make your shoulders go up, to cause your stomach to twist, but when you spin to see him, you know it’s not the tequila making the room feel fuzzy and your stomach heave.  

He can’t be serious. 

He is not wearing that. He’s not.

“Come up with that all by yourself, did ya?” Robin pats Steve’s shoulder and before he can reply she’s holding up a hand in front of his face, letting out a low whistle. “Hoolly cooww.” She motions for Leigh to spin who blushes and laughs, but obliges as Robin keeps going, “Miss Morticia Addams, if you wanna ditch Dingus here…”

Steve puts his hands on his hips, an edge to his tone you may have found amusing if it wasn’t because of his best friend hitting on his girlfriend. “Seriously, Robin? Are you being serious right now? Where’s Nancy?”

Robin rolls her eyes at him and Leigh laughs more, squeezing his shoulder. “I should be the one saying holy cow! Look at you two! Y/N, where did you find that dress?”

God, you hate that she’s nice. 

Her dress is phenomenal. The low cut, black fabric that hugs her curves and drapes over her flattering in a way it simply wouldn’t be on you. She’s got the perfect gauzy sleeves, the rings and red lips and nails, she’s even got a rose and scissors in her hand. 

You hate that you want to like this girl. 

Your smile is tense, “I, uh-“

The bartender clears her throat and you point, saved by the bell, turning your back on the group. A name of one of the drinks leaves your lips and you’re vaguely aware of Robin saying something about finding the others and to not order her something with whiskey in it because he remembers what happened last time.  

The deep breathing through your nose is a sad attempt for composure when you get a longer chance to take Steve in. Even with the dim bar lighting, the mirror behind the shelf of various liquors gives you a perfect view. You’re not sure whether you want to kiss him or punch him. 

Steve’s dressed in all black, head to toe, the v-cut of the flowy top revealing quite a bit of his dark chest hair and you swallow, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter. You always hated how Buttercup couldn’t tell it was Westley, in fact, you hate it in any movie when a character has a mask over their eyes and suddenly everyone is unable to tell who they’re dancing with, hell who’s kissing them. If anything, the black band of fabric across his face only makes the lips below and the eyes underneath it stand out more  - the curve of his top lip you can still feel under your tongue. The colors of his iris’ so distinctly Steve that you’d recognize anywhere - instead of a sea after a storm, a forest. He really went all out, even his scruff shaved to have a thin mustache, he’s wearing the black cap pushing down his normally styled and perfectly messy hair, and when you glance down, you’re not surprised to find matching pirate boots standing next to you. 

His hand reaches across your chest with a matte black card - that kind that isn’t glossy like a normal one and you quickly hand the bartender crumpled bills instead, earning a sigh from Steve. 

“You’re not seriously wearing that.” Weeks of no contact, and you hate that your voice doesn’t come out strong and confident when that’s all you can think to say. 

Risking a glance his way, you find his eyes are already on you, his jaw clenching before he asks, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Your inhale is sharp - how can he be this cruel? How can he act like that costume means nothing, or like the last few weeks weren’t awful? Weren’t they awful for him? To go from talking almost every day to nothing?

“Are you fucking kidding me Steve? After everything, after what you said at the game, you’re really gonna stick to not admitting what this is?” Gesturing up and down his body as you ask. He truly can’t be this much of an asshole, he can’t-

Steve shrugs. “I’m just a pirate. I don’t know what your problem is.”

Turns out, he can be. 

Before you can even start to formulate something nasty to respond with, a person walking by shouts out, “Oh nice! As you wish, dudes!” Clapping Steve’s shoulder as they waltz past like it’s the 90’s and people still say ‘dudes’ to strangers. 

Dude did just make your point for you at least, though. 

You hold your hands out to the retreating body in a show of ‘see?’ and then childishly flip Steve off. “The case rests, your honor.”

“It was last minute and I didn’t-”

His weak and pathetic attempts at excuses fall on deaf ears as you push your way through the crowd towards the beacon of red neon announcing an exit for this god forsaken bar. 

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, but you don’t think it is - screw Steve Harrington for ruining a fucking bar, for ruining the word dude, for ruining The Princess Bride, for ruining everything. 

Screw everything.

The sting of rejection and the quiet anger that’s been sitting at a simmer since the game rests over an open flame now. Your insides quickly grow to a rapid boil. Apathy and anger rage for the top spot as everything you’ve tried to keep under a lid steams, ready to overflow and burn. 

Ignoring the calls of your name, something still makes it past your seeing red rampage of an exit, connecting the voices, aware of Steve saying something to someone, but you can’t really find it in yourself to care who or what. The cool air hits your body as you push outside, stinging against the damp skin under your eyes. 

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump, his voice quiet, “Y/N-“

“Don’t touch me, Steve,” you warn, taking a step backwards after yanking your shoulder from under his fingers. Your hands balled into fists as you spin to look at him. 

He runs a hand through his now uncovered hair, face fully revealed without a mask too. He watches you closely, his voice gentle, as he raises his hands up, “Look, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You can-“

“You don’t get to check on me anymore, or worry about if I’m okay, you’re not my boyfriend,” your tone scathing. 

Steve’s gaze bounces over your face, his jaw hardens as the vein in his forehead dances. Somehow his voice is soft despite the bite to it, “Yeah, I know. You’ve made that perfectly clear. But I am your friend, and I -“

Your laugh causes him to break off. You gesture inside and then to his outfit. “Friends don’t treat each other this way, Steve.”

He drags his palms down his face, his own disbelieving laugh echoes against the brick of the bar. “Are you kidding me? I have been nothing but your friend! I am sorry about what I said at the game, but really, when was I supposed to tell you? And this costume…I…” He shakes his head, licking his lips as he takes a step closer to you. “Look. I should have told you about Leigh sooner, but if you would have given me five minutes to-“

“Five minutes. A sec.” Your hands move in quotation marks as you recall the conversation he wanted to have at the game too. Your face pinches into an irritated scowl as your hands drop in front of you, palms open. Exasperation laced around your words, “What the fuck is there to explain anymore, Harrington? You’re dating her and you didn’t tell me - the story is over.”

Steve stands just in front of you now, that gravitational pull at silent work again, even weeks apart unable to switch it off. Your bodies move with each other, your voices rise in sync, your chests fall with shared breaths. A different sidewalk, that same feeling of flight or fight, but you know that it’s too late this time. Even turning the heat off isn’t going to fix the damage that’s been done. 

Another laugh huffs out of him, “You’d like that, right? That’s it, case closed. Y/N calls the shots and decides everything.” He shakes his head and points to his chest, towering over you, “This is all such total bullshit. You’re mad at me for something that was your idea, because you didn’t get to decide when it was over.” He shrugs, waves of nonchalance carrying his words through the air to hit you hard like a slap across the face. “You’re a spoiled brat who’s mad because you’ve lost a toy.”

Any maturity you attempted to have towards the situation has evaporated. 

“Me? The spoiled brat? Excuse me, Mr. 50th floor and Daddy’s Credit Card. Take a look in the fucking mirror, Steve!”

Your chests almost touch with each ragged breath as his hands run through his hair and he pulls. A frustrated groan at your words, while the volume at which his come out becomes louder, “I’ve got plenty of fucking mirrors, why don’t you take your own advice! You’re a hypocrite. You can’t even admit it to yourself, can you? Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you didn’t ask me for this arrangement. Tell me that the words ‘no feelings’ and ‘just sex’ didn’t leave your mouth. Tell me what you have to be upset with me for then!”

Your chin quivers at his words, the truth of them daring the tears behind your eyes to fall. 

Steve gulps, his fingers dance on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. His eyes shine with his own held back tears, like he regrets how he said it but not that he did. His voice quiets as he pleads, “Tell me.”

He doesn’t get to look at you like that. He doesn’t get to say those things to you and then look at you like that.

What happened last time Steve Harrington asked you to open up and tell him something?

Tequila lingers on your tongue, aiding in the formation of words that are meant to sting - you want to hurt him like he’s hurting you. You bite down on your jaw, the anger and pain ready to fall down your cheeks as you remove yourself from him. 

Your hands press against his chest, “You’re bullshit. This is bullshit.” A small shove as you practically growl the next words, “I’m a hypocrite? How about the fucking bathroom at that party where you told me I couldn’t have it both ways, but then you’re dating someone while getting all jealous?” Another shove, this time his fingers brush your wrists, a halfhearted attempt to get you to stop. “Begging me to open up to you? For fucking what, Steve? This costume? You…” you close your eyes and let your hands drop, letting the words do all the work now, “You’re a liar. You’re an asshole.”

Steve’s head ducks down, his fingers brushing his nose before he rolls his shoulders back. When his mouth opens, you step backwards, shaking your head. 

“Lose my number, Steve.”

His eyes roam over your face, waiting, searching. He only nods once and takes his own step back. 

“As you wish.”

Your breath sucks in sharply, a sob you’ve been holding in since the moment he said the words ‘Sorry we’re late’ threatens to finally crack out of your chest. You wish you had another beer to toss in his face for using those words at this moment. 

It’s not said with the kind of reverence of the movie. There isn’t a narrator to let you know what he actually means by the phrase. But you know. It’s not an ‘I love you’, not like this. No, it’s merely a promise to do as you asked. 

All you can do is turn away from him, hold your chin up and roll your shoulders back as you walk down the sidewalk.

There is no hopeful glance back over your shoulder, no loud smacks against the pavement made by his feet chasing after you like in the movies. 

Like you said, your story is over. 

'One New Voicemail':

“Hey, just thought I’d try ya, I know you’ve been busy. Um, well, Steve and I are heading to the Rocky Horror show tonight and I know he’d love someone to aid in his teasing of how totally into it I get. Right Steve?” 

[muffled sounds of movement and whispers]

“Hm…yeah, I uh-” 

[a clear smack to his shoulder]

“It feels like forever since I’ve seen you or we’ve done something just the three of us! Anyways, call me back, text me…beep me if you wanna reach me…ugh, sorry that was so lame, okay bye. Love you!”

If you were surviving before them, you could survive without them. It seemed simple enough. 

You’ve never stayed in one place for long, friendships like Robin, Eddie, and Nancy had been left before. Friendships that were never given a chance to really even start before you were gone. The promise of any relationships packed into boxes and off to the next city. Addresses and phone numbers and notes of ‘Keep in touch’ left to collect dust until forgotten about completely. 

So, it should have been easy to continue to ignore their messages. To ignore the holes in your chest, to ignore the want to call or text one of them when something happened as mundane as a stranger calling another stranger ‘toots’ in your mailroom. If Steve touched things in your life and now caused them to wilt in your memories and sights, the other three made things bloom. They breathed life into you again. 

You weren’t going to let Steve Harrington take something like that away from you. 

Which is why you found yourself curled into your father’s sweater for courage, walking down the sidewalk towards the cemetery with a promise to meet them there.

Orange and brown leaves crinkle underfoot before they blow across the pavement. The moon is full, the sky that deep indigo it seems to only get this time of year. Both a perfect backdrop for the bare trees that dance in the wind and the blocks lined with homes with glowing porch lights. Orange buckets overflowing with candy rush past in a blur, laughter and squeals of children echoing down the street past you. 

As you make it to the black iron fence, your eyes roam the blankets and patrons occupying them in the park next to the cemetery. Apple and brown sugar meet your nose and you take special note of the mini donut booth attached to the scent. Which is where you see Eddie, shoving two in his mouth and rolling his eyes at Nancy. He spots you and grins around the sugary dough, nudging the shoulder to his right and nodding in your direction. 

Robin spins and you see her shoulders visibly fall and a grin spread across her face. She says something to the other two who head in the direction of the blankets and she races through the crowd. Muffled oofs and sorry’s meet your ears as she dodges and spins around people balancing concessions.

You reach the front of the line, a sandwich board proudly displaying the original ‘The Evil Dead’ poster sits next to an older woman on a stool at the gate. She smiles at you, holding a flashlight towards the ground. “Ticket, dear?”

“Rose! Rose, she's my girl!” Robin shouts, breathless as she makes it to the gate. 

“Oh!” The elderly woman smiles wider, ushering you through, “Have fun ladies! Tell Edward I’m still waiting for my hot chocolate.”

“Yes ma’am.” Robin salutes with two fingers and then grabs you in a hug. “Jesus Christ I missed you!” Her voice is loud and she shrinks in your arms as the lights of the booths go out and the crowd surrounding you turns and shushes. Her voice shifts to a whisper, “Whoops. Come on, we’re towards the back and we still have all the commercials to chat without too many nasty looks.”

Robin holds your arm in a death grip, a silent promise to not let you out of her sights and clutches so long as she can help it again it seems. When you reach the blanket, Nancy and Eddie’s conversation stops abruptly and their smiles seem painted on as they look up at you. 

It’s one of those moments, those silences that are too stilted and too abrupt, letting you know exactly what was being discussed just seconds before. You wave a little, ears burning since you have no doubt about who the subject of their interrupted conversation was. 

“Eddie,” Robin begins, huffing as she falls to their cushy spot with extra blankets, trays of drinks, and several bags of sweets littered around them, “Rose is fiending.”

