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munsons-curls · 2 years

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Black Dahlias

Pairing: Ghostface!Eddie Munson x F! Reader (18+)

Contains: 18+!! Heavy, graphic smut. Rough, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral sex (M/F receiving), praise kink, slight degradation, breeding kink if you squint, possessive!eddie, mean!eddie, slight innocence kink. Minor ghostface!steve. CANON DIVERGENT.

Trigger warnings: DUBCON, knife play, stalking, panty theft, drinking and drug consumption, emetophobia, allusions to sexual assault and child abuse, graphic depictions of murder, violence and gore. <-PLEASE HEED THESE TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!

A/N: happy All Hallows’ Eve!! 🎃 thank you so so so much to T @hotchs-bitch for leaving me 112 comments on this Google doc despite having her own 17k word WIP. I love u.

Somebody’s watching you.

Your eyes dart around the open courtyard, scanning the area for anything, anybody that stands out, but the unease rolling in your stomach dissipates as quickly as it arrives.

In the distance, you spot a tall figure lighting a cigarette under the awning of the drama block. His dark, curly hair sits at his leather and denim clad shoulders, ringed fingers bringing a cigarette to his mouth. He’s initially a cutting figure, intimidating and looming but you find yourself drawn to him in a magnetic way.

You meet his eyes briefly, your attention ripped away when a girl with short, dirty blonde hair rushes past you, splashing you with her converse. She windmills to a stop and begins apologising profusely, running back to you.

“Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, I’m so sorry.” She rasps. “I totally didn’t even see that stupid puddle and now you’re soaking!”

“No harm done.” You smile, downcast. “I was already wet.”

She looks you up and down, her eyes widening at you soaking through your clothes. “I’m so sorry. Do you have, like. A ride or something? How long have you been waiting here?”

“Since class let out. I’m just waiting for the rain to clear to walk home.” You smile.

“Okay. Forget it. C’mon. You’re coming with me.” You’re being dragged away by a well-meaning hand before you can protest, leading you to a dark red BMW. “C’mon!” She insists when you drag your heels, pulling you down the hilly path to the car.

You curiously look back for the figure in the distance, but he’s gone by the time you manage to pull free of your new friend.

“I’m Robin. And that head of hair you see is Steve.” She says, motioning to the driver in a green uniform vest.

You greet Steve quickly and he mock-salutes you with two fingers, offering you a tight smile as Robin ferries you into the back of the car, quickly taking her place in the passenger side. She shakes out her hair, water droplets splattering Steve.

He squirms and wipes his face before starting the car. “I’ve been waiting here for ten minutes, Robin. I’ve told you—if you want rides from me, the least you can do is be on time.”

Evidently, Robin bringing in strays isn’t new to Steve, he doesn’t seem at all irritated by an unknown girl dripping rainwater in the back of his BMW. He’s more irritated by the wait.

“Vickie needed help with a special project! Besides, class actually let out fifteen minutes ago, so technically we’re both late.”

You stifle a laugh in the backseat, and your driver’s eyes flit up to yours through the rear view mirror. “Who’s your friend?”

“That. Is actually a great question.” She muses. “We just met and I couldn’t stand to leave her out in the rain. I didn’t get your name.” She turns around to face you. “Did I?”

She seems harmless enough, a little frazzled and chaotic, but rumours about this town put you on edge. The cult-like unsolved murder of Chrissy Cunningham two months ago still sits like a layer of smog over the town, a simultaneous refusal of the townspeople to acknowledge it—or let it go.

You know the guy accused was cleared. How or why—you’re not privy to yet.

You will be soon enough.

You smile and tell Robin your name.

“Are you new to town? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” Steve asks.

“Yeah, my dad took a job at that new state lab, so I transferred in.”

“I see. And where am I taking you lovely ladies today?”

Robin’s face crinkles and she rolls her eyes, a silent plea to ignore her friend and his overt-chivalry. “Do you have the video for Nance’s?” Steve nods. “Then we can go straight there.”

Your brows furrow. “I’m sorry. Where are we going?”

“Our friend Nancy hosts a movie marathon every Friday with a few other friends of ours.” She adds proudly, “Courtesy of Steve and I — we work at Family Video, over at the strip mall on Franklin and Marsh.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. You’re gonna love it, it’s great!”

“Oh, no. No, I really appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t want to intrude, I don’t think your friend would be too happy about somebody just, y’know. Waltzing in.” You chuckle.

“Oh, trust me. You don’t know Nancy. She loves playing hostess, and she’ll love you. Don’t worry.” Robin reassures you, pulling down her visor mirror.

Steve hums, agreeing with Robin. “She’s right. Half of Hawkins practically has a key to the Wheeler’s. Just, y’know. Don’t tell Ted.”

You smile awkwardly, settling in a little better in the backseat. You don’t interject in the conversation much, Robin thankfully takes care of that for you as she rambles to Steve about Vickie and her new boyfriend.

You’re content to let the heaters warm your skin, and to watch the rows of houses go by, cautiously relieved at the possibility of some new friends after two months of loneliness.

At the Wheeler’s, you introduce yourself politely to Mrs Wheeler, offering a smile to the distracted man in front of the TV. Steve looks at you, mouths, “Ted.” And you nod in understanding, suppressing a laugh.

Mrs Wheeler hands you a warm towel and ushers the three of you down into the basement.

“Nothing too scary.” She says pointedly, looking at Steve. ��If I have to sleep in the same bed as my twelve year old son again, there will be hell to pay, Steven.”

“Yes, ma’am. I promise. Nothing too scary.”

You follow Robin and Steve down into the basement; cozily decorated with throw blankets, cushy rugs, a sofa and a loveseat bracketing a TV on the far edge. Sconces and low lamps light the space, illuminating the group huddled in front of the TV.

“Who’s ready for Halloween II?” Steve exclaims, fishing out a VHS from under his windbreaker.

“Ah, so he lives!” Says a theatric, but deep voice behind you. “You’re twenty minutes late, Harrington.”

You let the voice wash over you before you turn around. Your breath hitches when you match the voice to the same figure who was lighting a cigarette under the gym awning just a little while ago.

You study him now, up close. Shoulder length, curly hair, sharp bone structure. High cheekbones and an angular jawline, a strong neck, full, red lips and most disarmingly, big, brown eyes. He’s intense up close, but it’s not an intensity you necessarily have a desire to run from.

His brow raises at your inquisitive gaze—you’ve been staring. “This one of your strays, Harrington? Or is this Buck’s doing?”

Steve gestures vaguely before walking away, leaving Robin—Buck—to make your introduction before joining Steve too. You pull your towel closer to your body, goosebumps erupting on your skin under an intense gaze.

He extends a large hand, chain link bracelet falling around his wrist. “Hey. Eddie.”

You take his hand, warm and large, in yours, letting his fingers wrap around the back of your palm firmly. Your voice is hoarse when you tell him your name and he laughs. A throaty sound that emanates from his chest, a grin taking over his face.

He has dimples.

“Yeah, I know.”

Your heart skids to a stop. “You do?”

