#it is strange to suddenly think that you are worthless

[binah-beloved]

tired. think about Sunshower Binah. and Outis. and Queequeg.

[sukunasweetheart]

kimi ni todoke inspired, but with a twist?? except sukuna is suuuuper into your whole scary/creepy vibes (strange fetish) this is more just rambling, not a proper fic sorry, its a little smutty, scratching and knifeplay involved (he's quite submissive), sukuna's a whole FRREAK

sukuna in college au, where he has a strange infatuation with the horror genre-- has a deep appreciation for scary films, and is a huge nerd in this area, and many of his favourite celebrities are actors and actresses that starred in one of his favourite films. his brother yuuji is also a huge cinema nerd but he's not as obsessed with horror as sukuna is. and frankly, yuuji thinks he's a slight weirdo for being able to analyse them in a very detailed manner, whether it's the jumpscares or how realistic a gore scene looks.

and now this horror nerd discovers someone very noteworthy in his area. there's this semi-famous haunted house that operates year-round nearby his university, which he decides to visit alone, out of boredom.

...the atmosphere is alright. the decoration could use some work. the bloody sheets don't look convincing enough. it's too pink and tacky. the "ghosts" give an effort to try and scare him, but he gives them a deadpan look.

"can you try any harder?" sukuna keeps walking.

next, a man dressed like a typical serial killer walks in holding a real chainsaw. oh, boy. the "killer" walks up real close to him, to his annoyance. he takes the chance to inspect the mask on his face. he flicks it lightly with a finger.

"shit's made out of plastic. do better."

the man revs up his chainsaw.

"ha - that's the spirit." he continues walking.

there's suddenly eerie silence, now that he's almost at the exit of the haunted house. what, did they run out of ideas?

he thinks he catches a glimpse of someone in the corner of his eye. sukuna stops and turns back, but there's no one in sight. that gets the hairs on the back of his neck rising, ever so slightly. he likes that.

he feigns ignorance and keeps heading to the exit, wanting something to jump out at him. he hears little footsteps behind him, this time. he whips around again, but there's nobody.

"you're edging me, are you?" he says sarcastically with a chuckle.

you're hiding in a little pocket area out of view, when you hear the man mention something about edging. great. another fucking weirdo. sometimes, you feel like you should just get a new job.

the third time, you actually reveal yourself and stand still in view when he turns around. the weirdo just stands there and grins at you. the fuck??

oh, sukuna loves this one. you look terrifying. like you came directly from a horror film set. you give him the creeps.

"look at you... a diamond in the rough."

the fuck is this man talking about? you want to tell him to just leave already. but he just continues observing you silently, like someone analysing an artifact. you move stiffly towards him, even while knowing that it probably wouldn't be enough to scare him off.

"your makeup looks too real... do you do that yourself?"

you glare at him. it's part of the script anyway. sukuna chuckles, because something tells him that the disdain in your eyes are real.

"i know, i know. i'll get going. any chance i could get your number before i go?" he asks boldly, hands in his pockets. it's a half-hearted attempt, but he felt the need to really try at least once.

he must be joking. what kind of perverted man sees a woman looking like this and asks for her number? well, he probably isn't being serious anyway. silence permeates the area as you backtrack away from him, deciding you've done enough for your pay's worth.

"running away? a shame..."

you feel odd. many men have seen you and ended up running out screaming. none has ever tried flirting with you while you were in this getup. what a weirdo.

sukuna walks out feeling better than expected. that last section really saved it. not a totally worthless experience. maybe he'll swing by again, just to see you.

except, he doesn't really need to. because the next day you bump into him at uni - and he recognises you instantly, like the freak he is. you try to brush him off casually, but he can't be shaken off so easily. and then sukuna pestering you wherever you hid around on campus became part of your schedule.

"what's your deal? why do you keep following me around?" you eye him suspiciously, when he sits down next to you on the bench, unprompted.

"well, i'm interested in you, for one," he says casually, shrugging.

"listen... if this is because you have some weird horror fetish, then i'm not interested..." you tell him truthfully, shuffling yourself away.

sukuna laughs out loudly in response, which makes you jump.

"i won't deny having unusual tastes, but my interest isn't that shallow. if it were the case, i could probably seduce any other girl and dress her up instead of chasing after you."

well, you guess he's correct about that. you've received a couple of stink eyes from a number of girls after being seen with sukuna so often.

he's an annoying guy - when you ask other peers about him, they tell you he's stoic, mean, and rude as fuck. well, you understand the last two a little bit, but stoic? every time he sees you, he seems like the opposite. he's rather loud and overbearing.

"i'm telling you - you have a talent. why not make use of it?"

he's referring to your future acting career, apparently.

"and i'm telling you - stop with the nonsense! i can't be fooling around with a silly idea like becoming an actor. seriously."

you only started working at the haunted house for some cash. you're not even that into the genre itself. what's with this guy?

"why would it be fooling around? at least give it a try before dismissing it."

this back and forth continues, for quite a while. he even forces you to watch his favourite horror films, "for future reference".

and then he proposes a deal to you. that you try and audition for a small role as a ghost in a film. he guarantees you'll get picked, even though you doubt it. and if you don't he promises he'll never bring the idea up to you again. you decide to go with it, just to shut him up.

but guess what? you're selected for the role.

sukuna shrugs at you with a smug smile on his face.

"see? i'm always right."

he pisses you off.

and he somehow pushes his way into becoming your personal "trainer". sukuna revises your script with you, and gives you feedback on your acting. he sits you down and watches classic horror flicks with you, analysing every scene down to every frame. many things happen the more you spend time with him..... you find yourself getting more and more attracted to this weirdo. this horror nerd.

"are you paying attention? this part is important."

the film gets paused, and you very swiftly, dart your eyes away from admiring his jawline.

"i'm trying... i just can't concentrate. i'm hungry," you lie fervently.

"hungry for what? me?" sukuna grabs your face and makes you turn your head towards him.

"...no? whatever gave you that idea?" you ask, heart hammering in your chest.

"how is it that an aspiring actor can't even lie properly? maybe we need to go back and revise some of your acting lessons."

you know that he's studying to become a film director, and honestly you feel sorry for the future actors that'll be working with him.

"whatever. let go of my face, you ass." you swat his hand away.

sukuna chuckles deeply at you, eyes softening.

"you're lucky that you're cute. how about i give you a kiss? will you concentrate better then?"

"yeah... wait, what-?"

too late though, he's already on your lips. and damn, he's a good kisser. anyways, that embarks the start of your relationship with him. shortly after, the filming process for the short film begins, and it becomes a decent success. you're a little ecstatic. maybe more than a little. you get the feeling that a whole new life is awaiting you.

and your boyfriend is so endlessly cocky about it. "all thanks to me," he says, which is technically correct, but you don't want to openly admit it in front of him sometimes.

and...

occasionally...you do dress up scarily before sex as well. at first, you were quite reluctant and awkward with roleplaying in bed, but after you got used to it, you found that it's hot as hell to see sukuna beneath you, squirming as you press a knife close to his throat, grinding your clothed cunt against his boner, dressed as a terrifying ghoul.

a safe word was established beforehand, of course, just in case either of you suddenly feel like backing out.

you want to keep yourself immersed into the role as much as possible, but it's difficult when sukuna's cock is so big, hitting all the right spots. this time, you're choking him with one hand as you ride him like he's a toy.

sukuna's hands are guiding your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh, his dick aching from the soft pressure you apply to his throat. you look so utterly scary, it turns him on. he'd let you kill him, if you wanted. he fucks into your cervix, looking up into your eyes with a blush on his face, groaning openly at the insane look in your eyes.

choke me harder. scratch me. bite me. he provokes you through his gaze.

you do grip his throat harder. and then you dig your fingernails into his chest, and scrape them down slowly, leaving a trail of red marks down him. sukuna shudders under you and curses under his breath.

"just like that... fuck, baby," he moans, cock throbbing inside of you. your walls squeeze him so good.

he cums the hardest he's ever cum in his life that night - thighs trembling and sweat rolling down his temples, and it doesn't help that you lean down to sink your teeth into the side of his neck while he orgasms.

aftercare consists of him cleaning you up and helping you de-costume. when he's wiping all that dark makeup off your face, he tells you that you're pretty with his soft voice, flustering you.

and of course, vanilla sex also occurs regularly, to get away from that freaky stuff sometimes, with the gentle kisses and tender hand holding, in a missionary position, exchanging sweet, sweet gazes with each other. giving you the princess treatment you deserve for being so good to him.

in the future, you run around and play bigger roles until one of your films become a huge hit, and sukuna finishes his degree to become a famous film director... no surprises there! the best horror actress + the best horror film director goes hard... the two of you are already married at this point.

when the both of you finally get together to make the ultimate film, the internet explodes... sukuna is surprisingly bad at being professional. he's seen often taking care of you rather affectionately around the filming area, personally making sure your makeup is done perfectly, and bringing you food and water as if he's bragging to everyone else about his marriage. and it shows in the way he sugar coats his critique for you, when he has never done that for any other actor/actress he's worked with previously.

if there are some snooty coworkers that try to speak with him about the gap in treatment, he would simply scoff at them and say 'and? she's my damn wife.'

when he's working with you, it's all like:

"cut! honey, that was great, but i think this part can be done a bit better."

but when it comes to other actors:

"cut! what the fuck was that? sounded like you were reading off the damn script. get your shit together."

he's notorious for being relentless, but nobody has anything to say because all of his films climbed to the top of the industry. everyone is dying to score a line or two in his films.

and i'd like to think that sukuna himself dabbles into acting a little as well. there's probably one film where he stars as the killer, and it becomes a classic :) but the one featuring you and him probably becomes both of your biggest hits ✨

oh, and on days where you two finish filming together, he takes you home with his own car, but before that, some freaky car sex probably occurs around some corner with his windows tinted... (he's been hot and bothered the whole time filming, watching you act)

the end <3

Masterlist

[sweetiecutie]

Hellow! For the writing event, maybe something smutty with Simon Riley?👀 This man has me in a chokehold ngl😩

Pairing: Simon Riley x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, smut, slightly mean Simon but not really, dirtytalk, unprotected sex, creampie, not proofread

A/n: Same, dear nonnie, same😔

- Look at these gorgeous tits, - Simon drawled as his big hands came to gently cup your full breasts; his rough calloused palms felt strange against your soft skin, but sensation was pleasurable nonetheless.

You smiled coyly at Simon’s praise, soft pink dusting your cheeks as you arched into his touch, putting your chest on fuller display for him.

- C’mon, can do better than this, can’t you? - Simon said, suddenly thrusting his hips upwards, signaling you to speed up. You were perched up on top of his meaty thighs, riding his dick for the past twenty minutes. Your thighs burnt with exertion, shiny beads of sweat running down your back and temples, tickling your sensitive skin in their wake.

You whined pitifully, lips jutting out in a small pout, frown setting onto your features as you whined softly:

- Can’t, ‘m tired, - you let out breathlessly, grinding your hips onto Simon’s instead of lifting them up in another thrust to prove your point.

You saw Simon rolling his eyes in mock irritation, his thick fingers dug into squishy flesh of your ass, tightening his grip on you. In one swift movement he pressed your body into his chest, strong hands holding your ass up in the air as his hips thrusted upwards, fucking his needy cock into your squelching heat. This made you squeak a loud moan, eyes rolling back as his thick cockhead nudged against that one spot deep inside of you.

- Worthless little thing. Can’t even fuck yourself properly without my help, heh?

You just mewled against his skin in reply, lips finding their way to the conjunction between his neck and muscular shoulder, sucking a little pretty mark there. Loud squeal tore through your lungs as you felt Simon’s sharp teeth digging into your soft shoulder, leaving a dark mark on you as well. Sudden pain from his bite made your inner walls clench, eliciting a throaty groan from Ghost, his cock twitched inside of your pussy, indicating his soon release.

Ghost wrapped his thick arms around your waist, firmly holding your trembling form against his huge torso. His hips started working diligently, fucking his swollen needy cock into your welcoming pussy, turning you into a brainless goo on top of him in a matter of few minutes. His pubic bone brushed against your throbbing clit with every new thrust, making you see stars. You just rested your head against his shoulder, allowing Simon do with you whatever it was he wanted.