“Oh shit!” Ducking and wincing when someone turns around and glares at him. He grabs one of the cups with a big R on top and squeezes your shoulder as he stands, “Be right back! Glad you came!”

Sitting as Robin pats his now empty spot next to her. “Can I get you anything? We have cocoa and cider, donuts, popcorn, candy corn, caramel corn, basically any kind of corn and-“

“Robin,” Nancy hums, almost singing, as she sips from a cup. She squeezes her fingers. “You have to actually take a breath to let her respond.” 

“I’ll never say no to a cider or donut,” you point to the items with a laugh. 

Robin grabs them and hands it to you. She whacks pillows and squishes around, rolling and frowning and readjusting. 

Eventually, she sighs, content, and grabs Nancy’s hand and then a donut from your bag and knocks it against one in your fingers before taking a bite. 

“Happy?” Nancy asks as Robin hums around the sugar she licks off of her lips. 

“You know it. Only thing that would make tonight better is…” she trails off with a grin.

You take her words as a warning to look around, wondering where he is and mentally preparing yourself. 

Nothing could have prepared you though. 

It happens quickly and yet not at the same time. 

Your head turns to see them walking hand in hand. A swing of fingers as they walk past twinkling lights, the breeze blowing her hair perfectly.  

Nancy says “Shit,” under her breath as she sits up. When you turn to look at her with a frown, she opens her mouth but no words come out. 

The movie starts.

Eddie slows down as he makes his way back towards the blanket, looking at Nancy then over his shoulder then back at you. 

Robin waves her arm too much and you turn to look again, trying to figure out what you’re not getting.

Steve’s eyes meet yours and he stops, tripping over his own shoe.

Leigh waves and something sparkles on her hand in the moonlight.

Robin beams and squeezes your wrist. “Oh my gosh I can’t believe they actually came! I figured with the whole engagement thing they wouldn’t. Now it’s all officially perfect. All my favorite people together on my favorite day.”

Plot twist: Steve Harrington is engaged. 

WCIL taglist:

@loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii

[seths-rogens]

for the writing prompts i GOTTA ask for #34 "why are you so cold" eeeeeeeee i'm twirling my hair already. pairing of your choice <3 and if 34 isn't inspiring, please go for which ever one you hoped someone would request!

okay this is longer than the last two prompts and Wayyyy spicier than anything I've ever posted (even if it is still fairly tame i think) but here u go bestie! hope u liiiike <3

word count: 2.9k | rating: E

cw: blood drinking

——————

34. Why are you so cold?

“What’re you cooking?”

Steve startles in his place by the stove, whipping round and slamming back up against the oven. Boiling water sloshes over the rim of the pan, soaking into the back of his t-shirt. 

He barely feels it, too focused on the figure standing in the doorway to the hall. They’re drenched in shadow, features unrecognisable. He’d had the lights low to offset the migraine that was ever so slowly wearing off, but also because it felt wrong to turn the lights on at two in the morning. 

He regrets that now.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Steve chokes out, wishing more than anything that he had his nail bat within reach. He glances off to the side, judging the distance between himself and the knife block. If only he could—

“Now, now, Stevie. That’s no way to treat an old friend.” 

Steve inhales sharply, his eyes adjusting to the dark.

Long hair, lank and tangled. A once white shirt shredded and stained with blood so dark it seemed black. Torn jeans and muddied white Reeboks. Steve can't see past the tears in the clothes, but he knows it probably isn't pretty. 

A dead man takes a step forward out of the shadows.

“Eddie.”

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” Eddie grins, baring his teeth. Even in the dark they gleam bright white.

“You’re dead.”

"I am?!" Eddie exclaims, starting to frantically pat himself down. Steve winces  - that's gotta hurt. He pats at his chest, rests a hand over his heart and breathes deep. "God, you had me worried for a sec there, Stevie boy."

"This isn't real." 

"Then what, pray tell, do you think it is?" 

"A-a dream. Or a nightmare. Or... or Vecna's back and I'm his next goddamn victim. Fucking figures right?" Steve rambles on, borderline hysterical. 

Eddie takes another couple steps closer. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and ducks his head as if he's blushing. "Aw, Stevie, you dream about me?"

"No. They're nightmares." He takes a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's just you dying over and over. Bleeding out in my arms, fucking screaming at me to help you." He scoffs before mumbling under his breath. "God, what am I doing? Talking to a freaking mirage."

Steve turns around and leans against the counter. He stares into the boiling water. The pasta's probably overcooked by now. 

"You're not real." Steve mutters to himself in reassurance,

A hard line of pressure  bares down against  the expanse of his back. Steve's breath catches in his throat. "Are you sure, Sweetheart?"

Too solid, all too real, hands gently grasp his hips, before sliding round his waist. A gentle tug and he's pulled into a one-sided embrace. "Don't I feel real?"

Steve doesn't know whether to melt into the feeling or fight it off. 

It's been strange, the last few months. Since they fought Vecna and closed the Upside Down off. Everyone's been different.

Steve included. 

He tries hard to be the rock the group needs, but it weighs on him. He can take everyone else's pain, but who will take his? 

But now, wrapped in strong arms, Steve feels his resolve waning. It would be so easy to fall apart.

He pushes the thoughts back. Eddie is dead. This thing behind him is a trick. 

Steve spins, pressing his palms flat against Not-Eddie's chest and pushing. Quickly, he shifts to the side, leaning over to the switch on the wall and turning on the under cabinet lights. 

He jumps when he turns back round, Not-Eddie much too close for comfort. "Afraid of the dark, are we, pretty boy?"

In the light, Steve takes a closer look. The skin beneath the tears in Eddie's clothes is smooth and unmarred where it should be mangled. The tips of his fingers are near black, like he'd dipped them in ink, the nails sharp. Steve glances at Eddie's grin, notices the extra length of each of his canines, the way they're sharp like fngs. 

Finally, he meets Eddie's eyes. Sees the way they're tinged red. Gasps.

"Like what you see?" Not-Eddie smiles, those fangs of his pressing divots into his bottom lip.

Steve stares, only a little terrified. "You're not Eddie."

Eddie frowns.  "It's a little bit different, I know, but that's what happens when you're the last meal of a few hundred alternate dimension demon bats." 

"No... no, I--" Steve shakes his head. "You can't be him. You can't be." 

"And why's that?"

Steve feels a sting in his eyes. His heart starts to pound. "You were dead. Your heart stopped." He tries to back away further, the counter at his back halting his futile efforts. "We left you there... Oh god... Eddie, we--"

He slides down to the floor, tucking his knees tight to his chest as his breath comes in short pants. "I'm so fucking sorry. I left you there. I... I'm sorry."

With a grace unseen of the Eddie of before,he slinks down to a crouch and speaks with a harsh clarity unlike his previous joviality. "My heart stopped, Harrington. I bled out. That isn't on you."

"But I--"

"No. It's on Vecna. You killed him, yeah?"

Steve nods. "Yeah."

"Then you did all you could. Like, avenged me or whatever." 

Steve runs a hand down his face, surprised to find it coming away wet. "I'm still sorry."

"Steve... I--" Eddie reaches out, cupping Steve's cheek in the palm of his hand. Steve flinches at the sensation of skin touching skin. "What? What's wrong?"

"Why are you so cold?" 

Eddie's skin is cold. Icy like the time Tommy pressed his hand to the back of Steve's neck after taking an ice bath. Cold like the snow Robin shoved down the back of his coat last winter. Cold like the waters of Lovers Lake, and the frigid air of the Upside Down.

It's inhuman. 

Eddie sighs. "So uh, I don't think I'm human anymore." He grimaces awkwardly. "Surprise?"

"What do you mean you're not human?" Steve grits out through clenched teeth. 

Eddie falls backwards onto his butt, sitting criss-cross applesauce across the room. The pot is bubbling over on the stove. Steve ignores it. 

"Well. I should be dead, right? We've established that." He fiddles with a dirty strand of hair. "But all my bites are healed. And I can feel my teeth in my head. They ache and they're sharper than they were before. And..." He pauses, trailing off.

"Spit it out, Munson."

"And I can hear your heart beating. I can smell your blood."

Steve presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "So you're saying you're what exactly?"

"I think I'm a vampire."

"A vampire. Of course you are. Why wouldn't you be?"

"Look, I know we weren't that close, but I figured Henderson would freak out if I showed up at his house and the others' parents would ask too many questions."

"So I'm the last resort?"

"No, Steve. I came here because I trust you." He shrugs. "I thought we might've been friends if I'd made it out, y'know? I thought you might be willing to help."

Steve's shoulders slump as the weight of those words sets in. He nods. "What do you need?"

He smiles, canines glinting. "I'm fucking starving."

Steve laughs softly. "Well I've got enough overcooked macaroni if that works?"

Eddie smiles back. "Sounds good."

Steve pushes himself to his feet and offers Eddie a hand up, which he takes gratefully if the extravagant bow he offers means anything. He grabs two bowls and a couple forks, and dishes out the overdone monstrosity. 

With a sheepish grin, Steve passes Eddie a bowl and sits next to him at the breakfast bar. 

Steve digs in as Eddie takes his first mouthful. 

There's quiet for a moment, then, "Hmm?"

"What?" Steve asks through a mouthful. 

"I didn't consider this part."

"What part?" 

"I'm a vampire, Steve."

"So?" He pokes at the pasta with his fork.

"Vampires don't tend to eat human food. Humans are the food." 

Steve splutters, choking on a bite of pasta. He drops his fork, appetite gone. 

"You don't have any raw meat by any chance?"

Steve grimaces. "Haven't really been able to stomach it since," He gestures to his bat bites, still healing. "Y'know." Eddie nods sympathetically. "I'd offer to drive to the butchers but since it's," He checks his watch. "Three-twenty-seven AM, I think they'll be closed. Sorry man." 

Eddie slumps in his seat, running a hand through his mud streaked hair. "It's fine. I'm sure I'll last until tomorrow. Do you mind if I take a shower though?"

"Sure."

He leads Eddie up to his parent's bathroom. "Take as long as you like. I'll grab you a spare change of clothes."

Eddie nods with a smile and ducks into the bathroom. Steve waits until he hears the water running before rushing into his bedroom to pull out the comfiest clothes he owns. A soft pair of heather grey sweatpants and an old, worn in Hawkins Swim team t-shirt. 

He folds them up and leaves them on the bathroom counter, keeping his eyes downcast. 

He heads back downstairs, scrapes what's left of their food into the trash and starts to pace.

Eddie is alive and in his bathroom. *Eddie is alive and in his bathroom.* 

He should be freaking out, and sure, some part of him is, but another part of him is overcome with a sort of overjoyed awe. Maybe he came back a little different, but at least he isn't dead.

It's at that moment that a thought crosses Steve's mind. Eddie is alive again, and he needs to do anything he can to keep him that way.

Steve settles on his parents long untouched bed and waits, raring himself to make an offer he never thought he would.

When the water shuts off Steve swears he feels his heart stop for a moment. 

Eddie smiles when he opens the bathroom door, steam billowing out in a cloud after him. He's trying the ends of his hair with one of Steve's mom's 'hotel quality towels', wearing the borrowed pair of sweats and Steve’s old shirt. "That water pressure is insane, man. I don't think the trailer park has ever had anything like that."

"Ha. Yeah. So I was thinking--" Steve starts, holding himself tense.

Eddie laughs softly. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Funny." Steve rolls his eyes.  "What I was gonna say was, you could always, uh, feed on me. If you want. If it's not like weird or whatever."

Eddie watches him with a stunned expression. Eyes wide and jaw slack.

Steve keeps going. "Just because you said you were hungry, and if you haven't eaten since you got out of the Upside Down - which we will be talking about by the way - then you probably really need to eat, right?" 

"Right." Eddie nods, walking over to the opposite side of the bed to where Steve sits. "And you're just offering yourself up like a jock on a platter?" He shakes his head, sitting next to Steve, up against the headboard. "The kings are supposed to feast on the peasants, Stevie. Not the other way around."

"C'mon, man. You said you were starving."

"I could really hurt you, Steve. It's not worth that." 

Eddie ducks his head and Steve grabs his wrist, squeezing a little."You trust me, right? So I can trust you back. I trust that you'll know when to stop. I trust that you won't hurt me."

"It's not that simple."

"You don't know that. You won't know if you don't try." 

"You're reckless, you know that?" Steve just grins. Eddie hesitates. "Only if you're sure."

"I'm sure." Steve tilts his neck to the side. Edde starts to lean in, shuffling awkwardly to try and find a better angle. Steve takes pity.  "Here, maybe this is easier." He swings a leg over Eddie's thighs and drops into his lap. 

Eddie gasps as his weight settles. Their eyes meet and everything narrows. Nothing else matters, only  two men in an empty mansion in Loch Nora. 

Tentatively, Steve loops his wrists together behind Eddie's neck, the wet strands of his hair brushing his skin. "Is this better?"

Eddie nods, awestruck. “Yeah. That’s good.”

Steve nods. “Okay. Cool.”

A pause. They watch one another.

“You can bite me now.”