“Yeah? Buck just told me.” He replies, looking at you quizzically. He wraps his hands around your upper arms, manoeuvring you so he can slide past, his chest pressing against your back. His leathery, piney scent drifts to your nose. “You comin’?”

You nod meekly, watching him take a seat on the couch, legs spread apart as he adjusts his hips and sinks down in his seat. Fondness spreads through you at the awkward, oddly charismatic way he carries himself. He lays an arm over the back of the couch leisurely, opening himself up as Nancy winds the VHS.

Magnetic as he may be, there’s a shroud of something around him, something dark that extends past his appearance.

You make a resolution not to find out, to get through this year without mishap, but when Nancy takes the last viable seat, you’re left to take a seat next to the guy you promised to swear off.

Eddie stiffens when you take the seat next to him, awkwardly tensing and stealing looks. Robin offers you a comforting smile as the movie starts, and while you stay firm on wanting as much distance between you and Eddie as you can manage, the heat between you slowly builds, and the distance becomes smaller. The pull towards each other becomes heady until you’re pressed up against one another, your shoulder tucked into Eddie’s arm, your head under his chin.

You feel his heart rate spike at the jumpscares, matching yours, but where you wear fear and apprehension on your face—Eddie wears excitement.

——————————————————————————

Somebody’s watching you.

It’s a thought that crosses your mind multiple times a day, every day for around ten months now. It starts as a fleeting occurrence, something you can chalk up to anxiety, but as the days pass, the rolling unease in your stomach, and the pressure on the back of your neck becomes more insistent.

Somebody’s watching you.

It’s near constant; following you at home, through the school hallways, free periods, the mall. It’s worse at night. With fall on the horizon, the days are shorter, and in the dead of night, you feel as though there are eyes on you, crawling up your body like little fire ants.

Curtains and blinds don’t help. The feeling is heavier when you can’t see what lurks outside.

A heavy thump from downstairs tears you from a deep sleep, the sound grabbing you by the chest and slamming you into consciousness. You sit idly for a few seconds, allowing your brain to catch up and your heart to settle down before you brave breaching your covers.

You glance at the clock.

02:22.

It’s not until you’re several shaky steps towards your bedroom door that you realise what the sound was.

Somebody closed your front door.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, making sure you’re wide awake. You reach for the door with trembling hands and step outside into the lit hallway—you can’t sleep in a dark home when you’re alone.

“Dad?” You call out.

You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing for his voice to call back so badly, you almost imagine it. He’s not due back for another five days, and when you lean over the bannister to look at the entryway, and don’t miraculously see his shoes—your blood runs ice cold.

Somebody was in your house.

There’s an idiom associated with horror movies.

When you hear a strange noise, going to investigate is an almost sure fire way to get yourself killed and have your face plastered on the front page of tomorrow’s paper. But your feet carry you downstairs anyway, curiosity outweighing rational thought. You at least want to know if you need to get the hell out of your house, and with no escape upstairs, you’re safer downstairs.

The floorboards under the stairs creak with your weight as you pad down to the front door, double checking the lock. You slowly check the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen when a chilling thought occurs to you.

You freeze.

The door closing could have been a person going out.

Or a person coming in.

Ice freezes down your spine, cracking your resolve as your heart jumps to your mouth. Suddenly, the kitchen phone rings and you yelp, body recoiling at the sound.

“Hello?”

“You want to play a game?” A voice leers.

“What?”

“I’m just messin’,” replies a more familiar voice. “What are you doin’ up this late?”

“Eddie?”

“No, the fuckin’ Grim Reaper.” He deadpans. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. What are you doin’ up’?”

“Nothing. Just needed some water.” You reply absent-mindedly, filling up your glass.

You’re here, you might as well.

The water replenishing your dehydrated body kicks your brain into gear, a thought occurring to you. “Wait. Why did you call me if you didn’t know I’d be awake?”

“I saw your lights on.”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean, you ‘saw my lights on’?”

“Relax, 21 Questions. I’m doin’ a run for one of my regulars and I was in your neighbourhood. Thought I’d drive by and see if you were all good since you were so tetchy about a week alone. Saw your lights on—gave you a call. That okay?”

You smile at his gruff gesture.

You’ve learned that about Eddie in the past ten months. He’s well-meaning, but every sweet gesture is undercut by a layer of sarcasm and gruffness. You don’t blame him for his coldness.

Despite moving to town two months after Chrissy’s death, you were quickly made privy to everything that happened, and the aftermath, you saw for yourself. Eddie, despite being cleared, still subjected to whispers and dirty looks, branded a devil worshipper and a cult worshipper and a murderer.

Graffiti on his locker, snide comments in the halls, even his business took a hit. His only saving graces were Hopper, who’d cleared him, his Uncle Wayne and your group of your friends—and to a lesser degree—you.

“Of course that’s okay.” You reply.

He makes a non-committal noise. “You doing okay, though?”

A part of you wants to tell him you’re scared, maybe have him blow off his weed run and come keep you company. There’s a safeness with Eddie, but you decide against it.

Your voice pinches when you speak. “Yeah. All good.”

A moment of silence stretches between you, almost like he doesn’t believe you. He breaks the silence finally.

“You sure?”

“Mhm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.” You finish and slide the phone back into the hook.

You replenish your glass of water, content to explain the slamming sound away as yet another coincidence—maybe as a dream your brain confused with reality when you were coming to.

As you set the glass on the kitchen island, your eyes catch a glimpse of something behind the roll of tissue. You slowly reach forward, moving the tissue out of the way to reveal a single flower with thin, dark maroon petals and a pink centre.

A black dahlia.

You pluck it from the countertop with a shaky breath, examining it under the light, and drop it when you feel a pull at the back of your neck, the feeling of somebody’s eyes on you returning again, making you feel uneasy.

You don’t spare the flower, nor the window behind you a second look, the glass of water left on the marble as you grab a knife and walk firmly to the couch in the living room. You draw the curtains and switch on the TV, flick through until a rerun of a movie plays on mute in the background, lulling you into as deep of a sleep as you can manage in the circumstances.

But somebody’s watching you.

——————————————————————————

You drag your body through the hallways the next morning, eyes weighed down like dumbbells and head fuzzy from the lack of sleep. You let your head rest against the cool metal of your locker to offer you some relief as your eyes close, succumbing to your exhaustion.

“Hey!” Nancy’s voice chirps. She looks at you perplexed when you jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You blink heavily and pull your locker open. “No, it’s fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

“Did you stay up late studying for Mr Haskell’s?” She asks, propping her hardback textbooks against her hip.

Shit.

“God, I wish. I actually forgot.” You sigh, grabbing your binders.

Your peripheral registers something falling out of your locker and drifting to the floor as you take out your things. Nancy’s quicker than you, balances her books on her hip and bends to pick up the item, your heart skidding to a halt when you see it in her hand.

Another black dahlia.

You feel the blood drain from your face, your stomach dropping and fingers going numb.

He was here. You’re being followed.

You feel that ominous feeling return, the feeling that you’re being watched, the crowd in the hallways offering you no solace. It feels like walking through a group of people with an invisible stab wound, nobody any the wiser of your impending doom except for you.

