#sp [ twists and turns ]

[d3adhood]

tag dump , feel free to disregard.

╼ ✘╽   IN MY DEFENSE I WAS PROBABLY STONED.   ╽   OOC. ╼ ✘╽   THIS IS THE WAY IT IS.   ╽   PSA. ╼ ✘╽   ALL MY FRIENDS ARE HEATHENS TAKE IT SLOW.   ╽   P. ╼ ✘╽   I’M A POPULAR POPULAR MONSTER.   ╽   SP. ╼ ✘╽   WORDS MEAN NOTHING WITHOUT ACTIONS BEHIND THEM.   ╽   PROMPTS. ╼ ✘╽   I’M NOT PLAYIN GAMES ANYMORE!   ╽   GAMES. ╼ ✘╽   MY SWEET BOY…NOTHIN GO ON WITH YOUR DAY   ╽   META. ╼ ✘╽   TURNS OUT I MAKE THINGS SOMETIMES.   ╽   EDITS. ╼ ✘╽   YEAH NOW I’M BACK … OH LOOK AT THAT.   ╽   APPEARANCE. ╼ ✘╽   EVERYBODY IN THE WORLD KNOWS I’M A LITTLE TWISTED.   ╽   MUSING. ╼ ✘╽   THAT’S WHY I GOT THESE … SICK THOUGHTS.   ╽   HEADCANONS. ╼ ✘╽   EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED WAS RIPPED AWAY.   ╽   DESIRES. ╼ ✘╽   BEEN TO HELL & NOW I’M BACK.   ╽   IC. ╼ ✘╽   YOU TALKED SHIT .. NOW YOU’RE GONNA GET HIT.   ╽   ANSWERED. ╼ ✘╽   WE REALLY GOTTA STOP MEETING LIKE THIS MAN.   ╽   REPLIES. ╼ ✘╽   IT’S NOT MUCH … BUT IT’S ENOUGH.   ╽   HALFDENT. ╼ ✘╽   ME WITHOUT YOU DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE.   ╽   BRUZ3R.

[angelkhi]

friend of a friend - b.b, s.r

pairing: steve rogers x f!reader x bucky barnes

summary: steve’s girl is feeling needy, maybe bucky can benefit from it too.

warnings: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI), oral (m+f), masturbation (m), wet humping, cum play, praise, steve calls her a whore like once? language, exhibitionism, voyeurism??? slight oral fixation on readers part??? yeah okay that’s it.

word count: 2.7k

a little note: i missed the boys and felt particularly unhinged. also endgame ending doesn’t exist. anyway, it’s fuckin nasty and i’m going to hell xo

You like seeing Steve like this. Boisterous and carefree, sipping a beer on the couch. It's normal. He deserves it.

Bucky sits across from him, detailing his recent mission with Sam. Their weekly chats often turned out like this, in between a short period of reminiscing and talking about whatever game had been shown that week, it always comes back to work. There's a hint of longing in Steve's voice when they talk like this. You know he misses it, how couldn't he? Its all he's ever known. But he insists he's done, and you believe him.

You're not entirely sure where their conversation is now, having zoned out some time earlier. Sat between Steve's legs, head rested on his thigh your mind had easily drifted.

You can't help your slight obsession with Steve's thighs. Even in a simple pair of joggers, the stiff outline of his toned muscles are fully on display. Each expertly sculpted ridge shifts between your cheek each time he moves or laughs. It's distracting, more than that.

You often find yourself nuzzling into the soft material just to get closer to the part of him you love so much. Steve’s fingers catch a lock of you hair, twisting and pulling on it every now and again, the action both soothing and adding to the deep tension threatening to boil over in your stomach.

His booming laugh filters through the room, his thigh flexing beneath you once more. It’s not normal, you think to yourself as you not so subtly press your skin against him, the fabric swallowing your helpless whine.

You sit like this for most of the afternoon, until it slowly turns to evening. Desperate and whining quietly to yourself. Your thighs clench periodically, and you have to stop glancing at the clock, secretly hating yourself for wishing it was time for Bucky to leave.

You’re so wrapped up in keeping your arousal at bay, in the warmth of Steve’s thighs you don’t notice the slight lull in conversation, nor do you notice Bucky leave the room to get another beer.

Steve strokes your head for a moment, his fingers igniting your skin as they slowly trail across your jaw. He tilts your head until you’re looking at him, a small knowing smile on his face.

“You doin’ okay down there?” He smiles, his thumb strokes your chin ever so gently, but the touch alone is enough to make you want to cry. Your need for him is far beyond your control and at this point, you’d take what you can get.

You nod, sandwiched between his calloused fingers and warm thigh. He tsks quietly and releases your chin, shifting back in his seat to widen his thighs. He watches quietly as your wide eyes glisten, immediately fixating on his clothed crotch.

“I’ve been neglecting my girl.” He shakes his head a little, smile turning to a smirk as he marvels in how transfixed you are. “Does my baby need some attention?”

His thumb traces your bottom lip, your mouth opening instantly desperate to taste him. You nod slightly, lips wrapped around his thumb, fingers clutching his calf tightly. He pushes down on your tongue, slipping deeper into your mouth, groaning quietly when your throat vibrates around his digit as you moan.

That slight bit of relief is enough to calm you for a moment, but your need rears it’s desperate head and you know you need more. Steve doesn’t move when Bucky walks back in and hands him a fresh beer. He just thanks him, eyes never leaving you.

Bucky isn’t phased returning to his chair without question. The idea of Bucky spectating your desperate state should be embarrassing enough to make you snap away from Steve. Instead you suckle on his thumb even harsher, looking up at him as he sips from his beer like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Steve pulls his thumb free, pressing it against your shining lip and more leans forward, the malted beverage heavy on his breath.

“M’gonna fill that pretty mouth up, just like you want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Surely he isn’t being serious. Not with Bucky watching you both. Somehow the thought doesn’t deter you as much as it adds to the growing arousal, your cunt clenching around nothing.

Your eyes flick to where Bucky is now seated. You'd believe he's as relaxed as Steve if it weren't for the beer bottle clutched between his white knuckles. His lips are slightly parted in curiosity, pretty blue eyes dark with promise, watching you and Steve.

“Go ahead.” Bucky says it so simply with an encouraging nod, taking a languid sip from his beer.

“You gonna show him how good you are for me?” You nod hurriedly, watching as he puts his beer down, and does only that.

“Gotta hear the words honey.” His hand rests on waistband of his sweats, waiting.

“Please.” You speak through your the foggy haze clouding your brain. “Let me suck your cock, Stevie.”

“Attagirl.” He pulls down the elastic, letting it rest just below his knees. He knows how much you love his thighs, and secretly loves the way you mark them up, claiming another part of him that he gives to you so willingly.

Unsurprisingly, you press your lips to his inner thighs the first chance you get. The light dusting of golden hair tickles your lips when you suck dark bruises onto his unmarred skin, lightly tracing them with a light scrape of your teeth, earning an illicit moan from him.

When you’ve had your fill of his broad thighs, they’re littered with tiny marks and the slightest indent of your teeth in certain places.

Your finger lightly traces the underside of his cock, trailing up to the head and stroking over the slit. It shines brightly under the dim light and you actually salivate knowing you get to taste him. You marvel at Steve’s dick each and every time you see it, it’s curve feels perfect inside of you, the slight girth stretching you out so fucking good, length hitting all the right spots.

You wrap your hand around him in a tight fist, squeezing at the base just how he likes. His head rests back on the couch cushion, exposing his neck. His muscular chest begins to rise and fall slightly quicker as you stroke him.

Finally, you sink your mouth onto him, not bothering to tease him any further, this is for you after all. He’s letting you suck him off in front of his best friend to satisfy your needs, the least you can do is make it worth while.

You bob your head, alternating between long slow strokes and quick harsh suckles. Your hands tug at him, twisting around what you can’t take, revelling in his slight reactions. The way his thighs tense beneath your fingers, the way he sucks in sharp breaths and shudders out increasingly loud groans.

You wonder for a second if this isn’t the first time they’ve done something like this. It spikes a sense of jealously in your chest and you swallow him down even further, not caring that it burns your throat. Pride blooms in your chest when he grips your hair, holding you in place, groaning deeply.

"So good. So good to me." His hips flex, pushing himself against that spot again. "You gonna be this good for Buck? You gonna suck his cock like a fuckin champ?"

You moan around him when he speaks, doing your very best to take him as deep as you possibly can. Your throat closes around him as you gag slightly, the slight brush of his hair ticking your skin.

"That's my girl." His hand rests over yours, hissing when your nails dig into his exposed thighs. He thrusts slowly into your warm mouth, hitting the back of your throat softly, watching as tears gather in the corners of your eyes.

His thrusts grow harsher, as does his grip on your hair, but that hand covering yours, the way his thumb strokes reassurance into your skin keeps you grounded. You feel that familiar twitch in your throat as you prepare to take his load, but then he’s tapping you hand and pulling you away from him ever so gently.

You find yourself pouting, desperate to have him fill your mouth again, but then he looks behind you and speaks.

“Go see Buck, looks like he could use some help.” He swipes his thumb through the spit on your chin, and nods to his friend.

The carpet is plush beneath your burning knees and you find yourself crawling between the other man’s thighs. Bucky strokes himself slowly, watching you quietly with that predatory gaze.

He’s not as long as Steve, but where he lacks he makes up for it in girth. Soft veins protrude from beneath his weeping head and you’re sure if you look close enough, you’d see them pulsating with need.

You cover his hand with your own, watching him twitch in your palm, stroking him a few times in a tight grip. You lean forward and swipe your tongue across the rosy head, eyes solely on him. He sighs, shoulders relaxing, his cheeks flushed all sweet and red.

Your tongue is so warm and wet against him as you swirl it across his skin for a few moments before you finally take him in your mouth. It’s vastly different to Steve, the way your mouth stretches wider around him. His head prods the back of your throat slightly quicker, but the thickness has the same effect on your gag reflex.

You get lost in the unfamiliar taste, the slight musk that’s just so Bucky. Steve comes up behind you, tugging at your leggings, keeping you steady with one hand as he pulls them off with the other. He swipes them down, taking your ruined panties with them, discarding the soaked cotton and gripping your thighs, spreading you wider.

“God Steve, she’s a fucking pro.” Bucky’s usually deep voice is instead breathless when he speaks Steve over your shoulder. Steve chuckles knowingly, his hand caressing your bare skin.

“You hear that honey? You’re being so good for us.” You hum in acknowledgement, the praise going straight to your core.

For a moment he just stares at the slick coating your thighs, drawing small patterns across your skin. The moment is strangely intimate, made so by Bucky’s thumb brushing your cheek as he slowly starts to thrust into your mouth.

You feel Steve’s hands resting on your ass before he spreads you open, cool air against your warm wet heat causing you to sigh. He licks a single stripe from your clit, right to your dripping hole, pausing to hear you moan around Bucky’s cock before he does it again and again and again until he’s nose deep in your pussy.

You brace your hands on Bucky’s thighs. breath coming in short pants out of your nose. Steve’s lips wrap around your swollen nub, suckling harshly as he shakes his head, the friction making your eyes roll. His nose prods at your hole, and your nerves are on fire.

You suck harder on Bucky’s cock, alternating between stroking him whilst you lick and suckle on his heavy balls. You feel the ghost of Steve’s fingers against your slit, whimpering when he slides a single finger in right to the knuckle. He works you open slowly, stretching your wet cunt around his finger before adding a second, hooking them inside of you.

Between Bucky fucking your throat and Steve lapping at your cunt like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, you’re not sure you’ve ever been so aroused in your entire life. You want to whine when he pulls his mouth away from you, but the fullness of his fingers satisfies your simmering need.

“Look at you, letting my friend fuck your throat right in front of me.” His fingers don’t let up, bordering on the sweet side of harsh.

“Stevie, fuck that’s so good.” You sound as desperate as ever, lost in Steve and Bucky’s touch.

“Bet you’d let him fuck this pretty cunt if he asked, huh.” Of course you would. The thought alone is wildly arousing. Steve chuckles through his quiet grunts when you clench around him, curving his fingers ever so slightly.

“My pretty little whore.” He half chuckles, though it’s mostly a groan.

He sucks at your clit once more, fingers hooked inside of you and you’re a goner. You pull your mouth away from Bucky, stroking him instead as you gush slightly against Steve’s face. Bucky thrusts up into your hand at your loud moans that only spur Steve on, the orgasm so intense it makes your body slump against Bucky’s thigh.

You find the energy to take Bucky back into your mouth, letting him thrust against your tongue, taking what he needs.

His hips jut harshly, prodding the back of your throat. His hand moulds around the curve of your skull, fingers threaded through your hair guiding your movements. He’s quiet compared to Steve, not speaking unless it’s a quietly muttered fuck, or so good. Sometimes he’ll groan, deep and guttural, but others he’ll catch himself on the edge of a whimper.

Those are your favourite. Making a man as stoic and quiet as him whimper is soon to be your greatest triumph.

You brace yourself on his thighs, shifting one of your hands to wrap around his thick shaft. You work quickly against him, twisting and flicking your wrist, running your thumb just below his weeping head, pressing stray kisses to the bulging veins.

“Buck, put her on your lap” Steve speaks from behind you, squeezing your thigh before Bucky helps you up, manoeuvring your near boneless body on top of his thighs. The bright tip of his cock, smooth with a mix of precum and your spit, nudges your sensitive slit.

You flatten your palm on the underside of his dick, caging him in, grinding your slick cunt against him. He thrusts against you, chasing his release, resolve depleted as he whimpers into your neck. The sound alone is enough to send you over the edge. You keep your eyes on Steve as he watches your cunt writhe against Bucky. There’s a new hunger in his eyes, something you’ve never quite seen before.

Steve sits back on his calves, his fist working over his pretty dick as he watches you cum for a second time, only this time it’s against his best friends cock. He looks so pretty, with his hooded eyes and flushed cheeks all traces of his dominant nature drowned out by his desperation.

Bucky’s whimpers grow louder and his teeth brush against your skin. The hold he has on your hips tightens as his thrusts grow sloppy, and his teeth dig into your shoulder, a truly broken moan shattering through him as he cums. Ropes of white land on your mound, dripping down your slit. You can’t help but moan when he thrusts one final time, his sticky spend and your slick making a near diabolical sound

Moments later Steve, pushes himself up onto his knees, fucking his fist harshly, pushing himself over the edge with a deep, almost growl. You watch through tired eyes when he cums all over your messy cunt, faint droplets of white mingling with Bucks.

He leans back, taking in the sight of your ruined cunt, chest heaving. His fingers prod at your puffy slit one final time, swirling around in the mess three of you had made before he extends his hand to your already open mouth. You suck at them like a woman starved, tongue lapping at the digits until they’re instead slick with your spit.

A silence stretches between the three of you for a moment, before Steve stands, and ticks himself into his sweats. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“So proud of you. You did so well.” His large hands cup your face, eyes searching yours for any discomfort. He finds none.

You watch him leave to retrieve a washcloth from the bathroom whilst Bucky presses small kisses to your marked skin and thanks you. You hum, too dazed to speak. When Steve returns, Bucky disappears into the kitchen for a few moments, returning with three bottles of water.

As you slump against the chair, Steve running a warm cloth over you and Bucky holding the water bottle to your lips, you look over at the clock again watching it tick, willing it to stop, hoping that Bucky doesn’t have to leave.

i think we all know by now everything i write sets back feminism a few hundred years. i’m very sorry and i will do it again.

[crackedpumpkin]

ɪɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ

Warnings: Mild spoilers for Across The Spiderverse, one (1) curse word, angst, unrequited love.

word count: 1, 545

[ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

In every other universe, Gwen Stacy falls for Spiderman.

“Right,” You snort, closing the comic book in your hands and placing it back into the pile on Miles’s bed. He glances up from the comic he’s reading, raising a brow at your sceptical expression. 

“What?” He hums in amusement, casually grabbing a candy bar from his pocket and tossing it to you. It almost slips from your fingers, but you manage to catch it just in time with a playful eye roll.

“What’s so bad about Gwen Stacy ending up with Spiderman, anyway?” 

“It’s just,” you hesitate. Would he think it’s stupid? “It’s unrealistic. I mean, it’s nice that Spiderman has a predestined love, but it doesn’t mean that it has to go by the book, y’know? It’s his life. Maybe there’s a really rude and narcissistic Gwen out there in another universe.”

“W-well, what if there isn’t? I’m pretty sure that there are good Gwens out there.” You look at him curiously, wondering what’s got him so defensive. 

“What’s got your undies in a twist?” You chuckle at his earlier words, the tautness in his voice a surprise. Leaning back against the wall next to his bed, you kick your feet up to rest next to his arm, watching him frown and shove you off playfully.

“It’s nothing.” He tries to laugh it off, but the hint of nervousness in his eyes suggests otherwise. You narrow your eyes at him, watching him rub the back of his neck as beads of sweat form on his hand. 

He’s lying. Why?

“Okay,” You choose to say instead, letting him be as you turn away. Your heartstrings tug slightly at the wistful look in his eyes when he stares at the front cover of the comic you were reading earlier, the illustration of Gwen Stacy clear as day.

You know he’s hiding something from you, something big. Ever since last month, he’d been cancelling hangouts and study sessions, and he’s always coming up with new excuses to avoid hanging out with you. During the few times you get to meet him, Miles always has a hint of nostalgia in his words, a glint of longing in his eyes as if he’d rather be with other people.

It hurts. 

And it hurts even more when you planned to confess to him last week on the rooftop, only for him to show up hours late. He called you in a panic, apologies spilling past his lips before you promised you weren’t mad. 

On the other end of the phone, however, you throw away the letter you’d so painstakingly written for him, just for that day. All the words prepared were useless, fading into the corner of your mind when you heard his voice on the phone. 

“It’s fine,” You promised him countless times, hearing nothing but hesitance in his words when he checked to make sure it really was fine. Since then, you decided to squash down your confession, constantly procrastinating the day you tell him how you really feel.

“What about tomorrow’s bio test? You studied?” You ask, turning your head to see him freeze at the mention of the test he most definitely hasn’t studied for. He smiles sheepishly, silently pleading for you to share your notes with him. 

“You and me against the world, right?” He grins, holding out his hand for a fist bump as he sits on his bed from his lazy position. 

“Right,” You chuckle, grabbing the binder and notebook from your bag and handing it to him. You watch him flip through the pages fondly, eyes tracing the outline of his face and your gaze lingering on his lips.

You and him against the world.

It's always been you two for as long as you can remember. From the day you met in kindergarten to now, even as he stands in front of you in his Spiderman suit. 

You let out a disbelieving laugh, sitting down on your bed. Shocked doesn't even begin to describe how you're feeling right now. You come home from school and decide to drop by Miles’s apartment, waiting in his room with your feet propped onto his desk, only to see motherfucking Spiderman crawl into the room and pull off his mask to reveal your childhood friend (and the boy you’re in love with).

Miles had been keeping such a huge secret from you this whole time. You're ready to punch him - to scold him even, for not telling you earlier. He’s your best friend, but apparently, he doesn't feel the same way if he’s been hiding this from you. Aren’t you trustworthy enough? 

Aren’t you good enough?

His eyes are wide and filled with pure fear, hands trembling as he hugs himself, bracing his emotions for when you finally get mad. Your breaths are shaky, eyes flitting between him and the mask he holds in his hands. Flickers of anger begin to sink in, the claws of self-doubt sinking into your chest.

But a moment of clarity hits you. Miles didn't need a reaction right now. He needs you. He needs his best friend.

"Okay. Okay," You repeat through a slow exhale, looking up at him with a nod of acceptance. You simply gesture for him to sit down next to you. He does so without a word, automatically leaning his head on your shoulder like he always does when he's nervous and scared.

"You're not mad?" He asks softly. You shake your head, bringing his hand up to plant a soft kiss on his knuckles, ignoring the slight flutter in your chest as your lips graze against the skin.

To him, the action meant little, a comforting gesture used between you both since you were kids.

But to you, it means everything else. You try to push down the way your heart speeds up when his breaths brush against the exposed skin of your shoulders, hoping he won’t look up and see your gaze filled with pure love and concern for him.

Instead, you stare straight ahead at the window that overlooks the next few apartment buildings. The sunset is beautiful, auburn orange bathing the graffiti-covered concrete in a warm glow that has you wishing this isn’t the situation you’re in now. He tucks his head under yours, and your cheek presses against his hair, watching the sunset together. 

"I'm not mad," You promise in a soft sigh, feeling him finally relax under you. He mumbles out thanks, and you merely grin, pressing another casual peck on his hand, the both of you falling silent after.

And for once in the five years that you've grown to love him more than he'd ever know, this time, you're not lying. 

— — — — — 

It's the day of the celebration, a joyous occasion meant to act as a hallmark for Mr Morales’s promotion.

But Miles is nowhere to be found. After returning from god knows where he disappeared, he returns with a girl.

Gwanda is her name. You stare at the blonde hair, the strawberry-coloured tips catching your eyes. The colour looks pretty on her. Her nervous disposition only makes you slightly suspicious, watching her leave from a short distance away after Mrs Morales approaches them.

But judging from the look in Miles's eyes after his mom talks to him, you know.

The way he looks at her is different. He's never had such fondness in his gaze with you, much less watching you walk away with such regret. So you walk to him and hand him your drink which he takes a sip from, and pat his shoulder with a reassuring smile.

"Go." 

"You sure?"

"I'll be fine here. Besides, I’m sure I can handle a few hours of distracting your dad." You chuckle with a roll of your eyes, pushing down the pained pang in your heart at his bright smile. Every fibre of your being screams at you to grab onto his arm, to never let go. They scream at you to part your lips and let the words festering in your heart finally spill out.

But even as your eyes linger on him with a hollow grin, he doesn’t notice.

And that’s the difference.

"Thanks. Hey, you and me against the world, right?" Miles grins, placing a soft peck on your forehead. You bat him away with a faint smile, struggling to keep the tears from forming in your eyes. If he didn’t leave in the next ten seconds, you’re not sure you can no longer hold back your choked hiccups.

"Just come back to me, okay?" 

He nods, a silent promise lingering in the air between you both. To him, it's a promise of return, to come back safe.

To you, it's a promise filled with desperation, wanting nothing more than for your Miles to come back to you. For your Miles to see you in the same light he views Gwanda in. To see you the way he sees her. 

Maybe he was right all along. Maybe in every other universe, Gwen Stacy falls for Spiderman.

You watch him leave with an excited grin on his lips, taking a sip from your cup and wishing that the fizzy liquid could drown your sorrows instead.

And in every other universe, you wish it were you.

[kitsuga]

PREFECT open the door {Ace Trappola x Reader/MC/Yuu}

Description: 

A fic in which Ace tries to move into the Ramshackle Dorm.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Tags: fluff, honestly. i feel ace. i too would try to flirt and fail so horribly, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, you can assume reader/mc is yuu!, twisted wonderland x reader/mc/yuu, twst x reader/mc/yuu, twisted wonderland/twst, ace trappola x reader/mc/yuu, ace trappola 

Word Count: 1,899

A/N: Written on: February 12, 2022 

One of my sisters loves him and begged for some ace content so here it is LKJSDFKJSDF 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“I thought the little punk was getting better—so why the hell is this thing on me again!”  

Ace pushed past the hardly awake MC and flopped down on the dusty couch in the lounge. His long, heavy sigh shook his whole body; he launched into his complaint again, not noticing that MC had barely shuffled into the room behind him. 

“Who told him there was a rule for stepping into the room with your right foot first if it’s past 9 P.M. Who!? I get my head taken for something stupid like that!” 

“Was it that you stepped into the room with the wrong foot, or you argued with him?” 

“How could you accuse me of something like that!” 

MC rubbed their eyes, taking a long sigh before they spoke again. 

“What did you say to him?” 

“...I didn’t SAY anything.” 

“What did you do.” 

Ace’s lips twisted to the side with a huff as he refused to make eye contact with them. Boring a hole in the side of his head, MC sat and waited for him to paint the picture of his own demise.  

“I.... kmcked’m,” he mumbled. 

“You what?” 

“I kicked him!” Ace shouted, throwing his hands up in the air, letting them fall alongside the rest of his body, slouching further into the couch. “He turned around after yelling at me and I just, I kicked the back of his knee—I didn’t kick him that hard!” 

“Ace.” MC held their face in their hands, disappointment completely evident in their voice. 

“It wasn’t even genuinely a kick—it was more of a push!” 

“Ace.” They growled from behind their hands.  

“You know I love hearing my name and all--” 

“Stop talking.”  

The two of them sat in silence for a moment; Ace snuck a few looks over at MC, making sure to retract his gaze if they made a move to look back at him. As though it were their new catchphrase, MC sighed heavily once again and smacked their knees, pushing themselves up off the couch.  

“Well, you dug your own grave, Trappola. Sucks to be you.” 

“Aw, come on, Prefect!” 

“What do you mean ‘aw come on’? What do you expect me to do? You’re lucky there wasn’t a bigger consequence for you—like being kicked from school for violence.” 

“One little kick, really?” 

“You’re talking about Riddle. Yes, one little kick.”  

MC pushed Ace’s head playfully, moving him around on the couch a bit which was met with his protests. They ignored him as he called out to them by name, simply waving their hand to dismiss his words while climbing the stairs. Over their shoulder, they wished him sweet dreams and shut down whatever he was saying by suggesting he sleep by pointing out the extra blanket draped over the armchair in the living room. Ace sat back on the couch with his arms crossed, lips twisted to the side in a heavy pout as he watched them disappear up the stairs, his eyes lingering where they fell out of his sight for a few extra moments. 

The redheaded boy sighed, knowing that MC was probably right—not that he’d tell them, anyway. He made his bed and he had to lie in it—both figuratively and in actuality; dusting off the older couch, he laid on his back and wrapped himself in the blanket all after he had turned off the lights. He lay with his eyes closed, trying his hardest to get comfortable with the bulky collar around his neck. He twisted, turned, and sighed more times than he could count—counting it may have helped him to fall asleep at this point. Ace opened his eyes to stare at the crumbling ceiling above him, his eyes dragging over each piece of the spider's webs that decorated the place. The night would not take him. 

Nor would the shadows. Nor would his mind. Everything fought sleep as his brain constantly moved its gears, but no actual thoughts had come to his mind. Ace was missing something��longing for something. There was a reason Ace had run to the Ramshackle Dorm rather than simply retreating to his room—and that reason had moved to their own bed upstairs. An hour or two had passed since he first laid down, but he was getting too antsy now; he threw the blanket off him and jumped to his feet in a huff. 

Even if he tiptoed, the old wooden stairs creaked and moaned beneath his feet; each one made him wince, so he had given up. He was sure MC would have been up by now anyway with the sounds, so he rushed the rest of the way to their room, throwing open the door. 

A sliver of moonlight illuminated MC. Grim had curled up at the foot of the bed as their back had faced the door; they turned to look over their shoulder at Ace as he stood in the doorway. Their voice had matched their face—emotionless and stoic. 

“What.” 

“Prefect.” 

“Yes, Ace. What.” 

He hurried over to the bed, throwing himself onto his hands and knees on top of it to slightly hover over MC as they turned to their back to meet his eyes. 

“Let me move into your dorm.” 

“...Get out of my room.” 

“MC, please!” 

“No. Good night, Ace.” 

Ace bounced on the bed which was met with groans from both MC and Grim, who was doing his best to ignore Ace.  

“Seriously! Let me move in. I’ll transfer over to your dorm, and I’ll never have to deal with the little tyrant again!” 

“You can’t, Ace. Now go to sleep.” 

“Come on!” 

“No. Now, shut up.” 

“You’re being unreasonable!” Ace shook the bed once again, ignoring Grim’s shout at him to knock it off. 

“Good night, Ace.” 

MC turned to their side to face him and closed their eyes tight in hopes that their friend would take the hint and leave; they smiled slightly to themselves when they felt the weight of his body leave the bed but frowned deeply when they felt a gust of cold hit them. They opened their eyes to find his staring back at them, only a few spare inches between them.  

“Fine, if you won’t let me into your dorm, then let me into your bed!” 

They groaned when he wiggled an arm underneath them and pulled himself even closer; Ace held them close and with a devilish grin, nuzzled his nose against their cheek even as they tried to turn their face away. MC hissed each time the lock of his collar rammed into them. He could almost feel the heat of their blush traveling up their face as he continued getting as close as he could to them, keeping an arm around them to hold his position; they didn’t attempt to free themselves, just drew their eyebrows together and frowned even deeper. 

“You’re already in my bed!” They lightly kicked his shin. “Out.” 

“Okay, then let me into your bed every night.” 

MC was surely paying attention now as it was Ace’s turn to start trying to fight off a blush; unfortunately for him, the sliver of moonlight was showing all his cards. He turned his face away from them and tried his hardest to look annoyed, but it was difficult to turn away as the collar around his neck was pretty bulky.  

It was best to come clean, right? Ace battled with his pride, his confidence, and his now flustered and racing heart. He stammered a bit but tried his best to hold his head up high despite his limited movement and looked down his nose at MC, who was still only inches away from his own face. 

“Well, I mean—yeah. I said what I said. Maybe I want to crawl into your bed every night. It’d be a lot easier to do if you just let me move into your dorm.” 

“Ace--” 

“Look, I came to see you ‘cause I was upset, yeah—but I really like when you comfort me. You’re still so nice under that irritating dismissiveness, and you’re always ready to help me out but still put me in my place. I think you’re kind of dumb but, you know, in a cute way, and I just—arhg!”  

Ace wiped his face with his free hand as though he could wipe off his embarrassment or the crimson colour off of his skin; he felt like the shadows in the room were laughing at him. He opened his eyes back up to find MC’s staring back at him, an unreadable emotion pooling within them. 

“So... how ‘bout now? Will you let me into your dorm?” 

The two of them sat in silence for a bit, the room heavy with emotion; Ace was just thankful Grim was asleep and missed his confession or he’d never hear the end of his embarrassment. He bit his tongue as MC blinked a few times, looking between his eyes and scanning his face for any hint of him messing with them—he knew that look anywhere. He stared at them a bit harder, trying to silently indicate the authenticity of his confession; his eyes started to wander down to their lips, however, and found himself swallowing hard before subconsciously leaning in slowly to bridge the small gap between the two of them. 

“No.” MC pushed his face away gently, playfully. 

Ace groaned and grabbed them by the wrist, moving their hand and returning his face to his previous spot. 

“What do you mean no--” 

“No, you can’t transfer to my dorm. It’s impossible.” 

“Oh, so the no wasn’t for the kiss?” His devilish grin was evident in his voice. His face was pushed away again after another attempt to lean in; he met this action with a repeat of his groan and moving MC’s hand. 

“What you can do, besides move into my dorm, is go apologize to Riddle tomorrow.” 

“Uhg.” 

“I’ll go with you, it’ll be fine.” 

MC brushed a rogue strand of hair out of Ace’s face, softly caressing his cheek a moment before intertwining their fingers with his and placing their hands in the space between their faces. 

“We can go on a date once you get that annoying collar off. Then, you can kiss me the right way.” 

Ace’s eyes went wide before growing hooded, a genuine, loving smile accompanying his gaze on the person in front of him. He knew it was the right choice to come seek comfort in their loving arms, and he was glad he had pushed himself to annoy them; the blanket downstairs wasn’t even a fraction as warm as he was enveloped in the feelings between the two of them, and the couch was certainly not as soft and inviting.  

So, he couldn’t move into their dorm, but he could move into their heart—as cliché as he was to admit it. Ace was thankful for a friend like the Prefect, and even more thankful for a lover like MC. His soft gaze turned back into the person in front of him, watching as they had slowly started to drift back to sleep; Ace knew he shouldn’t open his mouth, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“Hey,” he whispered. “You never answered about that ‘in your bed every night’ thing. That still on?” 

“Shut up, Ace.” 

[not-neverland06]

Bad Day

part two

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader, Vincent Sinclair x fem!reader (not together, I don’t do that twincest shite) A/N: I don’t usually think about slashers until Halloween, but I’ve just had House of Wax brainrot for the past two weeks, so I wanted to get this out Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence (barely) Summary: Stranded on the side of the road with shitty friends, you’re forced to visit Ambrose, home of the infamous House Of Wax. Unfortunately for you, you manage to catch the attention of not one, but two of the Sinclair brothers.

“Hey, what’s that noise?”

Sarah looks over her shoulder at you and shrugs. “What’re you talking about?”

You roll your eyes and tap Dean on the shoulder, he grunts, the best answer you’ll get from him. “Pull over, I think something’s wrong with the car.” He gives you a questioning glance over his shoulder but shrugs and pulls onto the side of the desolate road. 

You could hear the rest of your friends pulling up behind you in their truck as you hopped out. You walk to the front of the car, popping open the hood and immediately regretting it as a cloud of smoke blasts you in the face. “Shit,” you hiss, backing up and fanning the air in front of your face. 

“Oh, fuck,” the angriest you’d ever heard your stoic friend Dean, and his voice was still barely above a whisper. Alison, Owen, Gwen, and Damien hopped out of their truck and came rushing over to the three of you. 

“What’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with Y/N’s piece of shit car.” You rolled your eyes at Sarah’s bitchy attitude, you don’t know why you agreed to this trip. You barely like any of them, they were horrible people and worse friends. You’re pretty sure the only reason they invited you was because Owen’s truck couldn’t fit all of them and you were the only one they knew with a big enough car for the rest. 

“I saw a sign, some place called Ambrose, we could try there. Might have someone who could help.”

You all glanced at each other, each of you trying to come up with a solution, but nothing was better than Owen’s suggestion. What's the worst that could happen?

Your car had managed to make it long enough to get to some campground, you really hadn’t been willing to just abandon it on the side of the road to be stolen. Now, you all sat in the grass, debating who should head into town. 

“Y/N should go. It’s her car.”

“Thank you, Allison,” you glared at her, “but I’m not willing to go into some strange town all on my own.”

Owen let out a loud sigh before he reluctantly said, “I’ll go with you.” You were overwhelmed by his kindness. Not. 

There was a high pitched scoff and you glanced over to see Allison glaring at her boyfriend. “You volunteered real quick.”

“Ally-”

She held up a hand and walked off, struggling slightly over the damp ground with her heels. Owen trailed after her, offering you a barely there apology as he left you with everyone else. You were acutely aware of how none of them would meet your eye. 

Up ahead, Ally was laying into Owen, probably another fight because she always thought he was trying to sleep with someone else. It didn’t take you long to realize you were on your own. You really hated these people. 

You stood up, shooting dirty looks over your shoulder as you started towards the woods Owen had determined would take you to Ambrose. “Thanks babe!”

You flipped Gwen off and kept walking. You grumbled to yourself as you tripped down the steep hill and cussed each of them out every time your foot sank into mud. The further down the hill you got the worse it was starting to smell. 

At first it was just musky and you assumed the stifling atmosphere was from the humidity. Then it started to really stink, putrid, rotting flesh stink. You gagged slightly the closer you got to the source of the smell. Your stomach was twisting and turning and you thought the skin inside your nose was burning as you tried to breath through your mouth. That only seemed to make it worse. Now you could taste the rot, feel it spilling down your throat.

“Y/N, wait!”

You jumped, looking over your shoulder at Owen approaching you, the rest of your friends behind him. The distraction cost you, though, your foot got twisted in a root and you let out a loud yelp as you went flying headfirst down the hill.  

“Oh, shit!” You could hear them laughing behind you as you rolled down the hill, your ribs and elbows busting against random rocks and roots. You hissed in pain when you finally came to a stop, already feeling a dozen different scrapes all along your body. 

You went to sit up but your hand sank into something soft and gooey, and oh god you were going to lose your lunch. 