“Right.”

Eddie leans in, dragging his nose along the column of Steve’s neck, inhaling that sweet, tart smell. 

Steve tries to repress a shiver.

Eddie bares his fangs, prepares to bite. 

“Wait!” Steve stops him, ducking away from Eddie’s mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Is it gonna hurt?” “I don’t know.” 

“Right. Of course. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “Continue.”

He closes his eyes, bares his neck once more.

It’s like a prick, at first, when Eddie’s fangs pierce his skin. A little uncomfortable but not unbearable.

But then, all encompassing heat. Spreading down, down from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. 

Steve gasps, eyes flying open as he twitches in Eddie’s lap, clenching his hands into fists. The heat pools in Steve’s gut as he feels his sweatpants grow just that bit tighter. He rolls his hips without thinking, lets out a guttural moan as his eyes roll back into his head. Feels his toes curl in his socks.

Eddie pulls away. “Steve?”

“Don’t stop. Why did you stop?” His breath comes in short pants.

Eddie grimaced. “You seem a little, uh… compromised? I don’t wanna continue if you’re gonna hate me after. Don’t think I could live with myself.” 

Steve meets Eddie’s eyes, sees the dark, wide circles of his pupils. His own probably just as large. “I don’t want you to stop. I didn’t know it would feel like this.” 

“Does it feel… does it feel good?”

“So fucking good. I want you to keep going.”

“You’re sure?”

Steve rolls his eyes, tangling a hand in the hair at the back of Eddie’s head and dragging him into a kiss, wet and messy with blood and spit. Eddie gasps against Steve’s lips.

When they pull back, his eyes grow ever darker as they take in the blood smeared around Steve’s mouth. 

Steve leans into Eddie’s ear. Whispers. “Bite me again.”

With a moan, Eddie grips Steve at the roots of his hair, tugs his head to the side. Steve lets out an involuntary whimper. 

“Fuck…” Steve sighs, eyes falling closed as Eddie’s teeth pierce his skin for the second time. 

He feels his cock straining against its confines. He starts to roll his hips again, short, frantic jerks as he clenches and unclenches his hand in Eddie’s hair. “Eddie… fuck, Eddie, please.”

Eddie pulls off, licks over the punctures, presses his bloody lips to Steve’s adams apple. “What do you need, baby?”

Steve just whimpers, continues to grind in Eddie’s lap.

Eddie grasps Steve’s hips, stilling him. “Answer me, Sweetheart.”

Steve whines. “Fuck. Need you. Need more.”

“Good, that’s good, baby. You’re doing so well for me.” Eddie’s hands slide down to Steve’s ass, where he grabs both cheeks in a firm unrelenting grip. He squeezes, pulls, forces Steve to start a slow grind. “God, I wish I could rip you outta these, Stevie.” 

Steve freezes, shudders, sits back in Eddie’s hands to meet his eye. Swimming black meets swimming black. 

“Do it.”

“You’re serious?” 

Steve nods. “I have other sweatpants.” 

Eddie smirks. He digs his shoe nails into the fabric of Steve’s sweats, pulls until a loud ripping noise cuts through the quiet of the room. Eddie tears until he can pull the scraps away from Steve’s legs and drops them to the floor.

“Holy fuck.” Steve dives in for another kiss, grinding his barely covered cock against Eddie’s in his borrowed sweatpants as he shoves his tongue in Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie gropes his ass again, little fingers dipping down until they brush the now bare skin of Steve’s thighs below the hem of his briefs. He controls the rhythm and Steve can do nothing but let him.

“Can you come like this?” Eddie asks breathily. Steve just whines an affirmation. “Good. I want you to.” Eddie smirks, but the stuttering of his hips betrays how much he’s affected. 

They become desperate, pace frantic and uncoordinated. They’re not kissing anymore, just breathing into one another’s mouths. Steve clutches tight to the back of Eddie’s shirt as Eddie shifts one hand from Steve’s ass and presses it hard to the bulge in his pants. “Come for me, baby.”

The coil in Steve’s stomach unwinds and he tenses as he falls over the edge, muscles pulling tight like a bowstring. He moans unintelligibly, eyes clenching shut as the roll of his hips turns to involuntary little jerks. 

Everything fades to black.

When he comes to, he’s wrapped up in strong arms.

“Back with me?” Eddie asks kindly, a warm smile upon his - now clean - lips.

“How long was I out?” Steve sits up stiffly, stretching and rubbing his eyes.

“Just a little while. I got you some water.” 

Steve grabs the water bottle on the bedside table, chugging down half before recapping it. “So we should do that again sometime.”

Eddie laughs.  “You read my mind.” Steve turns to him, they share a smile.

Steve smirks. “Thought that was your job, Mr Vampire.”

[hotmessmaxpress]

Firstly, your writing is a gift from god.

Secondly, I am begging you for a Vale POV of Marc in the yellow shorts (OF au)!

I mean, firstly, he is a possessive mf and seeing that definitely gave him a heart attack, but secondly he couldn't really have known that Marc was a big fan, right?

Like yeah, Marc knew him/his tattoo, but like he's Valentino Rossi, if Marc is into motorbikes, he knows Vale, it doesn't mean he likes him. And he might have only showed up at that GP because of the situation or because he's a MotorGP fan. But the SHORTS?! Like damn, that boy loves you.

This is, dare I say, not good. But! It is words! It's words that I put together! It's something!

Thank you for sending in a prompt and for your support 🤍 I'm really hoping to get back in a better writing headspace soon! Until then, I hope this is okay.

Rosquez OnlyFans au, interlude: Vale's perspective of the Tiny Shorts

Vale is frustrated, nearly vibrating with pent-up energy despite winning the race over the weekend. He’s desperate for something to take the edge off, but nothing feels quite like what he had with Marc. 

He tries running, hoping to tire himself out enough to make his mind stop racing. When that doesn’t work he goes cycling, but he can’t stand to be on Tavullia roads without an engine between his legs. He goes to the ranch and putters around, lubing bike chains and checking oil and air filters. He can only check the tire pressure of so many tires though, before he feels like he’s going insane and he goes home.  

He finds Marc’s DM as he’s oscillating between laying on the couch and feeling restless, walking around the house and feeling restless, and walking around outside and feeling restless. 

It’s long: a wall of angry, betrayed text that feels like a knife to the gut. Vale knew that Marc wouldn’t exactly be happy about being blocked, especially considering the amount of financial support Vale provided, but he hadn’t expected it to take an emotional toll on the young creator. 

You didn’t have to kick me out of the paddock. 

Vale doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but with a sinking feeling he texts Uccio. He knows that Uccio is just being protective of him, but it’s frustrating to think that Marc could have been in the paddock, so close to seeing Vale, but apparently removed. 

Vale and Uccio argue and Vale follows Marc on Instagram. He tells himself it’s out of spite, but then he spends the next several hours looking through Marc’s substantial number of posts. Marc’s instagram is much different than his OnlyFans, for obvious reasons. He still posts a lot of pictures of his collection of bikes (something that Vale’s cock takes interest in), but he also includes photos of his home and his dogs. It’s surprisingly domestic, and Vale finds himself unexpectedly invested in Marc’s home life. 

The next post from Marc is… hot. He’s working out, sweaty and shirtless. Vale watches it more than once, taking in all the lines of Marc’s body. He’s seen them all before; he’s seen his abs flex as he rides a cock. He’s seen his strong thighs bounce him up and down. It feels like there’s no part of Marc that Vale hasn’t seen, but there’s something about seeing Marc like this that really does it for Vale. 

The posts continue, with Marc in various states of undress and various levels of sweatiness. Vale turns on post notifications and becomes bolder about liking Marc’s posts, not at all mindful of how quickly he likes them. He jerks off to some of the posts, feeling a little guilty about it, but he can’t help it. He’s caught in a limbo between not wanting to piss Uccio off (and possibly damage his reputation if someone were to notice his social media activity) and wanting to claim Marc’s attention for himself once again. 

One day Marc posts a workout video. It’s similar to the others, but Vale realizes immediately that the shorts Marc is wearing are his shade of neon yellow. They’re tiny, so tiny that Vale is surprised Instagram hasn’t flagged it as porn. 

Vale likes it immediately, and then as his mind spirals he opens his own merch website. The shorts are nowhere to be found, which means that Marc hasn’t bought them recently. 

Which means he must have already had them. 

The bikes, the recognition of the tattoo… Vale selfishly wonders how big of a fan Marc really is. He wonders if Marc found him sexy before they began their OnlyFans repartee. When did Marc buy those shorts? What has he worn them for?

Vale is hard, painfully. He pulls his own cock out unceremoniously, watching the video on loop while he fantasizes. He pictures Marc shirtless, with only the tiny shorts on, rubbing his cock through them. The shorts are tight enough that Vale knows he’d be able to see every vein, every detail of Marcs’ hard cock. He imagines Marc coming in them, soaking the front of them. Vale wants to press his face to the front of them and lick. He wants to taste Marc’s cum through the fabric of the merch that bears his name like a brand on the ass of them. 

He takes a shower when he’s done jerking off to Marc’s video and the embarrassment has passed. On impulse, he sends a message: I’m sorry you were removed from the paddock. He has no idea if Marc will want to speak to him, but it’s clear to Vale that he’s not going to be able to stay away. There’s just something about Marc that draws Vale to him. There’s no way Vale can go the rest of his life without Marc. He has to see this through.

[echoing--stars]

Hello worm. For your prompts, maybe Wind trying to show off to Wars how he’s just as much a hero as him despite his age? It can be fluffy or angsty, you decide. Also bonus points if Wind discovers Wars enlisted early and starts calling him a hypocrite

This was an amazing idea! I wish I could write more for it, but I hit a wall of fatigue (thanks flu shot and covid booster cries) so this is all I got. Maybe I'll come back to it!

(If you read this and would like to request a short snippet, see this post!)

Wind was sick of being treated like a kid. He didn't get as many watches as everyone else and never the second watch. They'd stopped early when he'd complained about the walk — even though Legend had been complaining for an hour. He was stuck with guarding civilians while the others battled the monsters. And now Warriors was getting his arm stitched up by Sky after taking a hit meant for Wind. He bided his time, however. Wind was mad but he wasn’t mean. He waited until Sky was finished with the stitches and bandaged Warriors’ arm. And then waited until they’d moved away from the battlefield and made camp. Warriors stood and stretched, then grabbed his waterskin, saying he was going to the nearby stream. Wind grabbed his own waterskin and followed. Warriors didn’t acknowledge his presence, but Wind knew better than to think he hadn’t been noticed. He wasn’t exactly trying to be sneaky, but he’d long since learned to not startle the captain, especially after a battle. When Wind kneeled down next to Warriors to fill his water skin, Warriors turned to look at him. “How are you doing, Sailor?” Wind pulled his waterskin out and slammed the lid back on. He rocked back on his heels before standing up. “How am I doing? I should be asking you that.” Warriors sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. He stood up and stepped away from the water before turning to face Wind. “I’m fine. The cut was small and Sky took care of it.” “You took a hit meant for me.” Warriors froze for a moment, and his eyes met Wind’s. Like this, their height difference seemed greater than normal. “It—” “I’m not a kid, captain! I can fight my own fights! You don’t need to get injured to protect me.” “Sail—Link. That sword was heading for your back while you were engaged with another enemy. It was coming from your left, so you wouldn’t have been able to block it with your shield. I took a calculated risk to save your life.” Wind opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He’d known the enemy was there, had sensed the attack. But he hadn’t realized how dire it almost was. As much as he wanted to believe that he could have escaped the attack, he trusted Warriors’ battle experience to know what he was doing. “Okay fine. What about not letting me take second watch? And me taking fewer watches than everyone else?” Warriors tried to respond, but Wind cut him off. “Or putting me on guard duty while everyone else fought the monsters in Twilight’s world a few weeks ago?” Wind could feel the heat in his cheeks as he ranted. “I am just as much of a hero as anyone else. And I’m sick of being treated otherwise!” Wind took a deep breath. He spoke his final words soft and cold as a steel knife. “And one last thing. I overheard something the other day. That you lied about your age to enlist early. You’re such a hypocrite.” Warriors sighed and his shoulders fell slightly. It was as if he’d aged years just in the past few moments. Wind didn’t feel bad about it in the slightest. Warriors gestured to a fallen log a bit further away from the river. “Sit with me?” Wind huffed, but stomped his way over to the log and sat as far away from Warriors as he comfortably could.

“Link, I know you’re a hero. You’re amazing. Maybe even the best of all of us.” Warriors looked up to the sky where, the stars were just starting to come out. Wind scoffed. Fancy words with no substance behind them. “I’m serious!” Warriors said. “You’re the youngest of us, but your skill in battle rivals even the best fighters among us. You defeated Ganon and saved your world—” “Before you even joined the army,” Wind muttered and crossed his arms. “Exactly.” Warriors rubbed a hand over his eyes. “But that’s exactly why you should get to be a kid sometimes.” That made Wind pause. Warriors took the chance to carry on. “We all grew up too fast. Nearly all of us began our journeys before we reached adulthood. Some of us never stopped once we started, or at least not for many years.” Warriors expression was grim. It reminded Wind of the old man. “If I can give you — and all the younger heroes, for that matter — a chance to be a kid sometimes, I will take that chance. Over and over again.”