The bottom of your tummy started tingling, electricity surging through your nerves - a telltale sign of your soon release. Your velvety walls tightened around Simon unintentionally, making him groan into your hair, hands gripping your sides tighter.

- Simon, ‘m bouta cum, don’t stop please pleaseplease, - you slurred half-coherently, your own hips moving in tandem with Ghost’s, making penetration impossibly deeper.

Suddenly, a tight knot within you snapped. A feeling of pure euphoria tumbled through every cell in your body, making you shake and tremble in Simon’s tight hold. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t think - only feel pure pleasure rolling through your body, warmth filling you as Ghost spilled out inside of your poor cunny, loud groan along with string of profanities left his thin lips.

Your whole body went slack as you laid there, on top of Simon’s heaving chest, one cheek squished against his shoulder. His grip on you loosened, rough hands roaming up and down your sides, stopping every time to give a squeeze to your ass.

- You good? - he asked, his voice low and raspy, causing new wave of arousal wash over your body.

You hummed in reply, closing your eyes for a few seconds, enjoying Ghost’s tender touch. About a minute passed in this manner, senses coming back to you slowly, along with the feeling of unsatisfied need. You clenched around Simon’s softening cock that was still buried deep within you, wide smile stretching your lips as you heard him hiss above you, huge hands stopping in their track, gripping your hips softly.

- Babe, you’re asking for that, - he grumbled out, attempting to make it look like a threat.

- So what if I do? - you asked, looking up at your lover with innocent doe eyes, lips pouting cutely.

In a matter of second you were thrown into your back, Ghost looming over you intimidatingly. He leaned towards you slowly, eyes locking onto yours intensely as he stopped a few centimeters from your face.

- Then take it.

[manszen]

valentine’s day

pairing. fem!reader x trafalgar law.

summary. law wonders how he can make it up to you.

contains. fluff, established relationship.

word count. 1.2k.

note. i may or may not have word vomited with this one.

anyone could tell from the first impression that law isn’t someone you would consider a romantic.

his usually tight expression says so. he’s dry and blunt, gets easily irritated when something is out of his control — well, that’s just the way he is. but for whatever reason, you admire him for it.

he’s aware of where your relationship with him stands. it’s right there on the edge of a precipice, bound to tip over to the side that burdens the other. a beautiful disaster awaiting, so to speak.

his reason? you’re kind and he’s not. you’re gentle. he’s ruthless. you’re radiant. he’s gloomy.

polar opposites in every aspect. yet somehow, it works.

the two of you work.

it’s a bit unusual for him to be immersed in the thoughts of you. not that he doesn’t think of you — he does. but most of the time his mind is already preoccupied with his responsibilities as a captain, and as a doctor next.

he’s carrying multiple lives in his hands, after all.

but once he realizes there’s no one else in the rented inn that he shares with the rest of the crew, he allows himself to wonder about you just a little bit more.

you care for him, that much is obvious. when he forgets to do it for himself, you’re already there. gingerly reminding him that he’s the expert and he should know better. that even doctors need their rest and help from other people. all the while donning a cheeky smile on your face.

you take care of him all the more when no one else can reach him. sometimes at night, when the memories of his tormenting childhood come back to haunt him, you’re there — stroking the anxious creases between his brows, the frown curling on his lips; and the only thing helping him to calm down is your hushed whispers of ‘i’m here, you’re safe’, your tender embrace that soothes his inner child.

you’re that loving. and you never once complained at his own lack of sympathy, or at least, the little amount thereof.

the fact that you’re even used to his little episodes of isolation, his sudden avoidance from people that have nothing to do with you, you never kicked up a fuss.

it’s why he finds you disarming and beguiling at the same time.

and it makes him mad — so, so mad — that he’s difficult the way he is.

you don’t complain nor demand anything from him. as far as he can recall, it’s always you that gives, never takes anything for yourself.

it’s as if you already know he cares for you in a strange but honest way, and that is enough on its own.

law distractedly closes the medical book in his hand that’s long forgotten since he started thinking of you. suddenly, he feels worthless, trapped in his own body.

there’s a high chance you would feel unappreciated if this slack behavior of his goes on. he’s aware that most couples often express their affection — either by corny declarations or expensive gifts, whichever works — and that exactly where his dilemma lies.

he doesn’t do any of those.

he doesn’t feel the need to do any of those.

but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t do any of those.

he groans. he can feel a headache coming from miles away. when he closes his eyes for a quick rest, he imagines you playfully scowling and ready to berate him for overworking his brain yet again.

“damn it,” he shakes his head. this is why he tries not to delve into his feelings. you make him feel warm all over and giddy.

he glances at the scenery past the open windows, watching the gentle wind breeze through the row of bushes outside. he sees something that piques his interest, and upon confirmation, unintentionally uses his powers to check it a tiny bit closer.

“room,” he commands, and the pale blue sphere immediately covers the area with him at its center. he unsheathes kikoku from her scabbard, and expertly severs the object he has his eyes on.

once he thinks he got it, he snatches a random napkin on the table and directs again, “shambles.”

whatever is exchanged in the center of his palm brings out a soft smile to his lips.

“hey, captain.”

in his haste, law hides his flustered hands beneath the table. “hey, you’re back early,” he coughs, seeing you so picturesque at the inn’s entry way.

“my feet are tired.” yawning, you saunter over to him. “did you have fun?”

“more or less. want to retire for the night?”

you nod.

he collects his things before leading you back to his room. he makes sure to not show his hands to you, but even if he does, you’re more fixated on the trinkets that are scattered around in the hallway.

“i think i like this inn better than the last one,” you muse.

he grunts as a reply, but then remembers about his earlier agenda — his newfound agenda of becoming a better boyfriend. “same here,” he says in between his teeth, earning him a puzzled look and an even more amused smile from you.

you don’t comment on his behavior. it’s silent for a while, only the sounds of your footsteps could be heard across the floor. he opens the door to his room, side-stepping to let you in first, which again, earned him a skeptical glance.

“ladies first,” he tries to be smooth, but heaven knows it sounds incredibly hoarse.

still, he’s grateful you don’t make a jab at him. you obediently enter his room and he follows after you. he watches your expression change from being wide-eyed to droopy, and there’s a silly little smile on your face as you sigh, “alone finally.”

you’re not alone, technically speaking. he’s with you inside the room. but law bites his tongue, refraining from letting his crude mouth run loose. instead, he observes you like a hawk as you stretch your arms above your head, yawning ungracefully as you do.

you’re saying something unintelligible. maybe asking what his plans are after dinner, or maybe when is the right time to go back sailing the seas. but he couldn’t care less about any of that.

right now, he’s deeply and immensely attracted, and he finds himself walking closer to you.

god damn it. how could someone look so beautiful and unguarded at the same time?

“law?”

“hmm?”

“are you alright?”

he’s now a few inches away from you, and with the height difference, you have nothing else to do but to look up at him. it makes him smirk, “never been better.”

you bite your lip.

“i missed you,” law admits after a moment, becoming serious all of a sudden.

he watches your eyes go wide, before lifting up one tattooed hand to brush your hair behind your ear, sneaking something through the strands of your hair.

a subtle fragrance drifts in the space between, and you reach out to touch where his hand has just been, “what’s this?”

“it’s hydrangea,” he mumbles, taking a long look at you then deciding that it suits you. it suits you very well, much to his relief. “it means gratitude and apology.”

you giggle. although, bewilderment is still apparent in your eyes, “what did you do this time, law?”

he shrugs. he’s not particularly asking for forgiveness, simply that he feels the need to do something — to give you something since he’s usually the one on the receiving end.

“already forgiven.”

law rolls his eyes, the grin you're wearing is too infectious. “you’re so easy to please.”

you chuckle, appreciating the flower — his flower — that he sneakily placed by your ear.

“and you’re a bit of a romantic when you want to be.”

stealing, modifying, translating, or reposting this work on other platforms is strictly discouraged.

[silken-moonlight]

Some days as a writer are hard, since my head always spins stories and some stories even hurt me. It is strange to think about something, a story involving in your head which is bittersweet and does not have a happy ending. My most recent little idea was the following:

Imagine you promise your vampiric lover to return to him. Both of you swore eternal love. But you died in his arms before you could be turned. You promised to find him in your next life.

To your own surprise, you wake up 200 years later and even find your lover. But you learn about his new partner; your lover turned them. They swore eternal love and are happy. You suddenly feel worthless, unloved, a faded memory. How cruel would it be to interrupt their luck? How selfish would it be to make him choose? And even if you were to make him choose, who says he will actually choose you and not his new love? So, what do you do now? What is your purpose anymore?

[louisarmands]

The Dark Gift

Summary and Notes:

What happened when Louis left Daniel in the penthouse with Armand. Apologies if this is messy, I wrote it very quickly. Feedback is appreciated. I love these two so much.

Word Count: 1376

 Louis was gone, and Daniel was alone in the penthouse. Alone with Armand. The room suddenly seemed larger, more empty. The stark white walls loomed over him, cold and imposing. A prison. A coffin. A tomb. 

He quickly put out the flames on his laptop with a blanket, the smoke stinging at his eyes. He shoved the smoldering hunk of metal in his bag, eager to get out of there like he had been warned. Louis had threatened Armand and told him not to touch Daniel but Louis was gone now. And what could an old man with Parkinson’s do against a 500-year old vampire? Gathering the last of his things, Daniel turned the corner to the elevator. 

And there was Armand. Covered in dust from the walls cracking from the force of Louis’s anger, his face bruised and bleeding. His brown curls framed his face in a halo. Even battered, he looked like a renaissance painting, a vision of graceful beauty. But for once, he didn’t look composed. He looked… broken. But under the surface, under his glassy amber eyes, there was rage. He was shaking with it. 

Daniel thought he looked small. Almost childish. 

“You know what will happen if you hurt me. You heard Louis. So are you gonna let me leave or what?” Daniel remarked, playing up his usual sarcasm even though his heart was beating out of his chest. And he knew Armand could hear it. 

Armand smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Hurt you? Oh Daniel, I would never do that,” Armand replied, stepping closer to Daniel, a wild look in his eyes.  

“If I wanted to do that I would’ve done it already,” he said, cold and calculating. Armand the snake. Armand the one who hides, the one who sits back and lets things happen. Armand, who was looking at Daniel like he was prey.

“So what, you’re just fine with me ending your 77 year relationship? With me exposing all of your lies?” Daniel scoffed, in disbelief that he wasn’t a melted puddle of bones already. Then again, Armand never was one for action. 

“Was it you who ended it? When I am the one who drives people away again and again? Over and over? When I am the one who lies for self preservation?” He said quietly, his eyes never leaving Daniel’s. He didn’t blink. 

Daniel was shocked at his… self awareness. He didn’t think Armand was capable of that. 

Armand continued. 

��I love them more than they love me, and every time I realize that, I try to hurt them. I take everyone and everything away from them so they only have me. So they rely on me. I give them everything, and it still doesn’t work. It never does,” 

Armand was breathing heavily now, a strange instinct for a vampire with no need for oxygen. His voice was quiet, but he spoke with a sense of mania that made the hair on Daniel’s arm stand up. This was a vampire on the brink of an explosion. 

Armand went on, incensed now. 

“Tell me, Daniel, why do you think I do this to myself? Am I broken beyond repair? Am I worthless?” He hissed, his fangs showing now, his eyes shaking, pupils blown wide. Gone was the angelic, statuesque, mild-mannered companion to Louis. This was a vampire. This was a monster. 

The mask had finally come off. 

Daniel backed away, speechless for once in his life. There was no witty one-liner that would save him now. 

Armand lunged forward and sank his fangs into Daniel’s neck. 

Daniel gasped, the pain like two white hot daggers slicing through him, his vision turning black at the edges. But as soon as there was pain, there was ecstasy. 

Daniel remembered 1973, how Armand had lulled him into a dreamlike state, whispering to Daniel, telling him he would be nothing, and Daniel had succumbed to his powers, floating on the bliss, allowing himself to be slowly drained.

This was nothing like 1973.

This was better than every drug Daniel had ever tried. Every time he had shot up with heroin, multiplied one hundred times. Every time he had been coked out in some dingy basement with god knows who, in screaming color. He could taste the high, he could see it, smell it. He felt like he was hundreds of miles above the penthouse, floating, flying, going the speed of light. 