You actually did throw up in your mouth, swallowing it with a burn as you scrambled desperately to get out of whatever putrid pit you were stuck in. You glanced around, finally coming across the source of the smell, dozens of carcasses surrounded you. Some of them so rotted you couldn’t even tell what animal it was anymore. 

You screamed as your hand finally found purchase on something. You glanced down at the hand wrapped around your own and shot up, your feet slipping and sliding against the gore. Two hands wrapped around your biceps and helped you, finally. 

You grasped onto the arms of whoever had you and practically leapt onto them in your attempt to escape. They pulled you away from the pit and you let out a shuddering sigh. “Thank you.”

You glanced up, finally getting to see the face of your savior. He had yellowed teeth, a sweat stained tank top on, and a very adorable smile as he patted your shoulder and backed off. “You alright?”

You let out a strained, “mhm,” as you attempted to catch your breath and not vomit on his feet. “There-“ you covered your mouth as bile rose up. You pointed towards the pit, taking in a deep breath, “Hand. Human hand.”

The man titled his head in confusion before walking over to the pit and digging around where you just were. You winced at the sound of squelching before he managed to reveal the hand once more. You jumped as he grabbed onto it, he laughed as he tugged at it until there was a loud pop and the hand came loose. 

“Anyone need a hand?”

Your friends, who had been standing at the top of the pit watching you struggle, stared at him with varying expressions of disgust. You let out an awkward laugh, relieved it had only been a mannequin and nothing worse. 

He turned around at the sound of your laughter and gave you another goofy smile. “Thank god,” you breathed. 

He came back towards you, completely unbothered by the death around him. “Sorry ‘bout your clothes.”

You glanced down at your shirt and grimaced, it was completely covered in brown blood and old bits of roadkill. “Not your fault.” You glanced towards the back of his truck, seeing old blood in the bed of it and realizing this is where he dumped the animals people hit on the highway. 

“Hey!” You both jumped at the booming voice and looked over to see Owen hopping awkwardly down the hill, skirting the dead bodies, and coming to stand next to you. The others hovered further behind. “You know where Ambrose is?”

The man ignored him, glancing at you. “That where you were heading?” You nodded and he scoffed, “Woulda been walking a long way. ‘Bout fifteen miles up the road.”

You elbowed Owen in the side and glared at him, “You said it was close!”

He rubbed his side and shrugged, “I don’t know, guess the walk was longer than I thought.” He evaded making any eye contact and stared at his shoes. You rolled your eyes, what an asshole. 

“I could give you a ride.”

You blanched at the man's suggestion, he seemed nice enough, but you really weren’t eager to get into a stranger’s truck. “No need, we’ll just take Owen’s truck.”

He shrugged, “Alright. But good luck getting in, there’s only one way to town and it’s not on any map.”

You let out a deep sigh, this day is just getting better and better. “We won’t be bothering you?” He shook his head and walked towards his truck, opening up the passenger door for you. 

You gave him a tense smile before digging your fingers into Owen’s arm and dragging him behind you. “You’re coming with me, don’t bother arguing.”

“Owen?” Allison shouted after him. 

The man answered before Owen could, “I’ll come back for y’all. Don’t you worry!” Something about the smile he shot at them, it was different than the one he’d directed towards you, there was something swimming between his yellowed teeth and honeyed smile. His eyes glittered with malicious intent and you shivered when he looked back at you. 

You didn’t really have another choice, you’d have to follow him. He, apparently, was the only one who could get you into town. You forced a kind smile on your face and thanked him as he helped you up in the truck. “I hope I don’t stink up your seats too bad,” you added as he rounded the front. 

You’d realized you’d spoken too soon when you actually got a chance to smell the interior of his truck. You clutched the seat as your eyes bulged out. Somehow, the inside was worse than the pit outside. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said as he hopped in the truck. You heard Owen groan under his breath beside you as he slammed the truck door close. 

“Shit,” he hissed, clutching his stomach and trying not to make a big deal about how fucking awful the truck smelled and felt. 

“I’m Lester,” the man told you, offering a hand for you to shake. You paused on holding your breath to tell him your and Owen’s names. “You’ll want to find Bo when we get into town. He’s the mechanic, he’ll be able to fix you up.”

You clutched the edge of the seat for the rest of the ride, trying to remain polite as you made small talk with Lester, but you could only hold your breath for so long. He seemed to pick up on your discomfort and rolled the windows down, “AC don’t work no more.”

“Maybe Bo could fix it.”

He glanced up at you, eyes lighting up like he’d never thought of that before. “Yeah! Maybe he could!” He let out a goofy laugh, slapping his thigh and smiling at you. “I ain’t never thought of that before.”

You let out a weak chuckle, the reaction was pretty extreme for something as simple as suggesting you got to a mechanic for car problems. Owen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “Fuckin’ Christ.” He muttered, glancing at Lester out of the corner of his eye and shaking his head. 

You elbowed him again, ignoring his noise of pain and silently threatening him to shut up. You understood that Lester might stink and have strange reactions, but Christ, he was giving you both a ride fifteen miles out of his way. He could be a little more appreciative. 

“Alright,” the truck slowly rumbled to a stop. “We’re here.”

You glanced at Lester and then the clear lack of town through the windshield. “Um, what?”

He chuckled slightly, “It’s around the bend. Truck can’t go over that, though.” You followed the direction of his gaze and lifted yourself from the seat to see a little creek and a broken bridge. “Go ahead and I’ll go back for your friends.”

Owen opened the door, practically flying out of the truck. He took in deep and dramatic inhales as the stifling Louisiana air hit him in the face. You rolled your eyes at him and turned back towards Lester, “Thank you so much for the help.”

He gave you a strange look, not quite mean but not very friendly, “Don’t thank me yet.” You had barely closed the door before he was peeling off. 

You turned towards Owen but he just shrugged, “I don’t know man, I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

You nodded, turning towards the creek, “Agreed.”

You were thankful you’d chosen a black tank top, the sun was beating directly down on you and you were pretty sure you had already sweat through every layer you had on. You were desperate for a hair clip or rubber band or literally anything to get your hair off your neck. Another minute sweating like this and you were just going to chop it all off. 

“Hey, up there.”

“Finally!” You and Owen both sped up, rushing towards the auto shop, eager to get somewhere with air conditioning. But when Owen tried the door it wouldn’t budge, he pulled and pushed, wiggled it way too many times and you snapped. “It’s locked, dipshit!”

“Think I don’t know that?” He snapped back. 

You crossed your arms and glared at him, “Then let it go and give up.” He let out a pissy sigh and whirled around, canvassing the rest of town. His eyes landed on the small chapel and he nudged you, pointing at it.

“Maybe there’s someone in there.”

You followed hesitantly after him as he walked towards it. The closer you got the louder the voices inside were. “Wait, Owen, I think there’s a service going on. We shouldn’t just barge in.”

He rolled his eyes and ignored you, throwing the door open without care and glaring inside. You shriveled up in embarrassment when you saw a man kneeling at the front of the chapel. You dared a step closer and winced, he was kneeling in front of a coffin. 

God, you guys looked like such assholes. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, grabbing Owen by the collar of his shirt and yanking him back outside. You shoved him down the steps and he stumbled, glaring at you. 

“Y/N, what the hell?”

“It was a funeral service you jackass!” You hissed back at him, unwilling to raise your voice and further disrupt those poor people’s mourning. You were halfway across the street when you heard the door behind you open. 

You tensed up, mentally preparing yourself to face whoever had decided to scold you both. “Can I help you folks?” You turned at the sound of a smooth southern accent and felt heat rise to your cheeks. Well, more heat, you were about as hot as you could get right now. 

But the man in front of you seemed perfectly comfortable in his all black suit, glaring down at you both from the top of the stairs. You were a little ashamed how attracted to him you were. He was mourning, attending the funeral of someone who was probably close to him and you were drooling over how good he looked in a suit. 

To be fair, he did look very nice in a suit. 

“I am so sorry, sir, I tried to stop him.”

Owen nudged you slightly, “Shut up, Y/N.” You glared at him but he just crossed his arms and looked down his nose at the man in front of you. “We’re looking for Bo. You seen him?”

The man’s voice was full of anger as he sneered at Owen, “You’re talkin’ to him.”

Owen glanced back at you, a mean look on his face. “Her car broke down, can you fix it?”

Bo scoffed, staring down at Owen with a disgusted expression. You knew what he was thinking, how demanding and dickish Owen was. Especially when he knew what Bo had been doing only moments before. You intervened before Owen could dig a deeper hole. 

“Don’t worry about it, sir. I’m really sorry we interrupted you.”

“Y/N-”

“Shut up before I make you,” you leveled Owen with a glare. You let the group get away with a lot, talking shit to you and about you constantly. You didn’t really care enough to stop them, but you weren’t about to let him continue to disrespect the only person who could actually help you out of this hellhole. 

Owen seemed to get the message and scoffed, walking off with an attitude. Though, he didn’t have anywhere to go considering pretty much every business was closed. So he stood in the street, kicking at gravel like a toddler. You rolled your eyes and turned back to Bo, a little surprised to find him already staring down at you. 

You couldn’t decipher the look he was giving you, but it didn’t make you feel very comfortable. Though, that could just be the anxiety from your rude companion. “Sorry, again.”

You turned around, ready to walk back to the others, when he stopped you. “I’ll help you!” 

You glanced back at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really?”

He nodded, “Give me a little while to finish up here and I’ll meet you at the shop.”

You nodded, a smile slowly rising on your lips. Maybe this day wasn’t completely lost. “Of course, take your time, thank you so much, seriously.”

He nodded, still looking unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Uh, you could check out the House of Wax, might make the time pass quicker.”

You nodded again but he didn’t bother waiting for a response, already heading back inside the church. He left just in time for the rest of the group to come walking up the street. Owen ran towards them, leaving you behind. You noticed a clear lack of Gwen or Damien and figured they’d stayed behind with the cars or something. 

You caught up with them just as Owen finished filling them in on what was going on. “So we have to wait?” Sarah whined, practically stomping her feet. 

“Yes, because he’s currently burying someone,” you deadpanned. You glanced towards the building towering over the town on top of a hill. “But we can always check out the House of Wax.”

”Yippee,” Allison mumbled sarcastically. 

You broke off quickly from the rest of the group, immediately embarrassed by how they behaved in the museum. Owen had started off strong, catcalling one of the wax women and groping her. You wandered towards the back of the building, a figure of a dog catching your attention. You hadn’t seen any other animals in here. 

Wow, its fur looked so realistic. 

You knelt down, getting closer, and shot back in fear as it barked at you. You let out a loud yelp as you landed on your ass, watching the very real dog growl at you. 

“Holy shit, did not think you were real.” You held up your hands in surrender, “Good girl, it’s okay.” After a minute she stopped growling and slowly moved towards you. You smiled as you pet her, running your fingers through her fur and laughing when she licked your hands. ”Aren’t you sweet?”

You heard a creak in the doorway behind her and your head shot up. A man loomed over you, a wax mask over his face and long black locks hanging over his shoulders. “Hi,” you whispered, completely thrown off by his appearance. 

“Do you work here?”

Nothing. 

He had to, if the mask was anything to go by, maybe it was like some outfit they made the employees wear. You glanced down at his hands, you could see wax covering them and sculpting tools in the belt slung around his hip. “Oh, are you an artist?” You asked, tone a little more excited. 

He tilted his head, and you felt your heart speed up when he stepped closer. The dog left you, walking over to him with her tail wagging and tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. He reached down, not breaking his stare with you, and pet her lightly. 

You got to your feet, trying not to show how uncomfortable he was making you. Finally, he nodded. 

“Well,” you stuttered slightly over your words, tongue tied with anxiety. “They’re all amazing. I accidentally bumped into one and apologized because I thought it was real,” your words trailed off with an awkward chuckle. “I even thought your dog was real, she scared me half to death when she moved.”

God, kill me now, this had to be the most awkward one sided interaction you’ve ever had with someone. “D-,” you cleared your throat, trying to get your voice to stop cracking. “Did you do this?” You pointed to the scene behind you, a family eating dinner at a dusty wooden table.

He shook his head, slowly lumbering past you and lifting the woman’s hair. You took a hesitant step forward and peered at the back of her neck where he was pointing. 

TS was carved into the wax. “TS?” Your eyes narrowed before it finally clicked in your head. “Trudy Sinclair?” He nodded and you smiled. “Oh, yeah, I saw an article about her up front. She’s the woman that runs the museum, right?” Another nod. Maybe he was mute. Maybe he wasn’t some freaky serial killer that was about to use that scalpel in his belt to slit your throat. 

Please just be extremely socially awkward. 

“Whole place is wax,” you dumbly pointed out, because clearly he knew that. “Pretty impressive.” He straightened up, moving the woman’s hair back in place and carefully brushing it out with his fingers. The care in which he treated the mannequin was a little off putting, he was acting like she was living and breathing, something to be coddled. “Um,” you stopped staring at his hands, focusing once again on his waxed face. “What’s your name?”

He took a step forward, then another and another until he was standing right in front of you, sharing the air you breathed. You couldn’t help but gulp, feet glued to the floor as the dark holes in his mask burned into you. In your peripheral you watched as his arm stretched out and winced slightly, prepared for a hit or stab or something. 

But it just hovered in the air, after a moment you realized he was pointing at something. You turned around and found a signature scrawled into another wax figure. 

Vincent

“Vincent,” you let out a sigh of relief and held out a hand, giving him your own name. After a moment he took your hand, grip tight to the point that it hurt. But he didn’t shake it like you’d expected, instead he moved his hand up your arm, digging his fingers into your forearm and dragging you back to the front door. You whimpered when he opened the door and threw you outside. 

You clutched your forearm to your chest, rubbing the forming bruises as the door slammed in your face. “Well, fuck you too then,” you muttered under your breath. You turned around glancing down the street and seeing Allison and Owen already walking towards the auto shop. You bound down the steps and run after them, panting when you finally catch up. 

“Where’s Sarah and Dean?”

Allison snorted, “Said they found a bed upstairs.” She glanced at you, “I think you can put two and two together.”

Your nose wrinkled and you groaned, “That’s disgusting. The guy that runs the place is literally in there.”

“Don’t be a prude,” Owen admonished. “They’re just screwing around.”

You glanced back at the House of Wax, seeing a figure moving in the window of the upper floor and shook your head. Jackasses. 

Bo was waiting for you all at the door of the auto shop. He was still in his black suit, except this time he had an easygoing grin on his face. A complete 180 from the man who looked ready to rip Owen’s dick off for interrupting a funeral. 

He gave you a particularly large smile as you approached, holding the door open for you as you entered the shop. You didn’t get the relief you were hoping for, the air in here almost as stifling as it was outside. It was maybe two degrees cooler. Whatever, you’d take what you could get on such a shitty day. 

“You know what the problem is with your car, sweetheart?” 

It took an awkward moment of silence to realize he was talking to you. When you looked up from the floor you saw his gaze drilling into yours, not missing the way his eyes flitted down to your low cut top and then back up. You couldn’t really blame him, you’d been eyeing him since he introduced himself. 

“Um,” you glanced towards Owen. “What did Dean say it was?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, an unsure look on his face. “Something about a hose.”

Bo nodded, sucking on his teeth before he went to the back of his shop. You rocked back and forth on your heels, ignoring the other two who were wandering around his shop and whispering to themselves. “Hey, honey, you mind comin’ back here a minute?”

You peered around the doorway and saw Bo bent over rummaging around in some boxes. “Me?”

He looked over his shoulder and chuckled, “Who else?”

You were about to step forward when you heard Allison hiss your name. You turned around and she pulled her top down mouthing ‘maybe he’ll give you a discount,’ pointing to your own shirt and laughing. You crossed your arms reflexively, covering your breasts from her view and tugging your shirt higher up to be petty. She rolled her eyes, clearly called you a prude, and turned back around. 

You really needed new friends. 

You walked into the back of Bo’s shop, taking in the different tools and boxes along the walls. “What’s up?”

“Any of these look right?”

You glanced down at the hoses he had laid out, the blood draining from your face when you realized you did not know anything about your car. You really hadn’t even known a hose was a thing until today. “Um, I’m not sure.”

“Well,” he started, losing some patience as his tone took a curt edge. Your stomach toiled with anxiety, not liking the idea of him getting pissed at you. “You know what size ya need?” 

You cleared your throat, “Owen!” You called out the door, you heard a grumbled what in response. “You know what size I need?”

“Two and a half!”

You missed Bo sliding a hose under his work table as you turned back around, scanning the tags and frowning when you saw he didn’t have the right size. “There’s a two, would that work?” You asked, picking the hose up and holding it out to him. 

His tongue poked into his cheek and he shook his head, “‘Fraid not, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” you placed the hose back down and rubbed your face, wincing as you remembered you were still covered in innards. “Ugh, gross,” you pulled your hands away from your face and could already feel streaks of blood on your cheeks. 

Bo chuckled and reached for a clean rag off his work table. He gave you a charming smile and wiped the blood off your face. You tried not to let yourself be too affected by how close he was, but it was hard, really, really, hard. So, as you always do in situations you don’t know how to handle, you blabber. 

“House of Wax was really cool,” you mumble.

“Hm,” he hums, not interested at all as his gaze darts down to your lips. 

“Yeah, the guy, Vincent, I don’t think he liked me very much,” you let out a barely audible laugh, remembering his harsh treatment as he tossed you out. 

Bo froze, his eyelids dropping slightly as the tender look on his face melted away, replaced by something you didn’t understand. Or didn’t want to understand. The hair on the back of your neck was standing up as goosebumps traveled along your arms. You weren’t cold, not in the slightest, this felt like something else. Like an instinctual response to a predator. 

You backed away a step, no longer feeling comfortable being so close to him. “What’d you say?” His voice was low, so low you could almost mistake it for a growl. 

“Um,” you swallowed harshly, throat parched and lips completely dried by the humidity. “Vincent,” you didn’t like how small your voice was. Didn’t like how quickly the atmosphere had shifted from something charged to something dangerous. “He- he showed me some wax sculptures and then he tossed me out.”

“You saw Vincent?” You nodded, backing a step further when he approached you. He noticed and let out a low laugh, the grin returning, but there were entirely too many teeth. “You say anything? ‘Bout his mask? How quiet he was?” He probed, his tone almost teasing like he wanted you to say Yeah, called him a freak and laughed at him. Like he wanted to use your response as an excuse for something. 

You shook your head quickly, “No. No, of course not,” you were quick to defend yourself, trying to sound as sincere as possible. You didn’t want him to think you were as rude as your traveling companions. “I thought maybe all the museum workers had to wear those. Like a theme or something. And,” you stumbled slightly over your words as he moved towards you again. You stepped back towards the doorway, trying to get back in the view of the others. “And I can be pretty quiet myself, I didn’t think it would be kind to pry.”

He finally stopped, but it wasn’t enough to calm you down. You still could feel your heart pounding against your chest, going so fast you felt a little dizzy. You weren’t an idiot, you knew how risky it was approaching so many strange men in one day. But you had been trapped, like a mouse dropped in a maze, constantly searching for a way out. 

You’d had no choice but to accept help from all the people you’d interacted with in this town, but you didn’t forget how much danger they could pose to you and your friends. You were all too aware of how stupid it was to be in a room with this stranger. 

This stranger who switched between masks so fast you got whiplash. Just as quickly as it had disappeared, his smile was back, still just as handsome, but no longer disarming. He shrugged, “Vincent doesn’t show himself to anyone, really. Just a little curious, that’s all. And that mask is all him, sweetheart.”

“Right,” you forced a smile, moving out of the way so he could walk back into the main part of the shop. 

He clapped his hands together, getting the attention of the others. “Sorry folks but I don’t got the parts you need here.”

Allison and Owen both let out loud groans, their voices blending together in anger as they harassed Bo for not having the one car part they needed. You winced as they yelled at him, demanding to know how he even called himself a mechanic if he didn’t have one simple part. You could see Bo’s patience leaving him again, jaw clenching and teeth grinding together. 

“Shut up!” You shouted, glaring at them from behind Bo. “Jesus, act your fucking ages,” you muttered, storming past Bo and going to stand near them. You didn’t bother looking at any of them, despite the stares you could feel boring into you. 

“Thank you,” Bo mumbled before his voice rose again. “As I was sayin’ I got some parts up at my house. Only about a ten minute walk, you could use the bathroom, clean up, I’ll see if I have what you need.”

Allison and Owen shared a look before turning towards you, the both of them huddling around you. “I don’t want to go anywhere near that freak’s house. He’s probably got some redneck sex dungeon.”

“Allison,” you admonished, looking over her shoulder to make sure Bo hadn’t heard. He seemed preoccupied with something under his desk. “Shut up, he’s being nice and putting up with our shit. I mean, he just buried someone guys, and he’s still trying to help. Least you could do is be respectful.”

Allison huffed and sighed and rolled her eyes before finally nodding, “Fine. But I’m using you as a human shield if shit goes south.”

“Fine by me,” you muttered, pushing away from them both and smiling at Bo. “If you don’t mind, we’d love to go.”

He nodded, smiling at you before walking to the door. He opened it but he didn’t leave until he threw over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, if I was taking anyone to my dungeon it’d be this one.” You squeaked as he pinched your waist and walked out. 

Allison scoffed, like she was offended, and followed after him. 

“So,” Bo started, slowing down so you could catch up to him. You sped up slightly, matching his stride and giving him a small smile as he stared at you. “What’re you doin’ with these jackasses?”

You couldn’t stop a snort from slipping out at his blunt language. You glanced behind you, watching Allison and Owen bicker about something and turned back towards him, shrugging. “I don’t know, they needed my car and I wanted to get out of the house, I guess.”

“Well, how long you been friends?”

“Not long, I met Allison a year ago and I guess I just started hanging around them.”

“You don’t seem to get along real well.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, a fact in his eyes that you didn’t belong with them. And he was probably right, you hated them, they hated you. 

“Only reason I’ve stuck around this long is ‘cause I don’t have anyone else.”

You didn’t notice how he perked up, how quickly he tuned into the loneliness in your words and pounced. You should have, for someone so perceptive and paranoid, but you were too busy grimacing at a chunk of dead something in your shorts pocket. 

“No one? No family? No other friends? No one to notice-” He cut himself off, once again sending you a smile, though this one seemed more sympathetic than anything. Like he knew your pain and could relate to it. 

“Yeah, no one.”

“Hm,” he offered nothing else. Just another hum and a nod as you approached the house at the top of the incline. He walked up to the front door, unlocking it, and turning around to survey you all. “Anyone need the can?”

Owen stepped forward, Allison clinging to his arm with a paranoid look on her face, eyes darting all around the perimeter of the house. Bo glanced behind them at you, “Sweetheart?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” He might be charming but there was no way in hell you were just gonna wander in blind to his house. 

“You sure? I could give you a change of clothes.”

Before you could figure out a polite way to decline again, Allison had grabbed onto the strap of your tank top and was dragging you up the porch. “Please, fuck, I can’t stand the smell anymore.”

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, jumping as the door slammed closed behind you. For a moment the house stayed dark, no light and no noise other than the sound of your breathing. Then you heard a click and light shone down on a cluttered living room and outdated kitchen. 

“Sorry, haven’t had time for the maid,” Bo muttered sarcastically. He turned towards you, motioning you forward and, reluctantly, you followed. “Bathroom’s down the hall to the left.” Owen nodded, heading down the hallway while Allison stayed planted by the door. 

“I’ll show you my room and you can get changed.”

”Thanks,” you followed him wearily up the stairs, jumping every time the old wood creaked. “I really appreciate this, I know we’ve bugged you a lot today.”

”Yeah, you have.” You frowned, taken aback by how honest he sounded. In your defense, he had offered up his house to you guys. He turned around and must’ve seen the disgruntled look on your face because another grin broke out and he laughed, “I’m messin’ with ya. Relax, it’s no trouble at all for such a pretty lady.”

He opened up the door at the top of the stairs and stepped inside. You heard him moving around, drawers opening and slamming shut before he emerged again a pile of unfolded clothes in his hand. “Here, you can use the room to change.”

You nodded and stepped inside, quick to lock the door behind you. You waited until you heard his footsteps going back down the stairs to strip out of your clothes and change. You moved as quickly as you possibly could, a little paranoid that he had cameras in his room or something, watching you. 

You weren’t sure what had changed. Maybe it was Allison’s insistence that he actually had a sex dungeon, or that you were in a stranger’s room, but you felt scared. You felt watched and uncomfortable and like you wanted to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible, put Ambrose in your rear view and never look back. 

You held up the shirt Bo had left you and frowned. It was big, much bigger than he was. This didn’t seem like something he would own, the fitting all wrong, this seemed like something that belonged somewhere else. To someone else. 

You stared at it a moment longer before shaking the thought away and pulling the button up over your arms. As you worked on the last button you realized he hadn’t left you with any pants. Hopefully just a simple oversight on his part. It went down to your thighs, so it’s not like you were completely exposed. You’d just pretend you were wearing a dress. 

Your eyes scanned the room, you would go through his drawers and look for some pants but it didn’t feel right to dig around in his stuff. The room itself was a clusterfuck of boxes of clothes and sprawled sheets. You jumped around a box full of men’s clothing and frowned at the labels on the box. Each box had different sizes and different dates. 

Your heart beat just a little bit faster when you spotted women’s clothes shoved under his bed.

There could be plenty of explanations. 

He swung every which way and this was all clothing from his conquests. 

He liked to dabble in drag. 

He was collecting clothes for the homeless. 

You went with the last one, despite the fact that it didn’t make you feel any better. You walked into his bathroom, smiling when you saw a hair clip on the sink. You picked it up, hoping it wasn’t someone’s favorite and that they wouldn’t mind you borrowing it for a bit. 

Just as you were about to clip up your hair you noticed a smudge of red on the corner. The claw itself was completely white, the red was pretty hard to miss. You frowned, bringing it closer to your face and running your fingers over the color. 

It flaked off under your thumb, the copper falling into the sink. 

There were only so many things you could ignore. 

A blood covered claw was not one of them. 

You rinsed it off in the sink, shoving your hair up and running towards the bedroom door. You didn’t bother collecting your clothes, there was no saving them and you had bigger things to fuss about. Mainly the fact that Allison was right. 

This dude definitely had a fucking sex dungeon. 

You forced yourself to slow down when you reached the top of the stairs. You peered over the railing, listening for any noises or creeping shadows. It was almost worse when you didn’t hear anything. Allison should be at the door, bitching about how long it takes Owen to pee. Bo should be walking around somewhere. 

Instead, the house was still, you barely even heard your own breath over your racing heart. You were careful as you made your way down the stairs, avoiding the boards you know creaked and lightly making your way towards the front door. 

“Allison?” You whispered, looking around the den or kitchen for her. 

Nothing.

You hesitated, wondering if you should look for her or make a run for it. You heard footsteps getting closer to the door and made your choice, grabbing the keys off the tray nearby and racing through the doorway. 

“Y/N?”

You turned around as you reached Bo’s red truck, looking just in time to see a knife split through Allison’s jaw. You couldn’t even scream, the noise locked away in the deepest part of yourself as you struggled to process what was happening. 

The blade stuck out grotesquely between her teeth, her eyes remained blinking, that was the worst part. They blinked, tears pouring down her cheek before the man behind her was shoving her forward and her body was toppling to the ground limply. You jumped at the thud, eyes wide and burning with your own tears as you looked into the dark holes of Vincent’s mask. 

“Vincent?” You whispered, the only thing you could actually manage to get out. His head tilted and he stepped over Allison’s body like she wasn’t even there. Your hands shook, the keys slipping out and landing in the dirt under your shoes. He was about ten feet away before your flight instincts finally kicked in 

“Fuck,” you whispered, abandoning the truck and taking off just as the knife he’d thrown landed in the dirt where you’d been standing only a second earlier. 

You used to run, it had been an easy form of therapy. A way to get out unresolved and pent up emotions that left you feeling stunted. You’d loved it, reveled in the burn in your thighs, the buzz that thrummed through your blood as you pushed yourself to your limits and then further. 

But you’d stopped, got caught up in a group of shitty friends and stopped taking care of yourself. Now, the once thrilling buzz was slowing you down. The muscles in your thighs unprepared and unused as you forced them to go faster. You felt like you were trying to run in a dream, your muscles working as hard as possible but you were stuck in a limbo, never moving fast enough. 

You could hear heavy boots pounding behind you and you tried to push through that limit that you felt locked around your legs. But you couldn’t, you couldn’t move faster and you already felt yourself slowing down. Your lungs heaving as your throat burned, struggling to take in any air. 

“AH!” You let out a strange sounding scream as something heavy and hard rammed into your back. It sent you flying, knees scraping against pavement as you were pancaked to the road. 

“There ya are, darlin’! You don’t know how bad my feelings were hurt when I saw you’d run off.” You whimpered as Bo pinned your arms behind your back, his knees digging into your spine until you both heard it crack and you cried out in pain. 

“Bo, please,” you begged. “Please.”

He chuckled, leaning down until his mouth was next to your ear. “Please, what, darlin?”

”Please fuck off,” you growled throwing your head back and listening to Bo’s nose snap. You used the distraction to wrestle your way out from under him, rolling onto him, legs straddling his waist as you grabbed a nearby rock and brought it down.

His hand shot up and gripped your wrist, squeezing until you couldn’t feel your fingers and were forced to let go of the rock. “Fuckin’ bitch.”

You slapped at him as he tried to sit up and pin you down. You didn’t care how rabid or unorganized you were. You clawed, screamed and kicked until you’d gained the upper hand and were jumping away from him. “Fuck you,” you hissed, glaring at him as you clutched at your hurt wrist. 

His nose was no longer pouring blood, instead it was a slow steady drip as he glared at you with what could only be described as an animalistic snarl. “Bitch,” he spat back. 

“That the best you got?” You taunted, “You’re the backwoods freak who's killing off college kids. Lemme guess, Vincent’s your brother, he wears that mask because mommy and daddy were actually Uncle-Dad and Aunt-mom? Your weird little incest freak didn’t want to let mommy’s dream die? I bet one of you fuckin’ killed her, too.”

”Shut the fuck up!” He shouted, lunging for you. You darted off to the side, leaping over a wooden picket fence and through the yards of the silent neighborhood. The sky was turning pink, your favorite time of day, right before night finally fell. 

But you didn’t have time to enjoy it, crying as you ran away from the feral man behind you. You could hear him breathing, stomping his way behind you, it was like being chased by a wild animal, not a man. Maybe that’s what was terrifying you so bad, humans were predictable. You knew what type of torture to expect from them, the cruelties they were capable of. But a man like this, a beast like this, you had no idea what he would do to you. 

Tear you apart right here in the street?

Take you back to his home and keep you until better prey came along?

You didn’t want to find out. And you didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of your death. 

You had been screaming as he attacked you, shouting as you ran from him. Not once did a light click on or off as you ran through the neighborhood. No curtains drew back or faces pressed against the window pane in curiosity. 

You knew you were alone, the rest of your friends were most likely dead. 

You gasped, losing your breath, as you slammed into something hard. “Y/N? What the fuck?” You whined in pain, looking up to see Owen standing over you. He kneeled down, like he was going to help you up, until you heard the sound of laughter behind you. 

“Got you,” Bo taunted. And you knew he was talking about you, he didn’t give a shit about Owen, he just wanted you. 

“Owen, please,” you whispered, begging him to, just this once, help you. Be a decent guy, make the right choice. You should have known better. Just as you’d gotten to your feet, two strong hands had gripped your shoulders and sent you flying. 

A different set of hands found their way around your waist, coiling around you like a python until their grip was so tight your face was turning purple from loss of air. “Told you, jackasses,” Bo whispered, the last thing you heard before you were blacking out. 

Nine Inch Nails. 

That’s what you could process when you woke up.

The next thing you felt as your eyelids slowly peeled open, a near painful process, was the jostling around your legs. You whined, your throat completely raw and glanced down. Bo was standing at the end of some sort of chair, similar to a gurney, and duct taping your legs down. He glanced up, hair plastered with sweat and grinned at you. He had changed, you hadn’t noticed before but he’d ditched the suit for his coveralls. 

You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes and glancing towards the ceiling as you blinked back tears. 

You were going to die and the last thing you were going to hear was the blasting of Closer by Nine Inch Nails. 

Fuck my life

Bo moved up, holding your wrists down on the metal armrests and duct taping those too. You looked to the side, and saw strange circular markings on his wrist. You assumed, whenever they disposed of your body and took the tape off, you would have matching scars. 

You heard footsteps clomping above you and the sound of Damien and Gwen’s voices. “Where did they all go?”

“I don’t know, maybe they’re in the auto shop.”

Gwen sounded unsure, “Maybe, it is the only place that’s open.”

Bo ran behind you, his warm hand clamping over your mouth and keeping it shut as they passed the grate above you. You hadn’t even tried to open your mouth to scream for help, you knew you couldn’t, your throat was destroyed already. 

“I’m gonna take my hand off and you’re gonna be quiet. Yeah?” You nodded your head, feeling the salty warmth of your tears trailing down his hand and building up on your cheeks. “Yeah,” he whispered, the tone too intimate as he slowly released you. 

He remained beside you, poised and ready to strike but you didn’t make a move to call out. “Good girl,” he chuckled and placed a hand over yours. “I’m gonna go up, deal with those assholes, and you’re gonna behave. Right?”

You nodded again and he dug blunt fingernails into tender skin. You whimpered out, “Yes, Bo.”

He laughed again and walked towards the door, keys clinking as he locked it behind himself. “Fucking sicko,” you spat the second the door was closed. You moved your legs, wincing as the tape picked at your bare skin. 

“Oh, fuck it,” you were sweaty enough, the moisture on your skin providing enough glide for you to wiggle one leg out of the tape. Arrogant bastard had given you too much freedom, he probably didn’t even think you were going to run. 

Now, your wrists. 

Your arms were sweaty, sure, but these were tight. You tried to use a jerking motion you’d once seen in a stupid action movie, bringing your wrists to your chest. But your muscles were fatigued and you didn’t have enough strength to rip the tape off. 

You flopped against the flattened cushion of the chair, trying not to sob incoherently as Bo’s rock music blared in the garage above. You could hear voices speaking. You didn't know how much time you had left until Bo just got rid of them and came back down for you. 

You’d been pointedly ignoring the wall of Polaroids since you’d woken up, not wanting to see what they were. Afraid you already knew. 

You ignored the unnatural bend of your shoulder, how much it screamed out in pain as you contorted your body over your right wrist, teeth picking at the duct tape until you felt like they were coming loose. But you didn’t stop, you kept going until you felt the slightest tear under your lips. 

You had to stop yourself from crying out in victory as you used whatever remained of your strength to jerk at the tape again and again, your muscles crying as you finally ripped yourself free. You stuffed down your cries, using your free hand to unwrap the other. 

You allowed yourself a moment to roll out your wrists and shake off your legs before you were shooting off the gurney and stumbling towards a corner of the room. Your legs felt like jelly, and you knew that wasn’t good, but you pushed past the fear as footsteps stomped down the stairs. 

Your heart rate picked up and your throat clenched as you pushed sweat-matted hair out of your face. You took in a deep breath and then held it as the door slammed open. You winced, grateful you hadn’t chosen to hide behind that. Bo stepped into the room, there was a blind spot of about five seconds before he would see you were out of your chair. 

You needed to use that to slip behind him and out the door. 

You heard one boot enter. Then the next. 

You could hear your blood rushing in your ears, adrenaline making your muscles tingle back to life. 

Another step, you inched forward, another, you slid against the wall. Bo finally made it all the way in. “What the fuck!”

You shot behind him, racing up the steps and bursting through the door of the garage. You didn���t give yourself time to celebrate or look to see if he was following you. You darted down the street, suddenly grateful Bo had only given you a shirt to wear. 