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Stormy Weather

kai parker x reader

summary: the rule is always the same: thirty minutes after it storms, kai can spend some time outside. that's when most people are still in their homes and it's too muddy for the children to go out yet. though this time, his father bends the rule, just a little, and lets his son out one wet, chilly afternoon. it just so happens that something bad is about to go down at that very same time, and luckily, kai is there to protect her.

tags: abusive parents, self-harm, one line about suicidal thoughts, blood, aspd / sociopathy, minor blood tasting, non-graphic violence, threats of r4pe / noncon (nothing actually happens), threats of violence, high school bullies, kai gets protective, kai loves his sister, a few cuss words, stabbing, hurt / comfort, happy-ish ending

word count: 3.3k

a/n: i made a post about this, but so many of my works lately have had dark themes; i'm going through it right now... i'm trying to write more fluffy things because i think we could all use some fluff, so if anyone has ideas, let me know! ♥

It had rained the night before. Dew is left on the grass and there is a chilliness in the October air. That afternoon, the children don’t want to put their jackets on to go outside, nor does their mother feel like cleaning them up after an hour in the yard. They opt to stay inside instead, occupied by books and puzzles. 

That’s why Kai is allowed to take a walk down to the end of the road. Usually, he could only go out moments after the storm, when it is cold, and wet, and the children are still too scared from the thunder. And while Kai loves storms, he doesn’t so much like being in them. Today is different. His parents are letting him out nearly a whole fraction of a day later. He is grateful for that, even if that choice is only a result of his siblings’ resistance. 

“Thirty minutes,” his father says, “and stay on the property.”

Kai nods. The property is huge, so that’s no problem. It accounts for a huge field, on which the house is built, a stone perimeter, a long driveway, and an edging of forest. Kai spends his time, thirty minutes per each post-storm, on every inch of the property. His favorite place, of course, being the woods. Oaks and firs ten times taller than himself create a canopy from the sun. Part of him feels like if the sun can’t see him, neither can his father. It is dark in the trees. Sticks crack as animals dodge back and forth. The woods terrify his siblings; they never go past the pine lining. 

Kai, on the other hand, goes as deep into it as he can. The extent of the property ends just enough to block out the house. As soon as the wet, darkened trunks cover the sight of the white, country-esque looking house, he sits. His butt will be moist from the ground in a couple of seconds, but he’s come to care less about that. 

A sigh escapes the boy’s lips as he stares into the great expanse before him. He’d love to explore more of it, but the fear of an active locator spell stops him. His father would never go into the woods after him, though he’d have a beating ready the moment he showed up back home. And trust him, Kai’s considered running away. He’s debated the pros and cons of trying. But when your family is a coven of witches, and the only world you know is your own property, Kai fears luck would not be on his side. 

With another sigh and a need to take his mind off things, he pulls out a switchblade. It’s funny - he had found the knife in these very woods, kicking up dirt as a pastime. His father would never let him keep it if he knew, so he buries it in a hole in the tree against which he’s leaning. Kai admires the blade; the silver that looks back at him when he wipes off the dirt. Several times he’s considered using it as an escape from his life of hell. But if the blade is too dull or proves too small, it would be a pointless, reckless attempt. 

He cuts his finger instead. Just a pin-prick on the edge of his pointer. Blood oozes and he watches it drip, down, down, down, until he touches it with his other finger. The knife is the furthest thing from clean, but Kai doesn’t care. The relief it brings is too important to him. It’s a distraction from the pain in his mind, even if he feels a jolt in his spine with every cut. 

Every cut, he thinks, bringing his attention to where to draw next. His mother would notice his wrist; his father would see his stomach. The last time, he picked his shoulder, but when his beating consisted of the man pulling him by the collar, it risked exposure. Kai scans his body, eyes eventually landing on his belt. Neither parent ever saw below it, thank god for that. 

Kai stands up, hilt of the knife in between his teeth. He unbuckles his belt quietly, acknowledging the metal clashes are the only sound echoing throughout the words. It makes him feel dirty, though he had never done that out here. Kai shakes his head to clear his mind. A drop of water drips from his head, down his cheek. He hadn’t felt it fall from the tree. It feels like a tear, though that’s an unfamiliar feeling; Kai was fourteen the last time he remembers crying. He’s eighteen now, and feels most of his emotions like a weight in his chest. They’re there, mostly in the form of nauseating pain, but he doesn’t feel anything sharply enough to cry about it. A stark contrast to his little brother, Caleb, who cries over anything and everything. 

The boy bites his cheek. He lowers his jeans just enough to find a good spot. Right below his briefs, maybe, where the skin’s not so thin he’ll bleed to death. As tempting as the thought is, a slow death isn’t the way he wants to go out, especially if he’s not sure it would kill him. Kai takes a deep breath, then readies the knife against his thigh. He starts with a small cut, but graduates at the sight of blood being released. A longer, deeper one is made directly under it. It hurts, but as the weight in his chest eases with every drop on his skin surface, he can’t stop. Kai makes a third, and then instinctively reaches out to catch a bit from his second cut before it can stain his jeans. It runs down his leg, threatening the denim that his mother would surely see in her weekly rotation of washes - the woman demands to do his. Whether that’s his father’s order or of her own accord, Kai doesn’t know. 

He stares at the blood, both that on his finger and what gathers on his thigh. He can feel the pain - a sharp stinging now, a dull throbbing later - and lets it in in place of his emotions. The heaviness in his chest is replaced by the harsh sensation, and as gruesome as it is, it’s something he much prefers. 

Kai stands still as the blood dries in the place he left it. In another minutes’ time, he’ll scrape it off, then pick his nails with his teeth. Again, dirty. Gruesome. He’s stopped caring. He’s all alone out here anyway. 

When the time comes, he does just that. Dried blood collects under his nails, and then the dark red substance meets his tongue. His taste buds are overwhelmed with the rich, metallic taste. He’s not sure if he hates it or loves it. 

At age twelve, his historical studies consisted of lore. Aunt Maggie would visit him and Jo every Tuesday and Thursday to teach them about it. The two were homeschooled, like every other child in the coven, and taught by their elders. One particular week, Aunt Maggie hit the topic of vampires. His father told her to touch it lightly. Kai overhead the reasoning, though he didn’t understand it. “The boy is a siphon,” he reminded, “we don’t need to repeat old mistakes.” 

But whatever old mistake it was, Kai wasn’t bothered. He was used to being called a mistake, and figured that’s what his father meant. Kai then listened to his Aunt tell the lore, and the stories, but that’s all he ever thought they were. Now, at eighteen, Kai still isn’t sure what he thinks. Maybe vampires are real; maybe they aren’t. Maybe they are monsters. Maybe they’re just people burdened by the pain in their lives; people who express that pain differently, and are seen as abominations for it. 

Kai wonders if that makes him one. For dealing with his pain by cutting it out of his skin. For licking his own blood when it drips from his wounds.

What would he know? He’s never seen one. 

After two more minutes, Kai finally pulls his pants back up. He starts to fumble with the belt, knife back in his mouth, when he suddenly stops. A wind blew past his ear, carrying the faint cry of a girl. He listens for a moment, but upon hearing nothing new, goes back to his previous feat. Kai turns to the tree to hide his knife. The wicked laughter of a group is heard in the distance. The shuffling of leaves. Another feminine whine. 

The pieces puzzle themselves in Kai’s mind, and he arms himself with his knife once more. To check the sound out, at the very least. To scare them off his property, maybe, or just to scare them. 

Kai treads carefully through the woods, knowing where to step to conceal his identity. A skill his new friends don’t seem to have. He approaches until he comes across a circle of boys. His age, but bulkier - better fed - and slightly taller. The way they stand looks as if they’re trying to cower over someone - a sight Kai doesn’t appreciate, having been the one forced into submission over a hundred times in his life. One rattles off an insult. Another kicks his leg out. 

“Please stop,” the broken voice of a girl he can’t see enters his ears. She’s in the circle, he supposes. Kai watches a little longer, trying to decide how the situation makes him feel. 

A boy barks in laughter at her plea. He mocks it, then bends down to grab her. With brute strength, he lifts her by her shirt collar and pins her to the tree behind her. Her hair gathers around her, bouncing from the force. Tears sting her eyes, yet she’s brave enough to not let them fall. 

“You’re not going anywhere until we’re done with you,” he says, head pointed down to her chest.

Suddenly, the girl reminds him of Jo. Beautiful, brave. Bound to end up in a situation like this, because sometimes she’s just a little too trusting. Despite their forbearance from each other’s company, Kai loves his sister. He misses her visits, when she used to sneak into his room to play when they were children. He misses her touches, those she’d steal in defiance of their father’s direct order. It wasn’t until recent years that they drifted apart. The babies took her attention away, and she slowly morphed into a daddy’s girl. Doing right by him became her mission, which meant leaving Kai behind to rot in his room alone. 

Still, Kai loves her. As best he can, at least, as he feels each emotion he ever knew bury itself inside his soul. An overwhelming darkness conceals them, blackens them, and replaces them with nothing but the dense weight. 

Another cry escapes her lips, freeing Kai from the entrancement of his memories. The boy’s hand creeps up her sides, under her shirt. Soft skin is exposed as he bunches up a handful of the material. He pulls, and his friends egg him on. They’re just as vile as he is. 

Kai gives away his position with a crack of a stick. Six pairs of eyes whip around to face him. He leans against a tree, teasing the knife between his fingers. There’s a silent standoff for a moment, until one of them speaks. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Me? This is my property. I think the better question is, ‘what are you doing here’?”

“Run along home then. This is none of your business.”

Kai cocks his head. “Who’s she?”

“Also none of your business.”

The girl locks her eyes on Kai. She stares, hoping he’ll meet her gaze. Finally, he does, and he can confirm she’s not there on her own accord. 

“Y’know, my father has a lot of rage. He won’t like knowing that little high school boys are taking advantage of young girls on his property.”

“What’s he gonna do? Shoot us?”

“Maybe.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Another of them challenges. “He’s not here. And we could easily take you.”

Kai steps forward. As he does, the supposed leader tightens his hold on the girl. Fear flashes in her eyes like a fire. Kai isn’t threatened, though. He keeps his eye on her, while moving to stand in between the group. They all watch him cautiously. 

“Let her go.”

“No.”

“Let her go, or I’ll fucking stab you in the neck,” he replies calmly. 

The boy wavers, but doesn’t let up. “You wouldn’t.”

Kai flicks the knife in his hand again, then points it at each of the boys. “Get the fuck out of here. I’m not asking again.”

Another minute. Suddenly, one of them bolts. He races through the forest at seemingly mach speed, barreling into trees and weeds as he goes. The one that was closest to him then follows. 

“Hey!” The boy in charge yells. “You pussies!” He turns back to Kai. “You’re full of shit, I’m not afraid of you.”

Kai doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to - the glare in his eyes does it for him. 

“Y’know, Thomas, maybe we should go,” one of the remaining four mutters. “She isn’t worth it.”

“We’ve had this planned for weeks and you assholes are bailing because of some skinny kid with a three inch knife.”

The girl’s face pales at his words. Kai’s jaw tenses.

How easily Jo could be a target just for being beautiful. 

The boys shuffle their feet, but none of them move. Thomas, the one within spitting distance of Kai, stares back at him. A smirk curls on the edge of his lips. It’s at that moment that Kai decides he’s had enough. One graceful stride lands him close enough to jab the knife into his neck. The boy had no time to react, but does so now by releasing the girl and grabbing at the wound. His friends shriek in terror. They jump around uselessly, having no clue what to do. Kai steps back and grabs the girl before she falls. To his surprise, she lets him. Her face buries in his chest as she tries to find her own strength. 

The boy, rather stupidly, pulls out the handle and throws it at Kai’s feet. “You’re fucking crazy!” He screams, as if Kai didn’t already know that. He takes one more look at the emotionless boy, then the girl gathered in his arms, and runs off into the woods. His friends scamper after him, not wanting the same fate. In thirty seconds’ time, the woods are silent again. 

“Are you okay?” He whispers, still holding her. It’s a weird feeling to him, to have a girl in his arms. Kai isn’t sure how long he’s supposed to hold her, or comfort her. He doesn’t really know what to say, either. 

She remains quiet for a few heartbeats longer, but then nods. Her head moves against his chest until she finally looks up at him. “Thank you.”

He only looks at her. 

“Are you okay?” She asks back. 

This confuses him. “What?”

“You stabbed him.”

“Oh.” Kai shrugs. “I’m fine.”

She straightens her posture, maybe to read him better. “Not a fan of bullies, I take it? Do you have your own at school?”

“I’m homeschooled.”

“Oh.” She looks down into the fallen leaves. Her eyes trace the forest floor, and then she takes a few steps back to grab something lying in them. His knife. She hands it to him. “Well, thank you anyway.”

Kai nods. Then, for whatever reason, he gives her a small truth. “My father.”