Nancy spins the flower from the stem, a smile taking over her face as she extends it to you. “A dahlia… nice. Who’s the guy?” She asks in a sing-song voice.

Your voice feels far away when you answer her. “There’s no guy.”

“Sure. She says sardonically. “You have flowers in your locker but no secret admirer. I want details.” As she walks away, she nods as an acknowledgement to somebody behind you.

You squeeze the flower between your hand just as a strong pair of hands pat, or rather, jostle your shoulders.

“What’s this I hear about a secret admirer?”

“Christ, Eddie. You almost gave me a heart attack.” You mutter, stuffing the flower into your pocket.

His eyes narrow as he scans your face. His gaze is intense, but it offers you an odd kind of relief— his exuberance oddly cancelling out the nauseating fear clouding you.

Leaning against Nancy’s locker with his hands in his pockets, he asks, “Why so tetchy? You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He leans in, looks down at you with a gaze that makes your skin prickle, a feeling you’ve had often during your friendship.

He taps your shin with his foot. “You know, you’re cute when you lie.”

Your breath hitches. He smells like leather and pine, and he’s tall and broad and warm, and if you leaned into him just a little, you know that some of your tension would at least melt away.

“Really, Eddie. I’m okay.” You smile, squeezing his hand.

You retract it quickly, Eddie stiffening when Carol saunters past you, accidentally tripping over Tina’s leg to bump into you with a sickeningly sweet, “sorry, honey.”

Your first instinct is to push her right back. You’d love nothing more than to pull out a chunk of her hair after what she and her asshole friends did to you. You’re smarter than that, though—she’d paint herself as the victim and you’d end up in detention with a serious mark in your permanent record.

You roll your eyes, muttering a defiant, ‘bitch’, under your breath.

“What was that about?” Eddie asks, jerking his chin towards Carol and Tommy.

“Nothing.” You clip.

He narrows his eyes expectantly, giving you yet another opportunity to reveal to him what he already knows.

Around a month ago, after a fight at a party, Steve had ended up crashing at Eddie’s for a few days after being arrested—courtesy of his ex best friend Tommy crying over a busted lip. Hopper had reassured Steve it was for appearances, that he’d be free to go as soon as his dad picked him up, secretly knowing that Tommy had most likely deserved the right hook.

Mr. Harrington though, had kicked Steve out after making his bail. It was then Steve had told Eddie about the incident at the party, about how Robin had called him absolutely furious after Tommy had tried to force himself on you.

He’d gotten a knee to the balls from you, Robin and Nancy piling on, and a right hook from Steve, but the damage had been done. By the next morning, Tina and Carol had worked their magic, branding you as the whore who tried to steal Carol’s boyfriend.

Eddie watches Tommy and Carol keenly now, an expression on his face that you’ve come to see more often recently. It’s as though the warmth drains from his eyes, leaving behind an unfeeling presence before he snaps back.

The warmth returns to his eyes as quickly as it disappears, working its way to you as if by an invisible line. “You can tell me.” He says softly. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Your chest constricts. “Eh. Apparently, I’m a whore. It’s whatever.”

His jaw ticks again. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re about as pure as they come.” He marvels, gaze lingering on your lips. His hand absently brushes some hair behind your ear, and he freezes, letting it hang awkwardly.

You huff, slapping his wrist away. “Okay. Yoda? You sound like an idiot. This isn’t the 1800’s—women have and enjoy sex, you know?”

He snaps back into his detached ruse, leaning against the locker to play with his rings. He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, suggestive lilt to his voice.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me more about that?”

“Dude, you’re nasty.”

“Maybe.” His eyes darken before he inhales deeply. “Listen, I got a free period, so I’m gonna run. I have a business meeting that is most urgent and requires my utmost attention.”

“Eddie-“

He’s already walking away, his broad back heading for the doors at the end of the hall. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll be back by lunch, Sweetheart.”

You smile to yourself and reach back into your pocket, having temporarily forgotten about your present. You wish you could hold onto that feeling of safety and happiness that Eddie gives you a little longer, bottle it up and use it for when your anxiety reaches its peaks.

Being around Eddie always has that effect on you, try as you might to push it down.

——————————————————————————

“Turn on the news.” Nancy hisses through the crackly phone. “Now!”

“Christ, Nance. Do you even know what time it is? It’s barely light outside.” You grumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Forget about the time, just turn on your TV!”

“Okay! Okay, gimme a second.” You groan.

You rush downstairs for the TV remote and flick through the channels until you get to the news. On the screen, police and ambulance sirens paint the scene red and blue, police tape cordoning off a house just a few blocks from yours. You turn the volume up and catch the last few words from the reporter.

“—Tragedy rocks Hawkins once again, as the bodies of two teenagers, Carol Perkins, and her boyfriend Thomas Hagan were found butchered in the early hours of this morning.”

The words go off like a bomb in your ear, the floor giving out from under your feet as you slump down on the sofa, shakily clutching the remote.

“Holy shit. Holy shit, holy fucking shit.” You murmur.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

Your voice sounds tinny when you speak. “They were murdered?”

“Butchered.”

“God, I know I said I wanted to see her head on a spike but this is awful. I can’t believe somebody would do that.”

A shiver runs down your spine at your proximity to the victims—despite your vitriolic hatred for the both of them, Carol and Tommy are—were—people you saw everyday. You can’t say anybody deserves to be butchered.

“Can you meet Robin, Jonathan and me at my place in an hour? We’re gonna go get some answers.” Nancy asks.

“Isn’t that a reporter’s job? Or the PD?” You ask, alarmed.

“I wanna major in journalism, that basically makes me half a reporter already. Just meet at my place in an hour. Bring sensible shoes.”

Any room for negotiation goes out of the window as the line goes dead. You set the now clammy phone down on the hook and stay rooted in spot, staring blankly at the TV as the news reel plays out in the background.

“—Police and Fire were called to the scene at around 3:00am when Perkins’ parents arrived home to a fire. Upon their arrival, they found their home in disarray and the two teenagers dead. Hawkins PD are still combing the scene for evidence and are expected to make an announcement later this evening. One thing is for sure though, it seems that death and tragedy are never too far where Hawkins is concerned.”

You’d completely forgotten about the dark cloud that had been looming over Hawkins this past year. These new killings seem especially insidious with the anniversary of Chrissy Cunningham’s death approaching in just a few days.

Becoming cognizant of Chrissy, you want to reach out to Eddie to ask him how he’s doing following this news. You’ve no doubt that this time of year is likely to dredge up some horrific memories for him—it’s only been a year since he was labelled as the town pariah—ostracised through no fault of his own.

This won’t help.

He’ll be subjected to looks in the street again and whispers as he walks by, as though he’s a stain on the town. He’ll be scapegoated. Again.

You want to reach out to Eddie for him, sure. But there’s also a selfish undercurrent to your thoughts; Eddie’s an increasingly comforting figure in your life and you need him to knock you back on track, especially if Nancy’s going to be critiquing your journalism skills this morning.

A hit of something to get your head right.