He didn’t know if it was seconds or minutes or hours later when Armand pulled away. The vampire had Daniel’s blood on him, on his mouth, on his shirt, his neck, glistening crimson on his brown skin. His eyes were fixed on Daniel, a blissful expression reflected in them.

 Daniel thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

And then Armand took his nail and sliced his wrist open. 

“Drink,” he ordered, offering it to Daniel. 

Daniel finally spoke, his voice coming out hoarse.

“What? No. What the fuck, Armand?” He protested, reeling from the proposal.

He had thought that perhaps Armand was just desperate to feel anything other than the pain of losing Louis, and in his pain, he fed on Daniel.

He was wrong. Armand wanted to turn him. Armand, who had never made a fledgling. Armand, who was repulsed by the idea.

“Drink,” Armand insisted, backing Daniel against the wall. He held his wrist up to Daniel’s mouth. He was pressed against Daniel, his face an inch away from the other man’s. 

“You wondered how I taste. Now you have a chance to find out,” he breathed, eyes darkening. 

“Dying of a disease that has no cure, and you would turn down immortal life? You would deny yourself that? I can give you what you want. I can give you eternity,” Armand whispered, his eyes flicking down to Daniel’s mouth, his own lips scarlet with Daniel’s blood. 

In the coming days, weeks, and years, Daniel would try and fail to remember why he had done it. Why he had given in and taken the dark gift. In that moment, there was nothing else. There was just him, his body slowly failing him, and Armand, a vengeful Lucifer who had fallen into his path. There was only Armand.

He bit down on the wrist. 

The blood gushed into his mouth, and he balked, the taste at first metallic and unpleasant.

“That’s it, Daniel.” Armand murmured, his other hand reaching out to stroke Daniel’s face. 

And then Daniel’s vision went black. He was still drinking, but it no longer tasted like blood. It tasted rich and sweet and powerful and he couldn’t get enough. 

Images flashed through his mind, images of Armand. Armand as a young boy, running through the streets. Running from something. Armand in a dimly lit room, surrounded by men who leered at him, saying something in a language he didn’t understand. Armand being used, over and over and over again. Armand crying, his body broken and bruised. Armand being turned by Marius. Armand in pain. Armand in Paris, with the coven. Armand with Lestat. Armand with Louis. Armand’s emotions crashed into him like a wave, the churning sea of five hundred years of memories drowning Daniel, making him gasp and choke on it. 

Daniel ripped himself away from Armand’s wrist, sickened by the images he had seen.

Armand stared at him, horrified. Daniel somehow instantly knew Armand was aware of everything his blood had shown Daniel. 

Daniel felt alive. Suddenly all of the aches and pains that came with old age were washed away. His eyesight was clear. His senses were heightened, the world around him suddenly in high definition. He opened his mouth, feeling his sharp fangs pierce his bottom lip. 

He was a vampire.

“Why?” Daniel whispered, aghast. 

“Why did you turn me? You said you never would. You said it repulsed you.”

Armands face crumpled. For the first time since Daniel had known him, he was crying, bloody tears streaming down his face. 

“I wanted… I wanted you to see me,” he said, his voice breaking. “I wanted you to see me as no one else has. Only you.” 

And then, faster than even Daniel could see with his new abilities, Armand was gone. 

TO BE CONTINUED…

[simplykorra]

I think it's easy to forget just exactly what Ava went through. She was SEVEN years old and woke up in strange place, with cranky old nuns, only to find out she was paralyzed and that her mom had died. Not only that, but no other member of her family ever came for her. Nobody was looking for her, nobody wanted her and suddenly she's all alone and dealing with the loss of her mothre and her independence.

You'd think, oh well maybe she has a support system in the orphanage? Nope, they treat her like shit, like the burden she believes she is. As someone who has been in a wheelchair their whole life, let me tell you, feeling like a burden is an everyday thing. You’re not, and having people who remind you that you’re not and make you understand that you’re not is beautiful, but Ava didn’t have that. She had Sister Frances, who went out of her way to tell Ava she was worthless and I doubt anyone else there was much better.

So it's no wonder Ava was a sarcastic, snarky little shit to the nuns in the orphanage - they made her that way. Being bratty to them was the only thing she could do to feel some semblance of control.

Flash forward to Ava's death, where she was literally murdered because nobody cared and there was nowhere for her to go. Ava spent twelve years in a personal hell of being trapped in her own body, was then killed like someone taking out the garbage. Empty, alone and tossed aside.

So when she was revived by the halo, with her legs suddenly working and freedom to do whatever she wanted, of COURSE she wanted to be free.

That's the entirety of Ava's character arc - SHE WANTS TO LIVE! She hasn't been able to for so long she barely remembers how to do it.

It's not that easy, of course, the halo carries a ton of weight and Ava fights it and runs from it and resists it as much as she can, and who can blame her? She finally gets the chance to be alive, to be free and enjoy life and all these strangers (who are everywhere becuase Ava is completely alone in the world) are pushing and pulling her in every direction. She's constantly told that she doesn't deserve the halo. Doesn't deserve this chance.

Despite ALL of that, Ava's heart is strong and her passion for life overshadows all the darkness she's been dealt. She isn't just full of life, but love. She's spent years not having anyone to love her, but more than that, she's never been able to give anyone her love and I think that's very important to her. We see it so much as the show goes on. Her softness with Mother Superion when she finds her halo scar, and the way she connects with Mary, Camila being sweet to her, little things like that.

Then of course there's Bea.

Beatrice, who never sees Ava as someone that needs to be replaced, but as someone who can be taught, trained and shaped into what they need. Who sees that Ava, the human being, has value and that she's worth protecting. They connect and share and for the first time, Ava has someone who actually accepts her as a person. Not a burden or a vessel for the halo, but Ava Silva, the girl inside that's been so alone for so long.

I think that's why Ava is so bouncy with Bea, falls for her so easily, because Beatrice saw Ava's zest for life and her need for love and embraced it. Saw it as something worth fighting for, beyond the halo or duty, Beatrice liked HER. Probably the first person who felt that way since her mother was taken from her (outside of Diego, but he was so young it couldn't have been the same).

Anyway, this long winded post that probably doesn't make any sense is just my way of saying that I love Ava. I love her joy and her humor. I love that she has had so much pain dumped on her and still chooses to smile. Given the way she was treated and the power she was given, Ava could have been a villain. She could have carried a hatred for god or the world and everyone in it who forgot about her but she didn't. Instead, she found the life and love she desperately wanted and gave up everything to protect it.

[fyodorslave]

how about ex-husband geto hcs? 🥺💕

YES MA'AM (I saw this request awfully late, you probably forgot about it too but, in any case, here ya go)

♡ ♡ ♡

+ characters: getou suguru x reader

+ tw: suggestive content

♡ ♡ ♡

⇀ No stranger would assume that you two were separated, you can't blame them, he's always glued to your side. going grocery shopping? he'll come with. need someone to mow the lawn? dial his number. picking your kid up from day care? a parent mustn't go alone! it doesn't help that your son loves his dad.

⇀ Divorce to you always meant avoidance at all costs. you never though your own divorce would mean that your ex-husband is at your house more often then when you two were married.

⇀ Perhaps it was taunting at his end, to show you that divorce was a mistake. but you can't exactly tell him to kick rocks when he's fixing that lightbulb your too short to reach. Shirtless with his baggy sweats hanging off of his toned hips, v-line teasing you as he unscrews the bulb.

⇀ While he does always show up at the perfect time of your distress, his only reason isn't to woo you and win you back. he understands how hard it is to manage being a single mother, so he'll do everything he can to make sure he has at-least a 50/50 contribution.

⇀ Even if it has nothing to do with your kid. if you even utter the word, 'help' he will show up faster than God himself.

⇀ Your resolve weakens when you come home every night and see your kid sleeping in the lap of the man your trying not to love. He'd watch TV on low volume, eyes fixated on something about home renovation while softly rubbing your kids back.

⇀ Washing the dishes is something even divorce can't convince him to do, so he'll prop himself upon the kitchen bench at night, and watch you load the dishwasher.

⇀ When your done with what's meant to be his chore, he makes sure to thank you in strange ways for a divorced couple.

⇀ He'd pull you so that you are in-between his legs, which are dangling off the edge, and lift your chin up to kiss you. just like he did on your wedding night.

⇀ Getou would do anything to protect his family, raising his eyebrows at those who think you have suddenly become available. He says married and divorced are just worthless labels. What do mere labels have against the way he coaxes orgasms after orgasms out of you, behind closed doors once he's done reading your kid a bedtime story.

⇀ dare you mention your single, and he's already there, bottoming out of you, as your thighs shake for mercy around his hips.

⇀ And by the time you wake up in the morning, with aching legs and a warm embrace. your smiling into getous chest, thinking maybe he deserves a second chance.

♡ ♡ ♡

send more headcanon requests yall this was so much fun! HEADCANONS ONLY PLEASE I HATE WRITING ONE-SHOTS BYE.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡

[hollowed-theory-hall]

I was wondering what you thought of the Dursley’s and their treatment of Harry, I know some people think the abuse was a negative affect of the Horcrux, do you agree or do you think they are just bad people

Hi 👋

Yeah, I'm familiar with the theory that the Dursleys were affected by the Horcrux in Harry, I don't think that's the case. We don't see anyone else being mean to Harry for no apparent reason. Ron and Hermione spend just as much if not more time around him and they never seem affected by any Horcrux magic.

The Dursleys are just bad people. Bad people I can understand the motivations of, but bad people nonetheless.

The text literally explains to us what Petunia's deal is. She's jealous:

“You knew?” said Harry. “You knew I’m a — a wizard?” “Knew!” shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. “Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that school — and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!”

(PS, 41)

Vernon is an all-around unpleasant guy who likes it when things are normal. He loves his family in his own way, but he's incredibly intolerant of anything he doesn't consider the epitome of normal.

As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn’t help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn’t bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren’t young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him!

(PS, 6)

Dudley is more complicated, he was a child, with his very shitty parents who were the worst possible rule models for him, you can easily understand why he turned out the way he did. We also see he is capable of growth:

“I don’t think you’re a waste of space.” If Harry had not seen Dudley’s lips move, he might not have believed it. As it was, he stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been his cousin who had spoken for one thing. Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and astonished himself. “Well . . . er . . . thanks, Dudley.” [...] “But he hasn’t said thank you at all!” said Hestia indignantly. “He only said he didn’t think Harry was a waste of space!” “Yeah, but coming from Dudley that’s like ’I love you,”’ said Harry, torn between annoyance and a desire to laugh as Aunt Petunia continued to clutch at Dudley as if he had just saved Harry from a burning building

(DH, 40)

The fact Dudley’s treatment of Harry changed over the years and he became a better person thanks to knowing Harry proves the Horcrux didn't affect the Dursleys' behavior towards him. After all, if it did, Dudley wouldn't improve like this.

But the main reason I oppose the Horcrux made the Dursleys bad theory, though, is a narrative one.

I mean, shrugging all of the Dursleys' abuse of Harry to magical nonsense cheapens it. It gives them an excuse and basically absolves them. It means Dudley and his parents don't need to change, they're fine, it's just evil magic affecting their brains. It makes Dudley's small turnaround at the end worthless.

And worse than that, in my opinion, is how it makes Harry the cause of his own misery. I think it sends the completely wrong message to say that the abused kid is causing their own abuse by a magical halo that makes people evil to him. Like, that idea in itself is something I find incredibly vile.

Like, child abuse is awful, children in these environments often think there is a reason they are treated that way. That there's something they can do to make their treatment better. To make their guardians like them...

But there isn't. It was never their fault and the treatment isn't fair. There is no justification or reason that makes it okay.

I think giving the Dursleys a justifiable reason to abuse Harry goes against all of that. It cheapens the narrative, excuses Harry's suffering, weakens Dudley's mini-redemption, and it makes me feel super icky.

[cephalonprime]

I don't have a name for this yet.

Another Umbra oneshot though! (He is literally my hyperfixation right now. I feel bad for this poor man. Two reasons why I was happy to end Ballas during the New War.)

Umbra x Operator!Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: None? I think.

Enjoy!