“What?”

“Not a fan of bullies.”

“Your father? The one you mentioned, with the rage… he bullies you?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” 

She takes another step towards him. “It’s not fine.”

“There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I understand,” she says, reaching up to brush her thumb against his cheek. Kai flinches. “I’m sorry.” Her hand recoils, but he catches it.

“Don’t apologize. I’m just not used to it.”

She then takes a seat on the forest floor, patting the spot next to her. “Sit with me?”

Kai figures he still has ten minutes before he must go home, so he does. It’s quiet for a little while. They listen to the wind in the trees and feel the chill at their backs. Both enjoy the others’ company, neither fortunate enough to have it often. 

But the girl then breaks the silence by tucking her knees into her chest. The leaves crinkle around them, and Kai’s attention shoots to her movement. 

“I can’t believe he said he was planning that for weeks,” she mutters.

“Do you know him?”

“I know of him. He’s the quarterback at my school. I’m the girl that eats alone. Why would he target me?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” Kai blurts out. She looks at him, and he suddenly wonders if that comment warrants an apology after what she’s been through. “Sorry. I meant that as, like… Not in a creepy way.” Okay, that was worse. “You remind me of my sister,” he finally says. 

“I do?”

He nods. “She’s beautiful, too, and too kind for her own good.”

“She sounds sweet. Are you guys close?”

“Not anymore.”

“Oh.” 

“My family’s kind of fucked up.”

“That makes two of us.”

Kai looks at her. It’s nice to hear that someone relates. Of course, not nice for her, but there is a comfort in knowing he’s not completely alone. 

“If those boys ever give you shit again, come back here. I live around that field at the edge of the trees. You look like Jo. My father will protect you if he sees you need help.”

She nods. “What about you? Where will you be?”

“In my room. Unless you catch me on a day where I’m allowed out.”

“Which is?”

“Thirty minutes after every storm. Because my mother doesn’t want to clean the mud off my baby brother’s clothes.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Like I said.” He then turns to her. “But I’m serious. If they come after you, go to the field.”

“Because I look like Jo,” she confirms. 

Kai nods. 

“Thank you.” She takes a deep breath. “I should be heading back soon. My parents care less about me, but still don’t want me out late.”

“A statement to which I relate too much.”

“Will I see you again maybe? Perhaps after the next storm?”

“You’d want to see me again?” He’s for sure she’d be terrified of him after earlier events. 

“It’s not everyday a cute boy stabs my bully with a knife.” She smiles. 

“Okay.” She’s different. Not at all like he’d expect her to be, if he were to only judge her by her smile and bright, kind eyes. Of course, most people are able to hide their pain behind a well-designed mask. Only a small fraction become neck-stabbing sociopaths. 

Despite that, though, she isn’t afraid of him. If anything, she seems more curious. 

“Okay,” she beams. “Bye…”

“Kai.”

“Y/N,” she offers in return.

“Y/N,” he tastes her name on his tongue. Her eyes light up at the sound of her name reverberating off his lips.

She smiles, and then out of nowhere, leans forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, again, Kai. You don’t know how thankful I am that you were here.” And with that, she’s off. 

Kai stares after her in a stunned silence. Her lips still tingle on his cheek. His skin feels hot to the touch, warming him up despite the passing breeze. 

It takes a couple heartbeats for him to come back to his senses. By that time, she’s lost to the forest, gone, and only in his memories. He hikes back to his tree to put his knife back in its spot, then makes his way home. He’ll see her again, hopefully. Next storm, she’ll be there. She’ll become more than just a memory, but maybe a comfort as well. A friend. 

[belltari]

Happy (early) Halloween!!

I finished editing this today but I couldn't wait until Halloween to post it so here it is, an EXTREMELY self indulgent ghoap sex-in-the-closet Halloween fic.

If you're under 18, you shouldn't be reading it.

warnings & tags: plot with porn (a halloween party, its what the boys deserve), terrible dad jokes, flirty banter, established relationship (I'm imagining that it's still new, like only Price knows and Gaz is putting the pieces together), some dom!ghost tones (nothing too dominant), pleasure dom!Simon (that man just wants Johnny to feel good), public sex (it's a blowjob in a closet), face rutting, cum eating, someone gets called a "good boy" a couple of times

it's about 3 thousand-ish words

This was my first time writing something this explicit, so please keep in mind that I have a lot to learn. The other writers in the cod fandom are excellent teachers and inspire me a great deal.

If you just want to read the porn, start reading after the ' -- '

Anyways, I hope you enjoy and have a great rest of your spooky season!

Approaching the mess hall, Johnny chuckles at the purple and orange 'Happy Halloween!' banner hanging above the doorway, it's very clearly homemade with streaky paint and clumpy glitter making up the words and what looks like an old, tattered tarp as the banner. He wonders if it was a team-building exercise for the recruits, as this whole party was a mixer for them to get to know each other better.

Paper party streamers act as a curtain on the wide doorframe, blocking Johnny's view of the interior of the mess hall, he can feel the bass of the music thumping in his chest and hear cheerful laughter from the other side. Pushing the curtain aside, he steps through to see the short corridor has been decorated. Plastic bats with light-up red eyes hang on strings from the ceiling, jack-o'-lantern string lights flickering along the walls accompanied with signs with sayings like "enter if you dare" and "turn back" written on them. When he gets to the end, he surveys the now-repurposed dining hall, more streamers, banners, and cheap plastic decorations decorate the room. The lights have been turned off and the windows covered, floodlights and spotlights covered with coloured transparent pieces of plastic are the only lights illuminating the room creating a dramatic scene.

Several tables are being used as pumpkin carving stations, one of the recruits is ripping the guts out and complaining about the smell, and another is stabbing their pumpkin with a hunting knife. Gaz is there, dressed as a vampire with a long cape and plastic fangs in his mouth, to supervise. He's laughing with them telling them they need to work on their techniques a bit more when he catches Soap's eye giving him a smile and a quick wave, he returns the gesture and continues scanning the room.

He turns to where the music is coming from, tables cleared from the corner creating a makeshift dancefloor. Recruits dressed as ghouls, goblins, witches, and all sorts of different costumes grind and dance together to the music, drinks in hand, and smiles on their faces. 'No better team bonding than getting absolutely shit-faced together' Soap thinks to himself with a grin across his face. He notices Price standing with a group of other captains and lieutenants, he's got a glass of whiskey in one hand and is using the other to help animate whatever story he's got everyone laughing at. Price is dressed in a tri-corn hat with a tall feather sticking out of the side and a knee-length red coat with gold adornments on the sleeves and lapels. 'Gotta be Captain Morgan' Soap smiles, shaking his head. Price notices him, giving Soap a smile and a quick nod which Soap returns.

Finally, he spots the man he was looking for, his broad back facing away from him. Soap approaches walking up to grab a drink next to Ghost. He has his balaclava rolled up to his nose, a half-eaten cupcake in one hand, and a plate of other confections in the other. "Thought you'd put a little more effort in L.T.." Soap says as twists open the bottle of beer he's picked up and turns to smile at Ghost.

Ghost is wearing his normal skull balaclava and skeletal gloves, but his 'costume' has the addition of a hoodie with the skeletal system of a torso and arms.

"Didn’t put much effort in 'cause my heart just wasn’t in it." Ghost response points to his chest where his heart would be.

 Soap snorts. "Bet you've been waiting to say that all night."

"Gotta 'nother one for ya."

"Go on then."

"Why are skeletons so calm?" He pauses. "Because nothing gets under their skin."

"Ugh please no more." Soap says in a playful tone shaking his head.

"What are you supposed to be then?" Ghost asks, pointing to Soap while eating the rest of his cupcake.

"Thought it was obvious? The fluffy tail and ears, the roguishly good looks?" Soap pauses, looking at Ghost with a wolfish grin. "C'mon Ghost, I thought you were good at this?"

Ghost eyes rake over Soap’s form. Starting at his furry-eared headband, then down to his bright red collar around his neck. He pauses there for a second, Soap can see his Adam’s apple bob under his balaclava, before continuing further down to his distressed dress shirt that he’s left open at the top exposing his chest, he’s half tucked in his shirt to his jeans that he often wears on ops, the ones that hug his hips and thighs just right. And between his legs, a dark furry tail hangs ending just above his knees.

"Oh, I see you're one of those yappy little lap dogs."

"Oh aye. I'm very territorial and I never shut up. Watch your ankles L.T., I always go for those." Soap says stepping closer to Ghost. He looks down at the collar he's wearing, lifting his eyes back up, over Johnny's chin, to his smirking lips then setting on his bright blue eyes.

"Hmm" Ghost hums. "And is he a good boy too?" He said as he bites into a ghost-shaped sugar cookie.

"Depends on who's giving the orders, sir." Soap looks up through his lashes at Ghost, taking a swig of his drink.

Ghost looks around to make sure no one is paying any mind to them. When he's sure no one is, he hooks a finger under the collar pulling Soap even closer. He then leans into Soap's ear and whispers "Be a good boy then and go to the utility closet, lock the door, and don't open it until you hear three knocks of a beating heart." He doesn't wait for Johnny to respond before pulling away and walking over to Price, where Gaz has now joined him at the other end of the room.

Soap takes a deep breath, downing the rest of his drink, and grabs another one before joining the rest of 141.

When he approaches, Gaz is in the middle of telling Price about the pumpkin carving recruits and their 'interesting' techniques. But Soap's not listening, he's watching Ghost eat another cookie, licking the crumbs from the corner of his lip, laughing at something Price had said.

Soap's face gets hot, he downs a couple mouthfuls of his beer to try and cool down. "You good, Soap?" Gaz asks smiling at him.

"Aye, but this beer isn't. Has to be the weakest thing I've ever drank."

"It's probably a lot better than at piss tequila you drink." Ghost jokes.

"Think I'll go find ya some then LT. Maybe I can get you to come round to it." Soap winks at Ghost and turns to leave, only to be stopped by another captain holding a camera. "Group shot for the books, boys?" She asks. Soap looks over his shoulder at Price as he answers "Alright, come on then," waving the boys closer.

Price throws his arms over Gaz and Ghost's shoulders, Ghost rolls his balaclava back down over his jaw and Soap takes his place on the end next to him, snaking an arm around his back placing his hand on Ghost's waist.

"Say 'Happy Halloween!" The captain says as she readies to take the picture. Soap throws up the peace sign and the boys say the words the captain wanted when the camera flashes.

She comes over to show them the picture, they all look happy, even Ghost looks like he's smiling under his mask. They deserve a break like this after their last op. They move apart and Soap tells them he is going to find that drink for Ghost and excuses himself.

"Ma'am, could I get a copy of that picture?" Soap taps the captain with the camera on her shoulder on his way out. "Of course, hun! I'll make sure to give Price a few extra copies once I get them printed."

"Cheers!" Soap says raising his bottle in response "Enjoy the rest of your night."

"You too!" She says, giving a short wave to Soap.

'Oh, I will.' Soap thinks as he makes his way out of the mess hall and into the corridor leading to the utility closet Ghost wants him to wait in. He walks as fast as he can without looking suspicious, a tightness growing in his stomach and a heart wanting to break free of his ribs in excited anticipation of what's to come.

Rounding a corner, he meets a group of recruits.

"Leaving the party already Sarg?"

"Don't cha worry I'll be back, I'm only out looking for a little something stronger to drink." Soap responds with a wink as he walks backward down the hall coming to a corner. "You lads better get back there, don't want the captain to catch you out here." He turns the corner, hearing the recruits retreating footsteps as he approaches the utility closet door.

When he's standing in front of the door, he grips the handle, checking both ends of the hallway to make sure he won't be seen entering. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he opens the door and steps inside, reaching to his left to flick on the light and shutting the door behind him locking himself in.

--

He waits for what feels like ages. He finished the last of his drink a while ago and is now pacing around the small room.

"The things I do for this man." Soap signs. "This is ridiculous, what am I even doing in here?"

He checks his watch, 20 minutes have passed.

He's been waiting in a closet for Ghosts for twenty minutes.

"Oh, I'm so making you pay for this LT." He leans against the wall, readjusting his headband to distract him from the tightness in his pants that has been there for the last 15 minutes.

'Fuck it' he thinks, 'I'm not waiting any longer.' He reaches to palm himself through his jeans, moaning at the feeling of finally being touched. His briefs are wet with precum and creating a slick surface that his cock twitches against earning another sign from him. He reaches into his shirt to grab his nipple when a knock from the door startles him.

Knock-knock

Knock-knock

Knock-knock

Soap takes two long strides to the door, unlocking it and flinging it open. Ghost pushes his way in, closing and locking the door behind him.

"Jesus Simon, I thought you were going to make me wait here all night," Johnny says moving to stand chest to chest with Simon. He places one hand on Simon's waist and moves his other to take off Simon's mask.

Simon grabs his wrist and moves away. "Thought you were being a good boy? Think you need to learn some patience."

"My patience ran out 15 minutes ago." Johnny groans, freeing his wrist and ripping Simon’s mask off, throwing it somewhere on the floor behind him. His hair is an absolute mess, sticking up in all directions and a smirk is plaster across his face, he's looking down at Johnny hungerly.