You hit three on your speed dial, put the coffee on while the line rings and make your way upstairs.

His voice crackles through the phone and has the strangest effect by offering you almost-immediate relief. “Who the hell is this?” He grumbles, voice thick with sleep.

It makes your heart pick up pace.

You stifle a laugh. “Eddie, it’s me.”

He moans, and you picture him with mussed hair, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His voice is still thick when he talks; though, much less irritable this time. “Mornin’, sunshine. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m guessing you didn’t see the news?”

“Nah. Not yet at least. Late night. What’s going on?”

“It’s Carol and Tommy. They found their bodies this morning, they were killed.” You whisper the last part in a hushed tone, like verbalising it will somehow bring the curse to you.

“Wait, what did you just say? They were murdered?” You hear rustling on the other end and assume Eddie’s making a mad dash to the living room in his boxers to turn on the TV. “Do they know who did it?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not yet—“

“—Hey, man. Turn that up?”

You pause in your doorway, brows furrowing. “Who are you talking to?”

“Harrington—he got into another pissing match with his dad a few nights ago, told him he could have the couch while Wayne was at work.”

“Christ, dude. They’re saying they were butchered.” Steve says, muffled in the background.

You straighten the edges of your bedsheets and start to pick out the sensible shoes Nancy requested, zoning in on another pair you’ll inevitably have to loan to Robin.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, I thought you already knew. I just…wanted to check in.”

Eddie pauses before he speaks hesitantly. “Check in?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s coming up to a year since all of that stuff happened, and I can’t imagine this is gonna be easy for you, y’know? I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A surge of warmth spreads inside him. Rarely does he feel truly content or peaceful, especially as of late; he has enough emotional baggage to last a lifetime. But he does feel blessed to have sporadic moments of lightness—short—but always with you.

“You sayin’ you care about me or something?” He murmurs, no doubt careful to avoid Steve’s ears but you can hear the smile in his voice.

You snicker, your eyes falling to your slightly open underwear drawer. You go to close it with an absent-minded push of your hips when your eyes catch something.

Your heart plummets like a lead weight, a shot of dread piercing your chest.

“Hello? You there?” Eddie calls out, but your hands are trembling.

Stuffed in your underwear drawer, deliberately wrapped inside a pair of white cotton panties, is another black dahlia.

“Eddie, I’m gonna have to call you back.” You squeak.

His voice shifts. “You okay? Something wrong?”

“Fine. I’ll talk to you later.” You clip, the phone landing with a thud against your mattress.

You reach for the flower, gingerly unwrapping it from the white cotton only to reveal a small note tucked under the stem. Nausea claws at your stomach and invades your throat, leaving your head tingly and eyes spotty.

Black sharpie against red paper reads;

“The things we do for love. Be seeing you soon, my flower. I have some business to take care of first.”

It's as direct a threat to you as you’ve had so far, but there’s an insinuation there too. An icy thought sends chills through your veins. You may be responsible for Carol and Tommy’s deaths which is in itself a steel weight, but this note doesn’t indicate any sign of the violence stopping.

If anything, it connotes the opposite.

You can’t explain the paranoia and the flowers away, can’t live in the content grey safety of denial anymore. He was here.

In your room. Rifling through your underwear drawer. Watching you sleep.

Could he have touched you?

Are you the business he has to take care of?

Your stomach rolls, and you run to the bathroom to empty your guts into the toilet, gagging until the remnants of last night’s barely-there-dinner are gone and you’re shivering and cold on the tiled floor.

You’re hit with the feeling of somebody watching you again, pressure tugging at the back of your neck like tiny threads under your skin. Your eyes dart out of the window but you don’t see anything.

Or anybody.

You never do.

——————————————————————————

Your investigation with Robin and Nancy turns up nothing except more disturbing information, which you grimly conclude could well predict your own demise. You’re running on fumes, paranoid and scared for your life, the walk up the stairs to get into school seeming like a chore.

“Tommy went first.” Robin tells Eddie the following morning.

“What?” He asks, dodging Robin’s attempt to snatch the cigarette out of his mouth. She tries again, but he dodges again, manoeuvring you to walk between them.

“Yeah. We overheard Hopper and Callahan over the radio. He was shot in both knees first, tied to a chair, gagged, then stabbed. His insides…on the outside.”

Eddie’s face contorts, not so much in horror, but in mild disgust as he exhales a cloud of smoke. It seems Tommy had enemies in just about every circle except for his own; and despite your best intentions not to think it, you conclude that somebody finally decided to take matters into their own hands.

“And Carol? Stabbed in the back, chest, and neck. Gutted and tied to a tree. Can you believe that shit? This guy is serious.” Robin continues.

She’s managed to dig up a rubber band from inside her pocket and snaps it against her wrist, each slap against her skin housing a migraine deeper in your temple.

You wince.

“Careful, Buck. Almost sounds like you admire him. Besides, how do you know it’s a guy?” Eddie asks, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Statistics.” Nancy interjects, clicking her locker shut. “Violent kills are almost always executed by men. That, and the fact that it would take a pretty huge guy to hog-tie Tommy, and then string Carol’s dead body up on a tree.”

“Alright.” You feel nausea rising in your stomach again. Slamming your locker shut, you squeeze your eyes closed. “Can we not? I feel sick.”

“You look it.” Robin deadpans, raising her hands in defence when you, Nancy and Eddie cut her a look. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it in a you-look-awful way, I’m just saying you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

Eddie’s hand cups your cheek, gently turning your face to his. “Yeah. Have you been sleeping?” He asks, cigarette tucked between his lips. His thumb runs over the delicate skin under your eyes. “You look so tired.”

You tense up at the sudden contact from Eddie, who, despite being notoriously tactile, isn't somebody you’d ever describe as affectionate except maybe with Dustin and the kids.

You allow yourself a moment of weakness to melt into his touch, his warm skin and icy rings, but your eyes dart to Robin and Nancy who share a wry look. You become aware of the droves of people staring and whispering as they go by too, and suddenly your throat feels tight.

“I’m fine.” You clip, prying yourself away from his tender touch and he reacts by awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets, hurt by the sudden change.

He knows it’s because people are staring, he just hadn’t expected you to care. You can’t handle the eyes on you—not when there’s somebody breathing down your neck.

The rational part of you knows that it’s because you’re in such close proximity to Eddie, who’s been re-subjected to dirty looks and hostile whispers since Tommy and Carol died yesterday. It seems that despite his name being cleared in good faith last year, the people of Hawkins merely needed a reason to scapegoat Eddie again, all too quick to spit the words devil worshipper and cult leader his way.

Eddie brushes the looks off, his jaw tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing, shoulders tight like a coil as he takes a deep drag of his cigarette.

“Fuckin’ morons.” He mutters under his breath. “A serial killer walks the streets of Hawkins but sure…” He mock lunges at a group of lowerclassmen who flinch and disperse down the hallway, earning more looks from passersby. “Let's all gather around to stare at the freak.”

“Mr. Munson,” Higgins’ voice booms, his eyes falling to the cigarette in Eddie’s mouth. “You can either put that out, or I can put it out for you—and while I do relish in giving you detention—I no longer wish to see you roam these halls for yet another year. I’m frankly sick of seeing your face.”