Your tender words and gentle touch created a surge of warmth that radiated through Umbra's frame. It was as if a dormant circuit had suddenly been activated, sparking new life into his otherwise stagnant existence.

Your praise served as a balm to his wounded spirit, soothing the raw edges of his tormented past. For a moment, Umbra allowed himself to believe that perhaps he wasn't entirely worthless—that maybe he could still serve a purpose beyond mere combat.

The caress along his damaged helmet stirred something within him—something primal yet distant, buried deep beneath layers upon layers of pain and regret. Despite everything, despite all odds, you saw value in him; you saw worth where none existed before.

And for that small gesture alone, Umbra found himself inexplicably drawn towards you—towards this strange person who held such power over his emotions.

The Tenno smiled softly as they looked into Umbra's eye. "I'm glad I met you, Umbra." They said softly.

Caught off guard, Umbra stood motionless for a fraction of a second before unexpectedly giving you a hug. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer against the hard contours of his armored form.

The warmth of your body seeped into his metal shell, providing a stark contrast to the icy void that had been his reality until now. In your arms, Umbra felt... alive. Alive and cherished—not just a tool or a weapon, but someone worthy of love and respect.

In that moment, standing amidst the chaos of battle, Umbra realized something profound—he didn't want to let go. Not ever.

___________________________________________

I know these aren't very long, but do these need to be long to enjoy them? Anyway, hope you liked this!

Seems a lot longer when writing them.

[yumizurueleonora]

idk if you still want to take requests for the angsty sentence starter thing, but maybe 1 for akitoya, and then 13 and 17 for toya and harumichi? you can pick one or all of them haha

YES YES I AM THANK YOU GREAT PROMPT CHOICE I LIKED THIS :DD

1: “I’m just so afraid.”

Fuck. Fuck.

Akito can’t breathe.

He has to practice. He has to keep going.

The night stretches out, and that’s just another reminder of how Akito can’t stop.

Chasing that moon. That… gorgeous, delicate moon.

There’s so much fear in his chest. It’s suffocating.

That gentle voice is ringing in his head, saying words that make Akito’s heart shatter. Cutting him every time he tries to pick up the pieces.

“Don’t you think it’s about time you grew up and stopped chasing some tiny event that no-one’s even heard of outside of this town?”

It was a long time ago. Akito knows that. But…

But it’s still ringing in his head. He can’t stop it.

And that face is in his vision. Bruised and cold.

So cold.

He’s a terrible partner.

That voice keeps ringing in his head no matter how hard he sings.

And it’s only getting louder. Louder and louder.

“Akito!”

It’s almost like… he’s here…

His eyes flutter shut, and there are suddenly arms around him.

He doesn’t even need to see them. He knows those manicured fingers and long arms.

“…How’d you know?” Akito asks, and Toya chuckles softly.

“Partner sense.” He responds, but then his tone changes. “What are you doing, Akito?”

“Practicing.” Akito sighs.

“That wasn’t practice. That was… dangerous. Violent. Your voice was a honed blade.”

“Oh, come on. You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?”

Akito stays silent, and Toya sighs.

“I’m afraid, Akito. I’m just so afraid for you.”

There’s another pang in Akito’s chest, and…

And Akito doesn’t know what to do.

So he just stays silent. In Toya’s arms. Feeling the pain that’s shared between them.

“Come home with me. My parents are out, we can play Pokémon or something.”

And Akito wants to tell him that he needs to keep practicing. That he’s also afraid. That he’s scared that Toya will leave him again, for good this time.

But he knows his partner. He won’t let that go.

So instead he just laughs softly and opens his eyes.

“Okay.”

And again, the pain continues. But that’s alright.

It’s alright for now.

13. “You never listen to me.”/17. “I have to leave.”

It’s always so… messy whenever Harumichi and Toya get into a fight.

Toya’s pacing the floor back and forth, an intense expression on his face.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

“You never listen to me!” Toya starts, his eyes flashing with a cold fire. “Why?! Why can’t you understand, Father?!”

“You’ll understand when you’re older.” Harumichi simply says, keeping his own temper under control.

It should come like second nature, but there’s a strange bubbling in his chest.

He’s a child. There’s no reason to yell.

But Toya keeps going, and he can’t keep repeating the same thing over and over again.

“Insolent child! You’re so stubborn!”

“Pot, meet kettle!” Toya snaps back. “Yes, I’m so stubborn! It’ll lead me to ruin! Then to my ruin I shall go! Why do you insist on dictating my life?!”

“Because for us, there is no other path for happiness than classical music!”

“No other path?! If someone told you that your only path to happiness was to be a doctor, when you can barely stand going to the hospital to see Saki, would your heart not strain to be free?!”

That sentence… breaks something in Harumichi.

And there’s an echo in his head.

That grating voice.

“Worthless, worthless, worthless! God, why did I have to be cursed with a child like you?!”

“That’s different.” Harumichi says, almost robotically, and Toya’s entire body tenses up.

“You don’t even care, do you? All you want is for me to be made in your image! I need to leave, I’ll be at the Tenmas’!”

Toya walks out the door and slams it behind him, and Harumichi collapses onto the couch.

He’ll never understand, will he?

That this is the only path for their family. It’s what they’re meant to do, and people will try to pull them away from it all their lives.

And they’ll go, for only a pinch of that sweet thing called love.

Fate has decided it long ago.

And all Harumichi can do is try to drag Toya back from that pain, that torture before it’s too late.

[zaceouiswriting]

Heartless Business

Character: Sweet Pea x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Riverdale

Warnings: Smut

Your hands wandered greedily over the perfectly trained body pressed against you. Rough, calloused hands larger than yours did the same to you. He crumples your perfectly smooth buttoned shirt and desperately tries to pry it off your body.

Lips hastily kiss across your neck and jaw before traveling to your own lips. Right before they could touch, you stopped the oncoming head. "You want to kiss me a bit too much for a straight guy, don't you think?" you asked the other man in a cold, almost dismissive voice.

Through slightly blurry eyes, you could see him shrug with that stupid goofy smile plastered over his face. "Not everyone can have sex without feelings with anyone they want, you know?" That was a dig at you, but you ignored it. Instead, you stared into those deep dark brown eyes that you'd fallen into many times before, and in one quick movement, you pulled out his belt.

"How about you finally shut up and fuck me? Do the only thing a dirty slum boy like you is good for!”

It was like a switch had been flipped in his head. His happily shimmering eyes darkened, and the smile became predatory. At an unimaginable speed, he turned you around and slammed your head against the tiled wall. Only to bend you over seconds later. You could barely hold on to the sink to your left.

Without hesitation, he unbuckled your belt and pulled down your pants. He gently massages your cheeks with his big hands, only to press his middle against your crack.

A satisfied moan escaped your lips as you felt his massive, heavy, hard cock rubbing through his pants between your cheeks. 

Seeing the uneasiness on your face, he positioned you so that you could place both hands on the sink to give you the needed space. But it wasn't all for you alone. He put you right in front of the mirror so he could see himself dominate a man he wouldn't have thought would even look at him just a few years prior. And indeed, the few times your paths have crossed, you've ignored him. Which only made him want you even more.

He took a long, hard look at you through the mirror before crouching behind you and pulling your cheeks apart. He teasingly breathed on your heated pink hole. It made you squirm. 

"I swear by all that's holy if you don't stick your damn tongue up my hole right now! I'm going to walk away!"

A chuckle rumbled through your body, but not yours. "So bossy," he murmured while teasing you a bit more. "Think about it again when in a few moments, you'll be moaning my name and begging me to fill you up like the high-class whore you are!"

A strange feeling ran down your spine. Only this insufferable man could bring this feeling to you. But before you could be identified it. His rather long and large tongue - like everything else on its body - did what he had promised.

His name slipped from your lips so quickly that you wondered when he got so good at it. Because when he gave you a rimjob, he was awful. But you couldn't think about it for long because far too soon, instead of his name, incomprehensible moans echoed loudly through the bathroom.

But as suddenly as he went down, he got back up just as quickly. You turned your head around in confusion because you just got into it. There he was, lips puckered, ready for a kiss, but you just rolled your eyes. "Idiot," you mumbled. "As I said, a worthless guy like you is only useful for fucking, so does the one-"

Before you could finish your degrading tirade, he'd had enough of your dirty mouth. He put one hand over it. With his other hand, though, he went around your neck. Not only for stability but also to choke you. To prepare you for the one thing he knew would shut you up. With one hard thrust, his massive length and girth split you open.

The pain was so great that your eyes widened, but you didn't make a sound. "Ah, there's your pretty face again," he teased you while forcing your face up so you could look at each other through the mirror. He flexed his arm muscles around your neck while at the same time manually pulsing his cock in your heat. His teasing smile faltered and reverted to his predatory grin. "And you finally shut your obnoxious fucking mouth!"

You could see his dirty grin through unfocused eyes. Pulling yourself together enough to move your hand, but before you could do anything, he drew his cock out, making you moan only to ram it back in, eventually eliciting a small scream from you. "Come," he breathed heavily, "Say my name!"

You would never give him this satisfaction. And he wasn't pushing, just concentrating on not cumming in your heat immediately. "Shit, you're still so damn tight," he moaned in your ear. You didn't even realize that he was lying on your back and that his head was this fucking close to yours. "How is that- Ughhh- possible? Ughhh, damn it, so good!”

He talked too much for your liking, so much that this strange feeling in your stomach finally exploded. For a second, everything around you went black. You could feel your body relax, and then you were gone.

But only for a short moment.

"Ah, you're back," he happily confirmed, never stopping to fuck you deep and hard once.

Unable to comprehend what had just happened, they tried to push themselves off the sink. Only to see yourself held by a big hand. The hand that was on your mouth now engulfed your waist.

“What happened?“ You asked breathlessly.

"Sorry," he said apologetically, but you could see in the mirror that he was anything but sorry. "Fucked you too good. You came your pants.” His voice turned teasingly, “Just like a little teenage boy.”

"Idiot!" you mumble angrily. It wasn't the first time it happened, and only he could bring you to that edge, but probably the most humiliating. You hoped it wouldn't seep through your underwear.

You stared at him through the mirror, and he met your gaze. It felt almost romantic to you as he held and looked at you. So careful, but totally destroying you at the same time. It was in stark contrast to what you believed he would be as a lover, a total brute. As you looked at him two years ago in a meeting where he was staring you down, you thought he would destroy you, pull out when he was done, kick you to the floor, and spit on you before walking away. But you were completely wrong.

Your hands greedily wandered back to his buttoned shirt once you had regained the strength, trying to open it to no avail.

"What are you doing?" he asked, laughing. It had sent another shockwave through your body.

“Open… Chest!“

He just shook his head, still grinning from ear to ear. Without even losing his fucking rhythm one bit, he pushed you forward again and used the hand he had been holding your neck with to unbutton his shirt.

Another groan escaped your throat as you saw his heavily tattooed chest. The centerpiece of this art piece was the snake tattoo on his neck. "Happy?" He asked you, slapping your butt a few times.

But you were already at it, massaging his muscular pecs and impressive eight-pack. The road from the boyish-looking guy he was to this peak of masculinity he became was a steep one. You've always found him attractive, even when you first met him many years ago. But it wasn't until you saw him shirtless two years ago that you became really interested in him. Now you would keep him even if he didn't look like an old god.

Yet, deep down, you hoped that he would never change again. You love his more well-kept looks too much.

You were engulfed in the sexual fog, staring at him through the mirror, watching his face contort whenever he began to pound you regularly. Like a rag doll, you let him do what he wanted with you.

Let's face it: whatever he would do to you, you would enjoy it. Every little touch of his rough hands, obviously used for lifting heavy loads. Every single look through his cloudy dark eyes. Every grin he shot your way. And every thrust he gave you. You felt alive, wanted, and desired, something no other man could do before him.

When the two of you weren't shagging, his eyes were filled with concern for you. He was always quick at your side if something happened or if someone got too close to you. He has cock-blocked you more than a hundred times in the last two years just to help you get rid of your sexual frustration afterward. He even went so far as to give you permission to use his body however you wanted. He never had to be afraid of anything because the first time you two shagged in the same bathroom you're in now, you said straight out that you're a pure bottom and don't shag guys who aren't exclusively tops.