Johnny smashes his lips onto Simon's in a desperate sloppy kiss, tongue and saliva pushing into Simon's mouth. A moan escapes Johnny. Simon reaches one of his hands up to the back of Johnny's head, caressing his nape first then gripping the back of his mohawk to deepen the kiss.

Johnny pulls away breathing hard when Simon's other hand touches his cock through his jeans. "Fuuuuck" he moans into Simon's neck, placing several open-mouthed kisses there and bringing his hands to wrap around Simon's broad back grabbing fist fulls of his hoodie.

Johnny ruts against Simon's hand earning a chuckle from Simon, "Desperation looks good on you, Johnny."

"Can think of a couple other things that might look even better."

Simon pulls away from Johnny, placing a hand on his chest pushing him away, "Stay." He says as looks down at him with half-lidded eyes. His gaze wanders down Johnny's face to the collar he wears on his neck, then to his chest that heaves in excitement, shirt half unbuttoned showing off his well-defined pecs that are covered in dark hair. Simon takes his hand and brushes Johnny's shirt where he knows his nipple sits underneath, drawing a shutter out of him. He smiles, looking up to Johnny's eyes that are already staring back at him. Simon looks down to see Johnny has clenched his fists that hang by his sides and sees that he's straining against his jeans, a wet spot has formed where the head of his cock has been twitching, wishing to be free from the confines of his jeans.

"You gonna me show how good you are?" He asks Johnny.

"Simon, please I-"

Simon walks Johnny backward until his back meets the shelf full of cleaning supplies behind them, shaking when they collide with it. Simon goes to plant a kiss on Johnny's mouth when Johnny tries to meet him halfway, "Ah-ah, I said stay" he scolds as he grabs Johnny's jaw with a firm grip. He places a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth, then on the scar on his chin, and then one more on the pulse on his neck, he can feel it racing under his lips.

He suddenly pulls away and crouches down to settle on his knees in front of Johnny. Simon reaches for Johnny's belt unbuckling it, he unbuttons his jeans pulling them and his boxer briefs halfway down his thighs in one fluid motion, letting Johnny's cock spring free in front of his face.

A string of precum hangs from the half-covered head of his cock, creating a string that connects to the inside of his briefs. It twitches and another pearl forms under Simon's gaze. The pearl drops to the floor when Simon's gloved hand connects with his shaft, slowly moving his foreskin back to reveal his glistening, swollen head.

"Ahh, fuck" Johnny sighs, throwing his head back to smack against the self with a bang, knocking over a couple of the bottles.

"Careful, Johnny. Need to stay quiet, don't want anyone finding us do ya?" Simon teases as he starts lazily stroking his cock. He gets a hiss from Johnny, as he slides his gloved hand down his shaft to the base, creating a rough sensation for Johnny.

Simon's hand slides back up to his leaking head, thumb going to Johnny's frenulum drawing agonizingly slow circles on it. Simon looks up at Johnny to see his face contorted in pleasure with the overstimulation he's causing and that his headband has been knocked out of place. He brings his other hand to grip Johnny's balls, pulling them down gently. Johnny's chest heaves in when he releases a heavy breath, his hand shooting out to grip the edge of the shelf he's leaning on, his other hand hovering over Simon's head, hesitating to grip his hair. He looks down to Simon for permission, to which Simon responds by releasing his hand from Johnny's cock and catching it on his tongue.

"Yer gonna kill me." He breathes, getting a open-mouthed grin out of Simon. He wraps his lips around him before sucking on his head, flicking his tongue on the underside.

"Simon." Johnny warns.

Simon sinks his whole cock into his mouth, nose pushing into Johnny's pubic bone, a burning feeling in the back of his throat. He sticks his tongue out to caress his balls while he starts messaging them with his hand. Drool drops into his palm helping ease the rough feeling of his glove for Johnny. He slides Johnny's cock out of his mouth to take a deep breath.

"Think yer enjoying this more than me." Johnny chuckles at Simon looking down at the saliva dripping from his wet lips. Simon only looks up at him in response before pulling his cock back into his mouth, sucking and bobbing up and down his cock with a relentless pace this time. He never breaks eye contact with Johnny as he starts playing with his balls and moving his forefinger to brush against his taint. This makes Johnny buck forward deep into Simon's mouth and grip his own pec, wanting to place pressure on his nipple. Simon pulls Johnny's hand away, ripping his shirt open making a couple of the buttons fly free. He finds Johnny's nipple and pinches. Hard.

"I'm- I’m gunna-!" Johnny pants out. Bucking forward once again, pushing his cock farther down Simon’s throat, making his eyes water.

Simon can feel him twitching and pulsing inside his throat. He pulls his head away quickly just as Johnny starts to come, he tastes it briefly on his tongue before releasing his cock with a pop and feels Johnny's cum land on his face. One release squirts up his cheek stopping on his cheekbone and another across the bridge of his nose just missing his eye. More oozes out as Johnny grips the sides of Simon’s head to rut through his orgasm, rubbing and grinding his cock against Simon's face, his balls slapping against his jaw with a wet sticky sound. Simon closes one of his eyes as Johnny’s cock gets dangerously close to it, even more cum is leaking out of the tip as Johnny overstimulates himself. When he stops, he's breathing hard and hunching over, shaking from his orgasm, his cock jumps against the bridge of Simon’s nose. The cum pooled there drips down his face and over his chin, dripping onto his neck and disappearing under his shirt.

"Good boy." Simon says as he pats Johnny's thigh.

"Lemme be even better than,” he says, as he unsteadily crouches down in front of Simon, “and help clean you up." He sticks his tongue out, licking the cum off Simon’s neck, trailing up to his chin, then up and over his cheek. After he's collected it all in his mouth he kisses Simon, holding eye contact when he pushes it into his mouth with his tongue, smiling when he accepts it. Johnny pulls away, looking very impressed with himself, a string of saliva connects them and Simon swallows what he’s given him. Wiping his mouth with the back of this hand, Simon stands them both up, pulling Johnny's pants up, tucking him back in his briefs, and making his best attempt to fix his shirt.

Johnny places an arm around Simon's neck pulling him into a sweet tender kiss. "Let's get you sorted then." He smiles into Simon's lips, he reaches underneath his hoodie to brush along Simon’s abdomen, running his fingers through his happy trail, flattening his hand to slide into the top of his cargo pants.

Simon pulls away slightly, reaching up to fix Johnny’s fluffy-eared headband. "You know I don't need that."

"I know" he pauses "but I want too," Johnny whispers into his cheek. "I'll come to your room later. This time you'll have to wait for me." He smirks looking up at him.

"I'll be waiting." Simon kisses Johnny one last time, then steps out of his reach, picking up his discarded mask from the floor and slipping it over his head back into place. He grabs Soap's long-forgotten empty bottle and says, "Wait five minutes before leaving, yeah?"

"I know, Ghost. This isn't my first time." He smiles.

"And remember that piss tequila you were supposed to be findin'."

"You won't be callin' it that by the end of the night."

"Mmm, I doubt that." Ghost opens the door quietly to listen for anyone outside, when he hears nothing, he looks back at Soap over his shoulder and nods a 'see you' then steps out closing the door behind him.

Soap takes in a deep breath. 'Think I gotta start wearing a collar more often.' He thinks. 'Maybe I should start wearing the throat mic again?'

[fragm3nts]

Who’s Fronting? (irys.cc) (probably inaccurate)

Pronouns.cc (WIP)

Simply Plural: ScarsAndFragments (definitely inaccurate)

Bluesky (less active here than twt)

Twitter (not as active here)

Priv Twitter (18+ SFW but more venty posts)

Moved here from @scars-and-fragments ; consider that blog outdated.

Most likely to use the blog (though others might)

🌹 — Rosie (she/her)

🦇 — Crystal (she/they)

🐶 — Scout (pup/pups)

🗡️ — Dave (he/him)

🌊 — Summer/Rose (she/her)

🎭 — Gangle (she/her)

🐺 — Vi (he/him)

All image descriptions are found in the alt text. Alt text for blog header at the bottom.

More info + DNI 👇🏼

The flag we use is our system flag! The quadrants represent our four different headspaces; Castle Grounds, The Cafe, The Back, and The Void.

Castle Grounds was our very first headspace. It is a vast fantasy land complete with a castle surrounded by an enchanted forest. We’ve explored this headspace the most. It is represented by the color pink, the Sakura symbol, and these emojis: 🌸⛲️🏰🌳

The Cafe was our second headspace. The location is an apartment building with the bottom floor being a cafe, where the residents of this headspace hang out. It is in the middle of a vast city, but we have yet to explore it. It is represented by the color green, the Interlocking Hearts symbol, and these emojis: ☕️🎶🍵🏙️

The Back was the third headspace to form. It initially looked much like a generic version of The Backrooms, but it has since morphed into a shifting environment that changes due to a number of factors. It is represented by the color orange, the Jagged Question Mark symbol, and these emojis: ❔🎪🏚️🚧

The Void was the last headspace to form. This headspace has two states; black nothingness, or Hell. This headspace is where most protector and demonic alters reside. It is represented by the color red, the Knife symbol, and these emojis: 🔥🖤🥀⛓️

Fandoms! Definitely limited because we’re a mentally ill bodily adult system

🎪🎭 - The Amazing Digital Circus (TADC)

🪐🔧 - Monkey Wrench (MW)

🧙🏼‍♂️🐉 - Dungeons and Dragons (D&D)

🏰🐦‍🔥 - Baldur’s Gate (BG)

🎠🧁 - My Little Pony G4 (MLP / MLP:FiM)

🎠🏘️ - My Little Pony Tales (MLPT)

Before you follow, we’re mixed-origin DID and pro-all system origins. We are proship in case it matters but you likely won’t see shipcourse here, we have a side blog for that. We’re anti-radqueer and anti-transid, but we are pro-transage and transspecies because those predate radqueer/transid and have real history. As for transplural, we just don’t understand why you can’t use “willogenic” or even “tulpa,” but we support it as a concept just not a word (transDID and other transCDDs are just ableist, though). We are radinclus and support “contradictory” labels such as lesboys/turigurls because we understand the complexities of gender and sexual identity, especially if you’re plural. Lastly, we’re propara as long as you are not harming any unconsenting being such as minors, animals or those who simply have said “no.” We’re also anti-Zionist and pro-Palestine btw.

DNI radqueers (etc), exclus, sysmeds, and ppl who think radinclus is radqueer

If you’re not listed here, feel free to interact, however we still withhold the right to block for any reason.

Gatekeeping and fakeclaiming aren’t punk, being anti self-ID isn’t punk, and upholding oppressive structures such as the psych industry is NOT punk, so we use the #syspunk tag. Get over it.

[prncssie]

ELBOWS OFF THE TABLE !

01 gonna start off with this is an 18+ account! no minors allowed to follow or interact with any of my works. i will block each and every one that does so. ofc i cannot monitor and catch every single one but i go through my followers lists regularly and occasionally check who likes my posts. do NOT interact with my written fics if you are not over the age of 18. if your age isn’t visible somewhere or i cannot find it, blocked.

i will also block blank accounts. if i cannot tell there is a real person behind the account, i will block it. ideally, your account will have a different background or header or icon than the one tumblr spawns you in with.

02 dni if you do not like dark content. i do not write it myself, however i do repost works from blogs that either write it or interact w people who do. follow at your own risk because it may or may not appear on my blog. i would like to emphasize that i do nawt write it. i will not and never will.

03 my requests are open! that being said, i’m only taking requests for little things so don’t expect a whole fic to be made from it. 2000 words or less c: feel free to tell me your ideas or wtv else comes to your pretty little head

04 do not repost my work. don’t translate it or claim it as your own. leave them on my account. you can still reblog! reblogging is the best way to interact with posts on tumblr and i loveeee seeing the comments that sometimes comes w it

05 every single one of my fics are written with black girls in mind. i only write for fem black readers. most of it is written per what i enjoy, which can be summed up as hyperfem and soft. i sometimes include outfit links because i like to visualize when i write. feel free to ignore and reimagine.

i do not write for nonblack reader, dom reader, masc reader, scat, piss, vomit, blood, knife play, gun play, step/incest, noncon, dubcon, minors, and irl people. although i imagine characters around my age, im not gonna write for a character under 18 and pretend they are.

06 i’m a slow writer. very very very slow. i used to pump out fics back to back but im no longer doing that. it takes me a monthhh to write a fic. don’t expect me to write n write n write. just b patience and i’ll post when im ready.

07 i love every single one of you. you’re all great and your support is amazing. that being said! treat me w respect and i’ll do the same to you. my inbox is open but it’s not free real estate. pls do not enter my dms unless we’re mutuals or i follow you OR you’re inquiring abt commissions. be nice to me. i’ll literally cry and disintegrate if you don’t.

08 i have a secondary blog where i post whateva i feel like it. just letting you know i am very opinionated and consider that account to be where i talk as bluntly as i’d like to. take that how you want — miffwiff.

my tags!