“Oh believe me. The feeling’s mutual, asshole.” Eddie grumbles, a begrudging appeasement on his face. He theatrically plucks the cigarette from his mouth and puts it out against the metal rim of the bin behind you. “Guy’s a pain in my sack.”

Robin’s cackle is cut short when a sudden buzz crawls over the student body. It takes over like a swarm of bees, students yelling and clamouring in the direction of the football field. In the distance, you see Argyle and a pale Jonathan cut through the crowd, right as Mr Higgins receives a radio transmission and pushes through the horde himself.

You narrow your eyes, your group pulling Jonathan and Argyle to the side of the stampede. “What’s going on?”

“Dudes, they found another body.” Argyle tells the group.

The news hits you with the subtlety of a crashing train, leaving the words ricocheting in your ear. You fight to keep your composure, doing the maths in your head to figure out where on your shadow’s roster you fall.

“What? Who? Where? How? How do you guys know?” Nancy asks in rapid succession, grabbing Jonathan and Argyle with a hand each.

“I was walking down to take pictures out on the football field for the yearbook, and saw what I thought was a doll or a scarecrow or something. Just hanging from the goalpost.” Jonathan pants weakly.

“Yeah. Got closer and realised it was a real person. A lady.” Argyle adds, shaking his head.

Eddie huffs, leaning against his locker. “A lady?”

“Tina.” Jonathan corrects. “Somebody already tipped off the cops—Hopper pulled up right as we saw her body. She was in her pyjamas, you guys. All covered in blood.” He runs a stressed hand through his hair, bending to put his hands on his knees. “I think I’m gonna throw up.” He wheezes.

Argyle rubs his back sympathetically, while Nancy kicks herself into high gear. Rifling through her locker, she grabs her school newspaper notebook and best ballpoint pen—the kind she reserves for sleuthing and writing speeches—and turns heel.

“I swear, if you want something done right…” she mutters and she’s a flash of a perm as she scurries away, joining the now well-informed student body of the attraction outside.

The gaggle eventually dies down and gets filtered into the gym, squashed together like sardines in a can; some taking up the bleachers, some using the benches, the lowerclassmen claiming the floor as their sitting space.

Eddie tucks you into his arm on the sidelines where the rest of your friends sit in an effort to conserve space. He balances his copy of Lord of The Rings on his knee, the spine snapped, edges frayed and tattered, various motor oil stains soaked into the paper with rows and rows of annotations littering the page.

At best, it's well-loved—at worst, it’s unreadable—but it’s one of Eddie’s prized possessions and it shows.

Higgins’ voice through the speaker silences the hustle of whispering students, rumours and gossip dying down almost immediately.

“All classes are henceforth suspended until further notice. When prompted, please collect all important belongings from your lockers and proceed to leave in an orderly fashion. Police Chief Hopper also has an announcement to make—please remain where you are for now.”

Cheers for class suspension are cut short when Hopper swiftly implements a strict citywide 9:00pm curfew.

“Any citizens reported to be out after this time will be brought in by an officer and questioned before release. It is vital you heed this curfew as it has been put in place for your own safety. Please report any concerns directly to the Police Department or call 9-1-1. Thank you.”

A resigned groan makes its way through the crowd as students filter out, Tommy’s old friend group uncharacteristically quiet; haunted by the news. It tracks—the only discernible pattern so far is that the killer has a vendetta against their group of friends.

It’s your own entanglement that doesn't track.

“So. What’s the rundown?” Robin asks Nancy as you make your way down to the parking lot.

Nancy looks pale. “Tina was cut from chin to stomach through her nightgown.” She says, shakily. “But there’s more.”

Your blood runs cold. “More?”

“Yeah. It’s not confirmed yet, but I overheard Hopper telling Higgins they found another body this morning on the other side of town. They said the description matched Fred Benson.”

“The guy who did the student paper with you?” Eddie asks.

Nancy bristles. Her relationship with Fred had soured last year after he insisted on covering Chrissy’s murder, putting Eddie at the forefront. Nancy had refused—then fired him.

“Yeah.” She goes on. “Parents didn’t even know he was missing.”

Nancy’s words only stand to remind you that you too could be murdered and strung up like a carcass for the town to see—and nobody would be any the wiser until it was too late.

You should tell somebody. Anybody. But your mind stops you, a terrifying thought crossing your mind. Telling your friends could put them in danger too. Taking out entire friendship groups seems like a day’s work for this killer, and if anything happened to your friends, you’d never forgive yourself.

“I’m gonna wait for Will and the rest of those guys, make sure they’re okay, but we’ll reconvene at Nance’s?” Jonathan asks.

“Wait—you heard Hopper. There’s a curfew.” You say.

Nancy shrugs. “Safety in numbers. C’mon.”

Eddie pats your shoulder as he lights another cigarette. “I’ll catch up with you guys later—I left my briefcase inside. I’ll bring the beer to Nance’s.”

“Somebody’s gotta tell Steve, does he even know what’s going on?” You ask.

“I’ll take care of it.” Eddie says, voice thick with smoke. “I gotta swing by Family Video anyhow, it appears Keith is in the market for my recreational sleeping aids.”

Argyle gestures to Eddie who gives him the affirmative—and you shake your head. A serial killer walks the streets and your friends are making sure there’s enough weed at an unmandated ‘gathering’.

“Be safe?” You call out to Eddie.

He kicks his leg, gives you a mock salute. “Always am. You too.”

——————————————————————————

“Well. I’m just saying, y’know. There are certain rules when it comes to slashers.” Jonathan mumbles through a mouthful of chips.

“Is that what this is? A slasher?” Steve asks, adjusting in his seat.

The basement air smells like weed and cheap beer, the sourness of the salsa that Robin opened twenty minutes ago cutting through the stench. Your stomach is already in pieces with worry, talk of a slasher movie and the dank air does little to quell your nerves.

“Yeah. I mean. Think about it.” He munches. “You got a guy in a mask goin’ around, killing a bunch of teenagers, hanging them up on goalposts?”

Argyle’s content to listen, offering a grunt of agreement here and there, but he pipes up. “Yeah. Plus, y’know the whole haunted past in a small town thing. No offence, my dude.” He says to Eddie.

Eddie raises his brows, shakes his head. No harm done.

“So, these rules then. Let’s have ‘em.” Steve says. “What do you got?”

“Well. The first is that everybody’s a suspect. Everybody. That’s a given.”

“Yeah. No shit.” Steve nods, huffing a laugh.

Jonathan stands up, his eyes wide. “Now the rules to surviving a slasher movie—well. That’s a whole different ball game.”

“Go on.”

“Rule number one: never have sex.”

You catch Eddie’s eye from across the room. It’s something you’d noticed pretty much the day you met; oftentimes you’d be engrossed in something, or just happen to look up at Eddie to find him already watching you. His gaze makes your skin prickle with intensity, blood warming under your skin.

Despite being in a room full of people, your looks always seem like they’re reserved just for the two of you, an invisible string tying you to him and pulling you closer despite the physical distance remaining the same.