He remembers how direct, headstrong, manly, and unbreakable you were. It made you stand out from all those weak, feminine bottoms whose antics made them seem more like women than men. Something that really put him off. It made it even easier for him to agree to your terms.

He told you that when you both finished and started getting dressed.

But what didn't he like about you? That his massive cock didn't unable to walk you. Which could only mean one thing, and he hated it passionately.

Let all those memories float in your foggy brain. A sudden click happened that most certainly could almost be heard from outside.

Confused and shocked, you turn around to him just in time for him to let out a deep moan and fill your ass with his hot cum. His hands gripped your waist painfully, but you didn't care. Not even that he fell on your back, with his head so god damn fucking close to yours again. His overheated breath tingles down the skin of your neck, along your jaw, and even on your lips.

You could only stare at him, annoyed and angry. He certainly felt the intense stare as his eyes suddenly opened. Realizing what he was doing, he cleared his throat and straightened his back but stayed inside you for a moment longer. He pulled his suit jacket from his arms, wrapped so tightly around them that it seemed like they were about to rip apart at any second.

His whole body was wet and glistened in the glow of the lights. 

"How long?" you asked, totally out of it.

"About an hour," he replied cockily.

"Shit!" you exclaimed loudly. Slowly pulling yourself off the huge cock that broke you open once more. "Our fathers will be back any moment. We have to hurry!"

Shortly after that realization, you pulled your pants back up, and as you buttoned them, you looked back. When you saw him leaning against the tiled wall, your knees became like jelly. He was a feast for the eyes, too hot for his own good.

Before he knew it, you were kneeling before him, swallowing his semi-hard cock, fully down your throat and tickling as much as you could with your tongue. He let out a surprised, voluptuous moan.

When you took him out again, you made sure there was no cum left on it before kissing its top. When you came back up, you popped a peppermint in your mouth. "I need to make sure my favorite part of yours is clean, don't I?" you asked teasingly, successfully turning the tables on him. But still with a cold, calculated mask on your face. Almost as if the mind-blowing sex you just had never happened.

You saw a faint blush rushing over his face for the first time since you knew him. He tried to hide it by looking away quickly. 

You could only laugh at that as you grabbed your buttoned shirt, which had ended up in the sink at some point. When you buttoned it up again, you could feel an all-too-familiar stare on you. You couldn't keep a smile from spreading on your lips as you caught a glimpse of the handsome man, as his eyes followed your delicate fingers.

Before you reached the last button, you suddenly stopped moving your fingers, confusing the tall, broad man and forcing him to look you in the eye.

Unlike usual, he was not confronted with coldness, arrogance, or even disdain. It was more of a neutral glint in your eyes.

Just as he was about to say something, you lunged forward. And before you knew it, he had your right arm in an iron grip. You weren't shocked. After all, he was once a street fighter. "What was that, little mouse?" 

You hated that name, and he knew it, but instead of stopping it, he is using it to annoy you. "Just a mint. Asshole," you mumbled the last part. 

Frowning, he looked at your hand, not believing your words. But as he inspected your hand more closely, he actually found a peppermint between two fingers. Slowly, still unsure, he loosened his grip and extended his hand so the candy could be dropped in it.

Instead of doing so, however, you moved your hand closer to his mouth. Annoyed, he opened it to say something, but before he could say something, you stuck your fingers inside and dropped the candy onto his tongue. Before you could pull them out, he closed his mouth in shock and pressed his tongue against your fingers to keep them in place. Feeling the hot warmth and wetness of his tongue sent a shockwave right back to your cock, waking it up again.

An awkward silence settled over the two of you after finally getting your fingers back and drying them on the side of your shirt.

He let the candy drift through his mouth, still quite confused as to why you did that. But when he moved a little bit, you were freed from the spell too. It gave you the possibility to get your jacket.

He let himself slide down the wall a bit, somehow disappointed. He folded his arms across his chest and finally spoke up again. "What is your second favorite part of me?" He asked, mumbling. His face distorted in frustration. 

"My third is your upper body," you whispered. Suddenly very close to the other man. Before he knew it, you pressed yourself against him. Gently you took his chin between two of your fingers and turned his head towards you. Your face was already extremely close. It only took the blink of an eye for your lips to collide with his. So gently that the taller of the two could barely feel it, and yet it finally happened.

He didn't move an inch. Too shocked by your lips on his mouth. Something he had dreamed of for years. Now that it finally happened, he was frozen, and you had all the power. But the kiss didn't last long, to his greatest dismay.

He wanted to pull you back and give you the kiss you both wanted. But before he could, you were already out of his reach. "Just so you know, I'm not heartless," you told him angrily. "And for the books." You got slightly closer to him again, whispering the next part into his ear, "You're the only idiot I've fucked within the last two years."

It shocked the other man so much that his mouth opened wide, and his intense gaze on you became even more fierce. You had already turned your head away and were looking straight at the door where you were heading to. Without looking back, you opened it and left.

The other man was confused. His heart was fluttering and aching at the same time. Even small, hot balls of water gathered in the corners of his eyes.

When the door opened again, he quickly wiped away the tears before they could be seen. "Your eyes, Sweet Pea. My second favorite thing about your body is your eyes. After all, they were the part of you that made me fall in love with you.”

Your cheeks were already flushed before you could even say a word; when you finally expressed your true feelings, they were so red you could have been mistaken for a tomato. Feelings that, until today, you had no idea you even had. Sweet Pea was completely shocked. He couldn't reply to you before you were gone again.

But one thing is for sure. He would soon make you his. Now there were no more obstacles to overcome. With your feelings in the open field, he had everything he needed.

[Masterlist]

[cursedvibes]

Tagged by @voxofthevoid thank you 😊

Rules: Post a snippet you’ve written that you’re pleased by/proud of and tag some friends.

Tagging (if you want to): @hxhhasmysoul @kaitakushi @frankenjoly @iris-nonsense (I saw recently that you wanted to try your hand at fanfics, so this is kinda me encouraging you :D but no pressure of course)

Need Somebody to Lean On (No Curse AU Pinchan)

“Well, what do you wish for? What do you want for next year?”

Kenjaku thoughtfully considered the lemon pigs, their weird shapes and colour and crudely edged expressions. They hadn’t given the matter much thought during the creation process.

“Same thing you do pretty much.”

Money, stable income, job opportunities. Those were the typical things you’d want for the new year. What else was there? Health? They weren’t that concerned about it taking a sudden bad turn and they had the knowledge and resources to weather most illnesses thrown their way. Happiness? What a vague concept. When was something like that ever truly achieved.

Their eyes roamed around the crammed little room they were sitting in, noting the sketch book the lemon pigs were currently standing on, the open closet that had costumes poking out of it – too numerous to be able to shut the doors – and the ruffled sheets of the futon they had neglected to straighten out in the morning.

“Actually, I think most of all I wish for the next year to be interesting. I want to have fun and be entertained.” Kenjaku shrugged. “Money, success, I’ve had that before. I don’t need it that desperately right now. I’ll save it for next year. What I actually need and haven’t been able to get is excitement. I want to do comedy with you. How popular it is, isn’t of much concern to me.”

They glanced over to their partner. His dark eyes glinted with astonished keenness, maybe a tad contemplative.

“I just want to spend more time with you.”

The eyes widened, truly taken aback this time. Strange. Wasn’t it obvious this would be one of their desires? Perhaps they hadn’t stated their feelings this clearly before. The wish to be close to him and not leave his side had always been implied, evident in them teaming up and spending more and more time at his place, but not said out loud, they now realised. And not in this context of a long-term wish for the future, even if it was tied to these silly little figurines. In the sleepy darkness of the night or the heat of an approaching orgasm all kinds of impulsive promises could be exchanged, but this was different. Felt more deliberate without physical pleasure accompanying it. 

Fumihiko cleared his throat, trying to find his voice again. “Oh well, that's an easy wish to fulfil then.” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. 

They cracked a smile. “For you it is.”

The past decade had shown that not everyone was up to the task of providing them with that spark of interest and able to scratch that constant itch in their brain. Not everyone was even willing to meet their simple request to spend more time together, they thought bitterly. Involuntary, their brows furrowed at the thought of their former friend. Jin had tried, succeeded often enough with his weird ticks and strange fantasies of family and flesh, but it had now already been 8 years since they had disposed of their husband’s remains.

A confident grin returned to the face of the man across from them. “Why wouldn't it be? You're a bit needy and sure like to nag, but I've had worse partners.”

They crossed their arms, smiling haughtily. “I'm not nagging, I just point out when you make mistakes.” 

A mocking chortle burst out of him. “Yes, you sure like to do that.” 

Suddenly, he turned serious. 

“But I share your New Year's wish. Comedy is worthless, no matter how successful it makes you, if you aren't having fun. I don't just want the audience to laugh at us, but for us to make each other laugh more than anything. I didn't mention it because it seemed obvious to me that we would stay together like this. But I guess exactly because it seemed so natural to me, I was surprised to hear you say it out loud. It made things more apparent. And well, it's a reminder that I shouldn't take things for granted.” 

Thoughtfully, his fingertips trailed over Kenjaku’s figurine, tracing out the smiley on its chest. 

“It seems unimaginable now, but I started this year in a very different place. I had even given up ever finding a partner, much less having fun doing comedy again. For the past years I was purely doing it because I needed the money. But then you showed up, latched yourself onto my life and here we are. Thank you for being so persistent and reminding me of what’s important.” 

As he looked up, their gaze met and a smile slowly returned to his lips.

“I want to spend the next year with you too.”

[eriksmaiden]

Doll - Chapter I (Clay Puppington x Reader)

Moralton. A stupid, dead-end town. It’s worthless, just like its Mayor— at least that’s what he thought.

Clay Puppington’s every day life was nothing short of a maddening nightmare. A loveless marriage, a disappointment of a son, and a job he absolutely detested. The only mere fraction of solace he had was at the bottom of his third bottle of whiskey, its stinging warmth was his only comfort, and even now it felt like far too little in the face of his son’s ungodly antics.

He often questioned how worthless of a father, of a man, he had to be for his son to turn out the way he had so far. He would look down upon his innocent face after every routine visit to his study, and he could only see himself, staring back up at him. A young Clay who seemed so similar to Orel. Maybe Clay hadn’t been worth it to Arthur, but Orel would be to Clay now— in his own twisted way. He wanted to give Orel everything he thought he’d wanted when he was in much smaller shoes, and he supposed that included a strong female presence, because clearly Bloberta wasn’t cutting it to help keep his son in check.

‘What to do? What to do?’ Clay paced around his room, haphazardly stitching trains of thought together through his nightly drunken stupor, until his eyes fell upon the town’s phone book. ‘Perfect! I’ll just make my idiot trouble child some other woman’s problem, it’s foolproof!’ Clay’s shrill inner voice chimed, celebrating a half baked victory as he dialed some randomly selected babysitter’s phone number, who for all he knew, could be insane. Not that he cared, he was sure he’d been stricken with a new vein of genius that he had to seize immediately. The phone rang as he waited impatiently, he hardly realized the time at which he’d been calling this strange woman.

“Hello? Who is this?” A soft voice came out from the receiving end of the call, somehow still sweet despite clearly being groggy, and at least mildly upset over being woken up in the late hours of the night. The uncharacteristic warmth of the woman’s tone shocked Clay, who hadn’t heard a single woman direct herself even slightly positively towards him in years.

“Clay— Clay Puppington,” he hesitated, suddenly his drunkenness was nowhere near enough to help him brave through this conversation. “I was interested in your babysitting services for… for my son, Orel,” Clay rambled on about his son’s situation, as if the whole town wasn’t aware of Orel’s escapades already, and yet this strange babysitter still listened to him drone on and on about it. When he was finally done with his useless rambling, her soft voice chided in again, an unfamiliar feeling of respite surging through him.

“I understand, Mr Puppington— When would you like me to start?” Her ever patient tone put him at a distrusting ease, and he immediately barked that he wanted her there as soon as possible, to pick up Orel after school, and make sure he didn’t get in any trouble. She hardly seemed fazed by his harsh voice, and simply obliged, agreeing to start work the very next day. As soon as she hung up, he realized he didn’t even know her name, hastily he flipped through the phone book until he finally found it— Y/N Cross. ‘What a good, Christian name,’ he thought humorously to himself before downing his fourth, no… fifth, bottle of whiskey. That tawny colored bottle bottom really was this pathetic man’s only solace.