❝ 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙝 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙝 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙝 ❞ ✧ ೃ༄ – just talking

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.♯ 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜 - reblogs

ִ •°. *࿐. *. ⋆ ▻ 𝙙𝙚𝙡𝙪𝙡𝙪 – posted work

⋆ ·˚ ༘₊· ̗̀ 💌 ••• ⁀➷ 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 . . . — responding to asks

my anons!

☄️ . . .

☆ that’s all! love you ☆

[myinternettrash]

spray paint hearts

summary: Jack had a switchblade against the biggest guy’s throat when he deemed the abuse no longer amusing. “Try that again, fucker, and I’ll gut you like a fucking fish.”

Bruce was enamored.

an: this story was posted originally on my ao3 acc dr_jreko! this is def not my best writing (wrote it in 30mins while high in my first block) but a long-form work with better writing will be posted in a few months!

Jack was unlike anything Bruce had ever seen.

     They met in the parking lot of a McDonald’s, Jack sprawled out on the asphalt laughing his ass off while getting punched in the jaw. Three older boys kicking the boy around like he was shit on the bottom of their shoe. 

     Jack had a switchblade against the biggest guy’s throat when he deemed the abuse no longer amusing. “Try that again, fucker, and I’ll gut you like a fucking fish.” 

     Bruce was enamored.

    Jack noticed Bruce after the three boys ran off. He flicked his eyes up at Bruce and smiled, “Enjoy the show?” Bruce couldn't do anything but stare. 

   He had erratically dyed toxic green hair, hazel eyes so dark they looked like voids, and grotesque scars that cut deep and ragged from the sides of his lips through his cheeks. 

      Oh, god, the scars. 

      Bruce had to admit that the other boy was strangely beautiful.

    They ran into each other more after that, not that Bruce was looking. 

    Jack just happened to see him beating the shit out of a football fucktard piece of shit that had commented on Rachel’s unwillingness to suck his tiny, immeasurable dick.

    “Well, shit, rich boy! Didn't know you had the balls to fuck up someone's face like that...”

     He leaned down to look at the jock’s face, “Oh damn , hope you can afford reconstructive surgery, that's a face only a mother could love.” Bruce thought that was ironic. The other boy’s smile stretched wide and manic, then he turned to Bruce. “You wanna blow this popsicle stand and go get something to eat? You look like you need to relax.”

     They became fast friends, Jack commented one day that they were like two sides of the same coin, different, but at the end of the day, deep down they were still the same. 

     Bruce couldn't agree more.

     Sometimes, they would meet late at night, Bruce cautiously sneaking out of his window and off of Wayne Manor’s grounds. 

     Jack would always be waiting for him, joint lit between his lips, and a smile on his face, gentler than the ones he normally showed. 

    They would walk through Gotham, spray paint cans in hand, tagging walls together. Nuclear green wildstyle formed the words JOKER, CHAOS, SLAUGHTER, and HAHAHA. Black blockbuster pieces of BATS, FEAR, and ORDER, in heaven spots clowns and bats.

     Spray paint on their fingers as they joined hands.

    Clasped hands turned into quiet whispers and midnight kisses.

   “Happy Birthday, Bruce.” Jack grinned at him, toothy and goofier than Bruce had ever seen. He slid something cold and metallic into Bruce’s palm. Bruce looked down and couldn't help but smile, Jack had gotten him a black bat-shaped double-edged knife, something so very Bruce but even more brilliantly Jack.

   Midnight kisses turned into something more real, they were together, completing each other totally. “You’re my better half Brucie baby!!” Jack had giggled maniacally but no less sincere. 

   “Jack, I love you so much.” 

    He had gotten killed by Cobblepot’s thugs two days after Bruce turned 18. Bruce had only ever been this devastated once before in his life.

   Bruce left for Asia a few months after.

   Years later, when Bruce was almost totally consumed by the Bat, the Joker appeared out of thin air.

   No doubt in Bruce’s mind it was Jack, his other half, the other side of his coin.

   “You complete me.”

[ditzydreamsss]

he fell for him (but literally)

if you. cant tell already, i freaking love the fallen au. literally pinned the original post on my discord so i can get my little box of serotonin any time i want (is that weird, i just really like the arts,,)

bizly falls so he can join grizzly (500 word drabble)

and a lil rant on how my brain expanded on that au at the end :D

Wings sprouted from his back as he fell hundreds of blocks into the pit. More feathers being ripped away from the wind than actually growing, and a constant feeling of your hair getting ripped out but ten times worse because the new anatomy was fresh and vulnerable. He held on to much of the wings as possible, but it didn't do much.

He thought he'd hit bedrock, but no, he just kept falling into the void because there was already a giant hole in the bedrock layers.

It must've been so much more painful for Grizz.

Then his lungs were being ripped out, drained, squeezed until there was nothing left. But he couldn't die, he was still immortal. And he fell, deeper and deeper into the darkness of the void until he felt something somewhat familiar: teleportation.

His sunglasses felt somewhat different.

He had a new anatomy.

He was where Grizzly was.

His sunglasses were lifted up for a second, rubbing his eyes and looking around. Red, a lot of red-

A knife at his throat.

Everything was still blurry and dizzy, but he knew who it was. He'd recognize those eyes anywhere.

"Grizzly?"

Red eyes, brown hair with a streak of white, ram horns and pug ears. A great, black wing raised high in the air in authority.

Cold laughter filled the Nether, echoing around the duo.

"You've come here to chase me even after death? Oh, I thought it would be Charlie, or even Condi!" Charlie's name was spat with venom. Grizzly had a psychotic smile. Kind of hot-

"But."

The knife inched closer to his throat.

"I guess I should've known you'd betray me too." Grizzly's voice was almost soft, if not for the slight singing of the words and the anger behind it. "Bizly."

His mind froze. His name. His name coming from Grizzly- said like that-

He hated it.

“Grizz-��

“Don’t say my name!” Grizzly hissed. Blood dripped onto Bizly’s hands.

Bizly couldn’t move. Not even to flinch away from the pain. More blood. But he... did deserve it, didn’t he? He was so pathetic. Couldn’t even stand up for someone he loved. His cheeks were wet, and something was running down his face. But it almost instantly disintegrated into the air. The knife was lifted from his throat, and he almost chased after it.

He didn’t register the knife being flung away, the loud clunk of it hitting the floor. He couldn’t process the warmth of arms around him, a body being pressed against him. A hand uncovering his hoodie and resting itself on his hair. Wings surrounding them.

Only the presence, the familiar scent was translated into comfort.

They exchanged no words. Not even “sorrys”. But they both knew what they meant. Regret, guilt, anger, shock, it was all thrown out the window when the two made contact.

They’d figure something out. Right?

But for now, the only thing that mattered to the fallen duo were their hands laced together, wings uneasily converging, and feeling each other’s presence, their heartbeats slowly falling into one simple rhythm.

-🌹🟦 -

So Grizzly's been corrupted by the apple. Apple was trying to take over Fallen Grizzly, and almost succeeded before Bizly landed. Apple's goal is to cause destruction and pain because it feeds on that. That's why even though Grizzly's gay as shit in this au for Bizly (/pos ofc) he doesn't hesitate to almost kill Bizly on the spot. But then Grizzly sees Bizly actually cry and that kinda brings the normal-ish Grizzly back.

Apple saw a moment of vulnerability when Grizzly was physically tired from growing his wings and literally breaking through bedrock with his body, and mentally drained from the betrayal.

Bizly doesn't even care anymore. Grizzly's like "oh shit thats my bf, apple get out of here"

They never exactly talk about it but Bizly's overheard Grizzly talking to himself (apple) enough to vaguely know what's going on. So he shows more affection than he usually would in an attempt to prevent apple from completely corrupting Grizz. This doesn't last forever.

[blogofloathing]

A loud, cheesy anthem plays as an awful stylilized OCWE appears on a black and white TV screen

"Good belated myorning folks, I am your esteemed host! Gillian Barlows Jr! And you are watching the Ocean City Watcher Éire! Hyere to bring you the latest scyoop on the people of our great city! who are they? Why are they? When are they? How do they peel their y'apples? Let's find out nyow!"

A new fangled transition effect plays as Gillian gives an overly exaggerated shocked expression.

Approaching our first interviewee, Gygan Clarks of the Ocean City Watchful Eye, but it seems he isn't particularly excited to see us haha, wonder why.

Our trusty boom man sticks the mic in his face, at which Gygan looks visibly annoyed, sheesh you'd think we killed this guys business or something.

"What do you want Gillian" he spat, frankly I'm offended he would be so rude to a reporter!

My cameraman delivers the question after a discreet go ahead sign waved in his direction

"Look unless you think apples can make coffee taste better I'm not interested," Gygan hisses, and after a short pause mutters "with a pocket knife"

And indeed if the bulge in his pocket isn't due to seeing me, he carries said weapon on him.

Let's move on from this wannabe newsman before he gets violent! You know how those types are.

Grumbling to himself, something about "fuckin' trend hopping fast news pieces of-" haha anyway!

An apple shaped transition plays, and due to formatting issues doesn't properly disappear

•••

Our next guest went up to us herself upon hearing there was a survey, so give it up for.. Simone Chekhov! Of the S.I.T Robotics department—

Somehow interrupting this audio added in post, the girl fires up a seemingly long held rant.

"Well actually it's Robotechtronics there's a very subtle but important difference in the two fields but anyway I made a machine that peels them so precisely the skin dissolves in contact with the air due to being sliced at such a thin micromascopic level that their mololcules are-" a thin homeless girl sticks a thumbs up wildly behind Simone.

The video is suddenly stopped here due to space, a cartoonish image of sad Gillian giving a thumbs down is shown onscreen for a few seconds.

•••

we're sorry to cut this short but our camera ran plumb out of juice trying to record it all haha!

Though this did little to falter her one sided rant, even as we turned our attention away from her

Moving onto the aforementioned hobo (it's good to get a perspective from the less than fortunate.)

"OOO OOO you're gonna ask me a question! Give it here!" She jumps excitedly, the words slamming into our crew much in the same way she physically rammed into my mic man in her overzealousness

The dusty girl, who we made sure didn't touch any of our equipment, had been chittering something inane at Simone when we asked, somehow able to properly talk between each other rather than over.

"I dunno I just chomp em, see?" taking a playful bite out of her sour face, leaving a toothy mark.

... the sounds of crickets chirping has been added

"Agh! Victoria!" She expleted, wiping her face off with her sleeve, "that's gross- you're gross!"

Though Victoria didn't seem too bothered, a sly little grin making its home on her spotted face.

"Hey don't pretend ya didn't like it" she slithered, at which Simone gave her a rather hard smack on the head "and there's more where that came from!" The bespectacled girl tittered haughtily.

A tinny and muffled laugh track plays, as Gillian audibly clicks a tape recorder to start and stop

•••

Moving on from those, shall we say interesting, characters, our boom operator caught wind of some music playing a few blocks down.

And we followed the groovy tunes to their source, coming upon quite the cello fellow!

Who is contentedly playing his instrument, my team having to remind him of the question, "oh I just slice em up with my trusty pocketknife!" Holding it up for a second before going back to ringing out the tunes.

Looks to be the same kinda knife as that.. eh I forgot his name already.

I say someone should definitely toss that guy a quarter, not me though.

Really if he can afford a cello is he actually that poor I mean cmon- ah, I've been instructed by my cameraman to stop here.

A bubble and wave crashing sound effect plays too loudly, with a chintzy fade to black transition

•••

Taking a dip per sé, we find.. someone else to ask.

Attempting to avoid being seen, the oddly slimy fellow is hiding against a wall, but seeing as his clothes aren't the exact shade and texture of bricks, "I, I don't know what an apple is? please leave me alone.." he croaks out in a froggy tone.

"Would you like to try one?" My boom operator chipperly inquires, at which the still unnamed weirdo looks even more terrified of us than before

"N-no I'm good really I.." it trailed off, guess they make hobos different these days, I can't get a read on what this guy might be on the street to beg for.

"Cmon I'll get ya a fresh one" he says again, taking a step closer to it, making the thing jump loudly.

Before running away from my team in a lurch, leaving weird wet slappy footprints in his wake.

Well that was certainly productive, why don't we heed this guys words and move on to another!

A hexagon transition with a splat sound effect, it doesn't even fully segue, cutting halfway through

•••

At the urging of my team, we reluctantly almer over to a goblin for questioning, she seemed to be dancing animatedly.. or maybe boxing with the air?

"Hi! Yes yes Hello! To apples slicing? No no, Gabby is practicing see?" It said, nearly assaulting one of my cameramen, "Gabby is champion of the box!"

a goofy swirl sound effect and then a laugh track

We don't speak creature so I have no idea what any of that meant, I'd say we get out of here before that thing gets aggressive, I've heard the stories of these kinds of monsters being dangerous!

They're lucky they don't have rights or else we'd totally sue them for emotional damages.

a spooky transition effect plays, bats flying across the screen and a very poorly done witches laugh

•••

As we were making our way back to the studio, my mic man caught eye of some kinda hobo living in the alley, I insisted we don't interview something like that but who listens to me around here?