“—Big no.” Jonathan continues. “Sex equals death. Slasher and horror symbolism in general relies heavily on the innocent virgin as a survivor trope. Promiscuity guarantees death.”

Eddie’s gaze lingers on yours, his elbows perched on his knees, chin tucked into his chest. He looks good in this light, full lips casting a shadow, his eyes transfixed on you. You lose your nerve and look away, but can’t fight the desire to glance at him again.

He’s still watching you with almost drunken eyes that you attribute to the beer, though you know he can handle his alcohol.

“Number two: no drinking or doing drugs. It’s an extension of number one—the sin factor. It’s a sin!”

“Oh great. Guess we’re all fucked.” Steve mutters, taking a swig of his beer. “It’s bullshit, man. This isn’t a slasher and no serial killer is going to know if you’re a boring, sober, virgin.”

Eddie finally averts his gaze, picking at the frayed denim on his jeans. “Byers, you know I make my living supplying recreational substances to those in need.”

“—And Steve has deflowered every legal girl who likes men, all the way up to like, Fort Wayne.” Robin snorts, raising her drink.

“Well—not exactly.” Steve squints. “But they both make a good point. By your so-called rules, Byers; Eddie and I would’ve been the first ones to go.”

You shake your head, feeling a massive tangent coming and decide to cut out while you can. The thought of going home to an empty house fills you with dread, especially with the recent uptick in dead bodies. You can’t sleep, not when your ears pick up the smallest noises and twist them into sinister scenarios.

The wind howling through the gaps in your windows sounds eerily like somebody screaming, the floorboards settling make you see an intruder out of the corner of your eye.

You’re exhausted.

Nancy follows you upstairs, turning you by your arm. “Hey, you doing okay?”

“Yeah. It’s a little much down there.” You inhale deeply now that the air is thinner and fresher.

“You know what they get like when they drink.” Nancy laughs. “Do you wanna stay over tonight? Robin was thinking about crashing and I don’t love the idea of you at home by yourself with everything going on. Just stay with me until your dad gets back.”

You feel a wave of relief wash over you. “Actually, would you mind? I don’t really wanna be by myself.”

“Yeah!” She laughs. “Of course. I can take you to grab your stuff in the morning.”

“Thanks, Nance. I gotta double check the alarm and locks anyway, so I’ll go grab my things now.” You smile, turning to grab your keys from the bowl on the credenza.

“You sure? It’s late.”

‘Rule number 3,’ Jonathan continues downstairs out of earshot, ’never, ever, under any circumstances, say you’ll be right back.’

“It’s a few blocks away.” You reassure her. “I’ll be right back.”

——————————————————————————

Somebody’s watching you.

You feel a tug on the back of your neck when you get to the top of the Wheeler’s cul-de-sac. It becomes more insistent as you turn left on to a densely tree-lined street, which, dimly lit as usual, is eerily silent. With the exception of you and your friends, it seems the residents of Hawkins are abiding by Hopper’s mandate.

You brush the feeling off and slide your keys between your fingers, picking up pace. By the time you get to your driveway, your heart is in your mouth and you’re almost at a full sprint, nearly slipping on the corner of a flowerbed.

You’d devised a plan on the way home.

Check the alarms, downstairs windows, upstairs windows, grab your bag from the closet in the hallway and pack as you go. Simple enough.

But somebody’s watching you.

Your trembling hands make you fumble and miss the lock a few times, the key bluntly jamming against the metal. You’re finally in, about to twist the lock when a hand aggressively swipes at your arm and drags you backwards.

You yelp, stomach swooping in pure terror, blood pounding in your ears.

He’s here.

You come face to face with a bloodshot Jason, whiskey heavy on his breath. He looks desperate and frenzied in just a pair of chinos and a white polo—it’s freezing out. His presence offers you an odd sense of relief, you can tell from his appearance he’s not about to hurt you and he doesn’t pose any immediate danger.

He seems scared.

He pulls you in close, his vice grip making your skin pinch.

“Let go, Jason. What the hell is wrong with you, why are you outside my house?”

“I came to warn you.”

“Warn me? About what?!” You snap.

“About the company you keep.” He slurs darkly. “You’re not new anymore, but you weren’t here when it went down. When Chrissy died.”

You squirm, attempting to free your arm, but Jason’s grip is vicious in his trance-like state. “What the hell does that have to do with me?”

He’s here physically, but his mind is elsewhere. “It’ll be a year tomorrow. And it’s like she was never here. Like she never existed.”

Your heart sinks for him, a loss so large, so young is sure to rock anybody. But you know the other side of him—the side that radicalised half the town into hunting down Eddie. That almost killed Lucas and Erica when they tried to help.

“Look. Jason. I’m sorry about what happened, but that doesn’t explain why you’re grabbing my arm.” You grunt, trying to break free. “What does this have to do with me?”

He jostles you, shaking you hard enough that the pain radiates up your arm like a vine. “Everything! This has everything to do with you! Your friend? Eddie? I know they cleared him, said that he had nothing to do with it, but I know the truth. I know what he is.” He says, words dripping with disdain.

In a surge of defensiveness, you drag the serrated edge of your keys across his skin, drawing a little blood.

“You bitch!” He sneers, snatching his hand away. “You’ll regret that. You’ll regret not listening to me. Don’t say I didn’t warn you; don’t say I didn’t tell you what he was!” He angrily stalks off, disappearing into the tree line.

When you’d first moved to Hawkins, rumours of golden girl Chrissy dying at the hands of a satanic cult had intrigued you. Dustin had filled you in on the rest and after meeting Eddie and the rest of his innocent D&D group, you knew those rumours were a work of fiction.

“Hey!” Eddie shouts from a few feet away. He gestures in the direction of the tree line. “Was that Jason?”

“Yeah.” You mutter, gingerly touching your arm.

Eddie closes the last few feet between you, jogging to you as you open your door. “What did he want?”

“Said he saw me walking home, wanted to make sure I was okay.”

Eddie looks at you incredulously as he steps inside. “Looked intense, you okay?”

“Yeah. All good.”

Eddie’s eyes fall to the raised welts on your forearm, your hands paler from the lack of blood flow. He gently holds your wrist and brings it up to the hallway light to examine the marks.

“Did Jason do that?” He asks. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.” You sigh resignedly. “He was drinking, and he said some stuff about Chrissy’s death anniversary, I think he was just… a little out of it. Got a little overzealous.”

“Overzealous?” Eddie asks, getting closer to you. “He left a paw print. Y’know I swear, guys like him think they can get away with anything—“

“—Yeah. But I’m fine, Eddie. It looks worse than it is.” You place your hand around his and squeeze reassuringly. “Really. I’m okay.”

“You sure?“

“I swear, Eddie. I’m all good.”

Your peripheral suddenly plays a cruel trick on you, making you jump at the impression of somebody in the kitchen.

Eddie finally lets go of your hand, laughing at your reaction. “You okay? You’re really jumpy.” He asks, rubbing your shoulders as you walk into the kitchen.