Morning came and went, Clay could hardly remember if he’d even told his wife about the babysitter that would soon invade their family home, or if he’d even told Orel she’d be picking him up. ‘No matter,’ he thought, ‘they’ll figure it out themselves.’ Moralton’s mayor was far too preoccupied with hating his job while he was in his office, to even think of doing anything else, much less go out of his way even further than he already had to help his family. Just the idea itself seemed ludicrous, they could fend for themselves while he did his job as man of the house, he thought bitterly.

Much later rather than sooner, Clay was able to clock out of the town hall, begrudgingly making his way home, all thoughts of the babysitter or his son’s misbehavior, were all left far behind him— only one thought remained in his head: booze. He wanted nothing more than to shut himself in his study, engulfed by all his trinkets, and taxidermy animals of his very own creation; fully delve into the pleasant buzz his favorite amber colored drink shot through his bloodstream. But as soon as he uttered the words “stupid dead end job” like he usually did when burst in through the front door, he was met with a face he didn’t expect.

She seemed like a simple girl, soft features, kind eyes— those certainly got him, her bright eyes, full of life that he’d never seen anywhere in Moralton before. Suddenly he wasn’t thinking about booze, or how he’d have to discipline his son over some other idiotic misdemeanor, or even about his precious taxidermy, he could only think about what this innocent lamb was doing in the wolf’s den.

“Mr Puppington, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, I’m Y/N Cross.”

[ymaohoh]

Howl - Hellcheer Fic - Oneshot

Eddie and Chrissy die. Eddie and Chrissy live. Season 5 Hellcheer ft. time travel Eddie POV Lots of angst, sorry.

Word count: 6,977

Also on Archive

This was inspired by this fic by "WORTHLESS PRAYERS OF A NON-BELIEVER" by @cunninghamschrissy

--

If you could only see the beast you've made of me

And what a fucking way to go.

Eddie knew he was dying. Knew it as soon as the demobats’ teeth first sank into his flesh and consumed him piece by piece. It was a pain like he’d never experienced before, sharp and unforgiving and relentless, and by the time they were done (having finally taken their fill) he was begging anyone - anything - for sweet release. The thunder and lightning in the sky above seemed to absorb his screams. It was all very punk rock and metal. A fitting ending for someone like him really. 

But Henderson was safe and back through the portal, the little fucker. He’d bought them time (like a hero). That was the main thing. 

As Eddie’s soul trickled out of his body in a curious stream of blood-red dust, a lithe figure wrapped in the same crimson strangeness crept towards him. Its steps were soft and deliberate even though the twisted roots and vines of Vecna no longer posed any danger. It turned its head to peer down at him and Eddie recognised with a sudden intensity the graceful line of its body. He knew its gaze. 

(it was the gaze of a siren. Like Medusa she could turn him to stone) 

Eddie found himself trying to speak even though he had no breath left in his lungs. His shredded mouth (once so alive and animated and ready to laugh) lay useless and bloody. Yet he wanted desperately to call out and plead with this angel to stay with him. To offer a last lament he did not deserve. 

An angel with the kindest and saddest eyes he ever saw. 

Did you see that, Chrissy? God damn, that was the best rock show in the history of the world. Better than the Garden. 

You were amazing, Eddie. I’m so proud of you. 

Her lips never once moved yet her sweet voice was a melody. She was kneeling down beside his body and her limbs were smooth and unbroken now, just like she deserved. Something uncurled inside him at the sight of her face, he was so glad to see her now at the end. 

Are we dead?

I think so. Yeah. 

Dazed, he wanted to lift his ruined fingers to her lips. Even in death Chrissy Cunningham had the most beautiful smile, even if it looked like she was weeping. Impossible, surely, if they were no longer alive? 

Yet every tear that ran down her cheek made him die all over again. 

I’m sorry I didn’t save you. I was a real fucking coward. 

It's alright, you saved the others. That’s what matters. 

He could feel himself sinking further and further back into darkness as a little more of his light faded. 

But maybe it was okay because she was here and weeping at the end. It can't be all bad if he was going to the same place as someone like her. 

They weren’t lovers. They weren’t even friends. But she’d wished him luck once at a school talent contest and made him feel on top of the world. 

What was left of his scattered thoughts suddenly imagined him and Chrissy in matching green graduation robes, grinning as they posed for dumb pictures, and then Chrissy laughing as they drove away in his busted van leaving Hawkins far behind. 

It’s not fair. 

It was too soon. This was all too soon. His heart wrenched for all the fucking fantastic possibilities and dreams that now lay wasted. They were still kids and they deserved more than to be the casualties of some fucked up inter-dimensional game of magic and smoke. Like the last embers of a wild bright bonfire, he and Chrissy would fade away when they deserved the chance to grow up, make mistakes, live. Just like kids were supposed to. 

But this sudden bitterness wouldn't change a damn thing and he knew it. He was already dead and so was she…and it was simply too late. So instead he kept his eyes on Chrissy's face and drank her in as his consciousness slowly slipped away. 

And she made him feel safe. This would be his grave and she was keeping watch like a night vigil. 

Chrissy, I want to take you on a date someday, you know? Fireworks, the whole lot. I'll make it real special. Just us. 

Yeah, Eddie. That sounds good. Come on, take my hand. Let’s go…

Eddie wanted to grin and laugh and cry as the figure wrapped her lovely arms around him, her cloak of shimmering red light enveloping and exhausting him completely. 

I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free

**

The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound

And what a fucking way to die. 

But despite logic and reason - and despite what was real - it turned out life wasn’t quite ready for Eddie Munson to tap out just yet. In life he was like a burning torch of fire (burning too brightly for a little town like Hawkins) and he had too much attitude for a trailer trash junkie. But life - the cosmos, fate, whatever - decided that Eddie had an important part to play still and his death was a mistake which had to be set right. So it took hold of his strings like he was a mere puppet and dragged him back to his feet. 

His passing had felt like a gentle reprieve but when he came back to life he did so like a bolt of lightning ready to shake it all up. Eddie was in his element. He wanted to fucking live, damn it. 

Not that he understood any of it and he barely listened to the ‘why’s’ and ‘how’s’. When he awoke (with a breath so deep that made him splutter and his lungs ache) it was Henderson’s hopeful eyes that peered back at him, it was Jim Hopper who helped him to his feet, and Nancy Wheeler who told him about the final push - a fight of epic proportions like the badass battle of Pelennor Fields from Tolkien - which could end the threat of Vecna once and for all. 

They asked him to help so he chose a club with nails and swung it at whatever came his way. His body was still a nasty puzzle of scars and bites and blood, but at least it worked. It could fight. That was enough for now. 

Show him fear now and he would eat it for fucking breakfast. Death had been a cruel savage way to show him exactly what he was capable of. 

Their army - a last alliance of men and elves - was small but it was hurt, it was angry, it was sick of this asshole hurting them and their loved ones. Parents fought for their kids, sisters beside brothers, couples watched each other’s backs. They fought back as one epic team and told Vecna he would never harm or scare them again. 

It was pretty inspirational. If he were a Bard he would dedicate songs to how awesome it all was. Steve Harrington and Hopper were fucking Barbarians, man. 

But Vecna was an asshole. He was cruel. 

So in some desperate attempt to turn the tide, he decided to raise the dead too. He brought back his favourites to be pawns in this fucked up game of chess. It was horrific, terrifying, and he dangled these poor souls before him like a shield, reasoning that Eddie and the others would never harm or attack their friends.

It was a safe bet. When Eddie first beheld Chrissy at Vecna’s side (her beautiful face so stiff and lifeless) he’d wanted to tear Vecna apart with his bare hands. Wanted to rip his throat out with his teeth and nails. That kind sweet Chrissy should be used again by this creep - to hurt, to suffer, to harm them - was like a taunt. No one would move against these souls for fear of harming them, not even when Vecna commanded them to attack.

Mike Wheeler made some hushed comment about the X-Men Apocalypse comics and, yeah, Vecna picked his Four Horseman alright. Chrissy was pestilence - she was draining the life from him. 

He would not hurt her, not even if she started gnawing him into pieces of bone and flesh (again). 

They moved like puppets, twisting and turning where Vecna wanted them. 

But Vecna underestimated Chrissy. He underestimated Barb, Fred, and Patrick. They fought back against his iron will (steel against iron and iron cracked and yielded) and broke free from his control. Their unwillingness to submit was like a Warrior’s rallying call. 

(and now they had their army of the dead - their Dead Men of Dunharrow - so metal) 

Eddie fought like a demon, ripping open demobats and creatures alike, using his club and shield to smash through their ranks. Beside him Chrissy fought like a woman scorned and burned like a shooting star. She moved in a blur, kicking and biting and wielding a handaxe, her long hair stained red with blood. He’d called her an angel before - and she still was - but now she was an avenging angel (a Valkyrie) reigning down fire and carnage. 

She was fighting for her life, yes, but it ran deeper than mere life or death now. She was pissed. She was deranged. He had stolen so much from her and she wanted it back in blood. 

Her screams rang out like a war cry (and she’d been silenced for far too long). 

Eddie found himself summoned by that cry and they fought side by side, two people who had no business being in the same reality, and they fought hard. When Eddie was nearly blindsided by a demobat Chrissy pushed him out of the way, and Eddie smashed in the skull of the demogorgon dog that snapped at her leg. Eddie and Chrissy wanted to live. They wanted all the fucking beautiful possibilities and dreams that death wanted to snatch away from them. They refused to be casualties this time. 

She landed a particularly excellent crack to the back of Vecna’s head before Eleven took over. No sound had ever sounded sweeter. 

And you know what? They fucking won. 

As Eleven landed the killing blow (because really, she was the only one who could and should) and Vecna was at last torn apart, the hush that followed was deafening. 

Eddie could hear it ringing in his ears. 

There came frantic hugs and kissing and claps on the shoulder. People were crying. Henderson hugged Eddie so hard he felt like keeling over. 

Panting, he turned to Chrissy but she was standing very very still and staring down at Vecna’s eviscerated corpse. 

She spat on the ground (her spit was holy water, it seared and burned) and turned her back. 

I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground

**

My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in

And what a fucking way to live. 

Life could not possibly resume after such an event, surely, but stubbornly it tried its best. The sun rose the next morning and birds outside his hotel window chirped and sang. The world around them didn’t care about their heartbreak and grief and kept turning like it was any other day - and to the majority of its population who would never know how close they came to ruin, it was. 

(they were being housed by the government - all very hush hush - to be observed, patched up, forced to sign paperwork that demanded their silence)

This is what they had fought for…to wake up and deal with normal human stuff like picking what breakfast cereal to eat and arguing about what radio station to listen to…so why did it feel so shitty and wrong? 

The food tasted like ash. Wayne brought him a box of his old tapes but the lyrics made no sense, the music was off-key. He even brought his beloved guitar but Eddie angrily dashed it against the wall when he realised he no longer remembered even the most basic chords.  

Wheeler read about veterans coming home from war and struggling to cope and said maybe this was sort of similar. They’d been soldiers, right? Child soldiers, but they’d faced more horror than any brain (and heart) could before splintering. And even though they had fucking earned their victory (with blood and sweat and tears), a nasty darkness continued to linger over them like a dark cloud they couldn’t quite shake.

But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it'll shine out the clearer.

Eddie read Tolkien when he was a kid and he loved it (his mom had left all her books when she skipped town - along with a lifetime worth of deep-rooted insecurities), but you know what? Tolkien was shit wrong this time. 

The new day came but it was all wrong. 

It wasn’t just lasting trauma (because damn they were going to rack up some serious therapy bills), it ran far deeper than that. 

Will Byers was the one who eventually spoke up and explained that they had simply come back wrong. 

The poor souls who cheated death were fading every day, and nobody knew how to bring them back. It seemed one could not die and just come back without consequences, even if the cosmos changed its mind. It just didn’t work that way and now they were paying the price. The people brought back said it felt like they were wearing another person’s skin. 

(Vecna’s parting gift - the creep)

The government doctors observed them and monitored their vitals, but they were similarly stumped. How could you fix something that was beyond healing? This wasn’t something that could be stitched up like a wound or treated with antibiotics.