You were sure it was for his own pleasure, but right now all it meant was that your legs weren’t constricted by tight denim and you could run as fast as your body would allow. You turned to the right, bursting through the doors of the chapel. 

You froze at the entrance, taking in a deep heaving breath as you tried to find a hiding spot. The pews were too noticeable, the casket probably wouldn’t fit you. You nearly cried as you tried to figure it out. 

Outside you heard Bo stomping, his voice calling out your name. Fuck it, you dove for the priest, using his large robes and throwing yourself under them. You had just managed to clamp a sweaty palm over your mouth as the doors of the church opened, deceptively quiet. 

Bo’s footsteps were soft as he walked through. You feel dizzy sitting under this preserved priest, the air stifling and you felt like you were running out of oxygen. Sweat beaded at your hairline, dripping down into your eyes as you tried to blink it away. 

You jumped, nails digging into your palm, at the sound of wood crashing against the wall. “Get out here!” He roared, and you knew he was slowly making his way through the pews. He tossed each of them around, checking under and around them for you. 

You ducked down, lifting the robe a centimeter off the floor. If you closed your eyes, put your hand over your ears, you were a little girl again, hiding under the table as your mother counted down. She’d find you soon, you’d giggle and she’d pretend she didn’t hear it before popping under the table cloth and catching you. 

Her fingers digging into your sides, searching for that ticklish spot. No, she’s poking too hard, that hurts. 

Shit, that hurts. 

You kick out, your shoe catching Bo’s jaw as you make a run for it, darting out from the priest and back through the chapel doors. The only thing you can focus on are the bright lights, blinding against the night sky- when did it get dark?

You stumbled over your feet, legs not moving the way you wanted them to. Shit, you don’t feel good. Did he drug you? Is it the heat? You haven’t eaten all day, or drank anything. Maybe it was finally catching up to you. 

Through blurry eyes you ran towards the movie theater, the brightest beacon you can actually make out. You trip through the doors, slamming them closed behind you. You spot one of those metal poles, the old one with red cloth they used to keep people in line. With limp arms and struggling steps you lift it up and slam it through the handles, just as Bo starts to shake them on the other side. 

You back away from them slowly, eyes scanning the lobby for anything you could use. Behind the concession desk you manage to spot something. 

BREAK IN CASE OF EMERGENCY

You’d say this constituted an emergency. You kicked through the glass, ignoring how it dragged along your legs, and pulled the ax out of its case. There had to be a back door out of here. 

Your eyes widened and you cursed, there had to be a back way out of here, and Bo would know it. You threw the ax on the ground, ripping the pole out of the handles before scooping the ax back up and running back into the dark.

Apparently you’d made the right choice because Bo was no longer where you left him. He was probably sneaking through some secret exit waiting to grab you. You looked towards the end of the street, up the hill, and back at Bo’s front door.

There was still light shining through, but you were sure Allison’s body was long gone. You glanced behind you before taking in a deep centering breath and shooting off again. 

You held your breath, hiding underneath the table as Bo came stumbling into his home. You could see him clutching a wound on his arm and Vincent materialized behind him. He reached for his brother but Bo jerked back, “Get, get, back!” He spoke like he was talking to some dog, “Fuckin’ freak.”

You winced as you watched them interact, Bo tossing shit at his brother and his brother ducking like he was used to it. Vincent walked over to a candle, heating a spoon over the flame and picking up a toaster. He used the metallic reflection to smooth over a dent in his mask and Bo came up, appearing on his shoulder like the worst kind of devil. 

“Momma would be proud of you.” Vincent’s movements paused at his suddenly tender brother’s voice. “I told you this would look better. The last two are gonna look great,” he assured, kindly, and you grimace in disgust. Should’ve known this was his idea. Your knuckles creaked around the handle of the ax and you debated just ending this now. 

Vincent turns towards his brother, spoon discarded, and signs something. You know enough about the language to recognize the hand movements when you see it, but you can’t understand it from your angle. 

“What girl?” Bo snarled, Vincent winced and signed something else. Bo snorted, “Her? What you gotta crush or somethin’?” Vincent shook his head quickly and Bo rolled his eyes, voice cruel. “What, one girl’s nice to you and you wanna break our rules? She’s dead when I’m done with her. That’s it.” Bo buried his finger in Vincent’s shoulder, shoving harshly. “Understood?” Vincent didn’t respond immediately and Bo shoved again. “Understood!” He shouted and Vincent finally nodded. 

You watched them move out of sight, followed their shoes out of the house and finally slinked out of your hiding spot. You’d seen where Vincent had emerged from earlier and retraced the steps, finding a hidden basement in their father’s office. You glanced behind you once before jumping down into the hole.

“Damien? Gwen? Fucking anybody?” You kept glancing behind you, ax ready as you creeped your way through Vincent’s tunnels. Finally, you started to see the warm glow of candles at the very end of the section you were in. 

Caution thrown to the wind, you made a run for it and burst into what looked like Vincent’s workshop. You looked around, not seeing anything of interest besides one torture chair. You’d slit your throat before they got you in that. 

You found his desk, sketches scattered around the edges. You took a peek and were surprised to find a partially done profile of your face. You glanced around, making sure you were safe, before picking the sketch up. 

You looked pretty, even half done, he might have been a little to generous with you. Made you too elegant, noble, untouchable. Flattering if he wasn’t going to try and kill you. You saw something scrawled at the very bottom and your heart clenched, She was nice.

Perhaps you were too tender-hearted, to feel any pity for these monsters. But you’d seen the news articles in their father’s office, what had happened to their family, the chair Bo was once strapped in. What they were was their mother’s final project, the legacy she left behind, one of pain and hatred. Each of them hating themselves for different reasons because of her. 

But you weren’t an idiot, you saw the was in the title of your drawing. You might have been kind, but he wasn’t planning on letting you live. Something rattled in the room to your right and you threw the drawing down, turning towards the door and carefully opening it. 

“Y/N!” Owen cried out, relief making itself clear on his face as he saw you. “Get me out of here.” You rushed forward, kneeling down and trying to undo the straps around his ankles. But your fingers weren’t working properly, they felt like they were swelling and burning and useless. You whined in frustration as you tried to get the metal through the hole. 

“Fuck!” Owen kicked out as much as he could and you jumped back. “Can you do anything right? Just get me out of here!” He screeched. 

You went momentarily blind with rage, anger boiling in your gut so quickly you nearly keeled over. “I’m trying to help you, you fucking dick! You left me behind to that psycho earlier and I’m still trying to help you!” You screamed at him, not paying attention to the raw feeling of your throat or the footsteps behind you. “Why don’t you ever just shut up!”

You weren’t aware the ax was still in your hands, or maybe you were, as you brought your arms down in frustration. It landed in his thigh, barely missing the femoral artery, and he screamed. That type of scream you only hear from squealing pigs right before their butchered. 

You didn’t think you enjoyed it.

Didn't want to enjoy it. 

But you dug the blade in. 

He’d made your life a living hell, he’d tried to get you killed earlier, and even when you’d ignored it and tried to save him he still yelled at you. Granted, it wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever said to you, but it was the worst thing he could say at that moment. You pressed on the handle, not realizing you were smiling as he squealed some more. 

You got a headache after a second, struggling to rip the blade back out before you were lifting it once more and bringing it down over his neck, the blood splattering your face, bleeding into your open eyes as you watch his head topple to the ground. 

“Holy shit,” you turned around and looked at Bo, the fight draining from your body. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” He glanced at the ax in your hands and smiled, this one looked real, the realest he could manage. “Gonna kill me too?”

You shrugged, tossing the ax at his feet. “You gonna kill me?”

He looked at you, really looked at you, standing there covered in your ‘friend’s’ blood and unknowingly smiling at the carnage. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered. 

Part two

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie House of Wax (2005), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ On Sunny Days I Go Out Walking ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x reader words: 3k synopsis: Jacaerys is learning that the world moves on. contents: angst. mourning, grief, major character death. mentions of depression, anxiety. sad jace notes: i was listening to the song francis forever by mitski and this somehow showed up fully written in 20 mins. also some inspo from mind over matter.... im so happy idk what else to say. super happy fic im happy and fine. this does not follow canon, jace aged up, no spoilers rly but like... iykyk. ps im sorry @softspiderling for what ive done. the gun is at my temple feedback is appreciated <3 requests open. masterlist

THE DARK IS NO FRIEND OF JACAERYS VELARYON.

A flicker, the single room illuminated in the obsidian of the castle at such an hour; the dark crawls upon him, slow as shadows, stealthy as the beast that lingers empty within his stomach. 

The dark has begun to infect him. 

Seeping slowly into skin, carving through into the sponginess of his bones - some shadowed poison, twisting and lingering in the blood that dawdles slowly through his veins. The quiet is deafening, in the way it had been up in the North those months ago; when snow tumbled from the chasmous skies in the dead of night, a blanket of reticence chilling him to his heart. 

Breaths tumble scarce from his lips. The darkness crawls, it whispers; fingers, blotched and stained, though he has scarcely written one word upon the parchment in the hour since he’s crawled from the refuge of bed. 

Perhaps, if things were different, there would be hands; hands, sleek and gentle, sliding over the slope of his shoulder, wrapping to embrace him from behind. A sweet whisper in his ear, encouraging. A ward to the shadows; though darkness swallows up any memory of that touch, the memory of which becomes more and more scarce with each breath he takes. 

Waves crash in the distance, twisting the dagger further into his gut. The word stares up at him - and he, avoiding the swimming vision, stares out into the pain of a world so large, so cold.

Dearest, 

He cannot bring himself to write what comes next. Your name, so sweet - your name, the world. His limbs frozen in fear - to pour his self into this letter, to release the pressure that has built and built and festered and rolled its beastly body upon itself to reveal a soft underbelly; a sharp pain below his ribs, one trembling hand pressing against the lids of his eyes, vision swimming in soft patterns. His lips wobble with poorly concealed anguish.

Jacaerys is no stranger to the feeling of loss - a swallowing, consuming dissolution, the eclipse of any warmth with the cold strike of grief. His father, fathers - and then when he lost his brother, he lost himself; anger, mistrust, pain. Your hands, the sweet embrace of your warm breast, heart beating strong enough for both of you when he thought his own might stop. You had been the one to suggest it, back then. 

The irony of it makes a vicious wave of bile begin to rise in his throat, fingers trembling as he holds a quill, shaking his head to rid himself of the barrage of sorrow that tears at his chest. 

You were there. In the middle of the night, when he could not find rest; in the peak of day, when the sun served nothing but a reminder of the laugh he would not ever hear again, you’d been there. Write a letter to him, you’d suggested. 

Jacaerys did not heed your suggestion for many days; a young man, festered with anger, revenge, grief; your insistence, despite his vicious sorrow, breaking through and softening the blow of life without Lucerys. With shaky hands he wrote the letter, one day. Brother, he’d addressed it to - and then, after sealing it in a bottle, had sent it into the tides in the early hours of the morning, turning to relieve his grief upon your shoulder. You’d held him in the wet sand until the sun rose in the sky. 

You would want him to do this, he knows - you, always pushing him to be better, to speak and be understood, to listen and understand, to feel, to love. To prepare, because when the time comes, when the crown is heavy upon his head, he will rule well - and you… to rule aside him. 

And that’s what it was for, in the end. You were what it was all for. 

But nothing of that remains; the quill hovers above the parchment, suspended in time. Jacaerys’ hand trembles with the weight of what he knows he could never convey. How can you express the loss of the entire world, your entire being, everything you are, into one piece of parchment? How can he confess that when you were consumed by those depths, he too was lost within them?

Jacaerys swallows the lump that rises; the parchment before him is warbled, dipping and swimming in his vision. His grasp shakes - with a soft whimper of desolation he realizes his foolish hand has marred your name, that sweet word, upon the parchment. Tainted, smudged now with darkness.

Your name, so sweet from the curl of your lips - lips now so cold to the touch, blue and purple with the unrelent of the ocean. That haunting thought - did you realize, in those last moments? 

Did you understand when you were going down, aflame and prepared to meet the Stranger? Was it Luke, who welcomed you with pale lips pulled into that ceaseless grin wherever your soul went after your body was dragged under the currents? 

A choked gasp, tears splattering upon the parchment.

Jacaerys used to grow exasperated with how Luke seemed to follow you and him around - blathering ceaselessly about anything he could think of; a menace, snickering when Jace threw glares at him yet beaming when you sent him a sly wink. You told Jace you didn’t mind Luke’s company, so Jace grew to enjoy it, too. 

After all, you’d always wanted a younger brother. 

Gods, why not me? The salinity mixes with the ink, tainting the curve of the first letter of your name as it begins to bleed through. He cannot stop the tears, his gasping sobs swallowed by the dark of eve. 

The letter is shoved away from him expeditiously, a heavy cloak falling upon him as he tries to suck in breaths; letting loose an involuntary groan of sorrow, his fingers tug at the laces of his tunic, much too tight against the heart beating into his chest.  The parchment flutters to the floor.

The cusp of adulthood was tread only by the hand within his own, the smiles in dark, the terse furrow of strategizing brows in the light of the council room. Jacaerys is a man, now - grasping, unsteady in the ground that has been ripped and overturned, the stench of fresh earth suffocating. The pillow that lies in the empty space of his mattress, illuminated by the second of two lit candles; dragged with detached hands that night when the raven came home, but you did not. 

It is beginning to smell less and less like you - like the dahlia blossoms you’d clipped in the gardens and refined into oils and pressed between the pages of Jace's old journals, the sweets you’d sneak into his chambers after a visit to the kitchens. Perhaps worse - with a violent twist of his gut, a panic; what will he do when the pillow is absorbed, the last of your scent snuffed by his own? Where will you have gone? 

He cannot bring himself to lay aside that pillow; with a shaky breath, he discards his tunic, running a shaky hand over a clammy chest, wishing it felt more like your own palm.

In only a few hours, the sun will wake. 

The darkness over the island will dissipate, the fog creeping along the coast in a slow crawl; and Jacaerys will rise, bleary and red-eyed, throat hoarse. He will break fast alone, as he does these days. He will rip apart pastries just to discard them upon the plate uneaten, take a sip of tea and force it down his throat; he will recall how you used to dunk little cookies into your own, how you often preferred to take yours with his mother when time allowed it, because you both enjoyed a later tea. 

He will walk to the hall, see to his duties - the Prince of Dragonstone; he will stare at the seat you used to occupy, recall the day he’d lifted you upon the table in isolation, how you’d sighed with a frilly laugh into his neck as he’d kissed the expanse of your face. He will walk to Aegon’s Garden, but he won’t go all the way towards the end where the freshly turned soil of the memorial grounds bears a new member.

The darkness will dissipate; the sun will rise.

The sun will come, and he will remember the way your hair shined in the early mornings, slumped upon the pillow, tickling his nose as he woke. 

The sun will rise every morning, but you will not. 

JACAERYS USED TO LOVE WATER.

He is kin of salt and sea; in one way or another - and the ocean, a soft presence, some secret rebirth. In youth, it held him like he was its own - wading, throwing stones, floating on lazy afternoons. Sailing with his father, slipping on the quarterdeck, diving into the captain’s quarters under rough seas. 

Jacaerys stares down at the water that surrounds him: Things are no longer what they used to be.

The bathwater is warm - his skin, pinked by the heat as tendrils of steam rise, a handmaid lifting his arm to scrub underneath his nails. The bath is full; he stares helplessly upon the ripples that undulate over the surface, eyes harrowed by his own reflection. A man he does not recognize. 

And a blink, then the face that stares back is so similar to his own; carved of the same bedrock stone, birthed of the same love, kissed by the same gods. Not himself, but one who knows him just as well, as close as one… a brother. Panic, a flash of jaws larger than the moon - pain, the wail of a lifelong companion, swallowed by a beast. A freefall, wind in ears. The cold, tumultuous sea, swallowing yelps, gasps, struggling to stay upright amidst screams for mother, for brother. Then, hair; not his own, nor his brother’s, but a reflection upon the refracted waves, a scream warbled as water fills sweet, kind lungs. The reflection of the one who knew him more than he knew himself - a smile, a gasp of pain. Legs, thrashing against currents, littered with arrows and tangled by a thick riding dress; skirts heavy, riding armor dragging to depths as hands grasp fruitlessly at a splintered castaway of shipwreck. 

This life; merely borrowed time from the Stranger. 

His hands tremble under the soft grasp of the houseworker; he ignores the looks of concern, sliding back until he is nearly submerged, letting the water flood his senses. This life - bright skies that leak through the curtains he continuously draws closed - soaked and numb, deafening silence as water trickles into his ear canals, an urge to breathe though he is submerged nearly to the line of lashes that weep from below his eyes. A voice asks meekly if he’ll be breaking his fast in his chambers this morning. He does not hear himself respond.

A rippled noise as his hand slides back into the water, the handmaids rising with worried looks before bowing, exiting to give the prince his privacy. He is left alone, isolated, small. Tired.

Is this what it was like? 

The cold, empty silence that followed your fall, bones splitting at the surface, water swallowing you, meeting with the same cruel depths that somewhere still tether Luke’s body to a watery grave.

Do wait up for me, my love… Your voice suffocates him. His throat tightens, head thumping against the back of the tub, tilting his head back to suck in a watery, ragged gasp, eyes screwing shut. Hot tears upon his cheeks. I heard they’re preparing lamb roast this evening, you’d told him as you’d straightened the clasp of his cloak. Such a sweet observation - his favorite of the meals the cooks oft prepared. Your bravery - a promise, a resolute promise. 

You’re ill, Jacaerys, you’d reminded him when he suggested once more he should come with you. You must rest. His worry was not easily concealed; yet you, with a smile so graceful it lit up the dragonmont; you, knowing him as familiar as your own reflection; you, brushing his hair away from his cheeks, poking his nose. -But do wait up for me, my love, and we can share dinner. I heard they’re preparing lamb roast this evening. 

He’d sighed then, worry lacing his heart as he roved his hands over your hips - for the last time. Your voice was so sweet, playful. I'll be fine, Jace. Don’t you trust me? 

A question asked rhetorically; yet he’d nodded, pressing a kiss to your hairline, straightening the riding armor over your dress, murmuring into your skin. I trust you with my entire being - with my life, and every life after. 

Your breath, shuttering as you tilted your head up, brushing your lips against his, whispering: And you, with mine. 

But the lamb roast went cold in the kitchen that evening. You did not return. A raven, broken whispers, his mother with unshed tears, choking as she grasped his shoulders, cradled his head - whispering: I’m so sorry, my sweet boy. 

The tears ripple into the bathwater. 

Jacaerys drifts, heart numb; harsh waves, sharp laughter, whispered kisses.

LIGHT IS DILUTED.

These days, the sun beats upon the castle; scarce clouds that begin to grow and cluster upon the shoreline, rumbling as they begin the slow descent upon the island. 

The scent of pine lingers in his nose; a sharp break from the salty air of coast, Aegon’s Garden is cloistered with tall trees, swaying in the breeze. The light that filters through the needles high above flickers in his vision; dappled shadows spreading across the path, crawling in a slow lumber towards the end of the garden.

He can feel you here, more than most places. 

The soft breeze in the wind, a fleeting touch of your nose against his neck. The trickling water of a stream nearby, crawling its way towards the sea - the bubble of your laughter between sheets, his fingers tickling your side gently, your hands pushing him away and then pulling him close. 

Those perfumed oils. gentle, sweet dahlia petals - lingering upon his clothing, upon his face after you'd pressed a kiss to his cheek. The call of gulls in the distance, the ones that'd flee when you and Jace, wild and yelling in joy upon Vermax's back, gave chase across the glassy refraction of the sea. Quiet afternoons under the pines, his head in your lap - he'd read you the history of house targaryen; you'd thread your fingers through his hair, and hum his favorite song.

Here, near the Dragon's Tail - where he taught you to weave wild grassroots and flowers together, and make a crown. You'd worn yours to supper proudly one evening, coaxing a grin from his mother and uncle alike when you'd placed the crown, wilting and too large, unto Joffrey's little head.

His steps are heavy; boots crunch softly on gravel as the pines sway, their needles whistling in the breeze. A sparse raindrop upon his shoulder.  

Silence passes until he's carried himself much too far - a tightness in his chest, breath coming in quicker as he nears the corner of the garden.

The intention was to turn around; though lost in the emptiness of his mind, watching a fat bumbling bee struggle to float its way past him, recalling when you'd helped Luke mend his split knee after tumbling from the low-lumbering branch of the tree near the Sept - Jacaerys’ steps slow, then stop altogether as the path bends and returns from whence it began. 

He told Baela he would not venture this far; though she told him it would be good - even offered to accompany him. The taste of his lip between his teeth has grown metallic as he stares ahead, eyes burning, heart stopped. 

Beauty is never consolatory, you’d told him once. He stares, heart pinched - a plethora of flowers - and there, carved in stone, fresh. 

His vision swims, taking a staggering step forward. The bush of forget-me-nots - vibrant, full of life - a soft, wistful blue, so matching the very shade that his brother oft favored. The flowers have grown in the months, spreading delicate beauty - indeed, not consolatory - and curling around the name: Lucerys Velaryon. 

And there, just beside them, white blossoms of dahlia. Your name.

His knees buckle. 

The ground welcomes the brunt of his weight upon his knees, trembling as he gasps - buds have just begun to open - white, bleeding with a deep red, leaking through and bursting sharply against the forget-me-nots. A new memorial grave. 

The buds flourish under the broken sunlight, even as light rain begins to kiss over the stones, sending heavenly tears over your name, over Luke’s. 

A glance upwards; some self-comfort, a seek for the dragons which circle the sky - the sunlight is gapped between the trees, swaying as rain falls from invisible clouds. Rainshine, you used to call it: Rainshine, Jace - You’d laugh, tugging him outside onto the ramparts, twisting the two of you in some lazy waltz through rain, smiling up at him, sunshine in your eyes, in your hair, in his heart. 

Tears fall from his aching eyes, though he is unsure if they’d begun when he entered the garden or just now, as he’s crumpled to his knees. A leaf falls, fluttering to land on the path beside him, orange and yellowed from the liquidation of summer. 

He stares in disbelief at the forgotten frond, settling itself onto the pavement, so ready to be trampled, discarded, destroyed. Some sick cycle; a long season through, fruit rotting unpicked, sunshine and days of warmth melting fresh and revealing upturned decomposition of below. Summer is ending.  

The smell of earth, of ocean; the sweet sick of flowers, once so lovely, now nauseating. It hits him within the chest: this summer cannot end - you are still here. His heart, suffocated as he stares, hands beginning to shake. 

Fingernails cake with dirt, grasping at the soft earth that lies before him; the heavy smell has begun to take over, a thick, lingering sweetness that has turned bitter in his mouth, rotting dahlias festering in the late heat of summer, soon to freeze and wilt in the cold of winter coming. 

“No,” His voice is hoarse. His head shakes, palms to the ground, reaching for whatever part of you remains in this cold earth. The sound of the ocean, mocking; The rattle of a hoarse whimper, tears hot and lethal against the apple of his cheeks, “Don’t go.” 

His words remain empty, heard only by the flowers blooming in the sorrow of the garden, forgotten by ears long since gone. “Don’t make me, please,” He sobs, now - eyes squeeze, tears fertilizing the deep roots of your flowers, “Please, don’t make me leave you.” He whispers, voice cracked and trembling with emotion. Don't make me leave you in the decay of summer. 

He remains, miserably curled between your memorial and his brother’s, pillowed by his hands as though he is once again a boy; head bowed, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Pine, earth, flowers - it is overwhelming, so thick he might choke on it. A blurry glimpse against the rain, against the hues of white, of red, of blue - the light which filters down upon him, a mockery - bright, much too alive in the garden of death. 

Jacaerys’ head tilts back as he sucks in a gasp, tears leaking hot over his red cheeks, a dizzying wave of vertigo spinning the world around him - stumbling backwards down an endless staircase, reaching for the cold, lifeless hands which once held him so lovingly.

The leaf finds itself in his hands - a blurry hole through it, tiny, from the jaws of some insect; eaten through, a skeleton of summer. 

There is something etched into it by the hands of nature; though he swears it almost spells your name. It is crushed with the weight of his fingers, disintegrating into the stream that trickles just beyond the flowerbeds, pulled along, towards the deep blue of endless sea to watch over you and Lucerys' forgotten graves.

Jacaerys curls in on himself, wracked with quiet sobs that dwindle into a tranquil stare at the blotches of sunlight through the trees; he should have let Baela come, or perhaps sought the company of his mother - the garden is awfully empty, the world awfully empty - in such a large absence. 

His fingers trail shakily over the curved letters of your name, carved into the stone as he stares, tears ceaselessly leaking, chest hiccuping. “P-please,” He whispers again against the straining pain in his chest, lips brushing the earth, trying to recall the sound of your voice, the feeling of your lips. The twisting days, shortening with the fall of each eve; soon, he will have to face winter, and you will be left in summer. His tears are salted; they sting over his lips as he whispers against the stone of your name. “Please, I don't want to. Don’t let me leave you.” 

Whispers in the wind that almost sound like you, calling his name. But there is no answer.

Leaves rustle in the breeze, the sunlight dapples across his body, the birds sing, the flowers bloom.

The world continues to move on without you.

taglist: @bitchydragonparadisee @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @jottositto @chloe-petrichors @elaena-aerrin @smurfelle @greenvita @alyssa-dayne @uhnanix and also to @cregan-starks ily. @dipperscavern pls do not revoke my writing skills. also i need that shotgun pls and thx

[shybunnie20]

Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

strangers to friends to lovers

★Teasers ★Locations ★My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie embarks on a new chapter after finally graduating. He expects to face a variety of hurdles that come with a change of scenery, but what he doesn't anticipate is falling head over heels for you.

Author's Note: Holy shit, I can't believe this is finally finished after 11 months. It’s the first time I've written smut in well over a year and I'm pleased with how it turned out (I couldn't have done it without the support of my beloved @eddiethefreakkmunson)

Location photos are linked above and in the fic at their first mentions. AU with no Upside Down, no use of Y/N, focuses on Eddie's POV, fluff and mild angst with a happy ending *wink wink*

Word count: 17.3k

Warnings: MDNI 18+! alcohol consumption/drunken behavior, subtly pervy moments, masturbation, fondling, dry humping, protected p in v, oral (f receiving), a little bit of praise & possessiveness, includes swearing.

Eddie was determined to leave Hawkins for good as soon as he tossed his graduation cap to the sky. He didn’t expect how expensive a venture like that would be, so he devised a plan. For a couple of months, he would stick around to save up a financial cushion.

To pocket every penny possible, Eddie took up odd jobs around town like mowing lawns and painting fences. With every task completed, he army crawled his way toward living life on his terms. He didn’t expect it to take him well over a year to save up enough cash.

On this sweltering afternoon, the atmosphere is charged with the promise of new beginnings. The summer sun peeks out from behind the dense clouds and casts irregular shadows on the dirt road of Forest Hills.

His van is packed to the brim with boxes of his belongings. After mentally checking everything twice over, uncertainty twists Eddie’s stomach into knots. What if I have car trouble? What if I get lost? What if it’s not everything I hoped it would be?

Wayne descends the concrete steps and joins Eddie. He lets out a belly-deep sigh that speaks volumes. You’ll figure it out. You’re gonna find your way. Your best days are ahead of you.

There’s a hint of sadness in seeing his boy take this significant step toward independence. But beneath that sorrow, profound pride prevails within Wayne. Eddie’s dreams reach far beyond the boundaries of Hawkins. Sticking around here won’t do him any good.

Eddie looks at the man who’s been his rock; the one who used to rise before dawn to plate crispy bacon and fluffy pancakes, meeting Eddie’s needs before his own. The memories are vivid as he reflects on the milestones his uncle guided him through. Without a doubt, Eddie wouldn’t be half the man he is today if it weren’t for Wayne.

His beloved van sits atop the very spot where he once wiped out while learning to ride a bike without training wheels. “It’s time to be a big boy,” Wayne said, urging Eddie to muster some faith in himself.

Reluctantly, Eddie mounted his small bicycle and clutched the rubber handles. With a push to set him off, he experienced the fleeting thrill of accomplishment as he pedaled forward. He only made it a few feet before his balance wavered.

The bike wobbled, sending Eddie tumbling to the gravel. His knees and palms bore the brunt of the fall, and the sharp pebbles embedded themselves into his scraped skin.

Wayne isn’t exactly a ‘rub some dirt on it’ kind of guy, but he isn’t the coddling type either. He cleaned Eddie’s wounds, slapped on some bandages, and told him to give it another shot. Faced with his nephew’s tearful protests, Wayne emphasized that just because failure stings, it shouldn't deter him from trying again.

“I guess this is it then.” Eddie wipes beads of sweat from his brow using the back of his hand.

“Yep, looks that way. It sure will be quiet without y’here. I got so used to living with all that racket of yours.”

“It’s called good music. You should take it for a spin sometime, it’s way better than that honky-tonk shit you made me listen to growing up.”

“I like my honky-tonk shit just fine, thank you,” They share a laugh.

Wayne will undoubtedly miss their banter, but it’s their Sundays together that weighs the most on his heart. Occasionally, the summer graces them with a few perfect days—pleasantly sunny with a stirring breeze. That weather maintained an unspoken tradition.

When little Eddie moved in, he was struggling to find his footing and hadn’t spoken much. Wayne took him to a serene lakeside spot where the water gently lapped against the shore.

He cast his line into the water in pursuit of a crappie dinner, and six-year-old Eddie gleefully played with the live bait. Over the years, their dynamic remained largely unchanged. Wayne watched his bobber from the swaying dock while Eddie kicked back in a folding lawn chair. It was simple father-son time that didn’t cost more than an afternoon or two. As of now, those days are over.

“You sure you’re gonna be alright without me, old man?”

Wayne shrugs and shoves his hands into his front pockets. “I suppose I’ll manage one way or another.” 

“Take care of yourself,” Eddie says firmly.

“Will do. Oof-” Wayne chuckles when he’s abruptly hugged. He smooths over the back of Eddie’s head with his calloused palm.

The men hold onto one another, their unspoken sentiments conveyed in the silent embrace. They exchange a pat on the back before parting.

Wayne’s eyes follow his nephew as he closes the rear doors and makes his way toward the front of the van. “Eddie, one last thing. Remember to take your chances while ya got 'em and strike while the iron’s hot. Don’t let nothin’ pass ya by.”

Offering a firm salute, Eddie hops up and settles into the driver’s seat.

With Hawkins in the rearview mirror, Eddie sets off. Chicago may not be the sprawling metropolises of New York or Los Angeles, but it’s a world apart from his hometown.

It’s far enough away to provide a much-needed change of scenery, yet close enough that he can move back home if things go to shit.

The drive goes smoothly overall with a couple of instances of getting turned around. By the time Eddie is finished with the long hours on the road, he’s bone-weary.

His new place may not be the epitome of luxury, but it’s a roof over his head and that’s all that matters. After lugging his things to the fourth floor, Eddie can finally consider himself moved in. His apartment lacks furniture and decor, but it’s a space he can call his own.

The throbbing of an unbearable intensity plagues his thighs, a fiery reminder of the multiple flights of stairs conquered. He collapses onto his twin mattress and emits a low groan. The sound bounces off the bare walls and echoes through the studio apartment.

Eddie starts noticing the difference in sounds around him. Gone are the barking dogs and tires rolling over gravel. His fridge hums like the one in the trailer, which is nice, but it’s not remotely loud enough to drown out the argument happening in the unit above his.

When the noise finally subsides, he hopes to catch up on some much-needed sleep. But just a few minutes later, the ruckus rekindles. In a bid for tranquility, Eddie clutches his pillow to his ears to block out the animalistic makeup sex seeping through his ceiling.  He’s praying that the man is a two-pump chump because this is a lot for a first night. Hell, it’s too much for any night.

In a matter of days, Eddie has already encountered a series of issues. Whenever he tries to use hot water, his shower head screeches like a banshee. And the upstairs neighbors? They wear bricks for shoes and have a hoedown at 2 a.m. on a nightly basis; that is, if they’re not at each other’s throats.

Job hunting has been fruitless. The gas stations, car washes, and tobacco shops turned him down for the same reason: no documented experience. This means that he’s going to be stuck with the makeshift bed frame he came with for a while, which is just wooden planks zip-tied together. He’s not sure how long it’ll be able to withstand his tossing and turning.

There’s good news, though. Eddie refused to succumb to defeat. Today, he strolled past a tattoo parlor and impulsively checked it out. When he approached the counter, Eddie was met by an imposing man with a rather unwelcoming demeanor. In spite of feeling a bit intimidated, he greeted the man warmly.

As expected, the shop owner Cliff, did not reciprocate. When Eddie inquired about job openings, Cliff promptly replied with a curt “no.” Eddie’s tone grew desperate and he nearly pleaded. Cliff became irritated and offered a non-existent custodial position just to get Eddie to shut up and leave.

Currently sprawled on the rickety mattress, Eddie holds Mr. Pickles in the air and looks up at him. His trusty plushie is a bit worse for wear, having had his seams sutured with crimson battle vest thread.

“We’re doing it, buddy. We’re finally doing it.”

Shortly after moving in with his uncle, he had trouble falling asleep in the unfamiliar trailer. Wayne, hoping to provide comfort, gifted Eddie the stuffed bunny. It swiftly became a treasured part of his life, symbolizing safety and support—two things he hadn’t received much of up to that point.

The floppy-eared companion got its name from Wayne’s favorite snack. Whenever his uncle would pop the lid on a fresh jar of pickles, young Eddie would erupt into a fit of laughter. He insisted that Wayne was going to transform into a pickle due to how fast he blows through a jar.

In his twenties now, Eddie still cuddles with Mr. Pickles every night. If his pal could talk, he’d tell him how proud he is. Eddie rolls onto his side and nuzzles the bunny’s worn fur. That smile lingers on his face while he drifts off to sleep, now with a sense of hope for the days ahead.

The time has come. Eddie has worn through his entire wardrobe and needs to make a trip to the laundromat. Having a washer in the trailer was something he didn’t fully appreciate until now.

Taking a quick look around his apartment, Eddie spots a cardboard box that’ll suffice in lieu of a laundry basket. He fills the box with the scattered clothes from the floor, slips on his sneakers, and makes his way out onto the street.

Nestled in the heart of his neighborhood, Eddie arrives at his destination. The air carries an overwhelming fresh scent of detergent. It’s not bustling by any means; there are only a handful of people here.

Compared to those who are well-versed in their routine, Eddie feels out of place. He chooses an available machine and plops his box of dirty clothes on the counter behind him. He inspects the front-loading washer, not versed in its functions and operation. Eddie goes to open the machine’s door but it refuses to yield.

His patience wanes with each futile tug. Just as frustration peaks, a sudden realization dawns on him, prompting a blush to sweep across his cheeks. There’s a lock hidden on the flip side of the handle.

With the press of his thumb, the lock disengages and the door screeches open. Hot under the collar, Eddie hastily scoops up his clothes and stuffs them into the damp drum. He slams the door shut with a mechanical click, the sound signaling the lock relatching. 

This place lacks helpful signage, to say the least. The only one here displays the cost of running a cycle, but there’s nothing to guide newcomers through the process.

Eddie pulls out his wallet to retrieve a few quarters. After inserting them, he figures out the detergent tray without much trouble. But as Eddie presses the START button repeatedly, increasing his force with each press, the machine stubbornly refuses to respond.

“You have to choose a setting.”

Eddie jumps at the sound of your voice, his brows arched and mouth hanging open. “Huh?”

You walk over from the adjacent wall of driers a few feet away. “It won’t start unless you select a wash setting first.”

He looks at you like a deer-in-the-headlights, so you step in and set the machine to delicate for him. The washer springs to life and water begins to fill the drum.