“There’s a serial killer in town, Eddie. Why aren’t you jumpy?” You deadpan. “Is that why you’re here?”

He chuckles self-effacingly, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah. Nancy told me you took off to grab your things and I didn’t want you to have to walk by yourself with all that stuff.” He stops you from reaching for the window with a hand on your hips, walking around you instead. “Here, I got it.”

He extends his lean body to twist the window handle, his t-shirt riding up to reveal his toned abs. Red welts—scratches—mark his stomach and a twinge of jealousy creeps up your chest when you think about how he may have gotten those marks.

“Hey!” Eddie says, snapping his fingers. “Where do you keep goin’, you good?”

Embarrassment warms your cheeks, snapping you back into reality. “Of course. I have my knight in shining armour, don’t I?” You say sardonically, rounding the island to go upstairs.

You’re halfway through the hallway before you realise you’re not being followed by Eddie; he’s since taken to standing in the doorway with a look that you can’t read.

“What is it?” You ask.

He slowly steps towards you. “I know you’re kidding, but for what it’s worth—you never have to worry about that stuff when you’re with me.” He says softly, his voice thick. “You’re always safe with me. I hope you know that.”

You share a look in the dimly lit hallway, and you don’t know what this thing is between you—the thing where you know each other best, and look out for one another, and make one another feel safe, but where touches and looks linger for longer than they should.

You don’t have a shadow of a doubt colouring your answer when you reply, knowing wholeheartedly that you believe it.

“I know.”

When you get back to Nancy’s though, the night has taken a turn for the worse. The kids sit in the living room with the rest of your friends, everybody huddled up together around the TV as the breaking news reel plays.

“What’s going on?” You ask, setting your bag by the door.

“They found another body.” Steve tells you in a hushed voice, mindful of the kids but it’s useless—they’re watching the same thing you all are.

“Higgins.” Nancy explains, approaching you and Eddie. Out of earshot of the kids, she says, “they found him tied to the same goal post they unhooked Tina off of today. His eyes were gouged out and he was stabbed in the neck. He bled to death.”

Three victims. Three victims in one day.

Nancy mirrors that thought, but all you can think about now is how much longer you can outrun the shadow breathing down your neck, seemingly getting closer every day.

——————————————————————————

Breakfast is a bleak affair.

Mrs. Wheeler does everything to make sure you eat, encouragingly puts out a spread that most people dream of, while Mr Wheeler grumbles under his breath. You watch the boys, El and Max stuff their faces with pancakes, syrup dripping down their chins, but after the morning news, you can barely stomach anything.

Youre realising after watching the morning news, that it’s becoming a twisted kind of routine to wake up and expect the news of another murder.

Today’s victim: Andy Clayton.

Jason’s best friend and yes-man; found hacked to pieces, fibres of his letterman jacket found in his stab wounds from the brutal kill. You stick close to Nancy and Robin for the rest of the day, but when you come back from investigating, you find a chilling surprise on the Wheeler’s doorstep.

Nancy giggles and ducks inside with Robin, leaving you with your gift. Four black dahlias tied together with a length of twine, a note folded in half between the stems.

“I promise it won’t be much longer until we’re together, my flower. See you soon.”

Your head instinctually whips around, your eyes scanning the street, but it’s dead silent save for the occasional passing car. You turn back to the house, ice flowing into your veins as you realise you’re a sitting duck, and staying here would put everybody else in danger too.

The Wheelers, the kids, Robin.

You tuck the note into your pocket along with the four flowers and grab your bags, lying to Nancy that you’ll be back. Your first stop is going to see Eddie to ask for some company at the police station. You make the walk to your house, drop your bags in the trunk of your car and make the seven mile journey to Eddie’s trailer.

The sun sets on your way there, casting the sky in blooms of oranges and pinks, the landscape so much more vibrant in Hawkins than anywhere else you’ve lived. Eddie’s beat up van isn’t anywhere to be seen, but the lights inside his trailer are on, you knock once out of politeness and come in anyway after finding the door unlocked.

Not that Eddie ever remembers to lock his doors.

Inside, he’s still nowhere to be seen, the only thing interrupting the silence is the hum of the energy saver light bulb in the background and the sound of a dog barking outside.

“Eddie?” You call out, clicking the door shut behind you. “You home?”

You’re met with more silence.

You glance at the small clock above the hat-lined wall.

5:30pm.

Tentatively, you take a seat on the pull out couch that Steve and Wayne have taken to sharing by now, using the time you have to contemplate how best to broach the subject of your stalker with Eddie; where to start, how much to say.

Your legs start to tingle from nerves and pent up anxiety, forcing you to your feet.

You pace the length of the living room and to the kitchen and back again. Your stomach knots and unknots, a surge of nervous energy lodging in your throat and dissipating throughout your chest.

Absently, you walk into Eddie’s room—a bomb site on a good day. As you close the door behind you, something large and black swooshes against the hook, a large coat or a cloak of some kind, probably for his Hellfire Club meetings.

You should talk to Eddie about rebranding that soon.

You smile fondly as your eyes travel over his poster lined walls, the acoustic guitar perched in the corner, the magazines on top of his nightstand. The second drawer of his nightstand catches your eye, ajar slightly because of something caught between the drawer and the frame.

You look closer, eyes narrowing when you pull a length of twine out from the drawer. You examine it curiously, holding it up to the light when a thought occurs to you.

With a hesitant hand, you reach into your back pocket to pull out the dahlias you’d received earlier that day, comparing the twine to the one in your hand. Your brows furrow as you bring both pieces of twine together, joining the two diagonal edges to fit perfectly.

It’s a dead match.

You pull out his drawer in a daze, head growing fuzzy as you rummage through his things. It’s a coincidence—it has to be. There has to be an explanation.

Ice flows into your veins when you find five black dahlias tucked neatly into a roll of newspaper, red square note paper next to it. Your head rushes with blood, the room spinning as you try to somehow refute what’s in front of you.

This can’t be what you think it is. It can’t be.

You gag and run to the kitchen to empty your stomach in the sink. It’s fruitless, your stomach turning up nothing, leaving you to dry heave and clutch the counter.

No. No, no, no.

Your hands tremble, blood rushing in your ears and pumping through your body to drive you into high gear, to get the hell out.

You dart for the door, grabbing your bag and keys, and slam face first into a black wall, your hands taking the brunt of the impact, the shock forcing you back a few steps. Your bags and keys fall on the floor, the blood draining from your body when you look up at a cloaked figure with a white mask.

You tense up, making peace with the fact that this may be your end but still hold out a small amount of hope that it isn’t who you think it is behind the mask.

Then the figure speaks, says your name in that familiar way that sends shivers up your spine.

Eddie.

Your knees buckle and you trip backwards, the pressure inside your head increasing until you can hear a high-pitched whine. Shakily holding out your hands in front of you, you see them stained crimson, an unknown person’s blood licking your skin.

It’s the last thing you see before you succumb to darkness.

——————————————————————————

A horrible weight surrounds your head and there’s a ringing in your ears when you come to. It takes a few seconds for your mind to catch up, but when it does, you jolt in your seat, your movement restricted by something binding your hands and mouth.