Walking up to her, I'm already less than enthused about her appearance, something in her eyes wasn't like it should be, they seemed to stare directly inside of us unlike anything.

"Hello ma'am how would you say you peel-" my other cameraman began, being cut off by her wheezily trilling poem, "peel? Peeling, skin peeling wallpaper off the wall, apples falling trees cutting"

I.. wow! Okay! That is not at all what any of us were expecting, all our hairs stood violently on end.

Like looking into the den of a wounded predator about to make a strike, protecting its wounds.

She stepped closer to us, gazing through us, it felt as though she saw more than just my skin.

"Apples and oranges" it felt as though she wasn't even talking to us, despite facing our direction.

No one bothered putting a transition effect here, the camera simply cuts right to the next scene

•••

aaaaand one last questioneer today folks! As we were wrapping up and dutifully wiping down and sanitizing our stuff to get all the filth off them, a distracted old guy bumped into us, and sooooo!

"Oh! Eh uh, I mostly just eat cheese" the weirdo said emphatically before forcing us to look at a horrible mass of aged milk madness, before reassuring us that "it's Käse Brezel! The finest in the city! If ya see me come and buy so-" yeah no

Sorry sir I don't even know what language you just spoke there but I can tell it ain't somethin I'm gonna be eating, especially from someone like you

Though my crew seems oddly interested in it, I'll have to show them what real food is like I guess,

gives me an excuse to hang out with those mooks.

anywho, our final stop of the day was a nice little cheese pretzel shop, the finest in the city!

An equally loud and somehow even cheesier little outro theme plays as we fade back onto Gillian

"Well thyank you all for tyuning in this fine after nyoon, we hope we could answer all of your deep byurning questions! As always I am your esteemed host; Gillian Barlows Jr! And you have been watching the Ocean City Watcher Éire, where we catch up the scyoop and throw it to your hyoop! See y'all nyext week with our next Q: how good is the government doing right now? ( A: pyerfect!)"

[lambishep]

AGE IN BIO/ PINNED. WRITING 18+ DOES NOT COUNT.

Blank/ ageless blogs are blocked blogs. I will not make any exceptions. EVER!

DO NOT INTERACT

if you think any kind of human is better than another,

if you think you have the right to make decisions over another person and their body,

if you struggle with respecting people who are different from you,

if you do not support sex workers, content creators, and artists,

if you do not respect other people's boundaries,

in other words, pedos, racists, homophobes, anti-choice, pro-lifers, TERFs, and other weirdos, just don't even try with me.

Below 18s, please DNI for your own safety and respect for other people's boundaries. Under 21s, learn more about sexual stuff here.

Anyways now that's been said...

Hey there, welcome!

I'm Sheepy

Bisexual, bi-brainial, mostly dumbass, far too kinky for my own good.

He/him/ they, early 30's,

Switch (dom leaning) A mythical creature who lives in Narnia

...

Some House Rules

Do not add comments to my posts unless we're mutuals! Keep your noise in the tags.

Asks are welcome, keep it respectful. If you ask a bunch of dumbass shit, expect a dumbass answer. If you decide to go oversexual and I block you, that's on you.

Submissions are open, however, keep it civil. Don't send me anything you wouldn't want to see in public.

If your partner has not consented to you sexually interacting with others just don't. Nope. I am not the guy, and this is not the place.

Mutuals can ask for Snapchat/ other socials - if I say no, do not take it personally, this is the only space where I live out, and speak out about this side of who I am.

...

FYI

All my posts are meant in gender neutral terms and reblogs/ gendered content are whatever you want them to be (example cock can be strap/ tdick, etc)

Content you'll find here: sex workers, gorgeous people, queer dynamics, soft to hard kinks, somno, cnc, knife/ blood play, oral, choking, gfd, and safe sex/ bdsm practices/ info. Send a tip via Ko-Fi to appreciate the bear bod and encourage more content. Operating on a queue about 97% of the time. I'm chronically online though

Tags

Self explanatory for most part. If you need me to tag something, let me know! Here are a few:

sheepy writes - my content

my gorgeous mutuals/ from my mutuals - mutuals' content

dumb soft doms - things I associate with

nom nom nom - butts

This is a safe space for people to enjoy, and explore themselves. I do not know everything about the lifestyle I'm in, but I educate as I learn.

This blog is my personal diary, I write whatever I feel, reblog posts I enjoy like pinning posters onto a board ... it's MY space. Always will be.

[burgycreeper405-blog]

a messy rant talk cuz am angy

bruh, osc twitter is so fnckin toxic like, they just gave me extreme trust issues that i just start to not follow or even interact with anyone outside of my friend circle immediately even if they art is cool and chet cuz whenever i interact with anyone (like follow, reply or somthin) they will go and block me bcuz someone tells them that i did something bad without even knowing what it is, yet they believe them like they know me better

and the only thing i did was ship knife and mic, ive known that the siblings hc is everywhere and i asked allot of times why its so popular, yet no one is telling me so i did my own search about it but noooo they be harassing and spamming me in quote retweets and calling me out and chet for an info that a newcomer wouldnt know instead of just dm-ing me,, they fr had to tell the public about it

like bro, i just joined not even a year in, just a month in, yet they harassing me like ive been here since day one

and might i let you know that the “proof” they be spamming me is almost a decade old, like, they didnt even ask the person if theyre still okay with it or not, a friend of mine has to ask them about it and guess what, he doesnt even mind it anymore

and then them saying “we reached out to burgy but they did nothing” like??? did my thread that i did and deleting the microknife art mean nothing?? even if the person said that its not even a big deal anymore?? yall need to get more info than just info that’s decades ago cuz like, you do know people change right?

and just cuz i posted that thread a day late cuz like bro, i was tryna write it as clear as possible yet that is nothing to you???

like yeah, i blocked some people but they were spamming and harrassing the frick out of me and chet like dude, i get it, your proof is a decade old, try and see if its still accurate sheesh, shut up, i have never blocked anyone unless theyre being annoying, and thats what i did, i unblocked them a few days later

and now its about the GKGG au??? like bro, it’s an au, obviously its different from canon, and now bcuz of that, my friend has to do an explanation about it here even if it’s so obviously obvious (they even explained there on twitter that the backstory is different from canon, but i guess they don’t know how to read)

haysst

i am so glad that i decide to just keave twitter, ive been wanting to leave twitter since a long time ago cuz i dont even know what to do with it than just like my friends’ & brother’s post and funny retweets and CoryxKenshin says to follow him on twitter/hj

and now, i finally dumped that bird app on the trash cuz, my dash was so full of osc people that i dont even want to interact cuz my gosh, every week is just full of callouts and stuff,and like, they just be bringing up old drama, like even if the person theyre calling out is trying to change and chet or just even the drama was like months or years ago, they be bringing it up like its nothing, like the person didnt apologized and stuff, and what’s worse, people believes the one who did the callout post, they didnt look if what theyre saying is true or not like dude, whats worse is if it’s a fresh wound and the person is trying to change, but i guess the osc twitter doesnt understand the word “sorry” even if you did a whole essay about how sorry you are, it’s like they dont even wait for the other half side of the story bro

two months in knowing and drawing ii and the osc twitter was so toxic like bro, i dont think i can handle years being there, let alone just a month like sheesh

aight

here’s a old random sketch of Katie and a oc named Erick from my tlm superhero au as a, i dunno, a thank you i guess? if you took the time to read all dat, i dunno

i wanna draw more of them,,

[hopepaigeturner]

omg i absolutely love Lucy’s drabble

her hate for Anthony Bridgerton lol it’s so funny to me ahahhah and all the feelings she has because she feels different and unuseful in her family, you portrayed them perfectly, i loved it

she and gregory are super cute and i’m so curious to know what happens next, now that she has realised he’s the missing piece

Lol the hate for Anthony is strong in this AU...justified? You'll have to find out 😉

Glad you enjoyed the snippet, sorry for the long repost but I've finally got the answer to your question about Grucy after Lucy realises he's Gregory Bridgerton.

~*~*~*~*

Well, the first thing that goes through her head is...How to stop Gregory from freaking out?

Because, from Gregory's POV, no one has ever spotted him on any mission he's tagged onto. And even in real life, no one turly sees him for who he is. So, for the girl that he sorta-kinda-has a crush on, to actually sees him for who he really is, is a bit of a shock. Then ofcourse this sprials when Lucy starts explaining her family and their role with his siblings.

Now Gregory has been raised that no one must know about his siblings' powers--other than the agency he's grown up training in . Young gregory had many lectures from Anthony and Violet of the dire consequences of exposing his power, including threats of experimentation, incarseration and assasination.

But gradually, Lucy can calm him down and get him to understand that the UA wants to help. And that Gregory needs their help because Lucy is not medically trained to remove knife wounds.

So, begrudgingly, Gregory and Lucy make their way to the academy. On the way Gregory eplains that he usually magnifies his siblings' power but after the lightning strike, this has been dialled to 11. He eplains that after the strike he felt utterly lost, and only focused when near his sibilngs, so instinctivley followed them.

By the time they enter the academy, the pair have caught up with each other's respective secrets. Even though Lucy is quick to assure him that she is 'normal' unlike her siblings. To this Gregory turns to her and says,

"Oh Lucy Abernathy, you've never been normal. I knew that the moment I stepped foot in that coffee shop."

And the way he is smiling at her actually makes the words sink in, causing her to blush. Lucy is about to reply when utter chaos erupts.

Violet Bridgerton screams upon seeing her bloodied son and runs to him. This alerts the entirety of the house.

Simon reaches the pair first, blocking Violet and insisting that they do not know what Gregory's abilities are. Gregory starts coughing and bumps into Simon's shoulder, trying to warn his family not to touch him. Lucy comments that Simon will never find out what Gregory's abilities are if he dies on the marble floor.

Lucy's comment is lost under a thundering Anthony Bridgerton who shouts at Simon to take his hands off his brother. With Anthonys emotions as out of whack as his powers, he grabs something metal and throws it at Simon's face. Simon lifts his hand, ready to divert it--when his face drops. He can't. He can feel no power.

On instinct Gregory raises his hand and the metal rod sails away and clatters on the floor.

The entire room is stunned.

At the bottom of the stairs, the air shimmers and a young woman, a year or so younger than Eloise, materialises.

"What on earth, Greg?"

"Francesca?!" The Bridgertons cry.

Michael walks leisurley into the hallway, flask in hand and raises an eyebrow,

"Wait, you can see her too?"

*~*~*~*~*

As always check out the rest of the posts, and send your asks to either me or @bridgertonbabe

[lettalady]

For the fic writer ask game! 😊

🔮, 🚀, 🍬, 💕, and 💛

[ Fanfic Writer Ask Game ]

ooooh sorry darling I didn't see this ask last night! I'll take a stab at it today!

🔮 Any advice for writers working through burnout or writer’s block?

Oh I'm so very probably not the person to ask this.... Nobody look at the pile of WIPs sitting in the corner booth casting accusatory looks my direction as I play with a new cast of characters. Ooooh. But maybe being willing to play with new WIPs and concepts and characters is the way to battle back against a blockage? (I've also taken to muttering: holy shit two cakes.)

🚀 Do you like to outline your fic first or create as you go?

I tend towards a mixture of both, at least when I've gotten something that's gripped me in a way that pulls me towards something more than a blurb or (ahem, extended) oneshot. Usually the case is that I'll have these moments of dialogue or plot points that establish the arc, and I'll scribble those down in a doc or notebook just to see if sleeping on it will change the sequencing. From there I tend to let the characters take the wheel and see if they'll cooperate or venture off on a plot of their making. (... this is not necessarily a path to being sane/ method I would recommend if you need structure and for the characters to follow it exactly as you maneuver towards the middle and end, but it's fun all the same.)

🍬 Do you write for multiple fandoms? If yes, what is your favorite fic of yours for each fandom?

I live in fear of the form of media I consume that pulls characters from the screen or page and they set up camp in my head. That being said, it's so much fun to greet new characters and figure out what story I want to tell from them/that particular fandom. Currently still have running ... we'll call them major WIPs... in the following fandoms: Tom Hiddleston (including characters/ AU versions of the actor), Chris Evans (including characters/ AU versions of the actor), Daniel Brühl (including characters/ AU versions of the actor, two of which haven't been posted yet). *I do play in other fandoms with little blurbs but haven't been sucked into creating full stories... yet*

Fav TWH fic is a tough one cause I adore the various works for different reasons. I'm in an angsty mood today so let's go with Unsettled. Fav CRE fic is A Turn of the Knife, cause Ransom is a menace. Fav posted DB fic is LJH... The Baron & The Dove? No... wait... Who We Were Before. Cause reasons.

💕 What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I could sooner pluck a star from the heavens than point at any single one and say that one above all others. There's too much of me in each of them.

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

Forever and always learning, but I think thus far it's: enjoy the journey. Do the research, make the gifsets, compile the photos and songs that inspire words or just remind you of the characters. It's not time wasted because it brings you joy.

oh oh oh, also: don't trust your brain to remember. WRITE IT DOWN

[ honorary mention to: don't delete, just move the idea to *unused, as of yet* and move on ]