“Ah, that makes sense,” Eddie says while rubbing the back of his neck. “These are so different from the one I had back home.”

“Where’s home?” You ask, resuming your task of folding your clean laundry on the nearby counter.

Eddie is visibly taken aback by your continued engagement. “A town in Indiana that you’ve definitely never heard of,” He starts to fidget with the detergent jug’s cap, though it’s already sealed.

Suddenly, Eddie feels self-conscious about his appearance. Talking to a cute girl wasn’t on the agenda today, he didn’t dress for this. He regrets choosing function over fashion; his denim shorts are an old pair of Wayne’s jeans that he cropped to wear while mowing lawns. The raw hems are messily frayed and the light blue is darkened with grass stains.

“Indiana, huh? You’re a ways from home then. What brings you to The Windy City?”

Eddie’s attention lands on your pile of clothes, subtly assessing your wardrobe choices. “Uh- just needed a change of pace, I guess.”

“Chasing the dream, right? Figured Chicago had more to offer?” You peek at him, catching his stare fixed on a pair of underwear at the top of the pile—a standard white cotton panty, nothing worth ogling.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, his posture stiffening when you make eye contact. He swallows hard, averts his gaze, and shifts his weight between the balls of his feet. “Something like that.”

“Did you bring your band with you?” You take the undergarment in question and fold it, seemingly unfazed.

As you move the folded pile into your laundry basket, his clothes start thumping inside the machine, causing suds to splash against the glass window. 

Eddie’s brows knit together. “How’d you know I have a band?”

“You’ve got the look,” You remark as your eyes travel over him.

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. “Is that so? Do enlighten me, what’s the dead giveaway?”

“Your hair,” You suggest charmingly.

Eddie swishes his brunette curls like a lady in a shampoo commercial. “Too predictable?” 

“I’d say it’s on brand. Let me guess, Slayer? Maybe a little Dio or Megadeth?”

Eddie narrows his eyes at you before looking down at his shoes. “Jesus Christ, you’re reading me like a goddamn book.”

You cock your head to the side, playfulness tugging at your lips. “And if I were to look for this book in a store, what name might I find it under?”

“Eddie,” He lets his arms fall to his sides. When you tell him your name, it bounces around in his head. How pretty, he thinks.

After lifting your full laundry basket, you step away from the counter. “Good luck with the dryers. Oh, and just a heads up, those doors lock too. Don’t go yankin’ the handle off unless you’re looking to take home a souvenir,” You giggle to yourself as you walk out of the laundromat.

Eddie’s mouth hangs open while he watches you leave. Once you’re gone, his attention drifts to the nearby bulletin board. Among the various flyers, one advertises an open mic night. He decides that he’ll check it out sometime this week.

At Double Barrel Bar, Eddie is swallowed by a sea of mainstream nonconformity. The bar-goers are dressed similarly to him, and while the crowd is mostly younger people, they’re still a touch older than him. 

A symphony of clinking glasses and animated chatter collides with the thunderous live metal music. The dense haze of tobacco smoke and the distant clatter of pool balls only enrich the ambiance. The walls are adorned with framed music memorabilia and band posters, a mix of global icons and local talents.

Eddie is enveloped with nostalgia. This place reminds him of the gigs he used to play with Corroded Coffin, although they never played for an audience this size. Staring at the stage, he questions whether he could engage such a crowd and persuade them that he’s worth listening to.

Between two other men at the bar, Eddie takes a seat.

Lee, the bartender, greets him. “What can I get ya?”

Eddie shrugs and hooks his sneakers beneath the rung of the stool. “I'll take a cold one, whatever's cheapest.”

“You got it. Bottle or tap?” Lee wipes his hands on the white rag draped over his shoulder.

“Bottle is fine.”

Lee retrieves a bottle of beer and deftly pops the cap before sliding it over to Eddie.

His fingers curl around the icy glass, the condensation cool to the touch. Eddie’s plump lips wrap around the bottle’s rim and he takes his first sip. The crisp liquid trickles down his throat, offering a short-lived remedy for the stuffiness of the room. 

As Lee tends to another patron, Eddie fidgets in his seat, causing the flier in his back pocket to crinkle. “So, you host an open mic?”

“Yeah, Thursday through Sunday. Are you any good?” Lee asks.

Eddie flips his guitar pick necklace between his fingers. “I like to think so. I guess you’d have to ask the ants in my kitchen, they’re the closest thing I've had to an audience lately.”

Lee snorts. “I've got a good feeling about you, I’m gonna reserve a spot.”

“Oh, uh- you don't have to do that.”

Lee waves his hand in dismissal and gathers the abandoned glassware from the now-empty seat beside Eddie. “No pressure, just swing by on Thursday if you’re interested.”

The opportunity intrigues Eddie, but performing alone is uncharted territory. Contemplating the offer, Eddie grapples with a cloud of self-doubt looming over his decision.

It’s been two months, and his routine is now established. Each day brings progress and a sense of reward, even though there have been occasional hiccups along the way.

Surviving the sweltering summer with a broken AC was sheer hell. He found himself spending ample time nude in his apartment or standing in front of the open freezer compartment of the refrigerator; sometimes simultaneously. Fortunately, September has arrived, and the temperature has begun to wind down.

Managing expenses requires a frugal approach, given the modest pay from his custodial job. Eddie resorts to taking power showers and using candles to keep his utility bill low.

Sometimes he forgoes meals to keep an extra couple of bucks on hand. But when he does eat, he opts for saltine crackers slathered in butter, bologna sandwiches, canned soups, and plain noodles. Occasionally he treats himself to store-bought pasta sauce, though it’s still the saddest spaghetti known to man.

Eddie faces skepticism from the seasoned artists at the tattoo shop, all military veterans who view him as an arrogant kid. Their perception fuels his determination to prove himself. To earn their respect, he’s dedicated to cleaning more thoroughly than he ever has in his life.

He’s become keenly observant, absorbing every detail of the professional tattooing process, despite never being included in those conversations. Within the circle of artists—Ace, Lunchbox, and Dozer—Eddie gravitates toward Ace, who becomes a mentor. Seeing Eddie’s genuine enthusiasm, Ace asks about his drawing abilities. 

Although Eddie’s sketchbook is brimming with fantastical creatures, Ace can recognize a young man’s raw ambition and desire for direction and purpose. He takes Eddie under his wing, allowing him to learn the medium while on the clock.

After taking Lee up on his offer, Eddie found himself on stage every Thursday night. His performances were rusty, as he hadn’t played in front of anyone since before he was working his ass off to get here.

As he strummed through the jitters, Eddie rediscovered the sanctuary that music had always offered. It felt like a part of him had resurrected, reviving the passion he sorely missed.

Playing Thursday nights may not rake in tips like the weekends would, but he’ll take what he can get. Eddie’s been saving up for some pre-owned furniture, and he’s happy to snag any extra cash he can for it.

Life is good right now. The worry about moving back home has lessened, and he’s genuinely amazed at how smoothly things are going. Just when Eddie thought things couldn’t get any better, a Saturday night slot opened up at the bar.

It would be twice as busy, packed from wall to wall with people who could bare witness to him fucking up. Doubt crept its way in, but when Lee mentioned that Eddie could pocket thirty-five bucks or more by the night’s end, it was a no-brainer.

Tonight marks his debut Saturday gig. Stepping through the red brick archway and out onto the stage, the creak of the rustic boards beneath his feet sends a ripple up his legs. Eddie hasn’t even made it to the mic and he’s already forgotten what foot he’s supposed to be stepping with next.

Beneath his t-shirt, his back grows slick. A lump lodges itself in Eddie’s throat, causing his voice to crack when he introduces himself to the room. Amidst the overlapping conversations and the flushing from the nearby restroom, the amassed noise seems muffled. The strong winds in his head distort the sounds, whirling like a twister.

Eddie hooks his guitar up to the amp and forces himself to take a deep breath. As he tunes his instrument, the upheaval begins to settle. Gradually, Eddie finds unity with his guitar and concentrates on perfecting the tone.

Throughout the performance, there’s a persistent undertow of nerves refusing to fully subside. In spite of his efforts to lose himself in the music, his fingers occasionally falter as they dance on the strings.

At the end of his set, Lee can be heard whooping and hollering over the sparse clapping. With a sense of relief, Eddie packs up and makes a beeline for the bar, eager to ease the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Normally, the rush is akin to a high, but this time around it’s so intense that he’s dying to dial it back a notch.

He splurges and orders something a bit fancier than his usual bland beer. Why not celebrate a little? Eddie claims a recently vacated table in the bustling crowd, seating himself on the leather stool adorned with studs. His eyes roam the room while he takes a swig of his drink, savoring the superior crisp taste.

His attention zeroes in on a figure just feet away, a quick recognition igniting in his mind. Eddie recognizes you instantly, due to the scarcity of memorable encounters he’s had.

Eddie observes from afar, observing your mannerisms as you execute your waitressing duties. You must only work weekends, which would explain why your paths haven’t crossed again until now. When your eyes meet his, a shock shoots through his body.

He sits in rapt anticipation as you make your way over. Time seems to stretch unbearably from your previous spot until you finally stand opposite of him, separated only by the circular wooden table.

A courteous smile graces your face—a skill that waitresses must master if they want to pay rent. “Ready for another?”

Eddie stares back at you. His eyes drift down to the almost full beer bottle in his hand. The cogs in his skull are scraping, unable to put the words you’ve said to him in a comprehensive order. He nods without making a peep.

You pivot to leave, but then turn back to him and lift a brow at his unaltered dumbstruck expression. “Are you sure? ‘Cause you don’t look it.”

He remains silent and shakes his head sheepishly, feeling foolish for agreeing to another beer and then changing his mind just because you asked again. Is there more dignity in being indecisive than a bumbling mess?

“You were just singing up there for nearly an hour,” you call him out, folding your arms and tucking your serving tray against your side. “I know you can talk.”

Eddie clears his throat, but he ends up making an odd sound. “Uh, my throat’s a bit sore, that’s all.”

“Did you forget to do your vocal warm-ups or what?”

“It probably sounded like I did,” Eddie laughs, the self-deprecation evident.

“Not at all, I thought you were great.”

“You did?” Eddie’s lips curl at your compliment. Heat blooms on his cheeks, amplifying the full-body perspiration. He takes a casual sip from his beer, a guise to moisten his dry mouth and escape your intimidating gaze.

“Totally, you really come alive when you’re up there,” you rest your forearms on the table’s edge. “Is it just Eddie, or do you go by a stage name?”

No way. There’s no fucking way that you remember him, his face is so forgettable it’s not even funny. Lee had to have said something about who was filling the Saturday night spot. Eddie is inwardly thrilled to hear his name roll off of your tongue, but he tries to maintain his composure. “I suppose not, I guess I never thought about it.”

“You could pull it off, it suits the whole ‘one-man show’ thing you’ve got going on,” You say while giving him a once-over. The intrigue on your face is unwavering as you walk away.

He’s drunk, he has to be. Or maybe his drink was spiked somehow. The room is spinning and he feels nauseous as all hell, despite only having taken a few swigs from his beer.

A short while later, Eddie’s bottle is half-empty as he sits, continuously replaying the moment in his mind. More specifically, he can’t stop thinking about the sparkle in your eyes; he’s never seen anything like it.

He snaps back from his daydream at the sight of your return, this time with an unopened beer in hand. Eddie looks nothing short of puzzled as you slide it across the table toward him. “Uh, no thanks, I’m-”

“Relax, it’s not for you. I’ll be clocking out in six minutes. I wanna hear more about that small town of yours. I mean, as long as that’s okay with you. I understand if you have other plans tonight.”

“No!” Eddie exclaims. “I mean, yes it’s more than okay, and no, I don’t have anywhere to be.”

You glance downward while scuffing your shoe against the floor. “Okay, cool. Keep it cold for me then?” 

“Yeah, for sure. You can count on me.”

Shit shit shit. How is he going to keep this beer cold? Of course, ways to heat it flood his mind. If you come back to a lukewarm beer, that’ll be the end of him. He’s going to fuck this up and any chance of getting to know you will be squashed.

When you join him again, your drink is still cold and the bottle has left a ring of moisture on the paper coaster. Eddie’s unsure of how he managed to not lose it; if he’s capable of anything, it’s misplacing something when his only responsibility is to keep it in his possession. 

As you slide onto the stool beside him, you’re quick to inquire. You ask him typical ice-breaker questions at first, and Eddie responds with a plethora of details. At times, he goes off on tangents. You don’t appear bothered by it.

Eddie talks about his ability to learn how to play songs by ear, and he delves into the intricacies of his favorite Dungeons & Dragons campaigns that he’s created over the years. He earnestly tries to convey its depth to you and throughout his ramblings, he doesn’t miss the concentrated look on your face as you try to keep up.

Lee is nearing the end of his cleaning routine and the other waitresses have left for the night. Neither of you is aware that the bar is devoid of a crowd, scorching lights, and blaring music.

Eddie has been too busy asking you about your origins and passions, his wide eyes and attentive demeanor affirming his genuine interest. Just as he mentions working at the shop and you’ve asked him how many tattoos he has, you’re interrupted.

Lee stands beside the table, armed with a damp rag and a spray bottle. “Awfully hard to wipe the seats when your asses are still on them. Scoot your booch,” Lee instructs by motioning toward the entrance.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to slip off his stool. You, on the other hand, take your sweet time.

“Have a good night,” You say and give Lee’s shoulder a friendly pat.

Uncertain of his next move, Eddie hesitates while you make your way to an unmarked door. It’s half past two in the morning, and he feels a tug of concern about you leaving by yourself.

There’s a very good chance that you’d consider him clingy or intrusive if he waits here. Eddie opts to stand outside. He props himself against the building and idly nudges a loose chunk of concrete with his shoe to keep himself occupied. Soon after, you emerge into the night.

The slam of the heavy door prompts him to straighten up. “Hey.”

“Oh, I thought you left,” you admit and adjust your purse strap on your shoulder. “Thanks for telling me about Hawkins the Hell Hole.”

“The pleasure was all mine. Do you, uh…” Eddie inches forward, his Reeboks scraping loudly on the pavement. “Would you like me to walk you home? It’s pretty late.”

“I don’t live far, it’s just a few blocks.’

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around then?”

Your eyes twinkle brighter than he’d previously seen. “I’d say the odds are in your favor.”

“Goodnight. Get home safe,” He says with a half-hearted bow.

“Likewise,” You reply, biting back a giggle.

Eddie watches you fade into the darkness along the unlit patches of sidewalk. Once you’ve turned the corner, Eddie smiles from the surreal sensation of floating on clouds.

In this moment, the feeling of joy is so potent that it’s borderline palpable. He’s the embodiment of elation, a soul soaring high. It’s a feeling he wishes he could bottle up and carry with him forever.

The next Saturday plays out much like the previous one, save for one detail: it’s considerably tougher to concentrate on stage knowing who’s in the audience. Post-performance, the routine echoes that of the prior week. The two of you gravitate toward the same table as before, establishing it as the one you’ll always sit at.

At first, a hesitation lingers before diving into more personal topics. However, as the night progresses and more beers are consumed, you seamlessly fall into them. Eddie weaves elements of drama and romanticism into his past, making it utterly engrossing for you to listen to.

When you propose getting together outside of the confines of the bar for the first time, Eddie eagerly accepts your invitation to show him around since he has yet to do any sightseeing.

Eddie is swept up in an exuberant wave of boyish excitement, and it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt. He never experienced it during his teenage years like the average person. The sheer thrill of having an instant connection with a girl is an entirely new feeling for him.

Week after week, your laundry days are synchronized and you’ve started the habit of making silly faces or giving each other the finger just because. During the late nights spent together at Dove’s Diner, Eddie finds enjoyment in seeing you eat. It’s a peculiar fascination, but it makes him happy. Seeing you completely at ease while enjoying greasy food is endearing to him.

When he arrived in Chicago, Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling of not wanting to move back to Hawkins. Even so, he wasn’t experiencing the same comfort here as he did in that cramped trailer.

There was a longing for familiarity that he had in his old surroundings. Eddie didn’t want to have to go back home in order to feel that sense of belonging again. He had his doubts about ever truly adjusting to life here until you came along. In your company, the foreignness of the city fades away, replaced by that feeling he’s been missing.

Several times, he’s been working in his sketchbook, adding to the pin-up style figures and faces that bear a striking resemblance to you. While engrossed in drawing, he hadn’t picked up on the similarities. But when he absentmindedly drew a simple heart, that's when it occurred to him.

Eddie like-likes you.

As your shift comes to an end, you head to the back room to gather your belongings. Eddie stands idly at your claimed table, picking at his hangnails while he waits.

“When’re you gonna ask her out?” Lee asks while tidying up nearby.

Eddie laughs heartily at the idea. “How about never.” 

“You should. I can tell she’s into you.”

“Yeah, right. I don’t stand a chance.”

Lee puts down his spray bottle and looks at Eddie. “Listen, I’ve known her for a while now. Trust me on this,” he dumps a used ashtray out into a trash bag.

Eddie emits a noise of disbelief, his mind flickering back to the painful lesson he learned in his youth—he’s no one's type. Lost in reflection, he doesn’t realize you’ve returned with your sweatshirt draped over your bent arm.

Despite the tiring evening, you're upbeat in his presence. “Okay, I’m ready! I was thinking we could get some takeout and watch TV at my place.”

“Sure, I could eat,” Eddie says with a grin. Lee is shaking his head, looking particularly smug.

Your apartment is the polar opposite of Eddie’s, the difference is like day and night. It has a homey atmosphere and there’s a notable absence of wear and tear. He does have band posters, framed personal photos, and furniture, but they fail to create the same inviting ambiance that your apartment effortlessly exudes.

Seated beside Eddie on your couch, you tease him. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I’m trying!” He attempts to mimic your technique, but the piece of chicken repeatedly falls from his chopsticks.

“I can see that,” you stifle a laugh. “And you’re total shit at it.”

Out of frustration, Eddie impales his sweet and sour chicken with both sticks.

Glancing your way, he catches you smiling ear to ear, watching him. Eddie smiles back as he chews. “What? This way works just as well.”

You laugh and refocus your on the TV while resuming your meal. Eddie swears that you’re sitting closer to him than when you first sat down. Your thigh is almost touching his and your shoulder is just as close.

The paranoia subsides as he gets lost in thinking about how he can feel the heat radiating off of your bare thigh. But Eddie’s pulled back to reality when your chopsticks cut across his vision and dig into his takeout box.

He doesn’t mind, not really; sharing is caring. Having said that, when you lean over to look into the box, your shoulder bumps against his. A particularly appreciative sound escapes your lips, one that’s borderline pornographic.

“That’s really good, I’ll have to get some next time,” you hum and place your takeout box on the coffee table. “Or I could just keep stealing yours, it tastes better that way.”

Eddie is frozen, eyes unblinking. As you return to your spot on the sofa, you’re unquestionably closer this time. Your beautiful skin is on display in those shorts of yours and your bare thigh is brushing against his own. He could choke on air right now if he were still breathing.

You look over at him, your brow furrowed. “You good?”

“Yeah, yep. All good,” Eddie avoids making eye contact and stares blankly ahead. “Peachy keen.”

“Okay, weirdo,” you brush off his abrupt awkwardness and scoot toward the edge of the cushion. After gathering your trash, you look at him. “All finished?”

“Mhm,” He replies weakly and extends his box toward you.

With your arms full, you head into the kitchen, leaving him by his lonesome in the living room.

Eddie releases a heavy sigh and drags his hands down his face. Your absence allows him to reenter his body, but it only makes him keenly aware of his not-so-subtle half hard-on that’s outlined through the thin fabric of his shorts.

His eyes widen in alarm and panic takes over. “Shit!” Frantically brainstorming ways to conceal it, Eddie spots a fuzzy blanket at the far end of the couch and he retrieves it, draping it over his lap. While he tries to make himself look as casual as possible, he catches a glimpse of your approaching shadow just before the kitchen light is switched off.

In the few seconds he has left, Eddie tries out various hand placements, but none feel quite right. Every position feels forced and conspicuous.

As you stride back to the couch, your sweet expression eases some of the tension in his bones. “I got a bit chilly,” Eddie blurts out, hoping to preempt any impending questioning. “Is it okay if I use this?”

“No, I’m totally gonna tell you that you can’t use a blanket for its sole purpose.”

Eddie laughs nervously, “Alright, alright.”

This is arguably worse, being wrapped in your scent. It’s awfully hard not to get any harder when your natural smell is flooding his head. It’s intoxicating, and he finds himself inhaling deeply to capture as much of it as he can.

“What’d I miss?” You ask while plopping back down beside him.

The continuous movement causes Eddie to clench his back molars together because an image surges before he can even think to suppress it. He’d bet all the money he has that you’d look stunning on top of him. There’s fantasy looming alongside the image; Eddie wonders what you look like beneath your clothes.

“Nothing, you didn’t miss anything,” He mutters. When you start to squirm against the back of the couch, Eddie shoots you a questioning look. “You got ants in your pants?”

You huff, “No, there’s an itchy spot on my back. Could you scratch it for me, please? It’s driving me nuts.”

“Oh, um, sure,” Eddie fumbles for words as you angle yourself and present your back to him. “Where is it?”

“Right between my shoulder blades.”

Eddie’s eyes zero in on the outline of your bra strap that’s visible through your shirt across your back. Given his luck, that would be the target. Just to be cautious, he starts by scratching at the higher middle part of your back.

“A little lower.”

Eddie swallows hard as his fingers tentatively inch their way down. His belly begins to swirl the closer he gets to the clasp, but thankfully, you stop him just before he reaches it.

“Right there! Yeah, harder.”

If this goes on too much longer, Eddie could very well pass out. But, per your request, he applies more pressure. Beneath the blanket, the discomfort has only intensified—his arousal is now raging with a persistent ache.

“Oh my god, finally,” You say appreciatively and settle back into a more relaxed position.

The overwhelming urge to touch himself skyrockets as his body begs for friction. Eddie repositions himself to adjust the blanket, hoping to keep his erection concealed. From the corner of his eye, his gaze drifts along your figure, pausing at the rise and fall of your diaphragm as you watch TV.

A jagged breath falls from his lips, but he’s determined to clear his mind. Realizing that he can’t leave here tonight with your blanket as a shield, he has to find a way to distract himself by the end of this program.

Miraculously, he survived. Now lying in his bed, Eddie is surrounded by the darkness, save for the glow of the moon and the faint residual light from the streetlamps filtering through the broken blinds. Eddie stares up at the ceiling while his mostly naked body responds to the vivid recollections swarming his train of thought.

On any ordinary day, Eddie would resort to the routine of using his hand and lotion to relieve himself. Be that as it may, the stirring in his core demands a different sensation.

With the thought of you weighing heavily on his mind, there’s an alternative means by which he’s going to alleviate the frustration and desire that’s grown too loud to ignore. Eddie, already shirtless, yanks his boxers off in a swift motion and kicks them off carelessly. Moving onto his knees, he leans over the edge of his bed and retrieves a pillow from the floor.

He sits back on his heels in the middle of his bed and contorts the stuffing with intent. For a moment, he’s not sure how he wants to use it. His body’s impatience grows, causing his erection to bob expectantly.

Eddie licks his lips in anticipation and sets the bent pillow down with the bend facing him. With one hand, he firmly holds the makeshift toy in place. With his other, he strokes himself languidly, blotting the fabric of the pillowcase with precum as he taps his cock against it repeatedly.

Experimentally, Eddie rolls his hips downward, thrusting the sensitive underside of his length against the smooth material. His eyes fall closed, and he can’t seem to pick just one aspect of you to fantasize about, not when every inch of you is so captivating. Eddie grunts, “Yeah, you like that?”

He adjusts his hips, angling them lower to get more friction. The heat blooming causes Eddie’s jaw to go slack. The usual five or six minutes have been halved as the thought of your smile makes Eddie embarrassingly close already.

Wanting to get in a few more thrusts before he’s spent, Eddie pistons himself against the pillow. “Tell me how badly you want me, I wanna hear you say it.”

With one fist continuing to pin the pillow down against the mattress, Eddie trails his other hand up his pale, slender stomach. He digs his gnawed-down nails into his skin, leaving red streaks behind, as he tries to imagine it as your touch. Eddie doesn’t know what it would feel like if it wasn’t his hand, but the thought of you is more than enough.

Devoid of any visual aid, the absence of a magazine or porno tape isn’t hindering him. Typically, when Eddie only has his imagination to utilize, he can beat off without finishing until he eventually gets bored and gives up.

This time it’s different. As his thoughts run wild, Eddie’s rhythm falters. The bed frame squeaks, and the wood shifts while he thrusts as hard as he can.

“Uhhh,” A coarse moan pours from his throat as his cum shoots onto the pillow. Eddie’s thrusts slow to a stop and he pants. The tension in his abdomen gradually subsides as he floats his way back down to earth.

His eyes flutter open, and he’s faced with the mess he made. “Fuckin’ hell,” With a sigh, Eddie decides that he’ll deal with it tomorrow.

After changing into fresh boxers, he chugs down a glass of tap water. Utterly exhausted, Eddie collapses back onto his bed. The aged frame creaks in protest to his abrupt flop. The intensity has been burned away, and what lingers is rawness.

Here’s the thing, Eddie has a way with words, and his unconventional charm comes without a second thought. But conveying himself physically is a different story. His upbringing lacked affection, and consequently, Eddie was robbed of particular milestones. Among those missed moments was sitting on the grass beneath a starry night sky on summer night.

Eddie never got to pluck the green blades from the ground as he gathered the courage to have his first kiss. He hasn’t so much as held someone’s hand before.

With Mr. Pickles tucked under his chin, a wave washes over his heart, wading him further into the tide of ache. Eddie may be inexperienced but he’s not stupid. He’s picking up what you’re putting down. Your persistent hints practically scream at him to make a move.

But your persistence only worsens the anxiety because Eddie’s not sure that he can take the leap like you want him to. It’s not that he doesn’t want you, that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s uncertainty about what to do if he gets to be with you.

Eddie’s drawn to you, his poor pillow could tell you that much. This isn’t the first night he’s spent laying here trying to talk some sense into himself. When he practices being smooth instead of awkward, Eddie struggles to navigate through the hypothetical scenarios that he’s in complete control of.

If his bedroom walls could speak, they’d tell of those nights. But after the sinful act he just committed, they have a hell of a lot more to say. Those bold utterances were far from who he is. It was a facade, a portrayal of a self-assured man he’ll never embody.

Talking dirty made him feel powerful in the moment because the mask allowed him to avoid facing how he truly feels about you. At his core, what Eddie craves is to baby you, he wants to show you that he can be sensitive. He’d die on the spot to see you in a state of delight from being showered with adoration.

Eddie closes his eyes and envisions a world where he can be what you want. He’d never be oblivious to having food in his teeth, and he’d never push a door that should be pulled. This false reality is one where he doesn’t disappoint you by shying away from your advances. It’s unrealistic, he’s just not wired that way.

During his younger years, Eddie endured the worst of taunting. The other kids mocked his short frizzy curls by referring to it as a “rat’s nest.” They told him that he’d resemble a troll until his dying days.  It was ingrained into him that he was unworthy of any form of love—be it familial, platonic, or romantic. The remarks made about Eddie’s prominent nose convinced him that he was a walking safety hazard and he’d poke someone’s eye out if he ever dared to kiss them.

In the seventh grade, Eddie hit a breaking point. He was fed up with having chewing gum put into his curls. There are too many times to count where Wayne sat for hours with a jar of peanut butter, attempting to free the cemented wads from his nephew’s locks. One day, Eddie stood in front of the mirror in the cramped bathroom and cried at the discovery of another bright pink clump of gum tangled in his hair.

It may have been just one piece at that time, but it was the final straw. Out of desperation, Eddie did the only thing he felt would solve the problem for good. By taking matters into his own hands, he used the clippers to give himself a buzz-cut. As chestnut-colored locks cascaded down, settling atop the sink and his feet, the damage was done.

Wayne lent a hand in handling the patchy spots in the back of Eddie’s head that he couldn’t quite reach. The impromptu solution worked as he’d hoped, but it only opened the door to different torment. 

The following school day, his classmates didn’t hold back, likening his appearance to that of an inmate waiting to meet Old Sparky, or cruelly suggesting that he resembles his imprisoned father.

Eddie quickly came to understand that he was never going to be the guy girls wished would ask them to the dance. The scars of rejection were etched into his self-esteem, and since then, he’s come to terms with his inadequacy.

Perhaps you’re interested in Eddie because there are still things you don’t know about him. Surely, once you learn how unworthy he is, you’ll laugh in his face just as the others did.

Tonight he’s shielded from the nightlife commotion inside his van, parked along the curb outside your apartment. He sits patiently, watching the pine tree-shaped air freshener gently sway with the feeble push of air from the AC vents.

It’s Friday night, and there’s nothing he’d rather do than spend it with you. Eddie directs his attention toward your building as you descend the steps of your apartment’s stoop.

Eddie detects the effort, even from afar. Your shoes look new and you’re wearing more makeup than he’s used to seeing you in. These differences have him pondering the significance behind the deliberate choices.

When Eddie casually suggested catching a movie a few days ago, he hadn’t thought much of it. To him, it was merely something you hadn't done together. He didn’t think twice when you got so excited about seeing a late-night showing of Die Hard.

It’s dawning on him that it wasn’t because you’re a big Bruce Willis fan. The reason you’re all gussied up is because this is a date. He asked you out on a date.

This is not a problem, per se. Eddie’s thrilled about going on his very first date, but fear also has him in a chokehold because he’s unprepared.

Wayne never took the time to give his nephew the lowdown on dating. It didn’t come up because Eddie never displayed interest or curiosity about it.

He’s at a loss. Eddie doesn’t know how to carry himself, he doesn’t have a clue about what’s considered proper etiquette beyond what he’s seen on TV and in movies. Are those even reliable sources?

As you cross the sidewalk in his direction, Eddie’s palms grow slick. It suddenly registers that he should be outside, ready to hold the car door open for you. But before he can act on this realization, you swiftly swing the door open and slip onto the passenger seat.

"Hi," You chirp, the sound almost a squeak as you close the car door behind you. You subtly adjust the bottom of your dress before securing your seatbelt.

“Hey,” Eddie’s eyes wander over your body until he finds himself admiring your bare knees.

With a jolt, his eyes snap back to your face, only for you to be watching him with a pleased expression adorning your features.

Eddie clears his throat and busies himself with turning over the ignition. “You look nice,” he scrunched his face. “Pretty! I meant to say you look pretty.”

"Thanks," you reply appreciatively and inspect your freshly painted nails to ensure they’ve withstood the indecisive wardrobe changes of the past half hour.

Throughout the brief drive, engaging in small talk grants Eddie a temporary respite from his brain being in overdrive. Determined to maintain composure, he makes a conscious effort to avoid looking your way.

Eddie successfully carries the conversation as you enter the lobby and get through the refreshments line. Luckily, you secure the last two seats at the end of a row; he’d have been mortified if the theater was oversold and there weren’t any seats left.

The first half of the movie goes as one would expect; you’re comfortably seated beside him, occasionally whispering commentary to each other. Meanwhile, Eddie shovels fistfuls of over-buttered and under-salted popcorn into his mouth, crunching away as the scenes progress on the screen before him.

But then there’s a subtle shift in your body language. He assumes that your inability to sit still might be caused by the need for a restroom break. That is until your knee gradually inches closer to his.

The film has become an afterthought as Eddie watches you place your hand on your thigh, noticeably close to his own that’s casually hanging off of the armrest. It’s impossible to differentiate the pounding pulse in his ears from the blasts of gunfire booming through the theater.

When your fingertips graze his, Eddie rips his hand away to reach for the bucket of popcorn that’s resting in the ditch of his opposite arm. “Want some?” he fails to whisper while offering the bucket to you.

The explosive flashes of red and yellow harshly illuminate your face and without a word, you shake your head and go back to the movie.

Eddie puts the bucket back where it was, and in the hopes of distracting himself from the guilty tingle in his feet, he fidgets with his wristwatch. Repeatedly, Eddie clasps and unclasps it, making the strap incredibly loose and uncomfortably tight around his wrist.

A few minutes go by and without warning, his heart stops because you unexpectedly rest your head on his shoulder.

As if struck by lightning, Eddie leaps to his feet. The motion launches the bucket of popcorn into the air, and the people in the row in front of you are showered with kernels. He's as stiff as a board as he’s confronted with mild uproar and a chorus of expletives. 

Red-faced and unsure of whom to apologize to first, Eddie turns to you. “Shit! I’ll go get another one,” He doesn’t wait for your response and rushes down the stairs, practically leaping over them two at a time.

After bursting through the double doors and out into the empty hallway, Eddie brings his palm to his forehead, his other hand propped on his hip while he paces. Once he’s able to collect himself, Eddie heads toward the lobby, only to find that everything is powered down. 

Eddie decides to use the little time he has to rehearse what he’ll say. There might not be anything he can do to play off his peculiar behavior; at least, nothing that he can think of at the moment.

As he shows up empty-handed, Eddie doesn’t overlook your rigid posture. Your left leg is crossed over your right, pointing away from him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re just upset that he wasted the popcorn and didn't get more.

In your lack of questioning, Eddie feels compelled to explain himself. “Concessions were closed, so…” He gestures with upturned palms, but you don’t acknowledge that he’s spoken or come back.

Not having received a response, Eddie resorts to chewing on his thumbnail and his leg bounces in tandem. Lost in his head, he finds it increasingly difficult to focus on the remainder of the movie.

Exiting the theater and stepping out into the parking lot, Eddie’s voice lacks confidence as he walks alongside you. “What’d ya think? I give it a solid six out of ten.”

You reply with a casual shrug and wrap your arms around yourself. “It was alright.”

“How ‘bout I treat you to Dove’s? Wanna go for a bite?” Eddie suggests to salvage the remainder of the evening.

“I’ll pass. I’m not hungry,” you say curtly, taking a step ahead to open the passenger door for yourself, denying Eddie a second chance to hold it open for you. 

“Oh,” Eddie begins, but his sentence is severed by the slam of the door. “Okay,” he finishes with a sigh.

During the drive back to your neighborhood, the air feels dense. The radio commercials do little to fill the space between you.

Upon the front tire nudging the curb, you get out of the van before Eddie has put it in park. He hurriedly follows suit, rushing over to catch up with you as you head toward your front steps.

“I had a good time tonight. Did you?” Eddie blurts out.

Pausing in your steps, you turn around and face him. “Yeah, I guess.”

Knowing that he’s the cause of your deflated spirit punches a pang to his chest. Eddie offers a gentle expression. “Would you wanna go again sometime? Probably best if you hold the popcorn though,” he chuckles uncomfortably.

“Night, Eddie,” You say with finality before letting yourself into your apartment.

Once you’ve gone inside, dejection overtakes Eddie’s features. “Goodnight,” he mutters to himself, biting the inside of his cheek.

Sifting through the mental archive of wisdom passed down by Wayne, Eddie desperately rummages for any guidance that could apply to his current situation.

Eddie has officially had the world’s worst date, and it very well could be the only one he’ll ever get to go on. It only hurts more that the outcome was entirely his fault.

You’re avoiding him, that much is obvious. You stopped showing up to do laundry together and while he performs, you intentionally keep your back turned to the stage.

After your Saturday shifts end, you no longer stick around to hang out with Eddie, instead choosing to leave with your fellow waitresses.

One would think that it was a tough decision, but it makes perfect sense to him. Eddie gives up playing on Saturdays to avoid crossing paths with you. He reverts to his old spot on Thursday nights.

It’s a way to protect himself while making things easier for you. He can’t fathom how repulsed you are by his presence at this point.

Eddie sits at the folding table in his living room, his feet hooked with one another. The blaring thrash metal fills the room as he meticulously drafts tattoo concepts, completely absorbed in his sketchbook.