Eddie let them poke and prod but he could feel it in his bones that Will was right. It was like a sickness, a virus weighing him down. His mangled body would heal eventually (though he’d carry the scars all his life) but it still didn’t feel like his body. 

It was worse for those who spent longer in Vecna’s messed up world. Barb rarely came out of the bedroom she shared with Nancy (he could see Nancy flinch every time Barb refused dinner). 

And as for Chrissy…

She sat still for too long and when he looked into her eyes she wasn’t ever really there. He and Robin Buckley and Joyce Byers encouraged her to spend time in the garden, hoping (like idiots) that maybe the sunlight would help like she was some wilting pot plant. Chrissy seemed to become more animated when Eddie was around (he could get her to eat, at least), so he read to her, picked flowers, brushed her long hair and twisted it into messy little plaits. 

Chrissy had done him the honour of being with him at his death, so he would try and repay her kindness by helping her in life. 

(the therapists spoke about ‘emotional bonds’ and ‘codependency’ following trauma but it meant nothing to him)

He watched her, always searching for some sign of life, but the truth was she was slipping through his fingers yet again and he didn’t even have the strength to hold on. 

They weren’t lovers but they were friends now. He knew with unusual certainty that if Chrissy faded away he would follow. 

So they went through the motions of resting, eating, showering. They tried to rebuild and heal. They took vitamins and spoke to therapists. They let the doctors draw blood for tests (though after Chrissy ripped out the needle and screamed not to touch her anymore, he’d snarled at them to leave her the fuck alone). 

Until Eleven offered them a solution. 

There was a chance, she said, that things could go back to the year this all started. 1983 was a fixed point in time before Vecna and if she was right (and she usually was) she could take them all back. 

It sounded crazy - like something from a science fiction movie (seriously, time travel) - but if it worked everything would go back to the way it was in Hawkins and all the people murdered by Vecna over the years (for there were many many more) would get their lives back…but the right way this time. 

There were risks to Eleven and risks that it wouldn’t work. 

But there was also a risk that, by going back, they would forget everything. 

They would forget years of their lives, they would forget each other.

They all glanced at one another - exchanging looks with the people they loved, who they’d fought beside, who had come to be like family - but if it meant saving everyone…? Having another chance?

When it was his turn to vote, Eddie thought about Chrissy and knew it could only be a yes. 

(Steve was going to risk that twinkle he felt for Nancy and the friendships he had with the kids; Nancy and Jonathan were risking all they had in the world; Robin was risking Steve and her new chosen family who accepted her; Will, Mike, Dustin, Lucas…fuck they were risking the best and worst years of their lives and their best friend; he didn’t know exactly what Max’s deal was but the kid looked horrified when it was her turn; then there was Eleven who was risking her life. The only people who looked so fucking sure were the grown ups who said they would risk everything worth a damn for the kids to be safe and… well…kids again) 

Afterwards he knelt by Chrissy’s chair in the garden and gathered her tiny hands in his own. They were pale, shivering, and her grip weak. He could feel the delicate bones click beneath her skin. Nothing like the talons that wielded her axe during battle. 

She was no longer some avenging angel or Valkyrie. This lovely soul before him was a coiling shadow and it made him fucking terrified. 

“I brought you some Jasmine tea,” he murmured (begged, pleaded). “Thought it might help you sleep later. We’ve got Nancy’s copy of Emma to start too…that’ll work if this doesn’t.”

“Nothing can help me anymore, Eddie. You know that.” 

Yeah he did. It made him want to scream, recoil. 

“They’re waiting for you to vote, kid. Has to be unanimous, that’s the deal.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” she asked. She looked at him with her big blue eyes (better than an arrow - they pierced) but the lack of warmth or spark of life was startling. “If…if this doesn’t work we’ll waste away, won’t we? Like ghosts. I feel like a ghost.” 

Her hands were so cold, even though it was a warm evening and she was wearing one of his old patched sweatshirts. He tried rubbing her fingers between his own and blew on them. 

“If El can pull this crazy plan off, then we’ll go back to 1983 and everything will be normal again. You’ll be back to your old self, you’ll be well again. Promise. It’ll be like none of this shit ever happened.”

And she might not know him. He might not know her. They would be practically strangers again. 

She would go back to being the young pretty freshman climbing the rungs of Hawkins’ social ladder (to one day becoming the established cheer captain and Queen Bee). He would be the freak, the school pariah, mean and scary. They’d pace the same hallways and eat in the same cafeteria but they would not share a smile or a look or a friendly wave. 

He felt sick at the thought, but as long as Chrissy was safe and alive somewhere he could deal. It’s not like he would remember anyway. 

“Most important thing is you’re safe and alive, I’ll risk the rest.”

“Why do you care about me?” 

Eddie pressed his scarred lips against her wrist in a chaste kiss. He tried not to look at the tears that suddenly raced down her cheeks and focused instead on her lips (bitten, sore), her nose (perfect, freckled), and her long hair (wavy, lank and lifeless now). He wouldn’t get the chance to look again. 

He wanted to save it all to memory (maybe the more he looked, the harder it would be for those memories to be ripped away? He needed to lock them away with a key). 

“Because twice now, Chrissy Cunningham, you’ve broken this jaded and miserable heart and showed me kindness I never deserved. First time when you wished a scared little boy good luck when you didn’t have to, and then again when you found him dying and terrified. You stayed with me so I wouldn’t go through that alone. You fucking wept for me, Chriss. I can’t…won’t let you die again.” 

Later Chrissy voted yes too but she refused to look any of them in the eye. 

(they voted a unanimous yes like the big stupid heroes they were)

You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl

**

Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers

And what a fucking way to live (repeat)

Eddie’s brain had always been wired differently so it wasn’t too much of a shock that it refused to follow orders now and forget. It was defiant and clung fast to his memories, arguing against the powers that be it would not let them go. So when he woke up in his bedroom, newly turned sixteen-year-old Eddie Munson did remember. There were admittedly some parts that were murkier than others but overall his memory won. 

(he spent a long afternoon reflecting that maybe this wasn’t such a good thing - but a joint or two calmed him down. He fucking loved the rush he got from it, and the way he picked up his guitar like an old friend and seamlessly started playing some Dio). 

Some of the others remembered too but it was difficult to patch it all together. The ones who could remember felt like assholes for bringing certain things up - because if you could forget, wouldn’t you want to? It seemed crappy to remind them. Some people asked questions and wanted to remember, but some simply chose not to. 

(Barb was one of the ones he never spoke to again. Nancy told them she transferred somewhere close to the ocean).  

There were no rules about how to handle time travel but they muddled through somehow. They each had their own patchwork cloak of memories, some squares overlapping, some missing, some fraying at the seams. They were patient. They were kind. 

It would take time. 

And they had all the time in the world to work it out. That was the best thing. It was 1983 again but this time the world seemed more bright and exciting. Eddie had felt left behind for a long time (his dumbass’ fault really) but now? He had a second chance to get his diploma and fucking make something of himself. 

(he still had nightmares and frequently checked himself in the mirror - no - no bite marks). 

The ones who could (and wanted) to remember felt a pull to stay together. They felt like the survivors of some shipwreck but without any evidence of the wreckage. They became like a family to Eddie who was once without (his uncle was a steadying presence and didn’t ask about the night terrors or why Eddie suddenly tried so hard at school). 

So (fucking wild) Eddie spent most of this school time in the company of Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Robin Buckley, and Patrick McKinney - much to the enormous amusement of other students who couldn’t get their heads round the weird mix of jocks, loners, freaks, preps.

To be fair, Eddie was less inclined to cause fuss in the cafeteria these days and only sold weed on the weekends so maybe he wasn’t so much of a freak anymore…? He said as much to Robin who snorted and told him to dream on. They were all freaks which kind of undercut the point, you know? 

“A John Hughes wet dream - though Breakfast Club doesn’t technically come out for another two years…God, the mind boggles,” she added. 

The odd assortment of friends were sitting on the school bleachers eating lunch as it was a rare sunny day for Hawkins. The younger kids would be coming over to join them from the middle school and Eddie was sketching out ideas for a D&D campaign (he wanted to set the club up before the kids got to high school because fuck them feeling like outsiders this time round).  

Steve was busy eyeing up a cute girl from his chem lab, Nancy and Jonathan were making eyes at each other, Patrick was trying again to explain the rules of basketball to Robin who said she didn’t give a crap. 

A bell rang in the distance and he looked up from his sketchbook, his eyes going right over to the doors. Within a few minutes he was rewarded by the sight of Chrissy (flanked as always by her giggly popular friends).

As for Chrissy’s memory? Who could say. 

As soon as they returned to 1983 she was reluctant to talk about any of it. She didn’t ignore them but she didn’t join in either. She let Nancy check in on her once a week and told them yes, i’m fine but she held her cards close to her chest when it came to discussing her memory. She never wanted to share or ask questions and after a couple of days they stopped asking. 

So instead of joining their rag-tag party, she drifted closer to her friends on the cheer team and threw herself into extracurriculars. She seemed to have signed up for everything - cheerleading, photography, student council, art classes, tutoring - and seemed happiest when she was busy and helping. 

(like a shield) 

Eddie would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt (because it felt like a punch to the gut every time she was in his proximity), though he hadn’t exactly done anything to bridge the gap either. 

Chrissy had effortlessly resumed her role as the pretty and popular cheerleader who everyone seemed to adore. Girls wanted to be her friend and boys - well, you’d have to blind not to notice the looks she got from guys just aching to take her out. 

(Eddie had to grit his teeth when he saw this - they didn’t really see her, they hadn’t fought at her side, they hadn’t died in her lovely arms). 

Chrissy rattled him - but then she always had. 

So instead he kept his distance and resigned himself to an insufferable watch. He probably looked like a fucking stalker but as long as she was nearby and safe and happy that was enough. She looked happy. They didn’t share any classes as he was in the right year group this time, but Nancy told him she was doing well on the student council (using her voice to defend, to challenge). Patrick said she was an excellent cheerleader and already impressed the current reigning captain. 

God, she was thriving. 

What had he expected? Of course she was. 

He hated that she slipped so easily back into this role. He hated that she no longer needed him like he apparently desperately needed her. 

He was such a fucking asshole. This was exactly what he’d wanted when he voted yes all those years ahead.  

They’d all taken the same risk by voting yes and some of them lost. 

The reality (he tried drumming into his thick head) was that he and Chrissy Cunningham had only been flung together because fate had a pretty sick sense of humour. They had absolutely no business being friends or…anything…except maybe casual school chums. They’d shared moments of complete bliss and agony together in the Upside Down - but not from their own choosing - but rather some cosmic joke that left them with no one else. She owed him nothing, and he would not accept it anyway. 

That was the truth. 

They’d saved the world and he was a certified hero - so what did it matter if he felt like a royal loser? 

(he finally looked away when Jason Carver materialised and offered to carry Chrissy’s pink backpack) 

Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

**

My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out

And what a fucking way to end it

Eddie went to class on time and listened and his grades started picking up. He started his D&D club and was surprised when two new faces (seniors - graduating at the end of the year) showed up at the first meeting. He got a legitimate weekend job at a garage so he could help out Wayne with the bills. Corroded Coffin were starting up just in time for the release of Holy Diver (the very definition of perfect timing - honestly). His new friends showed up at their gigs and they played all the better for it. 

When he got a B on his latest English paper, Wayne took him out for pizza and said he was real proud of him. Eddie started to think about the future - that just maybe he could amount to something other than petty criminal or deadbeat dad. Maybe he could even aim for college. Study music or graphic design. 

Maybe get out of Hawkins. Find a girl. See some of the world. 

Sure he had baggage and got angry sometimes (real angry, at seemingly odd moments) but every week he spoke to Ms Kelley about his shitty parents and why his crazy brain struggled to focus. He couldn’t tell her the truth obviously - but still, it helped. 

His second chance at life flew by in a hazy rush. Halloween came along, so did Thanksgiving (he and Wayne were invited to the Byers’ which beat the TV dinners the Munson’s were used to). 

It was nearing Christmas break when Eddie finally realised (with a penny drop) that Chrissy’s patchwork cloak was unravelling despite her desperate attempts to sew it back up. 