The incessant ringing of the telephone hardly cuts through the music. Eddie ignores it for the first two rings and lets out a reluctant huff before pausing the tape and picking up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Heyyy, can you come get me?” Your cheerful request weaves through the lively chatter and honking car horns in the background.

Not having seen you in two weeks, your voice hits him like a wall. “What for?”

“M’ready to go home.”

Eddie reads his watch and leans against the wall. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“You know what, forget it. I’ll just walk home.”

“Absolutely fucking not. What bar are you at?”

“Errr, The Dugout I think.”

“Stay put, alright? Wait for me inside, I’ll be there in a few,” After hanging up, he recklessly shoves his feet into his Reeboks and snatches his car keys from the counter.

Eddie arrives, expecting you to be inside. But there you are, sitting on the curb, right where you shouldn’t be. He calls out to you and jogs over, dodging a few bar-goers on the way.

At first, you turn your head the wrong way when you hear your name called. When you spot him, you scramble upright. “You came for me!” Excitedly, you raise your hands above your head and it slightly throws off your balance. 

“Holy shit, you’re plastered,” Eddie half-scoffs, half-laughs. His eyes roam your body, and he immediately takes notice of your scraped and bloodied knees. “Jesus, what happened?”

“Huh?” you ask, your drunken buoyancy unaffected by his evident concern. Following his guided point, you simply shrug. “I dunno, can’t remember.”

“You’re not here by yourself, are you?” Eddie scans the area, looking for any signs of someone accompanying you.

“Mmm... no, well yes. My girlfriends were here but they left.”

Eddie scoffs, “You’ve got some shitty friends.”

“Good thing I have you. My very own knight in shining armor is here to rescue me!”

“That tower of yours must’ve had quite the mini bar, princess,” Eddie remarks.

“Let’s go,” Eddie instructs, heading toward his van with the assumption that you’re following.  Peeking over his shoulder, you’re practically tripping over your own feet.

The long strap of your purse slides off your shoulder, snags on your bent elbow, and the bag thuds against your calf.

“What am I gonna do with you, hmm?” He steps back, takes hold of your purse, and throws it over his shoulder. Then, he wraps his arm around your waist and holds you snugly to his side, determined to get you home safely by whatever means necessary. After helping you into the passenger seat, he reaches over to fasten your seatbelt. “No hurling in here, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” you salute before sitting back so that your head is supported by the headrest.

Getting you up the stairs was the hard part. He unlocks the apartment door and gently steers you toward the bathroom.

You make a feeble attempt to resist, grasping onto the door frame before finally yielding to your waning strength.

Eddie lets go of you and begins to rummage in search of supplies.

“Okay, Eddie Bear. I’m ready for my bath,” You slur, leaning against the wall for support as you start to ease yourself into the tub.

“Eddie Bear, huh? That’s new,” he snorts before glancing over. “Oh, no you don’t. C’mere,” Eddie grasps you by the waist once more, guiding you to sit on the closed toilet seat.

With both hands, he cradles your booze-warmed cheeks, unintentionally pushing your lips into a pout. “Stay put, would ya?”

Mumbling to himself, Eddie goes back to gathering the first aid supplies. “I look away for two goddamn seconds. Nothing but trouble, I swear.”

The pout doesn’t leave your face and you cross your arms with an annoyed huff. As the seconds pass, it's as though there’s elevator music playing in your head while you wait for something to happen.

Eddie crouches at your feet. “So, what’s your justification for getting shit-faced on a weeknight?” The tip of his tongue peeks out from between his lips as he begins wiping away the dried blood on your knees with a damp cloth.

“Boys are dumb, that’s why.”

“I know, aren’t they just the worst?” Eddie concurs with a hum. He stands to rinse the cloth, washes his hands, and then fully gets to his knees on the tile floor to apply ointment.

“Yeah, they are,” Your voice trails off as you look at his fingers resting firmly on your thigh, just above your knee, to prevent any inadvertent movement.

Engrossed in your own little world, you start humming an improvised tune. “Like them so much,” you sing-song to yourself.

Eddie glances up at you briefly. “What’s that?”

“Your hands,” you explain and poke each of his knuckles with your index finger. “You’ve got such nice fingies.”

“Fingies?” Eddie smiles as he secures bandages over both of your knees. He withdraws his touch from your thigh and he takes hold of your hand, turning it palm-side up.

“Mhm, the nicest.”

“Yours are nice too,” he comments as he cleans the scrape on the heel of your hand. As Eddie admires the intricate lines and wrinkles across your palm, he inadvertently brushes the cloth directly against your wound.

You make a high-pitched fuss in reaction to the sudden contact, reflexively pulling your hand away.

“Shit, sorry,” Eddie apologizes earnestly. He applies the ointment before applying a bandage. Rising to his feet, he theatrically brushes off his hands. “There, good as new.”

You reach out to him in a toddler-like manner and make grabby hands at him.

Eddie laughs and leans against the door frame. “I’m not carrying you. Brush your teeth so we can get you into bed.”

“You’re no fun,” you groan while you stand awkwardly, the bandages restricting full movement. You wet your toothbrush and squeeze toothpaste onto it, making sure to shoot a scowl at Eddie as you do.

After lackadaisically brushing your teeth, you plop the brush back into its cup. “There, squeaky clean. Happy?”

“As a clam,” Eddie says with a grin. He steps back to allow you out of the bathroom. “Go put your PJs on.”

With a dismissive wave, you drag your feet to your room and begin to dig through your dresser drawer.

Just as he’s about to start picking up after himself, he’s interrupted.

“Eddie,” You call out defeatedly. 

“Yeah?” When he doesn’t receive an immediate response, he cautiously steps into the doorway of your room. There you stand, still wearing your dress.

“I can’t reach it,” You say, turning your back to him and bowing your head slightly, signaling that you need his assistance.

Eddie swallows hard and mutters under his breath, “Right, the zipper,” Stepping into the room, his hands start to tremble.

Now positioned behind you, he carefully takes hold of the small piece of metal. Despite the trembling, Eddie tries his best not to make contact with your skin as it’s revealed by the descending zipper.

Dizziness consumes him as his eyes flit between your shoulder blades. Once your dress is completely unzipped, Eddie takes a significant step backward, putting distance between the two of you. “Is that all you need?”

You return to sifting through your pajama options. “I think so.” 

Eddie retreats to the bathroom. The image of your bare back is seared into his memory, he’s just gonna have to live with it etched into his mind forever.

After regaining his composure, he locates some aspirin and fills a drinking glass with water. “Are you decent?” Eddie asks hesitantly, not daring to step closer to the threshold without receiving confirmation.

“Uh huh,” You mumble, flopping onto your bed and committing to the first position you land in.

Holding the cup of water and two tablets of pain relief, Eddie re-enters your bedroom. He finds you sprawled and droopy-eyed lying on your back.

Eddie’s chunky metal rings clink against the glass when he sets it down on your nightstand. “I think you’ll appreciate this little visit from the aspirin fairy come morning. You’re gonna feel like shit.”

“Okay,” you murmur, your attention glued to how his strong nose casts a shadow on his cheek in the glow of your bedside lamp. Flipping onto your side facing the door, you yawn and stretch your toes.

Eddie gathers the jumbled blanket from the other side of the bed and drapes it over you, covering you up to your shoulders with care.

Although he wants to, he refrains from tucking you in, concerned that you might trip or get more hurt if you need to get up. “Well, goodnight.”

Just as Eddie turns to leave, your weak grasp seizes his hand before he’s out of reach. It stops him in his tracks, and his gaze follows the path from your joined hands, tracing up your arm until his eyes meet yours.

Fighting to keep your eyes open, you’re teetering on the edge of consciousness. “I don’t want you to go.”

He returns without needing any further invitation and sits on the edge of the bed by your belly. Releasing his hand, you rub your eye before tucking your fist beside your head.

Looking down at you affectionately, a grin graces Eddie’s face. He watches as your eyelids flutter closed, and your breathing becomes slow and steady. “Such a sleepy girl.”

With your eyes cemented closed, you adjust your head on the pillow before drifting off to sleep. Eddie stays put for a minute or two, simply admiring you. He’s never seen something so precious.

His heartbeat rattles his ribs, just as it did the first time he saw you waitressing at Double Barrel. That static-like tingling plagues his extremities as an old thought resurfaces. In those conversations where you shared your life stories, Eddie couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to be kissed by you.

Eddie’s eyes brim with tears at the fact that his presence is solely due to your inebriation, and this closeness it’s about to expire. “God,” he exhales, rolling his eyes skyward to hold back his tears.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers, pulling the blanket a touch higher over your shoulder. Then, he switches off the lamp and leaves you to rest.

Dwelling on the fact that you won’t remember tonight won’t do him any good. Getting this close to you would have never happened in sober circumstances. At least he got to take care of you in the way he always wanted, even if only for a short time.

Over the past few days, Eddie has been thinking about how he felt when you relied on him to get you home. He’s curious whether the call you made to him signifies that you still want him in your life. If that happens to be the case, then he can work with that.

Going through with this might worsen the sting of rejection, but Eddie has his heart set on mending things.

Within moments of entering the bar and scouring the room for you, he spots you conversing with Lee about a table’s order. Eddie begins to pat his thighs in an erratic rhythm as he feels his insides lurch.

As soon as Lee notices Eddie, he wraps up the conversation and gets back to work. You observe Eddie, noticing the hopefulness on his face as he strides across the room. “Do you need something?”

“Not necessarily. I was wondering if I could uh, make you dinner or something?” Eddie kicks one foot with the other and totters back and forth in place. 

Your expression changes to one of disbelieving annoyance. “I can slap together a PB&J at home, but thanks.”

“No, no. I’m serious, I’ll make whatever you want,” Eddie insists.

“What for?”

Eddie briefly looks away, scratching at the nape of his neck. “I miss hanging out with you.”

“I don’t know,” You ponder with uncertainty, your gaze monitoring the occupied tables in case you’re needed.

“Let me cook for you. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

His pleading eyes wear you down. “Fine, when?”

A bright smile spreads across Eddie’s face, stretching from ear to ear. He bounces on his tiptoes with enthusiasm. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we can set a time then.”

“Sure, yeah,” you respond, your attention diverted to a booth on the far side of the room where the seated customers wave you over. “Look, I gotta go.”

You’re already back in work mode and walking away before Eddie can say anything else. He just stands there, incapable of shrinking his smile to a mere grin.

Bowing his head, Eddie pumps his fists at his sides in a moment of triumph. With the opportunity for redemption sitting in his lap, he has his heart set on making things right.

In the days leading up to the agreed-upon dinner, Eddie makes several trips to the library, hunting for a recipe for the meal you mentioned. He dips into his emergency savings to purchase extra ingredients, dedicating his time and money to practice making it.

The first go around, he forgot to add two crucial ingredients, resulting in a bland and tasteless dish. Eddie couldn’t let it go to waste, so he settled for the less-than-impressive dinner that night.

On the second attempt, he tried to compensate for the previous mistake by adding more than enough seasoning. He didn’t exactly do it on purpose; it poured out of the canister much faster than Eddie expected. Regrettably, that meal went straight into the trash. Eddie couldn’t stomach a forkful of it.

Eddie absolutely, positively cannot fuck this one up. He can’t afford to, both figuratively and literally. Without a doubt, if he serves you a shit dinner, you’ll push him out of your life for good.

When you knock on the front door, the perceived silence on the other side of the door is broken with a clatter and muffled cursing. The quiet resumes and hangs in the air for a couple of seconds before the door swings open.

There stands Eddie, hair a little tousled. “Hello, hello!”

His stomach does somersaults at the sight before him; your clothes accentuate your figure, and your skirt suits you. Once again, you look stunning and appropriately dressed for a date.

Meanwhile, Eddie doesn’t have many options to choose from. The most formal thing he owns is a button-up shirt and it’s too dressy, but it’s all he has. Paired with it are his holeless black jeans. Before today, he never thought it was possible to be both over and underdressed at the same time.

“Come on in,” Eddie says, stepping aside with reluctance, allowing you to enter his apartment.

As soon as he opened the door to you, his mind turned into a whirlwind of second-guessing himself. The shirt is definitely too formal, but Eddie wants to prove that he knows it’s a date this time, and he means for it to be one. If only he owned an iron so that the material wasn’t as wrinkly as it is.

He wants to prove that he can clean up nicely, evident from the scent of aftershave and cologne. Eddie meticulously clipped his fingernails and tidied his eyebrows, ensuring that he is as presentable as possible.

“This is my castle,” He gestures to the space.

The entirety of the afternoon was spent tidying up and Eddie couldn’t bear to leave a single surface undusted. Any potentially embarrassing materials were tucked away and he washed all of his dirty dishes.

As you enter and survey his studio apartment, he takes the opportunity to rake through his bangs with his fingers. You spot his sketchbook sprawled open on the guitar amp and pick it up.

“Oh, those are nothing, you don’t have to-” Eddie moves forward and reaches out, intending to retrieve the drawing pad, but pauses when you point to the sketch he recently finished.

“This one,” you trace the lines of the drawing with your finger before looking over at him. “I’d get this one.”

“You’d let me give you ink?” There’s a hint of insecurity and surprise in his voice as he subtly retrieves the sketchbook from your grasp.

“Maybe. It depends if you’re still shit at it,” you shrug casually, interlocking your hands behind your back as you assess the living room area. Your attention falls on the antique bookshelf, adorned with miscellaneous items and framed photos. “Has Cliff let you take clients yet?”

“No, you’d be my first real canvas,” Eddie admits.

As you continue looking around, his gaze is one beat ahead of yours. His eyes land on it just before yours do, and his stomach drops upon spotting the one thing he forgot to hide.

“Oh my god!” You squeal, rushing over to the couch and scooping up Mr. Pickles. “Who’s this cutie?”

Pale as a ghost, Eddie stares blankly back at you. How the fuck did he forget to hide the one thing on this planet that rids him of all masculinity.

“I’ll introduce you another time,” Eddie silently urges you to put Mr. Pickles back in his spot, desperately hoping you’ll never bring it up again.

In actuality, he should be thanking himself for the oversight, because you look far more high-spirited than when you stood outside his door.

“I’m looking forward to it,” You brush over the matted fur on the bunny’s head before carefully placing him back on the sofa.

The tension dissipates on his body as he picks up on the change in your energy. It’s reminiscent of how happy you were to see him when you were drunk. But this time is different; it’s genuine, rather than influenced by alcohol.

You’re lured into the kitchen by the incredible aroma, and the steaming food matches the enticing smell. “There’s no way in hell you made that.”

“You bet your ass I did,” Eddie retorts with his hands on his hips while he makes his way from the front door to the kitchen.

You step closer to him. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before,” you purr, inching closer until your toes nearly make contact with his socked ones. With featherlight pressure, you place a tender kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

Eddie’s internal circuits fry as he tries to process the fact that he just got kissed on the cheek for the first time. His lungs refuse their vital function, denying him oxygen. He retreats by half a step, attempting to mask the blazing rosiness of his face.

“For god’s sake, I’m so sick of whatever this stupid game is.”

“What game? I’m not-” Eddie panics.

“You get me to throw myself at you by doing thoughtful shit like this, but when I finally make a move, you act revolted.”

“I swear to Christ I’m not playing with you. I mean, I’m not trying to,” Eddie explains, his words jumbling together. “I know I've been making a total ass of myself, and tonight was supposed to fix that. But I just- I keep screwing up because I like you and you make me so nervous.”

You scoff, halfway turned toward the door. “That’s hard to believe. You flinch if I so much as bump into you. You don’t want to touch me, I get it.”

A pang of guilt hits him like a baseball bat to the stomach. “No no no, I do! I wanna touch you,” Eddie admits. “Look, you mean so goddamn much to me. You deserve someone who can make you feel good, and I can’t do that.”

Still guarded, you sound agitated but you turn to face him nonetheless. “What are you talking about?”

His voice lowers, a whisper of shame. “I don’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman. Nobody wants to fuck the dorky virgin, y’know?” Eddie’s vision blurs from the tears veiling his vision.

You frown at the vulnerable quiver in his voice. “I do, I’ve been wanting to.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he lets out a humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t be able to make you cum.”

“I have to disagree with you on that. You’re a fast learner,” You extend your hand to him at waist height.

Eddie stares at your outstretched hand, struggling to process the gesture. He holds his breath, torn between his anxiety and trust. Cautiously, he places his hand in yours.

The benevolent hold pulses a flash flood through his being, the frigid water jolting his systems alive. When you intertwine your fingers with his, the clamminess is evident against the softness of your palm. Insecurity floods him, worried that you’ll be repulsed by it.

Cracks of lightning electrify Eddie’s heart, rendering him unable to meet your gaze. Instead, he focuses intensely on your joined hands. “I have no idea what I'm doing though.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him with a confident smile. Giving his hand a slight squeeze, you add, “See, not so scary anymore, right?”

Eddie shakes his head, even though fear is still coursing through his veins. You pick up on his hesitation and knowing that he won’t do it himself, you guide his hand to your hip and leave it there.

He sort of caresses, not out of boldness, but seeking to alleviate the numbness in his fingers. The sensation has already spread to other parts of his body.

Your patient expression, graced with a grin, grows into a bright smile when you meet his eyes. Eddie’s confidence blossoms, and he uses his other hand to cradle your cheek.

Acquainting himself with the contours of your face, his thumb strokes lightly from beneath your eyes and along your cheekbone. He starts to smile too as his nerves give way to the feeling of reassurance.

As you tilt your head into his touch, your eyelids flutter closed, and you grasp at the loose sides of his shirt, pulling him closer. He steps forward willingly, but his voice retains an uncertain tone. “I really wanna kiss you, but I’ve never, uh…”

You lean in, and the tip of your nose gently brushes against his. The thundering of his heart in his ears drowns out everything but your voice.

“Close your eyes and follow my lead, okay?” The warmth of your breath encircles his lips, turning his knees to jelly. 

Eddie can’t even whisper a confirmation. At your request, he closes his eyes, leaving him solely reliant on his other senses. The smoothness of your lips against his registers as a gentle peck with just enough pressure for him to feel it. It lingers, and he finds himself incapable of moving his lips in response.

“Want another?”

With his eyes still closed, he murmurs, “Yes, please.”

Devilishly, you press a kiss to his wrist, the hand that is still gently cradling your face.

Eddie’s eyes open, a pout and a scowl simultaneously forming his reaction. “Nu-uh, right here,” he insists, leaning in eagerly. He’s caught up in the desire to feel it again but he’s still hesitant to initiate the kiss himself.

You happily close the gap and this time, Eddie slightly purses his lips against yours, doing his best to follow your lead. After giving it a few tries, he feels you withdraw but his head instinctively follows, chasing your lips.

His eyes swirl with affection as he grapples for something to say, feeling breathless and dumb. “Fuck, I don’t wanna stop doing that.”

“Then don’t.”

Finally, Eddie’s able to pursue, but only a fraction of a second before you. With determination, his pecks carry more verve. It’s easier than he thought it would be; granted, he can rely on his ability to keep a steady rhythm, a perk of being a musician.

Eddie didn’t think this could get any better—that is until your lips slot perfectly between his, wet and warm. He pauses, malfunctioning once more. As you kiss him deeply, his mind is dusted in a golden haze and it feels as though he’s floating within himself. Enveloped by the sensation of your hands on his collarbones, a soft noise escapes him.

Mortified, Eddie freezes. Instead of deterring you, it only spurs you on. You wrap your arms around his neck and mold your body against his. The intensity of the kiss only escalates, he’s chasing your storm, matching your every move.

Your fingers entwine in the curls at the nape of his neck, coaxing more noises from him. Eddie is so far gone that he’s unaware of the growing bulge in his jeans. His hand leaves your cheek, traces down your shoulder, and along the outside of your arm before clinging to your waist with both hands.

You hover over his lips, a stream of electricity fizzling between you. “Is it okay if I take my shirt off?”

Eddie forgets to respond but then nods fervently. With curious eyes, he watches intently as you lift your shirt, unveiling skin he’s never seen before.

He inhales and exhales shakily as your necklace falls back into its place against your chest. It’s not a swinging pocket watch, but Eddie is entranced nonetheless.

“You said you wanna touch me,” you draw his trembling hands up your sides. “Now’s your chance.”

Eddie’s hands ascend and meet the silky band of your bra, and you guide his palms forward to the plush foam padding. Your reassuring hold is encouraging, but Eddie tears his stare from your breasts to check-in. He finds you already looking at him, exuding a sweet demeanor. “Give it a try.”

Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobs in the thick column of his throat, his hands unmoving beneath yours.

“Like this,” You squeeze your hands twice before removing your guidance and allowing him to proceed at his own pace.

Adrenaline motivates him to cup them independently this time, and his cock twitches as he commits to the action.

“You’re doing great by the way,” You offer a smile.

Growing more confident, Eddie applies more pressure. His thumbs move in tandem, brushing over the area where your nipples are concealed. The innocent delight in his eyes burns dark into frustration after a few squeezes. Eddie huffs in annoyance at the fact that he’s only getting handfuls of padding.

“Easy, tiger. Want this off too?”

Heartened by the lack of ridicule, he feels safe. Regardless, Eddie fails to articulate more than a few words, his heart lodged in his throat. “If that’s okay with you.” 

“Come sit,” You suggest, taking his hand in yours to lead him to sit on the edge of the bed.

As he sits, Eddie thanks himself for having washed his sheets for tonight, despite never imagining that this would happen.

When you release his hand, both of them return to the plush of your waist, making himself at home there. The straps of your unhooked bra drape loosely on your arms, and his pupils dilate as the foam cups gradually gain distance from your body. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie says under his breath, his bottom lip shining after a swift swipe of his tongue.

Your hips receive an involuntary squeeze as his patience begins to waver. He then slides his hands back up to your ribs, using his thumb followed by the heel of his palms to graze the bottom of your breasts.

With a sigh of relief, Eddie no longer has to daydream about what they might look like. His beautiful brown eyes roam over your body like you’re a masterpiece, a sculpture carved from stone solely for him to admire endlessly. Savoring the moment, he takes his time to appreciate every second. Eddie doesn’t take your trust for granted.

After a minute or two, you scoot backward onto the mattress toward the pillows. “Let’s get more comfortable.”

He watches you recline half-naked on his bed, and his belly swirls at the sight. Eddie follows suit, crawling to you. Now positioned between your legs, Eddie hesitates as he looks down at you, your hips not making any contact.

His touch resumes at your waist, but this time he’s stroking the expanse of your tummy; it inadvertently brings comfort to both you and him. Until this moment, he’s never had the chance to see the tiny details on your face up close—the distinct aspects that compose your sheer beauty.

Eddie’s hazelnut curls hang over his ears as his gaze trails over your neck and chest. His intense adoration makes you want to hide, but the unease is melted away when he captures your lips with his own. Eddie feels like it’s already been too long since he last kissed you, the deprivation like that of extreme thirst.

Goosebumps prickle his fully dressed form, a surge of belonging filling the cracks in the surface of his heart. Timid pecking is a thing of the past, each kiss more fervid than the one before it. The wet click of your lips drowns out the inhibitions buzzing in his ears.

Eddie’s large hand paws at your breast, his thumb playing with your pebbled nipple, drawing a whine from the back of your throat. You tug him closer by his jeans, bringing his hips down against yours. Regardless of the denim barrier, this causes a change in him. When you lift your hips against Eddie, he grinds back just as needily.

As your lips part, he begins a trail of affection along your cheek, jaw, and down your neck. When Eddie reaches your collarbones, his mouth moves hurriedly. He’s itching to fulfill the longing that’s been something he’s imagined plenty of times before. Kissing every inch in his descent, Eddie hunches over and takes your nipple into his mouth.

The melodious sound that pours from you makes him painfully harder. His cock strains against the metal zipper of his jeans, fighting to defy the taut material. You arch into his mouth, and Eddie continues to grind against the apex of your thighs.

He licks his way across to give much-needed attention to your opposite breast, all the while maintaining stimulation on the other with his thumb. Eddie suckles and flicks his tongue, his breath hitting your bare skin like a sweltering midsummer heat wave.

The reciprocity of sincerity is blowing his mind; the way it feels to have your hands weaving through his hair. There’s a slight tug when your fingers catch on a knot, and the sting only fans the flames burning in his lower belly.

Eddie releases your nipple, leaving it bereft of the heat of his mouth. Following his previously explored path up your chest and neck, he bashfully looks into your eyes. “Could I, uh, kiss you down there, too?”

“Normally I’d have to ask for head. Are you sure?”

The melted milk chocolate of his irises practically drips off of his lashes as he blinks at you. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to taste you for so long.”

“I’m not entirely convinced,” You coax him playfully.

“I’ll just have to prove how starving I am then, won’t I?” Eddie quips, moving out of the way to remove your skirt. As he does, the waistband slips from your hips and he slides it off your legs.

You’re in nothing but your panties and the white cotton is not particularly sexy, but they sure are familiar. That day at the laundromat, Eddie never imagined he’d see you in this exact pair at some point. He wonders if you did.

His fingertips tap their way up your thighs until they reach the band of your underwear. You look so cute with your hands resting across your belly like an awaiting princess—his princess.

Much like the skirt before it, the garment is tugged down the curvature of your legs. Your knees knock together as your legs reflexively close. Meanwhile, Eddie is mesmerized by the damp patch on panties hanging from his fist.

“You wanna keep 'em?”

Eddie nods with feigned innocence. These would go to good use, he thinks. 

“They’re all yours,” You grant his wish.

“I feel so spoiled,” he says while tucking them into his back pocket for safekeeping. Then, Eddie redirects his attention to the living art laid out before him. “Especially for getting to see you like this,” he drags his fingertips along the outside of your calves until they reach your knees.

Your legs fall open, proudly putting your glistening cunt on display for him. 

“Fuck,” Eddie says, moon-eyed. He repositions himself between your legs, lying on his stomach. Drool pools on his tongue, his mouth just inches away from your body. With one arm wrapped under your thigh, Eddie uses a finger on his free hand to collect the wetness that’s all for him.

“Don’t be a tease,” You fuss.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Eddie responds, ready to put his new skill to use. It starts with a testing press of his lips against your clit. He works his way lower, mouthing at you messily, making out with your cunt. Eddie licks his lips and rests his cheek against your inner thigh. “Can I use my fingers too?”

“Yeah, just take it slow,” You gather his hair and keep it out of his face so it doesn’t get in the way.

Eddie glides two digits through your folds, admiring the way the pads of his fingers glisten with the mix of your slick and his spit. Slowly, he eases his two fingers into your entrance. They sink deeper without facing resistance, and you soak him down to his bottom knuckles. Eddie looks up at you from between your legs, amazed. “You’re so wet.”

You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze. “You own a mirror, don’t you? How could I not be.”

Flattered, Eddie smiles. He draws his fingers back before plunging them into you a little faster this time, though not by much. As you lay back and get comfortable, you instinctively roll your hips downward with each thrust of his fingers.

With his cheek still resting on the inside of your thigh, he’s unable to bring himself to speed up, downright mesmerized by the sensation of your velvety walls squeezing around his fingers. When he accidentally flexes and curls them upward, it elicits a pretty gasp from you.

Eddie’s gaze flits up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What was that?” he teases and does it again, deliberately. “Did you say something?”

You moan, “That feels amazing,” You run your hand up your belly to your breast, massaging yourself in tandem with his improved technique.

He finds a steady tempo, rubbing the spot that makes your nerves flare. With nothing else on his mind, Eddie is fully engrossed as he drives his digits into you. Your fingers suddenly appear before him to rub your clit for added stimulation.

“Oh my god,” You moan unabashedly, arching your back off of the bed in response to the heightened ecstasy.

“You like that?” Eddie looks up at you, feeling a rush of pride as you writhe.

“Yes- fuck, I’m almost there.”

Eddie boldly nudges your hand away with his nose, swiftly replacing your fingers with his tongue, flicking it passionately.

Your moans fill his ears as he laps at you, enjoying the way you taste when you unravel. He’s so in the zone that he fails to realize you’ve already reached your peak and become overstimulated.

You squirm in his grip, gently pushing his forehead away. “Eddie, Eddie!”

“Yeah?” His fingers stop abruptly, and he looks at you with doe-like eyes, your glossy sugar smeared all over his lips and chin.

“It’s too much,” You say exhaustedly.

“Shit, my bad,” Eddie frowns, disappointed that his fun has come to an end. He slowly withdraws his digits, admiring the way you’ve coated them. He drags his fingers down his tongue like your arousal is cake batter from a bowl. A low hum emanates from Eddie as he sucks them clean, inadvertently making a show of it. “God, your pussy tastes good. Even better than I dreamed it would.”

“Come here,” You beckon him, smiling blissfully.

Eddie wastes no time getting onto his hands and knees and crawls up between your legs. Hovering over you, he gazes into your eyes, cheeks dimpled. “I made you cum.”

“I can’t remember the last time I came that hard either,” you chuckle, noticing the sheen on his face. You grab your discarded shirt to wipe it off. “Here, let me-”

“No!” Eddie angles out of your reach, his brow furrowed. Using his still-sticky fingers, he wipes at his lips and chin, licking his digits clean once more. “Can’t let it go to waste.”

After you tuck his frizzy curls behind his ears, Eddie’s tender grin fades. Your hands slowly move down his pecs to his belt, and you tug at the metal buckle. Just as you free the leather from the prong, he stops you.

“Uh- wait.” The hesitance in his voice brings your pursuit to a halt. The way you shrink back causes his heart to squeeze.

“I’m sorry. We don’t have to go all the way if you’re not ready.”

“It’s not that. Believe me,” Eddie reassures you. He brings a hand to the side of your face and strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m just worried that you’ll never wanna see me again ‘cause I'm so terrible in bed.”

Your shoulders raise and lower with the deep breath that you take. “You said you want to make me feel good, right?”

“More than anything,” Eddie declares in a heartbeat.

“Your cock would.”

Eddie nearly shudders and his voice burns raspy. “Yeah? You want it?”

You hook your fingers through his belt loops and tug, staring back at him intensely. “Not want. I need you inside me.”

“Christ,” he gulps and presses his hips forcefully against yours, dampening the denim. Eddie lowers his mouth to your shoulder and kisses it. “I wanna know what it feels like so bad.”

You turn your head and nibble his earlobe. “Let’s take care of that, shall we?” When your hands return to his partially undone belt, Eddie doesn’t intervene this time.

“I don’t have protection though.”

Blindly, you unbutton and unzip his jeans. “Side pocket of my purse.”

Reluctantly, Eddie pulls away and awkwardly scoots backward off the bed. His pants hang low on his slender hips, exposing the snug elastic band of his blue plaid boxers. After finding the condom, he inspects it. “I have no fucking clue how to use this.”

Sitting up, you hold your hand out. “I can put it on you if you want.”

Eddie hands it to you, then it occurs to him that he’s still fully dressed. While you’re tearing the foil package, he yanks down his jeans and kicks them away, his belt jangling. Only a few buttons are undone from the neck before he gets impatient. Eddie tears his shirt over his head, leaving his mane disheveled.

He pulls at the waistband of his precum-soaked boxers indecisively, but the sight of your beautiful naked body reminds him that it’s only fair. Eddie pulls them down and his anxiety has caused him to go partially soft. When you look at him, he wishes the world would swallow him whole. 

Your eyes rake across his slim frame, then meet his eyes instead of drifting below his waist. Eddie climbs back onto the bed, sitting on his haunches. You crawl onto your knees to join him and pull his body against yours, kissing him.

Mumbling against your lips, he tries to apologize for already failing you by being unable to stay hard, but his words falter as the kiss deepens, his worries becoming an afterthought. Eddie grips your waist, and the sensation of your breasts pressing against his bare chest makes him feel woozy. As soon as you break the kiss, he’s immediately filled with fear once more. “If it’s small or it looks weird, don’t tell me.”

You effectively distract him from his insecurities by trailing your lips down his pulse, dragging your teeth along the supple skin there. Eddie grips your ass harshly, a shaky sound pouring from his throat as you kiss your way down his body. He watches, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

As you finally look at his shy cock, you run your palms up and down the sparse hair on his outer thighs. “You’re the perfect size for me,” You compliment him with a smile. 

“I am?”

You suck a bruise on the pale skin of his waist. “Yeah, you are.” 

Eddie’s eyes close, his hands resting on your shoulders as he focuses on the sensation of you licking and biting him. Lost in the feeling rather than inside of his head, Eddie’s cock gradually rouses.

Having previously set it aside, you grab the condom. “Hold it still for me, please.”

“O-Okay,” he secures it at the base, his palm covering the trimmed thatch of curls. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” With one hand, you fit the band around the tip, and with your other, you roll the latex down his shaft. That alone causes Eddie’s mouth to fall open, a ghosted moan tumbling from his lips.

“There, easy peasy,” Sitting back up and wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him flush against you. His wrapped, twitching cock is trapped between your bodies. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

“I’m not sure I could if I tried,” Eddie says, his eyes flitting between yours. “Is this really happening?”

“It’s happening,” After kissing the tip of his nose, you settle back bringing him down with you to get comfortable, your head resting on the pillow.

Eddie returns to the previous position, this time with your legs hiked around his hips, causing his cock to rub against your mound. Afraid of poking around too much, he asks, “Would you do the honors, m’lady?”

“Why, of course,” you say with a giggle. You guide the head of his cock right where it needs to be and look into Eddie’s eyes. “Go ahead.”

He swallows hard and inches his hips forward, the tip of his cock breaching your entrance. Eddie sinks until he’s halfway sheathed by the hot embrace of your cunt. As he pushes the rest of the way in, his jaw falls slack.

“You doing okay?” You soothingly stroke the bulging veins on his forearms.

“Mhm,” Eddie mumbles with his lips rolled inward. After a few seconds without moving, he draws his hips back and then drives them forward. The moan that rips from his chest is unholy.

After two or three agonizingly slow and experimental thrusts, the motion comes naturally to him after all that practice he’s gotten from humping his poor pillow in this very spot. “Fuck me,” The hand that isn’t supporting Eddie’s weight fists at the bed sheets as he thrusts repeatedly, falling into a slow and steady pace. “Jesus fucking fuck.”

“Look at you go,” you moan out. “It feels amazing, doesn’t it?”

“Feels… god, you feel incredible,” Eddie grunts, propping himself up on both hands. His hair hangs down, swaying with the tempo of his hips. In this position, he can watch the bounce of your body with each thrust and he’s doing just that.

The grazing of your fingernails along his flexing hips throws off his pace. It weakens him, especially when you’re looking at him the way you are. Eddie is so consumed by the feeling of you wrapped around him that he can’t be self-conscious about the fact that he’s moaning every time he sinks back into you.

The shame of virginity has been lifted away as Eddie experiences this night of firsts with the girl he’s crazy about. Eddie is struggling to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a single second of this. He’s captivated by the way you’re watching his length disappear inside you over and over.

You look stunning lying on his pillow, anchoring his body to yours. Before tonight, he considered the concept of moaning someone's name to be cliché because it only happens in the movies. But Eddie’s had a change of heart because he can’t stop saying yours. It’s all of you right here, right now, all over, making a man out of him.

His muscles begin to tremble, and he lowers himself onto his forearms. Eddie rests his forehead against yours, his hips stuttering. “I’m so close, baby. I don’t wanna cum,” He slows his movement to stave off his orgasm.

“I want you to,” You express while gliding your hands down his muscular back.

“No,” Eddie protests, ceasing his thrusts entirely. “I want you to cum again first.”

“This isn’t about me.”

 “Are you shitting me? It’s always been about you,” he pulls back to look into your eyes. “I’d do anything for you, you’re so damn worth it.”

Just before you have the chance to respond, Eddie unexpectedly rolls his hips. With one hand, he thumbs at your clit, watching how your eyes roll back. He doesn’t even have to look down to see the mess you’re making because he can hear it.

Eddie’s moans dance with yours as he pushes his knees forward, adjusting the angle of his hips to mimic a ‘come hither’ motion. He knows he’s found the spot he discovered prior when your legs spasm around him. In response, Eddie rubs your clit harder.

The way your walls tighten makes it all that more difficult for him to hold back. He’s on the cusp, his abs tensing as he tries to fight it. Your hand flies above you to push against the headboard, your other one occupied with gripping his flexing waist.

“Cum for me,” Eddie growls, frustrated with himself as he teeters on the edge, just seconds away from spilling into the condom.

Your brows furrow and your eyes squeeze shut, a rush of air getting caught in your throat as you climax.

“Yeahhh, that’s it,” Eddie’s abdominal muscles tense to their limit. “Oh- fuck,” His voice pitches higher.

“I’m yours,” You moan prettily and guide him down, letting him bury his face in your neck to give his arms a well-deserved rest.

“All mine,” Eddie says between his labored breaths. He grips and lifts your hips while you kiss his shoulder. Losing their previous steadiness, his strokes become shorter and more sporadic. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna cuh- uh- mmm.”

Eddie lets out a whimper as he delivers two unsteady thrusts before slamming his hips against you, burying himself as he orgasms. His ass tenses and ripples, the muscles contracting as he rides out his high.

Panting loudly, Eddie stills his movements completely and props himself up to look down at you. “Jesus Christ. After that, I wanna have you for dinner every day,” he says against your cheek before kissing it. “As a snack in the middle of the night,” Eddie adds, kissing your temple. “Shit, you’d be good for breakfast too. It’s the most important meal of the day, y’know.”

You let out a winded giggle, your bodies sticking together as he struggles to keep himself propped up.

“Sweetheart, can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” You tease and smile wide when he rolls his eyes and snorts.

Eddie takes your hand, flattening your palm against his chest so that you can feel how vigorously his heart is beating. “Is this what being in love feels like?” He asks tearfully.

“Yeah,” you nod, placing his hand over your own heart that’s thudding just as hard. “Just like this.”

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[heejake-hoon]

Slight knife play with Sunghoon (mdni)

A.N: had no idea where i was going with this, but let me know if u want a part 2.

You and Sunghoon were just messing around flirtatiously, playfully wrestling on the couch when you lost your grip on the paring knife you'd been using to slice fruit earlier. Sunghoon easily wrestled it from your grasp, looming over you with the blade pressed lightly against your throat.

"Gotcha," he teased with a cocky smirk. "Better be more careful next time, baby."

You swallowed hard, fully expecting him to toss the knife aside so you could resume your tickle fight and roughhousing. However, the feeling of cold steel grazing your flushed skin sent an unmistakable thrill zinging through you. Your thighs clenched instinctively and you bit your lip, hoping Sunghoon wouldn't notice.

But of course, he did. His eyes immediately darkened with intrigue, gaze roving over your tellingly flushed face and shifting posture. Slowly, he dragged the flat edge of the blade down the column of your neck in a barely-there caress.

"Does this turn you on?" Sunghoon husked, voice already lowering to that spine-tingling bedroom timbre. "Having a big, sharp knife pressed against you like this? Completely at my mercy?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that tumbled out was a soft, punched-out whine. The knife's path continued its featherlight glide lower, the point now dipping into the valley between your breasts.

"Use your words for me, baby," he instructed with a sly curl of his lips. "I want to hear you own up to how fucking filthy and dangerous this makes you."

The tip of the knife dug in just enough to slice through the thin cotton of your tank top. You gasped at the slight sting, back arching upon feeling the prick of cold steel against your heated skin.

"I...I can't help it," you whispered in a tremulous voice. "The thrill is just—ah!"

Sunghoon cut off your words by shifting to straddle your hips, pinning your wrists above your head. All while dragging the flat of the blade up your inner arm in one maddeningly slow pass. Your chest heaved with shallow breaths, eyes wide and locked onto his with naked desire.

"Just what, princess?" he rumbled, voice laden with dark promise. He accentuated the question by grazing the blade's edge over your exposed collarbone, leaving you breathless. "This turn you on like the twisted little slut you are?"

A broken moan was all you could respond with, hips bucking fruitlessly as your slick cunt throbbed for friction. Sunghoon tutted in mock reprimand, dragging the knife down to toy with the waistband of your leggings.

"Tell me," he growled, nicking the thin fabric with the blade's point. "Beg me to indulge this sick little craving of yours. Let me hear how much of a desperate, knife-hungry pain slut you are."

"Please, Sunghoon!" you cried out shamelessly. The head rush of fear and arousal had you utterly intoxicated with need. "I crave it so fucking bad~ I need you to keep going, use that blade on me however you want!"

His eyes glinted with sadistic satisfaction at your sputtering confession. The hand holding the blade lowered deliberately, the sharp point dragging a thin line of pleasurable sting down your exposed midriff.

"Is this what my dirty slut wants?" he purred in a molten tone, dipping the very tip underneath your waistband in a clear threat. "To be used and marked up with cold steel while completely at my mercy?"

You shuddered out a ragged moan, squirming fitfully beneath him. Your bound wrists prickled with pins and needles, only adding to the electric thrill coursing through your veins. "Please, I need it so bad..."

The heat in Sunghoon's gaze intensified to smouldering levels as he swiftly manhandled you onto your stomach, kneeling over your splayed thighs. You turned your head to watch with shallow, wheezing breaths as he slowly sliced through the flimsy material covering your backside.

"I warned you I was going to ruin these clothes, princess," he growled in your ear, spreading the tattered remnants to fully expose your naked skin to the chill air.

"You're lucky I love marking up this gorgeous body in new and creative ways."

Gasping, tears already pricked your eyes as Sunghoon brought the flat of the blade down hard across one asscheek in a vicious slap. The sharp sting instantly flared into an imprint of blazing heat, but you were already deliriously clenching around nothing, craving more.

[gghostwriter]

Poison Me, I’m Fine

Spencer Reid x Songwriter!Fem!Reader

Summary: Your choice of poison was Spencer Reid. Who knew he would kill you and set you free in the process

Warning: angst with no happy ending

A/n: I feel insane for writing this in one sitting and not editing it. There's no part 2 for this, I just wanted to purge myself of this angst plot that took over me. This is probably the closest I could write to a singer-songwriter reader x spencer, granted she just writes for other pop stars (maybe I'll write some popstar!reader next time idk yet.) Also, 'Free Now by Gracie Abrams' and 'The Black Dog by Taylor Swift' was on repeat when I wrote this so you can spot some inspiration from both here. Hope you like it!

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You don’t know why you settled for less. Why you opted to walk on a blurry tight rope, why you chose a crumbling place to land on, and why you chose to enter a situationship that will end in heartbreak. Actually, scratch that, you do know why. Spencer Reid, that was enough reason for you to put yourself on the line. Or it was until your treacherous, greedy heart wanted more. 

Does she follow like an echo? Like your shadow, you can try, but you can't run

It started with hushed whispers. Your mind slowly poisoning itself with what ifs and scenarios where he was fully yours, just like how he unknowingly owned you—mind, body, and soul. Whispers of—wouldn’t it be nice to visit this museum again with Spencer or he’d love this newly opened vintage bookstore around the block or it’d be nice to see the stars with him right now. You tried to cleanse those thoughts away but that’s the thing, poison that has entered your bloodstream is hard to remove. 

It's a pain that I caught you at a bad time It's a shame that I memorized your outline

It morphed to vivid imagery next—hallucinations so life-like that you found yourself believing it half of the time. Portraits of him and you holding hands as you both walked down the streets, phantom outlines of you together swaying close to muted music, and shadows of you and him twisting in bedsheets. All untrue, except for the latter. You attempt to blink them all away with no success. Your heart reluctant to part with the delusion than face the truth—that he had only offered you his body and nothing else.

Every page that I wrote, you were on it Feel you deep in my bones, you're the current

It seeped out of you next—to your writings, to your works as if your body was doing its best to reject the poison away. To save itself from the nearing death that seemed inevitable in the end. Your poetry, your lyrics, and your art all contain entangled webs of metaphors and colors that lead back to him. Purple streaks on your canvas to represent his favorite, his beloved authors mentioned in your verses, and symbolisms of his career scattered all over—cuffs, guns, shot and everything in between. You tried to pour it all out of you, the dark and sticky emotion of despair and longing covering you and all extensions of you. Everyone noticed the change. The dimming of lights in your eyes and the shadows that threaten to swallow you whole. Everyone noticed—your family, friends, colleagues, and even the pop stars that buy your singles. Everyone except for the one that could save you, Spencer. 

It turned into screams next. It was as if your body gathered all its remaining strength to shout for help or to howl in pain, you’re not sure really. All you’re sure of was that the end was near. The end was coming to free you from everything—from him. The trigger was overhearing him discuss you with his friend and male co-worker during a run-in in his apartment where he had no choice but to introduce you. Six months of pseudo dating him and no one knew you existed.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, wanting to escape the tension emitting from the situation and when you came back, that’s when you heard it. The lethal blow to your already dying heart.

“She seems nice,” his friend, Morgan, commented.

Spencer shrugged. “She’s no Maeve—not as deep but she’s—she’s safe.”

You bit your lip, trying to stop it from quivering lest you whimper out loud the pain his words has caused you.

Donning on a fake smile on your face, you watched as Morgan left with a wave goodbye to you and a casual ‘see you again.’ Not like that would ever come true.

Within seconds, you felt your mask cracking as tears slowly trickled down your face.

“I love you.”

They say the truth sets us free but not this truth. All it did was crash, burn, and pulverize your already precarious stacks of sticks that represent you and him. 

Silence.

“You know, when we first started this—whatever this is—I promised to myself that I wouldn’t fall for you. That this was purely physical, sex,” you sardonically laughed. “But you know what I realized, that you were easy to fall in love with. So easy that I found myself ruined even before I could comprehend where and when it happened.”

“We agreed, didn’t we? That we would tell the truth and stop when feelings are starting to get involved. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You roughly swiped away the tears. “I didn’t know when it happened, Spencer! I thought if I stuck it out long enough, you’d feel something for me too! But that was foolish of me to believe. I see it now.” 

“See what?” 

You walked towards him, invading his personal space. The same way he did with yours. “That you’re not ready. Honestly I’d prefer if my opponent was standing in front of me. At least I could gauge if I had the chance to win. But with her, she’s gone, Spencer—” you jabbed your pointy finger on his chest, where his heart was. “I’m fighting with a ghost who I can’t even land a hit on. A ghost who haunts your every waking and dreaming moment. Tell me, Spencer, how do I compete with that—when I feel there’s little to no space for me. I exist only in between and in your limbo when you’re craving for a physical companion. How do I win, Spencer? Tell me or should I just throw in the towel?” 

“Y/N—”

His eyes contained the answer and although it wasn’t what you were wishing for, it was what you subconsciously knew you needed to free you. 

You nodded your head. “I guess—I guess this is it, huh. End of the line for us.” 

“I guess so.” 

You gathered your coat, haphazardly strewn on the floor—just like the pieces of your shattered heart and as you stepped out of his threshold, you gave yourself one last chance to memorize his outlines.

“Goodbye, Spencer.” 

And finally, the poison had killed you and had set you free. 

If you feel like fallin', catch me on the way down Never been less empty, all I feel is free now

[sapphire-writes]

Faking It ~ modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: You and Aemond decide to fake date in order to make your exes jealous.

word count: 4.8k

note: a request fulfilled for the lovely @oneeyedvisenya! Rae, I remember you were one of the first blogs I admired and I remember squealing with joy when you interacted and followed me and now we're bestie ilysm I'll cry rn. I hope you enjoy 🩷

rating: Explicit (see more descriptive warnings under the cut)

warnings: p in v, fingering, titty sucking, choking, degradation, slight praise

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Aegon asks, frowning as you take your shot. 

You glare at him before signaling to the bartender you’d like another. You’re going to need a lot of tequila to get through tonight. You’d come to your favorite club after another horrible week. The world just seemed to be against you. 

“Don’t say panties to me, you sound like a pervert,” you tell him, causing Aegon to chuckle. 

“Your undergarments then,” Aegon decides, bumping his shoulder against yours, “your lingerie.”

“That’s even worse,” you tell him, sucking the juice from your lime. 

“It can’t be Qyle again, please,” Aegon says groaning.

You bite your lip. You hadn’t expected to see your ex-boyfriend out, he always used to tell you he hated going to bars or clubs. Yet, here he was with his mates for a night on the town, effectively ruining yours. 

“You need to get laid, I’m saying that as your friend,” Aegon tells you, clasping a hand on your shoulder.

“Very funny,” you tell him.

“I’m serious. I’m always down if you need a body, just as friends,” he teases.

You’ve hooked up with Aegon before. A long time ago in the grand scheme of things. You’ve always been better as best friends. You’d been nearly inseparable since your days at university. 

“You’re too kind,” you tell him, scrunching your nose at the offer.

“You’re a great shag,” he continues.

Aegon furrows his brow suddenly, placing a hand under his chin as though he’s lost in thought.

 “I still don’t know how you get your leg-”

“Aegon!” you say, putting your hand over his mouth to stop him from continuing. 

Aemond saddles up on the other side of Aegon, trying to get the bartender’s attention. He barely pays him any mind as he places another shot in front of you before moving to the other side of the bar to attend to other patrons. Aemond sighs, a low growl releasing from deep within his chest. 

Aegon’s frown deepens at his brother’s appearance.

“What’s your problem?” he asks his brother.

The bartender returns for Aemond’s order before dashing away to retrieve your shot. 

“Nothing,” Aemond says, though his sulking says otherwise. 

As the bartender returns with Aemond’s drink and your shot, you dash some salt on the back of your hand, licking it up before downing the tequila. Aegon glances between you and Aemond, as Aemond sips his old-fashioned and you squeeze the juice from your second lime onto your tongue, trying to get rid of the burn of cheap tequila spreading down your throat.

“Well, as much fun as you grumps are, I’m going to go see Jace,” Aegon says, clasping a hand on your back before moving to leave. 

You sigh running a hand through your hair before awkwardly glancing at Aemond. You’ve never really interacted with him much before. Sure, he was your best friend’s brother, but you’re in totally different social circles. Aemond meets your eye, glancing at you sideways. You both stay silent for a moment, unsure of what to do now that Aegon has left.

“So,” you both say simultaneously. 

You give him an awkward, nervous giggle. Aemond smiles tightly, nodding for you to continue. 

“So…what’s up?” you ask, nodding your head to the beat of the music that blares from the speakers. 

“Not much,” Aemond says, leaning against the bar, “What’s got you upset?”

“I’m not upset,” you answer a bit too quickly, a bit too defensively. 

Aemond raises an eyebrow at you, turning so his whole profile faces you. You try not to stare at the scar that runs down his face; through his eyebrow, split only by the sapphire blue prosthetic that sparkles in the low lights. You swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat.

“Sorry, yeah I’m a bit upset I guess,” you tell him, “My ex is here. We literally just broke up a couple of weeks ago and yet here he is, drowning in a sea of horny women.”

You click your tongue in annoyance at your confession. For some reason, you feel compelled to continue speaking. 

“I guess I shouldn’t be upset though, right? I mean we are broken up but it’s like, the principle of it I guess? We were together a while, you don’t see me just jumping onto someone-”

“Why not?” Aemond interrupts your rambling. 

Your lips part slightly, brows knitting together at his rude interruption. 

“Why not what?”

“Why not get with someone?” Aemond asks, sipping his drink.

“Did you miss the part where I just got out of a relationship?” you ask him, tilting your head to the side.

“Well that certainly doesn’t seem to matter to him,” Aemond tells you.

You frown, crossing your arms.

“Gee, thanks for that,” you tell him, before moving to leave the bar.

You’ve got to find Aegon, tell him what a shitdick his brother is. Aemond follows close behind as you begin to walk into the crowd. 

“Hey! Shit, wait, I’m sorry,” Aemond says to you.

You barely look back, before he tugs on your arm and you turn to face him. You roll your eyes as you do so. 

“See, look over there,” Aemond says, jutting his chin to the left.

You follow where he motioned, eyes landing on a beautiful dark-haired girl clad in a black bodycon dress, seated on the lap of some golden-haired guy. 

“That’s Floris, my ex-girlfriend,” Aemond tells you, leaning down so he can speak directly in your ear, “We just broke up a couple of months ago. I get it.”

You watch Floris laugh and twirl a strand of hair around a delicate finger. You wonder if Aemond feels the same pain you do when you’re watching Qyle with someone else. A glance at his expression answers your question.

“It’s rough,” you tell him, nodding.

“The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” Aemond muses.

You snort, shaking your head.

“You sound like Aegon,” you playfully accuse.

“Yeah, I’m quoting him,” he admits, causing you to laugh.

You continue giggling, a mixture of alcohol and the ridiculousness of your ex causing you to feel like your sanity is slowly slipping away from you. You groan loudly and Aemond tears his gaze from Floris, to look down at you.

“Fuck I don’t know how to do this anymore,” you groan, “I just wish there was a way to make him regret it, without actually having to begin tragically scouting dating apps again.”

You shake your head but an idea suddenly pops into Aemond’s head.

“Maybe there is a way,” he says suddenly.

“Don’t tempt me,” you tell him but he shakes his head.

“I mean it,” he tells you, “What if you and I pretend to date.”

“What?”

“C’mon, think about it,” Aemond says, leaning closer, “You and me, together. It’ll drive Floris up the wall, I know it. And Qyle too I bet.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. You give him a once over, eyes scanning past the planes of his chest, down his dark jeans. Aemond’s always dressed in black when you see him. His black t-shit hugs the lean muscles of his chest and arms, you can see the ripple of his biceps flexing. His silver chain catches the light as you drag your gaze back up to his face. 

“How do you know that?” you ask.

Aemond wets his lips, running a hand through his long silver hair. He shrugs, smugly pursing his lips. 

“She was always threatened by you,” he admits.

“Me?!” you ask, eyes widening, nearly popping out of your skull.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Aemond scolds, and you feel your cheeks blooming with blush.

How on Earth were you a threat to Floris Baratheon?

“She didn’t like that you were always around,” Aemond begins, “You’re Aegon’s best friend, you’re gorgeous-”

“Am I?” you ask, a sharp laugh escaping your lips, a smile playing on your face.

Aemond hums, downing the dregs of his drink. His violet eye flickers to your face and you hope he can’t see how flushed his comment made you in the low lights of the club. It’s not every day Aemond Targaryen dishes out compliments, especially to his brother’s best friend. 

“Of course you are,” he tells you, “Which is why it's perfect.”

You glance around the club, unconsciously looking for Qyle’s dark curls. You shake your head. You’re not sure what compels you to keep indulging Aemond. Maybe it’s the tequila. 

It’s cause he called you gorgeous, your inner thoughts tease. 

He’s simply stating facts, you tell yourself. You are gorgeous. And you would love to see Qyle squirm a bit. Even if you’re pretending. 

“Okay,” you tell him, “I’m in.”

Your plan goes swimmingly. 

It’s not hard to run into Floris and Qyle, you and Aemond make sure to stop by all of your favorite haunts. Aemond takes you to the bookstore downtown, with an adjoining cafe where you run into Floris and her sister Maris, who glares daggers at you the entire time you enjoy your brunch. 

You take Aemond to the Water Garden museum, which Qyle told you was one of his favorite places. Sure enough, you have an awkward encounter with your former beau as he’s sketching some lilies that float by on a lapis-colored reflection pool. 

Qyle’s smile falters when Aemond laces his fingers through yours, demanding you show him your favorite parts of the museum. You hate to admit it but you like the feeling of his hand in yours, how Aemond actually listens when you explain which exhibits are your favorite. He’s surprisingly easy to make conversation with and a great listener. You never felt like Qyle listened.

Your scheming pays off, both you and Aemond receive heated texts from your exes which you examine weeks later while hosting a party with the gang. The gang being Aegon, Jace, Sara, and Baela. Baela and you have been roomies since university, now sharing an apartment together. You cheers Aemond as he hands you your drink, knocking your red solo cup against his. 

“You and I make a fabulous pair, if I do say so myself,” you tell Aemond, taking a sip.

“Yeah, you’re alright I suppose,” he teases and you nudge him in the ribs with your elbow.

The doorbell rings and Baela rises from the couch eagerly. You frown at her. 

“You invited more people?” you ask.

Baela nods while heading toward the door.

“Just a few! Alyn from boxing and one of his friends!” she calls to you.

You roll your eyes at her. Baela loves a good party and she makes a good host. You find a seat on the couch, Aemond sitting next to you, watching as Aegon versus Sara in beer pong. When Baela reenters she’s joined by Alyn and another guy. 

“Guys, this is Alyn, and his friend Cregan,” Baela introduces.

You smile politely, and all introduce yourselves. Cregan is cute. Like, really cute. Ruggedly handsome, built like a total beefcake. When his brown eyes meet yours you glance away shyly. 

“Get wrecked, Sara!” Aegon cheers, successfully winning the game of pong.

“Whatever,” Sara says rolling her eyes. 

“Okay let’s do doubles now, Jacey boy be my second,” Aegon says, clapping his hands on Jace’s shoulders. 

Jace laughs but begins to reset the cups.

“Y/N, come on be Sara’s partner,” Aegon says, waving you over.

“Fuck you Egg, you’re a cheat I’m not playing again,” Sara says, huffing as she walks away.

She’s historically a sore loser, and she doesn’t budge even when Jace pouts and begs her to play. You stand in front of the table hands on your hips.

“It’s fine, I can take you both,” you tell them, causing Aegon to raise an eyebrow.

“Kinky bestie,” he teases and you throw the ball at his head. 

He ducks, dissolving into laughter as Jace blushes. 

“I’ll play,” Alyn's friend says suddenly, walking to stand next to you.

You glance at him, smiling softly which he returns with a smile of his own. 

“You should know, I’m pretty shit at this game,” he admits, and you giggle softly.

“No worries, I’ll carry us,” you tease, “But beware, that one is a cheater.”

You point at Aegon, and he opens his mouth dramatically, placing a hand on his heart. 

“That’s a pretty harsh accusation coming from the master of distraction,” he accuses.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, blinking innocently.

“Don’t let her fool you, Cregan,” Aegon says shaking his head and bouncing the ball against the table, “This one is known for flashing her tits if it means she can win.”

“Aegon!” you hiss, blushing furiously, “He’s lying.”

“Mhmm, we’ll see,” Aegon teases and the game begins. 

While Aemond enjoys watching you play, he decides rather quickly he does not like Alyn’s friend Cregan. Specifically, the way he stands so closely next to you, and the way he seems to be so hilarious. Every laugh he steals from your lips sends Aemond’s heart racing, his blood boiling in his veins. 

He stays seated on the couch for the entire game, eye never leaving you. Baela plops down next to him at one point, her gaze following his and landing on you. Aemond notices he’s being observed a second too late, tearing his gaze away and nonchalantly taking a sip of his drink.

“Mhmm,” Baela says, fighting a smile.

“Shut up,” he snaps at his cousin. 

The shenanigans continue late into the night, with Sara and Jace leaving first. You raise your eyebrows at Sara. They’re not technically together, but the sparks are there. You know Jace will have to make a move soon, he just needs to get a little braver. Aegon is picked up by Rhaenyra next, he’s too drunk to drive. He places a sloppy kiss on your cheek as you help Rhaenyra lift him into her red Cadillac.

“I love you so much, you’re my best friend,” Aegon slurs.

“I love you too, Egg,” you tell him, laughing at his ridiculousness.

He sits up in the backseat looking around.

“Is this Nyra’s car? Is Nyra here??” he asks loudly, eyes wide. 

“Yes you idiot, you called me!” Nyra says getting into the front seat.

“I’m so glad you’re here, my big sister!!” Aegon says, pressing his face against the leather seats, “Can we get McDonald's?”

For some reason, Aemond lingers behind as the party dies down, it's only you, Baela, Alyn, and Cregan left. As the hours get later, Alyn and Cregan finally decide to leave, but not before Cregan insists you take his number. 

You’ve started picking up cups and plates, not one to find sleep easily after a rager. Baela turned in for the night, you can hear her noise machine blaring even though her room’s on the second floor. You roomed with her in college, she can’t sleep in silence. Noise machine, fan on, and she’s out like a light. 

“You really got his number?” Aemond asks, from the couch across the room.

You glance at Aemond as he sits, legs splayed out, arms draped over the back of the couch. One of his large hands holds a now empty red solo cup. He taps a long finger against it. 

“Who?”

“Alyn’s friend,” Aemond says, not taking his eye off you.

“Oh...Craig?” you tell him. 

Shit, that is totally not that guy's name.

You frown, standing straight, a red solo cup dangling from your fingers. You put his name into your phone as an emoji of a wolf. It seemed funny at the time though you can’t remember why. 

“Or Connor? Something with a C I think,” you tell him, shrugging.

“What about us?” he asks.

“What about us?” you ask, placing a hand on your hip, “Aemond, we’re not really dating.”

You move closer to him, holding your hand out to take his empty cup. Your hand nearly wraps around it when Aemond pulls it out of your reach. You narrow your eyes playfully at him, reaching once more. Aemond’s free hand wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer. 

A blush creeps up your neck, heat floods your face as Aemond lets the cup fall, bringing his other hand to pull you completely onto his lap. Suddenly straddling him a gasp falls from your lips before Aemond swallows the noise by placing his lips against yours. 

Holy fuck.

Aemond Targaryen is a good kisser. You admit, you thought he must be with that perfect pout on his handsome face. As you whimper against him, Aemond slides his tongue into your mouth, hands gripping your waist as you roll your hips against him. 

You slide your hands around his neck, running your hands through the silky strands of his hair and letting your nails drag across the nape of his neck. He shivers against you and you do it again. Aemond’s hands slide underneath your shirt, dancing up your ribs leaving a trail of goosebumps behind at his surprisingly gentle touch. 

“What were you saying?” Aemond murmurs against your mouth.

“We…” your voice trails off as Aemond moves his lips from your mouth, ghosting them across your jawbone, down the column of your neck.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs, the vibrations tingling against your throat. 

Aemond nips at the skin of your neck before pressing hot, wet kisses along your throat. Gods you are so wet already, squirming anxiously in his lap as one of his large hands squeeze the swell of your ass, the other continuing its exploration under your shirt, over your breasts. 

“Aem-” you whimper as he palms your breast in his hand. 

Gods he feels good, just squeezing and kissing you, showering you with affection.

“You like that?” he murmurs, teeth scraping against your collarbone.

“Yes,” you breathe, rolling your hips against the growing hardness you feel between his legs.

He’s packing, you can tell by the way he’s pressed against you; hard and demanding. Though you suspected as much with how tall and lean he is, by the size of his hands. You’d been thinking about Aemond a lot actually. 

“What do you like?” Aemond asks between kisses, “Tell me.”

“Aemond please,” you moan, “Please keep touching me.”

“Where, baby?” he asks, pinching your nipple between his fingers. 

“Please touch my pussy,” you beg. 

Aemond grins wolfishly, bringing his hand to the hem of your shirt. You release your grip on his neck as he pulls your shirt over your head. You assist him, eager to keep going as you unclasp your bra and fling it across the room. 

Aemond’s eyes fall on your heaving breasts before he leans forward burying his face between them. Your head falls back with pleasure as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly on the sensitive peak. He alternates his attention between both mounds, being shamelessly lewd with the wet sounds his mouth makes. You’re desperate at this point, breasts covered in red marks, nearly soaked from his mouth. 

“Aemond please,” you beg once more and he lets his hand trail up your thigh and under your skirt. 

His long fingers easily slip under your lace underwear, spreading your slick folds and swirling around your clit. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Aemond murmurs, mouth still buried in your tits. 

Your head is spinning, ears ringing from pleasure as he sinks two fingers easily into your clenching center. You inhale a sharp breath as he crooks his fingers into the perfect ‘come hither’ position, determined to find your sweet spot. Which he does, with impressive speed as your eyes squeeze tightly shut, jaw slack with pleasure. 

“Eyes on me,” he demands, “Don’t be rude, look at who’s making you cum.”

You force your eyes open, staring at him as fingers you relentlessly, rubbing your inner walls while his thumb rolls even circles around your clit. Pleasure blooms in your abdomen, it tingles up your spine. Your imminent orgasm sends warmth spreading through your limbs, your pussy clenching around Aemond’s fingers, a vice-like grip. 

As you’re nearing the edge, breaths becoming desperate pants, Aemond slows his movements, swallowing your disappointed whine with a kiss.

“I know,” he sing-songs, so smugly, so condescendingly, “but you haven’t learned your lesson yet.”

He slowly removes his fingers from your dripping cunt and wraps his hands around your thighs pushing you off of him. You stand in front of him on shaky legs, and Aemond takes in the sight of you standing in your heels and skirt, topless and marked by him. 

“Take off your panties,” he softly commands.

There’s no need for him to ask you twice, you move to the buttons of your skirt, but he stops you. 

“Leave that on,” he tells you. 

Your hands move underneath your skirt, pulling your lace panties down slowly. Aemond moves his hands toward his belt buckle, releasing his cock as you do so. Your eyes widen, at the sight of him; fully erect, pink tip leaking with precum as he slowly runs his hand along his shaft. You can see every vein that runs along his pale cock, and you were right about him being well-endowed. He’s thick and long and your mouth nearly waters at the sight. 

Aemond’s mouth quirks into a smile at your staring, before he reaches out to pull you back onto his lap. He reaches for his wallet, but it's your turn to stop him.

“I’m on birth control,” you tell him, “And I was recently tested.”

“Me too,” Aemond says, “The tested, not the birth control.”

You giggle at his joke, and he grins.

“I want to feel you,” you tell him, a rosy blush blooming across your cheeks. 

Aemond pulls you into another bruising kiss, as you lift your hips. You can feel the fat head of his cock kissing your slick folds, and you shiver before lower your hips onto him, engulfing him fully in your tight, wet heat. Aemond lets out a shuddering moan as he bottoms out.  

Your pussy clenches around him, and you can feel him pulsating inside you like a second heartbeat as you gingerly roll your hips against him. Aemond’s jaw slacks, his violet eye blown black with lust as you begin to ride him. 

He lets you for a moment, before he wraps his hands around your waist, pressing you into the couch on your back. Aemond snaps his hips against you, pulling nearly all the way out until you can just feel the head of his cock, before slamming into you once more. 

Whimpers and moans fill the living room, along with skin slapping against the skin as he fucks you into the couch.

“I want you to call him,” Aemond growls in your ear, “Tell him you’re seeing someone.”

“I will,” you promise him, as he delivers another punishing thrust.

“Now.”

Your breathing stops, your heart pounding erratically in your chest. 

“Aemond, no,” you whimper, as his hand wraps around your throat. 

“Yes,” he tells you, kissing you sloppily eliciting another moan from you.

Thighs trembling, your pussy spasms around his thick cock and he slows his punishing pace suddenly. 

“If you want to cum tonight, you’ll call him now,” Aemond tells you.

You weigh your options for a moment.

“My phone,” you choke out, motioning to the side table. 

Aemond smirks, moving his hand to the back of your neck, reaching for your phone with his free hand. He hands it to you and you take it with a shaky hand. 

You scroll through your contacts to find wolf boy and press the call button as Aemond lets his hand run down your chest, between the valley of your breasts and lower to play with your clit. Your pussy clenches around his still cock, desperate for him to move. 

Please don’t pick up.

The phone keeps ringing, your orgasm building with each ring, each swirl of his dexterous fingers.

Please don’t pick up.

Aemond kisses your neck, your collarbone. Mumbles filthy words against your skin like a prayer.

“You like warming my cock, baby?”

Please don’t pick up.

He takes your nipple in his mouth, tugging on it with his lips, his teeth. Oh god you’re going to-

The sharp cut to wolf boy’s voicemailbox brings you back to reality. Aemond removes his fingers from your clit and you whimper with disappointment before the beep of the answering machine. 

“He-hey! Hello there,” you try to sound casual, “this is um this is Y/N from the party and I just-”

Aemond sinks his teeth into the junction where your shoulder meets your neck and your jaw drops. 

“I just wanted to tell you, I’m actually, um I’m-” your voice trails off, eyes fluttering shut as Aemond sucks harshly on your neck. 

Aemond pulls away, a wolfish grin on his face before he plucks your phone from your hand, pressing it to his ear. 

“She’s seeing someone, and she’s busy right now,” he says roughly, “Delete this number.”

Aemond hangs up, tossing your phone to the other end of the couch. Your eyes are wide as he spreads your legs wide, pressing them back into the cushions of the couch as he begins to pound into you. 

The sound of wet slaps fills the room and you’re thanking every deity you can think of that Baela is a heavy sleeper.

“You liked that didn’t you?” Aemond taunts, “Calling him with my cock inside you?”

Whimpers and moans leave you with every snap of Aemond’s hips. 

“Yes,” you admit, feeling a rush roll through you at his possessiveness.

“Naughty girl, you are,” he chastises, “I don’t think naughty girls deserve to cum.”

You let out a desperate whine and Aemond chuckles darkly at your disappointed reaction. You bite your lip, the delicious sting of your hamstrings paired with Aemond’s precise thrusts sending you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Please, Aemond,” you beg, eyes glassy with want, “Please make me cum, I want you to.”

“I bet you do,” Aemond tells you, bringing a hand to rest against your throat once more, “Needy sluts, always want to cum.”

“Aem, please,” you continue to beg, voice hoarse, “I’ll be so good.”

Aemond quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Will you now? That’s what I like to hear,” Aemond praises, “How?”

“I’ll be all yours, only yours,” you tell him, toes curling with the building pressure in your abdomen, “Fuck, I’m yours.”

“Hmmm that’s better,” Aemond tells you, “It’s you and me, baby.”

“You and me,” you repeat, nearly dumb with pleasure, “you and me.”

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond praises, releasing your throat and bringing his hand to play with your clit, “Cum for me, cum all over my cock.”

Your belly tightens and with a strangled cry, you’re clenching and coating Aemond’s cock and lower stomach with your release. Aemond continues to fuck your sensitive walls through your orgasm, as you run your nails down his back, holding him closer. He lets go of your legs and you wrap them around his waist.

“Cum inside me, please,” you whimper.

Aemond kisses you harshly, his thrusts becoming frantic as you feel him release deep inside of you. You whimper with pleasure, sinking your nails into his shoulder and keeping him inside you. Aemond kisses you again, more gently this time, and brushes some hair from your face. 

“Holy shit,” you manage to say, and Aemond smirks.

“I didn’t plan on that,” he tells you, “but seeing you with Cregan-”

“Cregan! That was his name,” you interrupt. 

Aemond furrows his brow.

“I fuck you that good?” he teases.

“I forgot his name before you fucked me,” you tell him.

“I can always try again,” he tells you.

���Maybe we can move it to my room this time?” you ask, “It is, three feet away after all.”

And that’s exactly what you do, leading Aemond into your room where he fucks you with his fingers, his cock, and his tongue until his name is the only one you can remember at all. 

“Y/N?” Baela calls from the living room the following morning.

You open your eyes and turn, greeted by a sleeping Aemond Targaryen. You put on his shirt and open the door to your room, peeking your head out. 

Baela stands, arms crossed, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Have fun last night?” she asks. 

“Yeah…” you answer slowly.

Baela’s eyes flicker across the room and you follow her gaze. Your eyes land on your monstera plant that rests in the corner of the room, and your cheeks begin to burn as you see your bra strung over the leaves. 

“Tell Aemond good morning,” Baela teases as you back into your room, and close the door. 

You pad back over to your bed, sinking down onto the mattress. Aemond groans before his hand wraps around your waist pulling you closer. 