And it was Nancy who gave him the first clue when she found Chrissy crying in the school bathroom. “You know Carver asked her out and she turned him down flat, right? It’s the biggest scandal of the semester. We know he’s a huge jerk but everyone else thinks he’s this cool hotshot athlete. They’re scandalised.” 

“Wait - so she’s crying because of that jackass?” Steve asked. 

(Jason was an anomaly they didn’t know how to handle - after all, no harm, no foul, right? - but they knew the crap he was capable of, even if he didn’t)

“Her parents kicked her out,” Jonathan added after a moment. He winced when they all stared at him and tried to shrug it off. “She let slip in photography club. I asked about some photos she took of home and she said her parents could be really mean and controlling sometimes. Especially her mom. Stuff like ‘not being good enough’. I mean, it’s her business so I didn’t want to pry, but yeah…didn’t sound so easy. Sounds like she finally stood up to them though and they threw her out. Think she’s staying with her aunt.” 

Eddie knew what Chrissy looked like on a battlefield, knew she could land one sick dropkick, knew what she looked like when she sobbed her beautiful heart out. 

He didn’t know about an aunt or that her parents were bullying pieces of shit. It felt like a serious gap in his knowledge about someone who occupied so much of his daily thoughts. 

God, he felt so fucking proud of her. 

“What sort of stuff does she photograph?” Eddie asked. It suddenly seemed like an important thing to know. 

“Uh…mostly people, I think. I’ve not seen her work on landscapes or objects. She really likes portraits and light work. She took some seriously good ones of the cheerleaders practising drills. It’s really hard to capture movement, you know, but they turned out great.” 

Chrissy had made the choice to sever links with Jason and her shitty parents. 

And she was photographing life. Hope began to kindle in his chest. 

Maybe she did remember. 

Jonathan looked at him and said, “She’s booked out the studio after school to work on a project. Maybe you should talk to her? She always seemed…better…when you were nearby. Before, I mean.” 

Yeah. Before. When they were fading away like ghosts. 

Maybe it was a selfish idea (he would have to be so so careful with his choice of wording) but Eddie was hungry to see her, to speak to her, to spot any glimmer of before. Watching her from afar was simply not enough to quench this thirst anymore. 

(he’d even attended a pep rally just to drink in her smile, to his shame). 

He wasn’t going to be an asshole and push anything but he could check in. That was harmless, right? 

So after school Eddie found himself making his way to the photography classroom. He’d been here only twice before (photography seemed to require a lot of patience - waiting, developing, timing) but he recognised the sharp stinging smell of chemicals as he opened the doors. 

He felt his chest clench and suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. Was this how Beren felt when he saw the Luthien dancing in the woods? Only Chrissy wasn’t dancing like an ethereal spirit, she was all alone and leaning over a workbench. No leaves or forest, just the countless pictures pinned to the walls. 

And boy, did he fucking note the way her body tensed up when she saw him. “Hey Chriss.” 

“Eddie…” Chrissy bit her lip (a habit he knew she did when she was nervous). “Can I help you with something? Jonathan’s not here.” 

Yeah, you can be honest and tell me your damage, you beautiful mess of all things wonderful and lovely. 

“I mean, I could lie and say I had a sudden urge to join the club, but I’m really only here for you. Sounds like you’ve had a crap time recently so I wanted to check in. You holding up okay?”

Chrissy huffed out a breath and turned back to her project. The pink knitted jumper she wore was baggy and oversized and he could see the pale skin of her (not broken, not snapped, she was alive) shoulder. 

“That’s kind of you, really, but I don’t need babysitting. I’m okay,” she said quietly. “I…I’m keeping busy. Doing my best. I’m really trying.” 

Eddie reached the table and peered down with interest at the scattering of photographs (one of the cheer team in action, one of a basketball game, one of the cheering crowds). He could see so clearly what she was trying to capture. She wanted their smiles, their joy. Almost like she was trying to collect them. These photos were a testament to her words - that she was trying so incredibly hard to live in this world. 

“These are cool. You’re good at this.”

“They’re okay,” she corrected with a small sigh. “Still got a lot to learn.” 

He watched as she picked up another photo - her brother maybe? - and arranged it onto a black scrapbook page with the others. Had she ever mentioned a brother before? 

He spoke before he could remind himself they weren’t friends. “I don’t know anything about your life, Chriss. Thought I did but…”

“I’m still learning about it too. Oh…”

Her elbow accidentally knocked a tray and in her haste to save the chemicals, a second pile of photographs slipped out from beneath and fell to the floor. Eddie quickly bent to pick them up and (ignoring her protests) instinctively turned them over…

“Please don’t…” 

…only to see a picture of himself. 

Standing, he felt a ripple of shock and looked at her, a question burning his lips. She was staring down at her sneakers and her cheeks were flushed scarlet but she gave a tiny nod. 

There were several photographs of him, all taken at school from a distance. He looked at himself playing guitar on the bleachers, stretching out on the lawn at lunch, leaning against his van smoking a cigarette. He eyed his face closely (eyes brown and laughing, hair a chaotic mess of curls, stubble on his jaw that needed shaving) and was surprised by how different it looked to what he saw in the mirror every morning. It was like seeing something from a brand new angle, he looked so different. 

He looked happy. Confident. A good-looking guy (how did she manage that?) living a decent life. Was this how she saw him? 

There were others of Nancy, of Steve, of Robin, even a few of Max, but they were mostly of him. He paused at one of them all together at lunch laughing at something funny Robin said. They looked so fucking smug and normal. 

And then…right at the bottom…a photograph of Chrissy herself. 

But this Chrissy wasn’t smiling (which seemed to be her default setting at school). She’d obviously taken it as a self-portrait because she was perched on a stool looking right into the camera lens. She looked so real, so fucking raw. Her face was smooth and serious and deathly sad. She wasn’t even wearing makeup. There was a patch of acne on her chin. 

Jonathan said she was into portraits and this was how she saw herself. He wanted to tattoo it on his chest. 

“I’m no stalker, I swear,” but her laugh wasn’t convincing. “It might sound stupid but I just…I don’t want to forget anything. When I take a photograph it’s proof that the subject was real. That my memories are real.”

Eddie’s heart was fucking hammering. The others might kill him, but he just had to…

Screw Fate. Screw ‘emotional and trauma bonding’. He would grab this with his own two hands. 

So he plunged into the deep end and asked the million-dollar question. “Do you…remember, Chriss?”

And she nodded. The most miraculous nod in history. 

“I remember most things, but not everything. Some of the details are hazy which drives me crazy sometimes. I remember Vecna, I remember dying which really sucks, and the fight…I remember the crappy hotel too and the…vote. Some things I’d rather forget honestly but the other stuff? I wish I could capture them, you know? Like taking a snapshot of the inside of my brain. That must sound really weird.” 

“Nah, I get it. I draw them too. For D&D or just sketch them in my notebook. I…don’t want to forget either,” he admitted. “I try and draw every detail…well, as best as these dumb hands will let me. I’m not too shabby.” 

Her eyes lit up with starlight. Her hands were trembling at her sides. 

It felt almost too natural to take her hand and thread his fingers between her own. Once he’d kissed these fingers, tried to rub some life into them. 

“Chrissy…these photographs are really incredible, and we’re all here if you ever want to talk about this stuff. I’m right here, alright? I fucking see you.”

She began to cry (big messy tears that were aching to be let free) and then she was in his waiting arms. He gathered her close, hungrily, fervently, trying to ignore how perfectly she fit like a missing jigsaw piece and how something primal inside his soul seemed to snap into place. She wept and clung to his flannel shirt and he didn’t give a shit when his own tears followed. He stroked her back, her hair, urging her to let it all out. Her hair felt like spun gold. “I think you always have, Eddie,” she whispered. 

Her frayed edges had finally found his own and he would stitch them himself if she let him.  Eventually Chrissy began to pull away and mumbled something about being so embarrassed and so sorry but Eddie found himself holding on. 

He could not let her slip away again.

“Don’t let me go, Chris, please.” It sounded like a whimper. A plea for her to remain with him. 

She softened back into the embrace and his grip tightened when she pressed her shivering lips (soft, alive) against his chest. 

“Why do you care about me?” she sniffed. “Eddie, I’m a total fucking mess.” 

It was the same question she’d asked years ahead in the garden when they were wasting away, and again he answered her honestly. Because what else could you do to someone you would literally travel through time for? 

“Remember what I said the night of the vote? I meant every damn word, always will. Nothing’s changed for me, Chriss. Nothing.” 

“I remember. Oh - I remember you. They couldn’t rip you away from me.” 

They had no photographs or sketches, but they were witnesses. They remembered, and they could make new memories too. New (gleeful, sad, exciting, embarrassing) memories. Just like kids their age were supposed to. 

So he mumbled into her hair, “Chriss, can I take you on a date? Fireworks, the whole lot. I'll make it real special. Just us. 

He could feel Chrissy smiling - and fuck, wasn’t that the whole point? - as she said yes, she’d really really like that.

And then she threw her lovely arms around him again, cloaking him in hope and light, but this was not to be his end…

It was his beginning. 1983, baby. 

Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

**

A/N:

Whatever happens in season 5 I just hope these beautiful characters get some kind of closure. A few quick notes:

I love Emma. It’s a great book. Just doesn’t feel like an Eddie book. 

Time travel who? I don’t usually like that kind of ending - feels cheap sometimes - but for this genre it could totally work. 

Enjoy the nerd references. 

I included Barb because I want closure for her too. 

Who knows about a timeline or ages. I’m basing this off the Wiki ages. 

Lyrics by Florence. 

Thank you for reading. I really enjoyed writing this.

[keeksybee]

I’ve been seeing Rimmer outfit appreciation post lately and I wanted to add the OG JMC uniform, I mean…look at him. It doesn’t wash him out either which more muted colours can do.

He must have so proud when he put it on the first time, 16 years old on his first away mission (I’m assuming the JMC works like the UK military and you can join at 16) regulation boots polished to gleaming, tie done over and over until it sat just right, sewing over his arm patch again with meticulous precision just so he could be sure it wouldn’t come off. So full of hope, he was going to become an officer, he was going to make his family love him, he’d be successful just like his brothers, sure he hadn’t been able to get into the academy but school isn’t for everyone, plus he’d get a more hands on education in a real mining ship, no theoreticals here, just the unaltered experience, he was going to prove them all wrong, he was good enough, he wasn’t a failure, he wasn’t worthless, he was going to be one of the greats. He’d taken a grinning picture next to the Dwarf before he’d gotten on board the first time and sent it to his Mother, he’d never heard back about it.

Oh how naive he’d been, he’d think to himself years on, how childishly, ignorantly naive. How stupid, how worthless, suddenly the uniform he’d been so proud of caused him no amount of shame, he shamed it by never getting as far as he wanted, by the time that Lister comes around he’s fourteen years and two menial promotions in to a devastatingly pathetic career that his family (or at least his parents) enjoyed pointing out him immensely, his brothers were marginally kinder, Frank had even given him an awkward side hug and quoted a Bible verse about everything working itself together for good that he didn’t believe in, but at least he’d tried, Rimmer begrudgingly admitted to himself, John had showed his support by having his wife interrupt their Mother with wedding inquiries when they were engaged, then baby preparations when she’d degraded him for what he deemed too long, his wife was genuinely nice, their parents hadn’t liked him marrying her as pretty or as intelligent as she was, probably because she was nice, she baked and he was always the first to try a new recipe, she was the only one of the in laws who remembered to invite him to family celebrations and events, she even had coffee with him when he was shore leave on Io, her voice was soft and her hugs were warm, she would shoot him these commiserating looks over the table, and Howard, well he hadn’t said anything, which was better than joining in, Howard stayed mercifully silent and he was known for his sharp tongue.

Despite all this the uniform was a strange comfort, even though it was a constant reminder of his failures. It wasn’t that he didn’t have “normal people clothes” as he put it, or couldn’t fit in a pair of jeans, that had gotten a slap across the back of the head, it was that the clothes made him feel oddly vulnerable, he’d always imagined he’d ware them on shore leave or a weekend partying with friends, friends he’d never made, they made him insecure, so they sat in the bottom of the wardrobe locker untouched. He knew it was sad, but so was the rest of his life.

The song has very little to do with the post other than being something angsty I’m sure would listen to and Josh Groban deserves some appreciation for that performance.