“Good morning,” you whisper, bumping your nose against his.

note: HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT ILYSM

[deafeningladyruins]

Carnival of Shadows

2. The Obsession

The days that followed were a blur of haunting dreams and unsettling awakenings. She couldn't shake the memory of the carnival or the enigmatic clown who had silently stolen her heart. The voices in her head grew louder, intertwining with visions of Art the Clown, his presence becoming an obsession that consumed her every thought. Each night, she found herself drawn back to the abandoned carnival, unable to resist the magnetic pull. The whispers in her mind urged her to return, to find solace in the darkness. She wandered the empty streets, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of him. The carnival, once a place of fear, had become her sanctuary—a twisted refuge where she felt understood.

Art the Clown watched her from the shadows, his fascination growing with each passing day. There was something about her that captivated him, a kindred spirit in the sea of humanity. He had seen the world through a lens of chaos and madness, but in her, he saw a reflection of his own tormented soul. She was different from the others, and he was determined to keep her close. One night, as she roamed the carnival grounds, she stumbled upon an old tent. The entrance was partially collapsed, and curiosity got the better of her. She pushed her way inside, the air thick with the scent of mildew and dust. The interior was dimly lit by a single flickering lantern, casting eerie shadows on the faded stripes of the tent walls.

"Why do I keep coming back here?" she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the persistent whispers in her mind.

As if in response, the lantern's flame flickered, casting a brief shadow that made her heart skip a beat. She turned and found Art the Clown standing behind her, his silent presence both terrifying and comforting. She couldn't understand why, but his closeness brought a sense of calm amidst the chaos of her mind.

"You're here," she said, her voice trembling. "Why do you keep watching me?"

Art the Clown's expression was unreadable, his smile ever present but his eyes betraying a depth of emotion that she couldn't quite decipher. He stepped closer, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her.

"I feel like I'm losing my mind," she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. "But when you're around, everything feels... different. Less frightening."

Art the Clown tilted his head, his gaze never leaving hers. He took her hand and led her to a small stage at the center of the tent. There, he revealed an old music box, its once bright colors now faded and worn. He opened it, and a haunting melody filled the air, the sound both beautiful and eerie. She watched in awe as Art the Clown performed a silent pantomime, his movements graceful and deliberate. It was as if he was telling her a story through his actions—a story of love and loss, of madness and redemption. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, the emotions overwhelming her.

"You understand me," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "You see the darkness inside me and you're not afraid."

Art the Clown finished his performance, his eyes locking onto hers. In that moment, she knew that their fates were irreversibly intertwined. She didn't know where this path would lead, but she was no longer afraid to follow it.

As the music from the music box continued to play, Art extended his hand once more. She hesitated for a moment, but the allure of the dance was too strong to resist. She took his hand, and he led her to the center of the stage. With a gentle yet firm grip, Art began to waltz with her, his movements surprisingly elegant for a clown known for his grotesque persona.

The dance was a silent conversation, each step a whisper of their unspoken bond. She felt herself being swept away by the rhythm, her mind momentarily freed from its torment. As they twirled and spun, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of peace, as if the chaos inside her had found harmony in the darkness of the carnival. The night stretched on, filled with unspoken words and shared silences. As they left the tent and wandered the carnival grounds together, she felt a strange sense of belonging. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be—by his side, in the darkness.

---

Chapter 1

[starclancy]

Request: I adored your little Sanji fluffy drabble! The dialogue was so charming, I kept giggling at Sanji's lines.

If you're up to write more of him, can I request a scenario with fem!reader where she's new to the crew and still doesn't know about Sanji's "never ever hurt a woman rule"? I love the idea of Sanji having a bad luck streak when she joins that makes him accidentally hurt the reader (spilling hot tea on her, elbowing her in the ribs cause he was gesticulating too wildly, in general him being uncharacteristically clumsy around her). It would be as fun to read for me as heartbreaking for Sanji to live through lmao Bonus points if the reader starts to think he might just actually dislike her and he's being passive-aggresive about suddenly having her around all the time!

Of course, no pressure no write any of this if it's not your style xoxo

Thank you! this is a great request and i loved writing it!

~ Stirring Trouble ~

PAIRING: Fem!Reader/Sanji

CONTENTS: 💔 - angst / 🩷 - fluff

WORDCOUNT: 1010

Request status: Open

The Thousand Sunny was alive with the hum of activity as its new crew member—you—tried to find her place. You hadn’t been aboard long, but you’d already learned one thing: fitting in with this crew of chaotic misfits was no easy task.

Particularly when it came to him.

Sanji.

Blond hair swept back, suit sharp even in the heat of battle, and a voice that could make compliments sound like poetry. He was charming, flirtatious, and seemingly smooth as butter. Or so you thought—until you joined the crew.

It started innocently enough.

“Tea for the lovely new addition,” Sanji had said during breakfast your first morning. You smiled, reaching for the cup. Then—disaster.

His hand twitched. Maybe it was a sudden sway of the ship or just bad luck, but before you could grab the cup, its contents splashed right onto your hand.

“Ah!” you yelped, jerking back.

Sanji’s face drained of color. “Oh, no—no! My goddess, I’m so sorry! Did I burn you? Let me see!”

You waved him off with an awkward laugh. “It’s fine, really! Just caught me off guard.”

But that wasn’t the end of it.

Later that day, you stood in the galley as Sanji gestured wildly while recounting a story to Usopp. You turned to grab a plate when his elbow jabbed you—hard—in the ribs.

“Ow!”

Sanji froze mid-sentence. His face turned pale again. “Oh no, did I—?!”

You clutched your side, blinking at him in confusion. “It’s okay. Just… be careful, maybe?”

From there, it only got worse. A flurry of small but noticeable accidents followed: bumping into you while carrying a pot of soup, knocking over a chair you were about to sit in, accidentally flinging flour at you during prep. Each time, Sanji’s face twisted in agony as he apologized profusely.

At first, you chalked it up to nerves. Maybe he was just unused to you being there. But after the fourth or fifth incident, you began to wonder if there was something more.

~ A Few Days Later ~

By the time you’d been with the crew for nearly a week, you couldn’t shake the thought that Sanji might dislike you.

He was sweet and doting to everyone else: Zoro got hearty portions of food despite their bickering; Nami had fresh fruit delivered to her lounging spot; Robin got delicate pastries with her afternoon tea.

And you? Well, if clumsy spills and near-constant accidents were “attention,” you weren’t sure you wanted it.

Your growing frustration finally boiled over during dinner prep. You were helping chop vegetables when Sanji accidentally nudged a bowl of chopped onions, sending it flying toward your lap.

“Seriously?!” you snapped, standing up abruptly as the bowl clattered to the floor.

Sanji’s eyes widened. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Do you have some kind of problem with me?” you interrupted, crossing your arms. “Because if you do, just say it. All this passive-aggressive nonsense is driving me insane.”

The room fell silent. Even Luffy paused mid-bite, a rare sight.

“Passive… aggressive?” Sanji repeated, his voice faint.

“You keep spilling things, elbowing me, tripping me—I get it, you don’t want me here!”

Sanji staggered back, clutching his chest like your words had physically struck him. “What?! I would never—!”

“Then what is it?” you demanded. “Because I’m tired of feeling like some kind of walking target!”

Sanji dropped to his knees so fast you thought he might’ve lost consciousness. “Mon dieu, please forgive me! I’m such a clumsy fool!” He grabbed your hands desperately, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

You blinked, startled. “Wait… what?”

“I swear on my honor as a chef, I would rather throw myself into the Grand Line than harm you! I—” He took a shaky breath. “I’ve been nervous. You’re so… radiant, and perfect, and I—” He looked away, guilt written all over his face. “I think my admiration is making me act like an idiot. I can’t help it!”

The room went deathly quiet for a moment. Then, from across the room:

“Pfft—”

Luffy burst into laughter, followed by Usopp and Chopper. Even Zoro snorted behind his sake cup.

“Sanji, you’re an idiot,” Nami muttered, shaking her head fondly.

You stared at him, heat rushing to your face. “Wait, so… you don’t hate me?”

“Hate you?!” He looked horrified. “I worship the ground you walk on!”

The honesty in his voice made your heart skip a beat.

“…Oh.” You glanced down, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

He knelt there, still holding your hands, his face red but sincere. “Please forgive me, my goddess. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

“Anything?” you teased, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“Anything,” he vowed solemnly.

“…Okay. You can start by helping me clean up this mess.”

Sanji sprang to his feet, a hand on his heart. “It would be my honor.”

As he scrambled to fetch a broom, you couldn’t help but laugh softly. Maybe fitting in with this crew wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[eeunoia]

ENHYPEN Series

sinag — psh.

chapter two

synopsis: waiting for a great plot twist in your life, the ruthless and powerful mafia boss park sunghoon forced his way in to it.

pairings: park sunghoon x reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: a contains violence, guns, killings, abuse, obsessive love & other stuff. if you can't take this stuff, feel free to scroll away. let me know if i missed some.

note: not proof read. sinag’s chapter will usually have 2k-3k words. i'm sorry if there’s grammatical errors. enjoy reading and my ask are open for your messages. thank you so much!

© eeunoia 2023 — all rights reserved.

here ‹ chapter one | chapter three › here

“Calm down, Kwon.” a man wearing a formal attire focused his eyes at the scene beneath him, standing proudly in front of the big glass windows of his office. He holds a cup of whiskey on his hand, the other one inside his pockets.

“Calm down?” his tone frantic as he slightly slams the coffee table near him. His fists balled, jaw clenching feeling perturbed by the situation they’re tangled in.

“Your son is uncontrolled! This arrangement was long overdue! You know we already need to do something about this.” he added.

The man remained calmed and collected despite his opposite demeanor. He went here out of frustrations in hope to come up with a solution for their problem and all he gets is a couple words of consolement. If anything, that's the last thing he needs.

“I am doing my best to convince my son, Luis.” he slowly turns to face the raging man. The placid look on his face pretty much mirrors the same with the young mafia boss they are discussing about. The main reason of their distress and troubled affairs.

“You out of all people knows that convincing your son is already out of the choices.” the man stoods and stares straight to his eyes.

“He’s stubborn and proud.”

“Mainly why we shouldn’t act repulsively. Sunghoon knows when to play his cards and is not stupid.” he took a quick sip from his glass and pursed his lips into a thin line.

“He is unpredictable and moves only to his demand. He was never born to be controlled. He's my own flesh and blood afterall.” the proud smile spreads across his face that only adds to Mr. Kwon’s anger.

“But he’s now going crazy over some girl? Is this the same boy you are blabbering about?” the man scoffs that faded the smirk on Mr. Park’s face.

“If we cannot do anything with your son might as well start by getting rid of that girl.” the look on his face were shameless. The way he talks was too casual that you’ll think he’s just commanding a luggage to be discarded somewhere.

“We have to find her before he does.” he fixed his coat while still keeping his dark, serious gazes over Mr. Park.

“In order to solve the problem, we need go dispose the one causing them.” he stated with firmness to his tone indication of want on immediate action.

“I will expect a bigger progress soon, Steven.” he starts heading towards the door, one of his man held it for him. He stops from his tracks and craned his neck to the man by the windows, “I’m not a very forgiving and patient person. You know that.”

He left the room and Mr. Park was lost with his own thoughts. His emotions at a mess that rarely happens. The lack of sense in the current situation was very unusual of him. All he can think of is his son and the tangled connection link between the Kwon family.

From the plane to your way to the hotel, you are well taken care of. The stress and worries you’ve been feeling when you stepped at the airport hours ago were vanished into thin air. It was crazy and you can’t even believe that you’re actually thinking that this trip isn’t so bad at the moment. Like as if you aren’t the same girl in distress for being sent over for this.

“This way to your room, Madam.” one hotel staff guides you in this beautiful suite. It was a hug room with a breathtaking view of the city beneath you.

The streets are busy, people rushing towards somewhere, cars honking at each other but it didn’t spoil the ambiance of the place. You giggled and eyes shut for a couple seconds, embracing the breeze blowing towards you. It surely gives off a different vibe, the feeling of being new to the place slowly gets into your system.

Scary, but thrilling. You are feeling anxious and all but staying in a fancy hotel with a rowdy surrounding rather than secluded villa sure comforts you a thousand times better.

You are snapped out from your trance when you remembers the main agenda of your trip. Letting out a strained sigh, you walked towards your bag to fish out the well planned schedule that was prepared for you. It’s like a list of things to be accomplished along the trip. It sounds like something not of a big deal since this is a business trip afterall, but the amount is what’s gets you. Thankfully, they did left your first day vacant.

Another strained sigh liberates out from you, making your lungs feel more lighter. So much for enjoying this trip. You tried to find the brighter side of it. The things you will learn from the seminars and basically from the experience here will be much to your gain.

You ordered room service for lunch and decided to rest for a bit before roaming around near the hotel for the rest of the day. The next day, its work day so while waiting for your first agenda, you ordered food for lunch. If the place was great, of course the food was fantastic. It is expected and it didn’t disappoint. You enjoyed your meal and soon starts preparing for your errands.

Today’s task is an uncomplicated one. Pretty much a warm up for the upcoming busy two weeks of your stay here. You dress up cutely and comfortably before deciding on heading downstairs to ask the lobby for some directions.

On the other hand, multiple cars parked right in front of the hotel. People’s eyes darted curiously at the scene, some chooses to continue their day after watching for a while. Sunghoon went out of his black range rover and dominantly roams his eyes around, causing the lingering eyes of some individuals to tear away.

His intimidating aura just causes some to even stop at their tracks and give way to the handsome man. He didn’t give any care and went inside along with some of his men, tossing his car keys to the valley incharge without sparing him a glance. The boy bowed paying his respect, slightly anxious not to do any mistake.

Arriving at the hotel lobby, staffs bows as he walks by. It didn’t stop people to stare at him. His face is not one to be missed anyway.

His men clicks the elevator open and Sunghoon steps inside. After pressing the floor where his room was booked, the door closes. The people who's about to ride the elevator hesitates and decided not to join him.

As the door of the elevator closes, the one beside opens and you steps outside. Smiling to the people waiting just in front of it. They seem fazed about something that made you curious. Your eyes looks at the elevator beside you, but it was close and the lights above says its moving up the building.

Dismissing that matter, you shrug off your shoulders and walks towards the lobby to go ask for directions.

Sunghoon sighs and walks outside the elevator when he arrived the floor. The hallway was empty.

“What are you doing here?” his jaw clenches and his fist balled tightly at the sight of a man sat comfortably in the middle of the room.

He’s alone, at least here inside, and a glass of whiskey sat near him on a coffee table. The man smiles a little and opens his arms as a welcoming gesture.

Sunghoon furrowed his brows and kept his unamused expression.

“Is that how you greet your dad?” his Dad crosses his legs and gave him this stare.

Despite feeling so angry, Sunghoon grinned.

“Dad?” he scoffs. “Since when did you act like one?” his rude words pricks something inside Mr. Park’s chest, but he knew he was in no place to complain.

He took part on why Sunghoon became like this. He was part of his dark childhood that led him to be ruthless. He may feel sorry right now, but there’s nothing he can do about it anymore. All there’s left was to convince him over to do the arrangement and save him from any possible outrage of the Kwon family.

“Son,” he calls, tone longing.

Sunghoon face reflects disgust at what he heard. “Don’t you dare call me that.” he coldly rejects.

“What are you doing here? How did you know that I’m here?” his questions are full of suspicion for the older man. This isn’t the first time he did this, but its still so odd that he couldn’t help to not let his guard down.

“I’m here to talk to you.” he answers one of it, but leaves out one. It didn’t slipped off from Sunghoon and sure he isn’t someone to disregard it as well.

“There’s nothing to talk about with you.” he grunts, letting him know that there is no way he can expect him to cooperate.

He turns his heels and was about to head out when his father talks once again.

“Marry Luna.” his words were short and direct.

Sunghoon halt from his steps and the crease to his forehead disappears along the emotions in his eyes.

He slowly craned his neck to look at his dad.

“Didn’t Mr. Kwon told you what we talked about the last time he went to see me?” he smirks with no humor.

“Please, son. That is planned ahead even before you’re even born.”

“If you’re too desperate in making her marry a Park, why not you do it?” he suggests in complete taunt.

“Park Sunghoon!” his Father shouts.

Seeing his father lose composure and frustrated like this, sooths something in Sunghoon. It feels something accomplishing in some part of him. He smirks unbothered of his Father’s threatening tone.

“This will be the last time you and Mr. Kwon will bother me about this stupid marriage.” he states, back to being very serious. His eyes dark, almost mirroring his father’s.

“It will never happen. He can have a gun pointed at my head during the wedding and I still won’t say ‘I do’.” he smoothly puts his hands inside his pocket.

“Don’t make me do something you will regret. Stop pushing my buttons,” Sunghoon tilts his head. “... Dad.”

Mr. Park was lost of words. He felt shivers run his spine at how cold his tone was. He can’t remember when he became like this. What did he do for him to end up like the cold ruthless person he is right now?

His mind was occupied for a while before he snaps back to his senses. He sighed and rest his back on the chair before massaging his temple. He expects no easy way to convince Sunghoon into this. And as much as he hates how Mr. Kwon last resort of solution to their problem, he was left with no other choice.

He’s doing this for his son.

He fished his phone from his pocket and dials someone’s phone number. “Did you ask the lobby about a reservation under the name Aelia Choi.”

He waits for the response of his assistant from the other line. He received a tip that Sunghoon gathers info that the girl he’s searching for are booked in this hotel. He figured his son will come here to search for her so he decided to take the opportunity of talking to him.

“There’s none, Sir.”

His brows furrowed, a little confused. Disappointed for probably another false information. A part of him felt sympathy for his son, he’s been searching for her and still no concrete leads of her whereabouts. Another, felt relieved. He can’t comprehend what crazy things his son can do for this girl. He can only mean bad for him. If he’s this wreckless for her right now, what more if he found her.

“All right, ready my vehicle.” he commands and ended the call.

After asking for details and asking assistance for your ride to the city. Waiting patiently, your brows furrowed curiously at the sight of men in black appearing the hotel’s lobby. They aren’t that many, but enough to catch attention. Their black similar uniforms sure captures people’s curiosity.

The view makes you remember of a particular night of your life. It makes you nervous, pressing your lungs and light pinches to your heart. It wasn’t pleasant for you so you quickly glanced away and move towards a more isolated part of the hotel.

From a distance, you watch how they move in an organize manner. It was evident how disciplined and well connected they are to each other. Their built and postures sure insinuates how dutiful they are. It seems like they are there to protect someone. Someone very important.

Everybody went back to normal once they left the premises. You can hear some of them still talks about the said person that just left. Uninterested, you walks towards the lady at the front desk.

“Can I ask a room service once I get back?” you ask smiling. The lady returns and smiled warmly at you.

“Under what name of reservation?” she asks.

“Oh, under Mr. (boss name).” you pursed your lips as she tries to check something on her computer. Patiently, you roam your eyes around the hotel lobby.

You noticed another group of men wearing suits pretty similar to the ones from before. This time, you saw the man walking in between them. He seemed like a very powerful man. His hair perfectly fixed, some gray strands can be seen even from the distance but it didn’t make him look that old. If anything, he looks like a Dad of a very attractive offsprings.

You didn’t realized you’ve been staring too much. Thankfully, the lady at desk calls your attention. The moment you looked away, the man gazed at you. Both of you clueless about how each other will soon make a big change to your lives, missed the opportunity to meet due to uncertain timing

“What time will you be back for the room service, Ma’am?” she asked.

You gave her the time you possibly back from your errands. Thanking her softly before going on with your day, unaware of what lies ahead of you.

“Hello, Riki?”

He heard some muffled sound from the other line, “Yeah, hyung?” the younger one responds.

“I think there’s a rat in my men. They’ve been snitching on my Dad about my whereabouts.” he continuously says in a cold tone. He’s not yet sure if hes right, but what could possibly the reason of the unexpected appearance of his father?

He’s very strict on sharing infos of his life, specially when it involves about his search of you.

“I want you to find who it is and report back to me.”

“On it.” he replies and chuckles. “This is not free, hyung.” the younger one teased.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, “Just send me the bill.” and he ends the call before resting his back on his chair.

He’s inside his private jet. He went straight here after the encounter with his dad. The pilot waits for his command to fly and go back, but for some reason he felt something’s stopping him.

The plan of searching for you at this place sure is already sabotaged. He hope what they received was just a false information or else he will make his Dad pay for missing you once again. He tries hard to convince himself that its also probably his father who tipped him so he can have time to talk. But he can’t get rid of the thought that you might be near him. It’s making him suffer.

He have no idea how many times he will feel this way in the future, but he doesn’t care. He will never stop looking for you, even if it means he have to spend his whole life hoping that you two will meet again without a definite certainty that it’ll happen.

here ‹ chapter one | chapter three › here

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@heeseung-min

[leviismybby]

levi helping you fall asleep by eating you out 🤭

Mhmm anon mhmmm....

Levi Ackerman x fem!reader

Nsfw 18+, mdni, orgasm denial, just Levi devouring you, flith flith, filth

Was it a good idea to tell Levi that you couldn't sleep? No. Do you regret it now? Also no, not when he is kissing down your body, hand spreading your thighs open.

Levi kisses your navel, tugging at your pajama shorts to take them off of your body. Your hands are running through his soft raven locks, slightly pulling at them the more eager you get.

"Patience." He says as he looks at your underwear, smirking at the wet spot on the fabric. Kissing your pussy over your underwear, Levi sinks his teeth into the hem of your panties and pulls them down your legs with his mouth.

Kissing up your legs, he nibbles at the flesh of your inner thighs. "How are you this wet? I haven't fucking done anything yet..." He says against your skin, loving how you shiver at his words and tug on his hair.

"Levi please..." You whine, wanting nothing more than to feel his mouth on you. He places little pecks around your pussy before licking a stripe up your slit, his eyes looking at your face.

You were usually sleeping like a log during this hour but tonight was different, you twisted and turned for hours beofre Levi noticed, so he decided to help you....

Levi grunts at how you taste. "Your cunt is delicious, I can have it for breakfast, lunch and dinner." His tongue works against your wetness like he hasn't done this thousands of times beofre, it moves restlessly and harshly.

His jaw moves roughly, lapping at your walls. The noises his lips are making are lewd, so sp lewd that you're almost ashamed of them. "Levi!" You moan his name, pulling his head further between your legs.

Smirking, he spreads your thighs further apart, putting both of your legs over his shoulder. His mouth kisses, nibbles and licks your pussy like a man starved.

You grind your hips against his face as his tongue enters you, it feels so warm and wet and it makes you lose your mind. Levi grips your legs, loving how much pleasure he is giving you.

"Fuck. Wish I could just live between your thighs..." Levi says, groaning when he sees your cunt twitch. Your legs start to spasm when his mouth closes around your clit, sucking delicately.

"I'll ill-" Levi glares up at you, warning you with his eyes. "Don't you dare, not yet, baby." You throw your head against the pillow, hands messing up the perfect strands of his undercut.

Levi spreads your walls with his two fingers, getting a really good look at your pussy. "Oh fuck me..." He growls before spitting on it, the warm saliva sends a weird feeling of warmth and pleasure down your spine.

Gripping your thighs harder, Levi puts his mouth back on your cunt. His tongue is nowhere near gentle, it's a rude pace and the knot in your stomach becomes impossible to hold.

"Levi..I-i can't need to cum!" He hums against you in approval. "Give it to me. Cum." Your legs close around his head, and you cum without any problem. Levi doesn't remove his mouth from you, not until he is sure that all of your juices are running down his throat.

He parts his mouth from you, his spit connecting to your pussy, eyes filled with lust. Looking up at you he sees how heavy you're breathing, a beautiful blush accompanying your cheeks.

Your boyfriend smirks, kissing up your body before coming up to your face. He grips your jaw. "Open" and you do, you open your mouth. To Levi, there's nothing hotter than seeing how willing you are for him. He lets a string of saliva escape his mouth and dribble right onto your tongue.

With a smile, you swallow his spit, tasting yourself. "Such a dirty girl aren't you?" Your eyes start to close but Levi kisses you on the lips, he isn't entirely done yet.

"I'm not done with you..." He whispers, kissing your neck until he quickly between your thighs again. This time Levi spreads your legs wide enough for them to hurt a little but you don't as you get used to the position.

Without another word, his mouth is back to lap at your wetness, he is moaning against you, savoring you in every sense of the word.

The moans you're letting out are sinful and shameless but that is exactly what he wants. He absolutely wants to ruin you, make you completely stupid for him.

Two of his fingers plunge deep into you, immediately setting a fast pace. His other hand is pinning your hips down, making sure you stay still for him as he eats you out.

Your whole body feels like it's on fire and your head is spinning as Levi's mouth does marvels on your pussy, it's not gonna take long beofre you're cumming.

His fingers thrust hard and fast into your heat, his tongue flicking against your clit. He isn't getting tired at all, his stamina is untouchable.

"For fuck sake. You're gonna make me a madman with a pussy like this." Levi groans and the sound sends vibrations directly through you. It's an insane amount of pleasure.

You try to lift your his but fail as his strong hand holds them down, hid fingers nudging your spot, his lips claiming your pussy as his. A funny feeling starts to build up in hour stomach, this one is more intense the previous one.

And Levi feels it too as your pussy clenches around his two digits. Your head falls to the side, you scream his name, your body shakes and squirt all over him.

Levi was going to deny you again however seeing how well he made you feel was enough. "That's a good girl. Fuck." He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, his jaw dripping with your juices.

Your eyes start to close, you don't even have the energy to speak and Levi chuckles kissing your stomach. "Pretty sure you'll get some sleep now, baby."

---------------------------------------------------

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[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Hello! Love your page, sugar bean! Saw you’re taking requests and thought I’d throw my hat in the ring

Please: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader with

fluff prompt : #5 the one about running a bath and angst prompt #5: “where did you get those bruises?” maybe reader helps Simon bathe after Las Almas? Or vise versa, your call sug!

💕

Thank you so much!!

Lavender Bath Drops

Masterlist

Contains: Angst, fluff.

604 words

Comment if you want to be tagged or follow #sp's 150 fanfic celebration for more fics.

You treat Simon to a hot bath when he comes back from his op in Las Almas.

You knew it had been rough by the way the door opened and the sound of Simon's boots falling on the tiles at the entrance to your home. You came out of the kitchen and rounded the corner, and found yourself wrapped in his embrace as he took you in his arms. "Welcome home dearest."

"Hello love." His voice was filled with exhaustion and despite the fact that he was squeezing the life out of you, you could feel how sore his muscles were. "What's for dinner?"

So it was one of those times when he didn't even want to talk about it. Contrary to what most people thought about Simon, he was very open with the people he cared about and you usually at least got a sentence about the op before he slid back into normal life. "I made your favourite, plus super crispy baked potatoes and sticky toffee pudding. It's ready whenever you are."

He gave you a soft smile and his hand came up to cup your cheek. "Thank lovely, you're an angel." He sighed as his eyes drifted to the bathroom. "I'll have a shower first, I've been in a cargo plane for ten hours."

You shook your head. "I'm going to run you a bath, and you're not going to do anything." You gently shoved him towards the bathroom, and once you were inside, fussed around with the fancy oil before running the bath as hot as he could stand it.

You dripped a slightly purple liquid into the water, and a gentle floral smell filled the air. "What's that, Love?"

"Homemade Lavender bath drops. They should help with your aches and pains." With the bath almost full, you walked over to him and started to remove his clothes, slowly revealing the various colours as the fabric fell free. You pointed to the nasty one over his liver, all black and blue with hints of red that let you know how deep it was. "Where did you get those bruises?"

His breath caught, and he shot you a look. "Graves was dirty, the last few days have been rough."

With all his clothes off, you could see the full extent, he was a mess. "I'm sorry, Honey. I know you liked him." You pointed over to the tub and placed your hand on his shoulder. "Hop in, you might feel better once you've had a soak."

You took the seat at the end of the bath, usually reserved for the days that Simon wanted to wash your hair, and picked up a washcloth, waiting until he slid in with a groan to start gently cleaning his skin. "You're too good to me y/n."

You shook your head and twisted yourself to kiss him, uncaring that you risked falling in. "Not at all. I love you very much and I missed you terribly."

He gave you a slight nod as he relaxed into the water. "I know love, I feel the same way. Getting home to you was all I thought about half the time."

You could feel the tension fade under your hands as you continued. "And the other half of the time?"

"Killing Graves." There was a bit of humour in his voice and it was your turn to relax, as long as he was talking about what happened you knew he was dealing with it. "Thank you for doing this for me." You went to reply, but he stopped you with a hand on your wrist. "I love you more than life itself y/n."

You sighed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Ditto my dear."

Fin

@chaos-4baby

[writemywaytoyourheart]

Bedeviled | Chapter 10: The Harder They Fall

Pairing: demon!jungkook x female reader

Genre: E2L, romance, drama, angst, horror

WC: 9.5k

Warnings for this chapter: strong language, bullying, cruelty, name-calling, past trauma, blood, frightening depictions of Hell and those in it, gore, some tensionnnnn muthatruckaaaas If there's something you notice that I ought to put in warnings that I missed pls kindly let me know

Previous ML

"I will kill you myself."

You gulp, breathing out through your nose slowly as he runs his fingers down from your cheek and right to your throat, where he places his hand around it and squeezes ever so gently. 

He seems to get distracted, his eyes appearing unfocused as he stares at the sight in front of him. 

His hand makes a good necklace for your lovely throat. 

"Fuck," He whispers under his breath, but you can hear him, "I could snap your pretty little neck right now if I wanted to, couldn't I?"

You gulp and nod shakily.

"Yes," You brave looking up at him and notice him staring back at you, his gaze no longer on your neck but looking into your eyes, "But you don't want to."

You think you see a flash of fear in his eyes before he smirks and smothers any hint of emotion besides amusement. 

"Of course not, darling." He drags his hand down slowly, his icy fingers running along your throat and down your chest before they pull away, "You still have some use to me after all."

When he steps away, you reach a hand up to cup your throat. 

You knew he wasn't going to kill you, he wasn't even going to hurt you. 

He prides himself on being able to intimidate you, but he doesn't know that you can see right through him. 

You'll keep that to yourself for now. 

What scared you the most was the overwhelming urge to raise yourself up on your tiptoes and close the distance between you two. 

You mentally give yourself a pat on the back for not ruining everything just a minute ago. 

Gathering yourself and your skirt in your fists, you stumble after him, who has (obviously) continued on like nothing happened. 

Him and his little games. 

Little do you know, his mind is far from laughing at the situation. It's twisting and turning and trying anxiously to figure out what the hell is happening to him. 

____________________

You had thought before that the mountains would go on forever. 

But you were wrong. 

In the distance, you can see where they end. 

It's still miles away, but it's something. 

"What's with the in-between stuff?"

JK stops and turns around to look back at you, who is scrambling over a large rock, panting heavily. 

He rolls his eyes. 

"Care to elaborate on that question?"

You sigh and plop yourself down on top of the rock, legs dangling at least four feet from the ground. 

Wiping your wet forehead fruitlessly, you gesture out into the distance with your bandaged hand, "It's- it's such a long way to the seventh circle," Gulping in as much air as your lungs can take, you shake your head and wipe at your eyes, "Why all the extra sp-space?"

He doesn't answer your question and you don't ask again, deciding not to waste your time or breath. 

Squinting at him, you huff tiredly at the fact that he doesn't look like he's struggling in the slightest. 

You wipe at your eyes again, the sweat dripping into them. 

"It's so hot," You mumble, hissing quietly at the stinging in your eyes from the salty droplets that reach them, "Gosh."

JK makes an effort not to look in your direction, but ends up breaking his own rule for a second when you're busy wiping at your eyes. 

You're perched on top of the huge rock, legs hanging off in front of you, dirty cloth-wrapped feet kicking absentmindedly as you rub your fists in your eyes in an effort to ease the sting. 

His eyes travel up your body, lingering on the cuts and bruises that appear to be new. When his gaze lands on your scrunched up face as you wipe and wipe desperately at your eyes, he squints. 

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Ach," You grunt, "My eyes are burning like fire- ow!" You shout, shoving your fists into your eyes and trying not to start crying. 

He watches silently for a minute as you blindly try to find a piece of clothing on you that isn't covered in dirt, grime, or blood. Your eyes are pinched shut as you pat around, hands landing on nothing but dirtied garments. It's all you can do to keep from shouting out again, it feels like someone dumped hot chilis in your eyes. 

Just as you're about to try the sleeve of your cardigan no matter how dirty it is, you feel a cold hand wrap around your left wrist. 

"Stop, you look like an idiot, scrounging around like that," You hear him grumble, then you feel something soft get shoved into your hand. 

Is that a-...handkerchief?

Desperate enough not to question it, you bring the cloth to your eyes. Relief pours over you when the pain starts to subside as you're finally able to wipe the sweat from your face. 

"Thank you."

He turns back at the soft, whispered thanks called to him. 

Your eyes are still closed, but no longer pinched shut in pain. 

The demon looks down at your hands to see you twisting the small cloth in your fingers, knuckles turning white as you clench it tightly in your fist. 

Seemingly getting anxious, he sees your hands start to tremble as you rock back and forth where you sit on the rock, still clutching the cloth, now biting your lip harshly. 

An unfamiliar feeling suddenly invites itself in, making him freeze as he continues to stare at you. 

What is this?

He can't pinpoint it; doesn't understand it. 

JK snaps out of it and turns away. 

He won't entertain things that he doesn't understand.

"Here."

He turns back to you again with a sharp sigh, annoyed. 

You're holding out the handkerchief, eyes still closed as you gather your strength. 

The demon's gaze flickers from your face down to your hand and back a few times, noticing the way the cloth shakes as you hold it out. 

"Keep it," He snaps, "I don't want it now that you've dirtied it. It's useless."

The hurt evident on your face is brief, then you pull it back and blink your eyes open carefully, looking at the cream-colored handkerchief in your hand that now has streaks of dirt on it. Your bottom lip trembles as you squeeze it tightly.

He doesn't look at you again, shouldn't have looked in the first place. 

Instead, he stands with his arms crossed as he looks out into the distance, eyeing the planes he knows are coming. He's not sure how you're going to manage them, but there's not much of a choice now. 

You're hellbent on saving your stupid little friend, and nothing he says or does is going to stop you. 

JK glares at nothing as he waits for you to just get on with walking already. 

He thought about it pretty early on in this journey, but he's still curious on what exactly is going on with you. 

How is it that your body is failing faster than other humans down here? He knows it's meant to torment anyone that comes here, but physically you're fading faster than is usual. 

Mentally on the other hand, you seem to be excelling. The mental and emotional toll this place has on humans that venture here is typically what makes them fail before the elements even get a chance to destroy them. The realization that they will never leave hits them pretty early on and their hope dwindles quickly after that. 

So why are you still so hopeful? 

Why are you so insistent on saving this poor excuse of a human?

Why won't you acknowledge the fact that you will never leave Hell? Has that even sunk into your thick head yet?

When you walk past him and stumble on a rock, your arms going out to the sides to keep your balance, he suddenly wonders what part of Hell you will be sent to first after the deal is over. 

A sick feeling burns in his stomach at the sudden thought, but he pushes it away immediately. 

He doesn't fucking care.

Your fate after this deal is of no concern to him. 

It never was and it never will be. 

You are nothing but an annoying little mortal creature, he has no interest in your future, or lack of it for that matter. 

You are nothing to him. 

Tripping a little when he bumps into your shoulder, you look at him in confusion as he walks ahead, then you shake your head and keep walking across the slippery gravelly ground. 

__________________________

After a few more hours of walking, you stop. 

"I'm taking a break," You call out, watching as he stops in his tracks, clearly annoyed. 

Before he can say anything, you turn and plop on the ground, wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of rocks on your thighs that the thin material of your dress does nothing to cushion against.

You notice that he doesn't even turn to look at you as he says, "I'm going for a bit."

"Ok," You say just as he walks off and once again disappears into a cloud of smoke. 

Sighing, you rest your chin in your hand as you look out at the smoky terrain covering all that you can see with the naked eye. 

The mountains are nearly gone, most of them behind you now. 

The deep red glow still makes you anxious, you can't get used to it no matter how hard you try. 

You won't have to get used to it. 

You're leaving. 

Looking down at your dirty fingers, you gulp and nod, absentmindedly picking at the dirt caked under your nails. 

-

JK strolls along the streets of Seoul, hands in his pockets as he walks straight ahead, not moving for anyone coming towards him. 

No need to, they can't see him anyway. 

The lights of the city are shining so bright that if one were to bother to look up, they wouldn't be able to see the stars scattered across the night sky right above them. 

Couples walk hand in hand, laughing together. 

Friends run past, screaming about how the last one to get to the arcade has to pay for the games. 

Business men and women walk briskly through the crowds, briefcases swinging gently and looks of boredom etched into their faces. 

Elders work tirelessly as people come up to their food stands, feeling peckish after a long day of shopping. 

Students run for the bus that will be here any minute, the one that will take them home after studying for so long today. 

The noise of people milling about is a constant buzz that has become the norm, music plays from storefronts, street dancers collect money as people film them happily; ready to post it on the internet and hopefully go viral. 

JK watches all of them, eyes hard with hatred as they flit between the people in different stages of life. 

Oh how little they know of how insignificant they are.

They worry so much of others caring about them, of likes and shares and paychecks, of grades and colleges and careers. 

They worry so much just to fill up their miniscule amount of time on this sad Earth. 

How pathetic. 

But how perfect for him. 

The stress of everyday life, the temptations of things one could have, the anger, the resentment, the lust, the pride, the greed, the twisted insatiable need to always have more. 

It's all the perfect combination for a demon that is currently on the prowl, looking for souls to ruin, to drag to Hell for the rest of eternity. 

Oh how misery loves company. 

As he walks amongst the crowds, his eyes land on a young college student walking with his head down, hands grasping the straps of his backpack that seems to weigh him down more than usual. 

‘Are you so stupid that you really couldn't manage to pass that test?’

The young man bites his lip as he continues to walk towards the bus stop. 

‘You worked so hard, and for what? No matter how hard you try, you'll never be good enough.’

Vision blurring, he blinks a few times and tightens his grip on the straps. 

He studied so much for that test, for the past week he had done nothing but pour over all of his notes, quizzing himself over and over again, missing out on parties and nights out. Just to fail in the end.

‘You know your friends probably passed, right? They didn't even have to try. You're just stupid.’

He wipes at his eyes quickly. 

‘Now you're crying?’ 

‘How pathetic.’

‘You won’t get anywhere in life. You'll never amount to anything.’

JK chuckles as the young man breathes anxiously and hurries to the bus stop, his heart aching deeply and his hopes for a bright future diminishing rapidly. 

The demon looks around once more and sees a teenage girl looking into a shop window at a jeweled necklace. 

He walks over and leans close, whispering something into her ear. 

The way she bites her lip in determination clarifies that she took his words and is going to run with them. 

He smirks and strolls away, eyes shifting among the crowd. 

They're too easy.

The sight of a homeless man crouched in a dark alley brings him to a stop. He stands there and watches him for a moment, pleasure rising at the way the miserable creature shivers and pulls his torn coat around himself more. 

A few highschoolers walk past, one of them stopping long enough to call to the freezing person lying on the ground. 

"Are you cold?"

The homeless man looks up fearfully and the demon watches in mounting amusement as the teen walks over and proceeds to dump his hot chocolate on the ripped blanket, all over his face and his already useless clothes. The kid then tosses the empty cup onto the man.

The rest of the group laughs heartily before moving on, screaming about how they got too close to him and how they hope they didn't catch anything. 

JK walks closer, crouching down and watching as the man wipes at his face in a poor attempt to clean himself off. 

Chuckling, he leans close.

‘You really thought they'd treat you differently? You're lower than animals here, they would sooner give a bone to a rabid dog than look at you like a human.’ 

‘And they're right to.’

‘Look at how disgusting you are, how fucking miserable. Begging for food and crawling in the gutter like the dirt that you are.’

The single tear that slips down the elder's face makes JK smirk as he stands up. 

He's about to move on when something makes him turn back. He sees a middle-aged woman walk over and bend down, handing the man a warm roll and a cup of tea with a kind smile. 

"Stay warm," She whispers, touching his shoulder gently before walking away. 

The demon stops, his teeth clenching in annoyance. 

The homeless man watches after the woman with wide eyes full of confusion and uncertainty. 

JK stands there as she walks past him, her eyes directly meeting the demon's as she stares him down; unflinching. She turns a corner as the old man quietly watches her leave, still shivering.

Only a moment later, the same woman, who now has a soft glow about her, comes up to the man once more. This time though, he does not see her. 

She sits beside him, the light pink wings on her back resting against the ground as she places an arm around the filthy man and sets her head on his shoulder; holding him gently as he nibbles on the bread. The guardian angel makes no effort to look at the demon again, blatantly ignoring his presence. 

JK breathes out through his nose slowly, controlled. 

It makes no difference to him. 

He doesn't need to make as many deals as one would think. The most souls that are damned to Hell are from temptation alone. He's whispered many words of encouragement to do unsavory acts and they more often than not take it. Deals are only for the desperate. 

The rest of the humans buy their own ticket to Hell. Seldom do they need much persuasion. They are all too eager to come on their own, if it means they get those brief moments of satisfaction. 

These nasty little angels can try and bring all the comfort they want; he's still winning. 

She might have soothed a single soul tonight, but he has pushed many over the edge already with little to no effort. 

Ridiculous. 

JK scoffs and turns away, walking off before the sight pisses him off even more. 

He's got stuff to do, souls to bring to despair. 

And nothing is going to stand in his way. 

________________________________

You yawn and rub at your eyes, body aching so deeply; beyond anything you've felt before. The wings that are tucked up in your cardigan are cramping, begging to get some much needed room. 

The only thing you feel capable of doing right now is curling into a ball and falling asleep. 

You don't have that luxury though. 

An anxious sigh puffs out of your lips as you place your chin into your hand, your elbow resting on your knee. 

How long is he going to be?

The thought of him walking around and spreading temptations and hopelessness turns your stomach to rot. 

Come on. 

Please just stop and come back. 

You jump when there's a thick billow of smoke suddenly appearing in front of you. 

He walks out, an irritated look on his face but nothing compared to what he was like last time. 

When he sees you, he looks you up and down in suspicion. 

"What?" You ask, confused as to why he's staring at you like that. 

"Nothing," He snaps, watching in disgust as you stand up and dust yourself off, fixing your cardigan carefully. 

"Well, I'm ready."

"Feeling rested?" He asks, clearly mocking you by the tone of his voice. 

"Very," You say sleepily, a tired smile on your face even though there's a really deep and uncomfortable feeling in your gut at the knowledge of where he's been and what he's been doing. 

You've got this, do not despair. 

You take a deep breath and let it out in one big huff. 

I won't. 

Without acknowledging your jesting, he turns and keeps walking. 

___________________

You'll never forget the way your heart plummeted to your stomach when your mother told you about the arranged marriage. 

"I have been patient with you, ____," She had said through gritted teeth, "But I will not continue to be humiliated by your lack of motivation to do something with your life."

You had scoffed in disbelief, "I never said I didn't want to do anything with my life! I only said I didn't want to marry so soon. Mother, why can't you just-"

"Do not tell me to accept you as you are," She hissed, "You saying that over and over again does not change the fact that you do not have a choice in the matter."

"But it's my life-"

"Not when you live under my roof."

"Then I'll just leave!" You cried. 

"You would gladly shame your own mother by running off?" She was furious, "I raised you. This is the least that you could do to repay me."

"Mother, I-"

"This discussion is over. You will marry Hoseok and that is the end of it, do you understand?"

You shook your head, "No I don't, I don't understand. I don't understand how you could treat your own flesh and blood like this. I don't understand how you could not wish me happiness-"

"Happiness? Really, ____?" Your mother stepped closer, glaring down at you, "Happiness has nothing to do with it. You are useless if you don't do this."

Her words struck deep into your heart that day more than they ever had before. 

You couldn't even find the words to respond. But she had plenty to share. 

"Look at you," She gestured at you in disgust, "Might as well try to bring something to the table. You are so self-centered. How do you think I feel? How do you think Hoseok feels knowing he's going to be stuck with you? The village whore.”

Your eyes fell to the floor, unable to look at her any longer. 

"M-Mother-..."

"If you disobey me, if you ruin this in any way...you are dead to me. Do you understand?"

It took a moment for you to find the strength to give her a small nod. 

She walked away, never acknowledging your heart bleeding out onto the floor, the ache she placed deep into your bones, the hurt that could never be repaired. 

You turned and ran out of the barn where the two of you had been talking, running all the way to the old apple tree and collapsing on the ground near the worn down swing that still hung there. 

No matter how hard you cried, it didn't fill the hole in your heart that your mother had carved out. It didn't release the indescribable pain in your body that continued to grow each day. 

No one heard your sobs, no one came to save you from the hurt. 

He wasn't around that day to come to you. 

He never even knew what happened. 

You had never felt so alone in your entire sixteen years of life.

________________________________

Only a couple miles ahead, you can see a forest. 

It's a small speck in the distance, but the long line of trees has got to be a forest as far as you can tell.

After hours upon hours of nothing but bare mountains as far as the eye can see, it's almost a relief to see something different. Although, you know that the forest will only contain more unspoken horrors that you have yet to be subjected to. 

Wracking your tired brain, you try to remember what the seventh circle consisted of. But you can't. Your mind is so blurry with confusion, anxiety, and a deep exhaustion that will never let go that you cannot keep a single thought clear enough to understand. 

He walks in front of you, silent. 

You're not sure why, but you feel an incessant need to talk. Exhausted, you don't want to. But the need to fill the silence is so strong you almost break a few times. The only reason you don't is because you know he wouldn't bother to reciprocate. You would only be listening to yourself speak and making the exhaustion stronger in the long run. 

So you stay quiet, continuously trying to gain some semblance of clarity in your thoughts. 

Then suddenly the forest is in front of you. 

For a moment you think you just teleported closer, but then the tiny part of your brain that hasn't flown yet realizes that you simply checked out for however many hours it took to get here. 

You just stand there and stare at the trees. 

This forest is different. The trees are not burnt or molding like the other circles; instead, they are simply gray. Nothing else. Gnarled and colorless, the trees sit there in dead silence. 

There are giant roughly broken stones scattered across the ground, some in and some out of the forest, as if a structure was once there thousands of years ago and was brought to ruin. Somewhere in your fuzzy memories you remember there being something a little like this at the entrance to the second circle too.

"Was there something here?" 

The sound of your voice doesn't sound like your own, it sounds strange; disconnected from you after not being used for a while. 

"Yeah."

You turn your head and look at him, watching him scan over the ruins with a look of hatred in his gaze. 

"What happened?"

The demon looks at you, "The earthquake."

"Earthquake?"

"The one that shook the earth at the time of His death."

There's a swell of something deep in your chest, something like sadness but also an undeniable hope. 

A brief thought passes through your brain as you scan the ruins, wondering if these rocks would hurt you if you were to touch them. 

The urge to reach out and caress them is so visceral that you don't stop yourself from stepping forward and doing just that. 

JK looks on in confusion as he watches the human walk forward, a deep sadness in her gaze as she stretches a hand out and places it on one of the jagged stones. 

A deep shudder goes through the forest, making you step back and look around, not aware of the fact that he's watching closely. 

You look at your hand and gulp when you see a small streak of red there. 

The blood isn’t your own.

Looking back at the stone, you see nothing there that would have been the cause. 

"What're you doing?" 

You look at him to see him glowering at you, which isn't unusual.

"Hm?" You mumble.

"You're a freak," He mutters before shaking his head and walking on ahead. 

Looking down at your hand, you stare at the red smear for a moment before cradling your hand to your chest and following him into the dense and unwelcoming wood.

The further into the forest you go, the darker it becomes. The trees do not gain any more or less color, it feels as though the entire area has become a black and white film. The trunks become closer together, the branches above your heads tangle into each other more and more until even the blood red sky of Hell is nearly gone entirely; only the tiniest slivers coming through every once in a while; a stark contrast to the rest of the surroundings. 

You walk in more silence; which isn't easy to try and get re-accustomed to after speaking a few brief words with him. 

It's more than a little alarming when he suddenly stops moving and whispers a hushed order to be quiet.

Even though you weren't speaking, you still freeze so that you can't be heard walking. Soon the sound of footsteps reaches your ears and you can physically feel the color draining from your face as you listen intently to whoever is getting closer and closer. 

The demon makes no sound either, which makes the situation that much more terrifying. 

Why should a demon be afraid of one of Hell's many inhabitants? Isn't he one of the worst among them? One of the most feared in those hearts that believe?

You gulp, trying not to breathe too loudly as the footsteps continue to get closer. 

They sound heavy and slow, which does nothing for your anxiety. 

Whatever it is, is very large. 

When you feel his cold hand on your arm, pushing you in a certain direction, you don't stop to argue. You let him shove you into a small grove of shrubbery separate from the main path you had been on. 

Crouching down when he motions to, you make yourself as small as possible in order to conceal your presence behind some of the gnarly plants.

You get yourself situated right before the footsteps are right where the two of you were previously standing. A horrid stench like that of a barn that's not been cleaned in months wafts through the air and you cover your mouth before a gag can come out. 

What is that horrible smell?

Without moving at all, you look through the skinny branches of the bush in front of you, but you can't see anything. 

A loud snort makes you flinch, a chill running down your spine as you freeze up in fear. 

There's something out there, but you don't know what it is. 

Would it be better to see it, or to let your imagination run wild?

As you stay crouched there, unmoving, you realize that your legs are beginning to cramp up in the awkward position that you've held longer than usual. 

You silently look to your left to see him crouched next to you, seemingly unaffected as he peers through the bush at whatever is there. Then he turns his head and sees you looking at him. He slowly brings a finger up to his lips to remind you to be quiet, then he points at a part in the branches. 

Carefully, you move your head a little to the left and look where he's pointing. 

Heart slamming into your throat immediately, you almost choke on it as you force yourself to stay put and not move a muscle. 

In front of the bush, not even twenty yards away, is a massive creature with matted black fur and horns. It's standing on two feet, bulging arms hanging at its sides as it swings its head back and forth, sniffing the air. 

A minotaur. 

That's a minotaur. 

The fear in your heart is so intense that you're afraid it might just stop and you'll keel over before the beast even has a chance to attack. 

You jump when there's a touch on your shoulder, then turn to see him looking at you with a raised brow. Ignoring him, you look through the bush again at the guardian of the seventh circle, sweat starting to form on your lower back. 

Then there's a hand on your waist, pulling you to the left and right into him as the demon places his lips right next to your ear and whispers. 

"Calm down, little girl. You're only making it worse."

You pull away and look at him indignantly. 

What is he saying? It seems like this is far from the time to be making jabs. There's a giant beast out there that could tear anything to shreds in mere seconds. 

Well, you at least. 

JK rolls his eyes and pulls you against him once more, hand gripping your waist firmly while he holds you in place as he brings his mouth back to your left ear. 

"He can smell fear. And you, darling, absolutely reek of it."

You gulp. 

How are you supposed to not be scared in this situation? And him telling you that has not helped at all. 

You're about to say this, but get cut off when suddenly his other hand is grabbing your chin and turning your face towards his. 

Staring into his dark eyes, you have no idea what to make of his actions as he leans in closer. 

His lips unnecessarily brush your cheek as he moves to your ear once more and ever so quietly whispers, "I can think of a few things that will take your mind off of it."

What in the world is he doing??

"Are you insane?" You whisper harshly as you pull back and look at him. 

His smirk only widens as the glint in his eyes shines mischievously. 

"Absolutely fucking mental." And he looks it too. 

You blink, mind going completely blank. 

He's insane. 

He's actually insane. 

"Don't you dare put your hands on me," You finally snap quietly as you pry his fingers from where they grip your side and shove him away.

JK leans closer again, face dangerously close to yours, "Shh, don't get too mad, doll. You're supposed to be quiet, remember?"

Anger flares up in your chest when he reaches a hand out, probably to touch you again. You slap it away and point a finger in his face.

"If you try anything at all while we're stuck in this tiny space," You're seething even as you whisper with rage, "I will kick you out of this bush and let the minotaur have his way with you, you miserable little creep!" 

To your surprise and annoyance, he only smiles at your words. 

Then the sound of footsteps makes you whip your head back and look out of the bush, watching breathlessly as the minotaur walks in the opposite direction, long heavy strides and a rank smell following closely behind.

Your brows furrow and you lean closer to the opening to watch in mounting confusion as he continues to stomp away. 

When you look back at the demon watching you smugly, it all makes sense. 

He had intentionally riled you up in order to distract you from the fear holding your body captive. The anger had certainly made you momentarily forget about your almost inevitably gruesome ending, and apparently was enough to conceal any smell the guardian was attracted to. 

Why did he do that?

It's almost like he can hear the question in your mind as he raises a brow, "What? You think I want to deal with having to save your ass from more than I need to? If you didn't have any value to me, all you would be right now is the leftover meat stuck in his teeth."

You make a face at his disgusting choice of words. 

"Whatever."

"No 'thank you'?" He asks with a tinge of amusement in his voice. 

"I'll let you know if I start feeling grateful later," You shoot back, then take a deep breath to calm yourself. 

You don't want to be mad. He's just so good at pushing your buttons until you snap.

The more you let that show the more power he has over you. He's not stupid, he can tell what annoys you, and reacting to it only confirms certain things for him. Demons have done this since the beginning of their days, they only continue to learn more and more over time. 

So take a deep breath. 

And try to stay calm. 

You swipe away the hair that stuck to your sweaty forehead and look through the bush again to see the minotaur is much further now. 

"Can we go or is he going to come back?” You chew on your bottom lip, “...should we just stay here for a bit?"

"You can do whatever you want, doll. I'm flattered that you want to be this close to me for longer-"

He cuts himself off when you unexpectedly lean over into his space, your nose mere inches from his own. There's a fiery glint in your eyes as you lean even closer, making him move away and sit back. 

"What ever happened to you threatening to kill me, hm?" The taunting smirk on your pure little lips has him swallowing, "Have I really had that much of an effect on you, demon? Feeling a little weak? Poor little thing."

Before he gets a chance to reply, you stand up. When his gaze follows you, his teeth grind at the sight of you looking down on him, a pitying smile directed right at the demon. 

Neither of you says anything. 

You can see his chest rising and falling in heavy angry breaths as he glares up at the 'human' that has suddenly become bold. 

But it doesn't affect you. 

At this moment, he is below you. 

Finally, he stands up; once again towering over you as he glowers. 

But he says nothing. 

For the first time, he truly doesn't have a comeback. 

You see him swallow before he shoulders past you.

Once he's far enough away, you let out the breath you were holding. Then you look upwards and send a quick prayer of gratitude before turning and following him. 

-

The silence in the forest is unsettling, almost as if the trees themselves are afraid of the circle guardian's presence lurking about. 

You're not sure where the minotaur went, but with how loud its footsteps were when it first approached the two of you, you're not worried about it sneaking up. 

He keeps a good distance between you as he leads the way, saying nothing. 

It's not uncommon for him to be in a mood, but this one feels different. What you did back there must have really struck a nerve. 

You contemplate this as you walk through the gray wood. 

The trees continue to grow closer, either that or your mind is seeing things that aren't there. 

"Ah," You trip on a gnarled root that has found its way across the path and wound itself up into another root from a lumpy tree. 

No, they're actually closer together. It's not in your head-

Wait a minute. 

You look to your left and right as you walk, but everything is as still and silent as it's been since you came into the wood. 

Something's different though. 

Even as he continues to walk, you stop where you are. 

A moment of dead silence passes, then you hear the smallest creak. 

Then the slight rustle of dried leaves. 

Now that you've stopped, you can see and hear things you couldn't while you were moving. 

Another slow look around you and you know your suspicions were right. 

The trees are ever so slowly growing closer and closer together as you stand there. 

A long snake-like root slithers excruciatingly slowly past your bare feet, making its way to the other side of the path. 

It's almost as if the trees themselves are trying to swallow the path whole; no wonder it's been feeling more and more cramped the further you walk. 

You stand there for a moment, a sudden wave of sadness washing over you as the dead yet very much alive plants writhe around in search of more room to accommodate them. 

The deep pit in your stomach has no reasoning behind it, at least not one that is clear to you right now. 

-

JK keeps his eyes locked on the ground before him as he walks, not even flinching at the roots and twigs that twitch and reach for each other as he makes no attempt not to step on them as he passes. 

Stupid fucking human. 

Always thinking she's got something over his head, acting like she knows something he doesn't-

Wait. 

He stops walking, coming to a complete stand still in the middle of the nearly undetectable path, all the roots grown over it and each other until they themselves have become the walkway through this section of the seventh circle. 

Eyes narrowing, he quickly flits through everything the mortal has said and done since he had the misfortune of stumbling upon it. 

His brain rifles through all of the information; every twitch of her eyelid when he says something specific, every little choke in her breath as she tries to get certain words out, even the way she's tried to conceal the pain consuming her body, as if he couldn't already tell. She's a whiny little bitch, but not as much as he would expect, knowing what her body must be going through at this point. 

Why...in the ever-living fuck...has she not given up yet?

This other human. 

This so-called best friend that she’s madly in love with, even though he clearly feels nothing for her.

That's where the answer lies, he's sure of it. 

But who is it? 

Surely he can figure it out without too much trouble. 

Enough wasting his time with trying useless methods of breaking down her spirit-

What if something were to happen to the best friend?

If he means enough to her to make her endure Hell to get him the Flame, she will be willing to do anything for him.

The demon pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, chewing on it as he stares at a dead leaf bitterly. 

Other humans typically break when it comes to things such as pain and longing that are brought upon themselves. This one is different.

She might be smart, but she's not brave enough to challenge him if he brings the best friend into the equation. 

Whatever it takes. 

JK turns his head, expecting to see her watching him silently as she always does; zoning out and not paying attention to a damn thing like the useless human she is. 

But she's not there. 

He stares at the empty space where she's supposed to be for a solid minute. Then he finally turns the rest of his body around, hands moving to his hips as he sighs loudly. 

Where the fuck did she go this time?

Idiot. 

He walks back down the path a little ways, brows furrowing more the further he goes without coming upon her. 

Foolish fucking mortal-

The demon stops when he finally sees her standing in the middle of the path. 

She seems out of it, more so than usual. 

The faraway look in her eyes is clear even from where he is, almost twenty feet away. 

"What are you doing?"

No acknowledgments of his words follow. 

He sighs through his nose and walks closer, noticing that her hands are clenched into fists at her sides as she stares at a branch on the ground that fell from its tree some time ago. 

"I'm not going to stand around and wait for your lazy ass."

Isn't that exactly what you're doing?

He grits his teeth. 

There's no sign of her even hearing his threats. 

Reaching out a hand, he roughly pushes her shoulder, making her rock back a little before she seems to slowly come out of whatever trance she was just in. 

You blink slowly, seeing his strikingly handsome face come into view before blurring a bit, then clearing up again a second later. 

"Hm?"

"What do you mean, hm?" He snaps, "What's so fucking important about a stupid branch that you're being so dramatic and wasting my time?" As he says it, he kicks the branch, not even watching as it flies a little ways off the path and lands in the decayed grass with a soft thump. 

Your brows furrow in confusion at his outburst. 

"What are you talking about?"

He's about to lose it, then he suddenly realizes that you're not just fucking with him. 

You're genuinely confused. 

As you silently watch him look you over with a suspicious gaze, you try to wrack your brain for an answer as to why you were just standing there, frozen. 

Nothing comes to mind. 

"We should keep going," You eventually whisper. 

JK rolls his eyes dramatically, "Oh should we? Pardon me for making this whole fucking shitshow take longer by standing around like a moron!!"

His last words echo around the forest, making you cringe at the shattering of the silence. 

A moment passes, the quiet even more achingly evident than before, even the roots halting their journeys to the other side. 

Then you look at him, an eyebrow raised in unamused judgment. 

His mouth twists in annoyance as he tries not to say anything else. 

Then he leans down close to your face and hisses fiercely, "Just fucking walk."

Unable to help yourself, you stick your tongue out at him as he pulls away. 

He scoffs but says nothing more as he turns and continues deeper into the unsettling silence waiting ahead. 

-

As you walk along behind him, you mumble to yourself, mocking his grumpy insults. 

You know he can hear you, but he doesn’t make you stop, just lets you continue to huff and puff quietly. 

If that’s how you wish to entertain yourself, he doesn’t care. 

As long as he doesn’t have to speak to you to keep you from whining at him. 

It’s a win in his book. 

“Walk, walk, walk, just walk, walk, walk. Stop whining, you’re so stupid, meh meh meh,” You watch your feet in order not to trip, “Idiot, so stupid, bleh bleh bleh. No need to be so mean. Jeez.”

“Think you could complain a little quieter?”

“I won’t.”

He rolls his eyes. 

After another few minutes, you realize that maybe you should’ve been more quiet. 

But you’ll never admit that. 

Once again, you don’t hear it until you see him freeze. 

To be fair, he was the one that yelled not long ago.

The heavy footfalls soon reach your ears after you stop behind him. 

Again??

Before you can even panic, there’s a harsh grip on your wrist and suddenly he’s taking off through the brush and dragging you with him.

You’re stumbling along behind him, head whipping left and right as you try to figure out where the minotaur is coming from. 

The uncovered parts of your feet are stinging as the pale twigs stab unforgivingly. 

If they’re in pain, you should be too.

The echoing footsteps sound like they’re coming from everywhere all at once. You don’t understand how the demon knows where to go. 

An ear piercing roar makes your chest tighten with horror, the spindly trees quivering along with you. 

Eyes locked on the back of his silky black shirt, you focus only on not falling.

Then he’s pushing you into a tree. 

You wince at the pain in your wings from being pinned between your back and the rough bark. 

His hands are on your shoulders, keeping you in place. 

After the initial shock of pain, you notice that he’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly as he keeps you against the trunk. 

You gulp and breathe carefully, trying not to think about anything but being quiet. 

He looks down at you, black hair falling into his dark eyes as he glares at you before speaking lowly. 

“I told you to be quiet.”

“Sorry,” You whisper back. 

He shakes his head, still catching his breath. 

The sound of something large crashing through the forest makes you freeze up again as he pushes you more into the tree, arms on either side of you and locking you in. 

Almost as if he’s acting like a shield, the only thing that would be between you and the minotaur…

You don’t notice when the loud crashing eventually gets further and further away. 

Neither does he. 

There’s a thick heat in the air, different from that of Hell’s typical weather. 

When he looks down at you again, it only gets worse. 

You’re staring into his eyes, not a single word spoken between you. 

The demon swallows the lump in his throat as he looks at the ridiculous doe-eyed human that has caused him nothing but grief since first they met. 

Then he’s leaning down, eyes searching your face carefully, as if the answer to all of his questions is written there somewhere, if only he can find it.  

When you see him moving closer, you notice that he’s not smirking. He’s not whispering lustful words to try and tempt you into something. Even the look in his eyes is different. 

He’s not trying to confuse, or trick, or threaten you in any way. 

Soft but cold fingers are suddenly cupping just under your jaw, his thumb barely on your left cheek. 

JK leans in even closer. 

You’re drawing him in, like a spider in its web; ready to capture the prize that mistakenly ended up there. 

For the first time, he thinks he might actually be the fly. 

He knows this. 

And yet he doesn’t stop. 

He comes closer still, until his forehead barely touches yours. 

“Damn it.”

His breath fans over your lips.  

What is she doing to him?

What is this mere mortal doing to him?

Unable to resist it when he pulls away, you bring your hands up and cup his cheeks in order to stop his retreat. 

His eyes lock on yours, a look of pure shock in his. 

The warmth of your hands sends something deep into the untouched parts inside of him. Somewhere he has never dared to explore. 

A place so dark and twisted that even he will not acknowledge it.

You pull him closer, nose bumping his and your soft breath warming his skin in a way he never thought was possible. 

He watches silently as you seem to struggle internally with yourself for a moment, eyes closed. 

Then you move and ever so gently place your mouth close to his ear, lips more soft than he’d have ever guessed. 

“Not yet,” You whisper before pulling away, not missing the way he almost chases after your lips when you move back. 

The look in his eyes as he stares into yours sucks the breath out of you. 

Then suddenly he’s moving back, taking his arms from beside you and dragging his eyes away. 

It’s like a switch has gone off in him. The dark curtain has returned in his eyes, the stiff and irritated aura that always surrounds him back stronger than before. 

“You’re so gullible,” He scoffs. 

You say nothing, not denying nor confirming his words. 

You know he’s trying to regain his control. 

You know that he almost gave in, and it was in no way an attempt to make you fall down that slippery slope of temptation. 

It was his own want. 

He’s not going to admit that, though. 

The way he won’t even look at you before gesturing and muttering something about continuing is telling enough. 

-

Just as the long silence was painful enough to make one's ears bleed, the sudden noise is almost a thousand times worse. 

It comes out of nowhere. 

One moment you were walking behind him along the path, the next there were the sounds of screams so tortured that your heart lodged itself in your throat and you stopped cold, the blood running through you freezing in your veins.

You hadn't even realized you were turning around to run the other direction, until you felt a hand grab the neck of your cardigan and unceremoniously yank you back. 

The instinct to fight the demon as he wrestles you into a secure hold is strong, but you're no match against the strong arms that pin your back into his chest. 

Only seconds pass before he's practically lifting you off the path and carrying you behind a thick tree. 

"Calm down, you idiot!" He hisses in your ear. 

"I don't wanna look- please! JK please!" You breathe out, panicky, "Please- please don't make me look, I don't- I can't-" 

The feeling of you shaking in his arms gives him pause for a millisecond before he's back to rolling his eyes at your weakness. 

The tears come before you can even process what's happening. 

Because it's too late. 

You already saw; you're already staring straight at a thin middle-aged man, covered in something red and steaming as he screams while trying to climb out of the deep river of boiling blood that is full of his heartless companions. 

The only reason he never climbs out is because each time he tries; an arrow is shot at him, causing him to shriek again before tumbling back into the thick crimson waves. The other sinners fare no better. 

Centaurs patrol the sides of the river, crossbows at the ready as they shoot mercilessly at anyone that tries to escape. 

Dear Lord, please help me.

An anguished cry falls from your own lips as you try desperately to close your eyes. 

Help me.

He tightens the grip he has on you before turning you both around so that his back is facing the river and all you can see are the once again colorless trees. 

The sight of a weeping angel wrapped in the arms of a demon as he slowly sinks to the ground with her would baffle any living thing. 

"You won’t be able to close your eyes, just look at the trees," He mumbles as you cry uncontrollably. 

‘Can't close your eyes.’

‘Can't close your eyes.’

‘Look at the blood upon your hands.’ 

‘Look at what you chose to do.’ 

‘Would you do it again?’

‘Of course you would-’ 

That haunting voice that entered your mind when you were being thrown around in the second circle creeps back in, sending a burning chill into your bones. 

‘-because look at that blood you drown in.’ 

‘Look at that blood upon your hands.'

‘It's too beautiful to resist.’

‘You hate Him, don't you?’

‘You hate Him because He did this to you.’

‘He created you.’

‘Look at His creation now.’ 

‘Wallowing in the blood of innocent victims.’

‘So pathetic.’

‘But you'd do it again, wouldn't you?’

‘Of course you would-’

Your whole body is shaking like a leaf as you use every ounce of strength in you to push that vile voice from your brain. 

You will not stand to hear it. 

You know who it is now. 

You know those words were not aimed at you, but at the prisoners here. As they were in the second circle. 

They merely happened to get stuck in your head as a side-effect of being present there. 

You will not listen to the poisonous wretch. 

Get out. 

Get out of my head. 

You are not allowed in my mind. 

Get out right now. 

GET! OUT!

JK feels your whole body tense up for a few moments, then you slump against him, no longer fighting. 

You stare blankly at the black and white and gray smudges around you, the sound of screams muffling as you blink slowly. 

"-is it?"

A loud ringing pierces your ears as you stare ahead numbly. 

You can't close your eyes, but at least you aren't watching what is happening behind you. 

"-ell me what's-"

A small smile lifts the corners of your lips when you see the wispy image of two little kids running through the naked trees, their ghostly laughter reaching your ears. 

"-idiot. You n-"

"Apple!"

"Hey-"

"You're late, Apple-"

"Hey!"

"I'm sorry," The mumbled words from your lips make the demon frown in confusion as he gently smacks your forehead. 

"Hey, come to your senses, idiot."

He sighs and adjusts you the best he can with your dead weight as you mumble and stare at something deep in the forest that isn't there. 

When you slump back into his chest, he gives up and leans back with a heavy sigh, his long legs parted to fit your figure in between them, his arms behind him as he leans on his hands, shaking his head in irritation. 

As if the situation could've gotten any worse. 

They must be having fun.

You swallow, your dry throat making it a bit hard to breathe.

You can feel hands grabbing at you as you start to slip, a voice calling to you, but the words are whisked away by the wind. 

I'm sorry. 

I'm so sorry.

I won't let go. 

The rest of the dead forest fades away, soon being replaced by lush bushes full of berries, trees full of long branches that squirrels scamper across, and golden sunlight kissing the soft earth. 

Cold fingers touch your face. 

Warm sun heats up your freezing cheeks.

A chilled breath whispers something softly. 

You want to whisper back. 

The words get stuck in your throat. 

You don't have to be scared anymore.

I can take care of you now.

I promise.

I'll never let go again.

The sound of a bubbling brook reaches your ears, followed by little giggles that float through the air and dance through the ruffling leaves of the apple tree. 

They sound so happy. 

You blink slowly, the smile on your face growing a little more even as your consciousness slips from you. 

Then you can see them once more. 

Running. 

Running through the trees.

There's the swing, gently swinging back and forth before jolting when the little girl grabs the rope handles, laughing loudly before a squeal leaves her lips. 

The boy is there, touching her shoulder gently, "Get on, I'll push you."

She climbs onto the swing as he holds it steady, then he moves behind it and holds the ropes tightly and walks backwards. 

"Hold on tight, Apple. This is going to be the highest one yet!"

The small girl has a huge radiant smile on her face as she kicks her feet excitedly, waiting patiently as her best friend pulls the swing back farther than usual before letting go. 

As he pushes her, the smile on his face widens at the sound of her joy. 

"Higher!"

The blue sky and fluffy white clouds peek through the leaves above her, a mesmerizing view. 

This must be what it feels like to fly. 

She closes her eyes and pictures soaring up and up. 

She has wings like a bird. 

Maybe they're blue. 

Maybe they're black.

Maybe they're white. 

She looks down at the tops of the trees, the tufts of green that look so different from up above. 

Nothing can reach her up here. 

Here she can laugh. 

Here she can cry. 

The sun is so close that it reaches out to kiss her cheek as she flies by. 

Here there is no pain. 

There is no fear. 

Here she is free. 

She calls to him. 

He can be free too. 

She calls for him to come have fun. 

He has wings like a bird. 

Maybe they're blue. 

Maybe they're white.

Maybe they're black. 

It's okay. 

Nothing can reach them up here.

Here they can laugh, and cry, and love. 

Here there is no pain. 

There is no fear. 

Here she can live. 

______________________________

a/n: tysm for being so patient loves, it's good to finally be back 😭

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