You start to hyperventilate.

“Hey. Hey. Calm down.” Eddie says, crouching in front of your chair, sporting a busted lip, a bruised eye and bloody knuckles. “Fuck—Calm down, I need you to breathe, okay?” He rips the tape off your mouth and you struggle against the ties, but he pulls the chair in by its arms.“Hey! Breathe. C’mon—just match my pace, alright, you’re gonna pass out again. Fucking breathe.”

He exaggerates his own breathing rhythm now that you can see his chest in just his t-shirt to let your breathing fall into tandem with his. You let yourself breathe, focusing on the air expanding in your lungs, but terror still grips you.

Eddie watches you carefully, like you’re a cornered animal, his mask pulled up, hair matted to his forehead. “I’m going to cut you loose so we can talk, okay? M’gonna explain everything, but you can’t run. Can you do that?”

Images of Carol and Tommy, Tina, and the rest of his victims flash before your eyes. Eviscerated. Bludgeoned. Gutted.

You nod, not daring to look down knowing that the rope, the chair and your skin are stained with fresh blood.

“Good.” He breathes.

He brings a bloody hunting knife to your wrists, lodges the flat edge between you and the rope, and cuts upwards, slicing you free. You plant your shaky feet to test the waters, and launch yourself forward into Eddie’s chest, knocking him out of the way to start running.

“Goddamnit!” He grunts.

You make it a grand total of two paces before Eddie easily whips you around, pinning you against the wall. His nostrils flared, he reaches into his back pocket, brandishing the knife again. A scream dies in your throat as he places the glinting silver’s blunt edge against your neck.

“I didn’t want to use this. But I told you not to run, didn’t I? Didn’t I?!” His voice thunders inside the trailer, and you flinch backwards, hyper-aware of the knife at your throat.

The change in his demeanour makes you feel insignificant, like you never mattered to him. That realisation makes a lump catch in your throat. “You’re… you’re—“

He nods slowly, wide grin splitting his face. “Yeah. I am.” He replies mockingly, flipping the mask back on. “What did Jonathan say? Ghostface?”

A part of you thought—hoped—that he would try to deny it. You’d believe any explanation he’d give you if you tried hard enough, because accepting anything else would be easier than this.

Than accepting that your best friend is a serial killer.

“Jason… man, the bastard knows how to fight,” Eddie laments, licking his busted lip behind the mask. He clenches and unclenches his bruised hands, silver rings stained with blood. “Pulled my fucking cloak off and everything—but what are you gonna do? I had a knife. He didn’t. Bled out on my clothes but he knew it was me.”

You don’t want to hear this. You can’t hear this.

You look desperately for an escape, eyes darting until you spot something that makes your stomach swoop violently, grief ripping through you at the prospect.

Steve’s white Nikes, covered in blood.

You turn to Eddie shakily, eyes wide. “Did you kill Steve?”

He softens, trailing the knife over your cheek. You’re as still as you can be despite your body feeling like it’s vibrating, knowing too well that the smallest of movements could kill you.

“So sweet. So naive. My flower.” He whispers. “You think I strung Tina and Higgins’ big ass up on those goalposts myself?”

“No…. He—Steve?” You blubber, another wave of grief washing over you. You’ve just lost two of your best friends in the space of five minutes and you don’t have the time to think about the implications. You just need to make it out alive. “Why? Why did you do this? Why did you kill those people, Eddie?”

“Because there’s only so much a person can take. I mean, a year passed since Jason sicced his merry brigade of uptight Catholics on me. They all got to move on, get college scholarships, access to trust funds and opportunities to get out of this shithole. Me? I was gonna stay here and rot.” He seethes. “I tried my best to keep it under control. To push my urges down. But then I saw Carol bump you in that hallway, and I remembered what Tommy did to you at that party. That’s when I decided to end it.”

“How do you know about that?” You shudder.

“Harrington told me everything. Y’know for someone who secretly loves killing, he protested far too much in the beginning. Though, in his defence, I think he was a little cooked after the whole Russian torture thing. It was a perfect plan, really. I killed the people on his list—he killed the people on mine. Solid alibis. No connection.”

“I never asked for this. For any of it. You don’t get to pin your sick little indulgences on me, Eddie.”

He flinches, recoils at your words. “But I did it for you. To keep you safe. Why don’t you get that?!”

Salt falls from your eyes, trails down your face until your cheeks and neck are wet, a lump in your throat. “Are you going to kill me?”

He stares in awe at the pulse visible under your neck, lightly traces his knife over it. He may not even dignify your question with a response; all he would have to do is press in and you’d bleed out right on Mr. Munson’s orange carpet.

“I told you that you’re always safe with me, do you remember that?” When you ignore his question, he uses the knife to tip your chin up and takes the mask off. “Answer me.”

His eyes soften when he waits for you to answer, as though hanging onto your words for desperate validation. You get a glimpse of the Eddie you know—knew.

Your Eddie.

“Yes.” You reply truthfully.

“So how can you ask that? How could you possibly think I’d kill you?”

“Then why stalk me? Why send me the flowers—the letters—if I wasn’t next on your list?” You sob. “You must’ve known what I’d think, that I was scared. Why did you do that?”

“Because I love you.” He whispers reverently, closing in on you. His eyes soften, and when he says those four words, it’s Eddie. Eddie, despite the blood spatter on his neck and arms. It’s why it takes your breath away, because you can’t disregard it as the ramblings of a madman.

There’s some truth to it—even if it is sick.

And you hate yourself more for wanting him.

He sheaths the knife in his back pocket, closing the distance between you. “Do you have any idea…how long I’ve wanted you? How I’ve had to keep tabs on you from afar because I was afraid of what you’d think about me? I’ve wanted you since the day you moved here, way before we ever even met.”

You hate him. You hate yourself. You hate this.

Your palm makes a cracking sound against his cheek, leaving a blooming red mark on his face. “I hate you.”

His lips brush against yours. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes. I fucking hate you, Eddie. You broke my trust.”

“I know.”

Your fists beat down on his chest and arms, throwing punches against a solid chest. He grunts and takes the brunt of your beat down silently, your palms picking up the blood from his soaked t-shirt. It’s only once you’re reduced to tears that he stops you, encircling both of your blood-stained wrists and pulls you close to his chest.

“I hate you.” You repeat in a small voice.

“Yeah?” He asks, looking down at you.

He looks more like himself now, the version that makes you laugh, and loves to read, and has a rich imagination. The Eddie who makes your breath catch in your throat. His gaze is heated, loaded with the challenge of your hatred for him, as though he’s waiting for you to prove it.

His lips are plump and red, the divot on his chin pronounced.

“You really hate me?” He whispers. “Because I’ll let you go. You can go to the police, have me arrested, I don’t care. I just want you.”

You launch yourself at him, crushing your lips against his for a burning, all-consuming kiss. Your knees buckle at the long-awaited contact, his lips full and soft, yet demanding when they slide over yours, capturing your mouth with a bruising intensity. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him so forcefully that it makes you mewl, the soft contours of your body moulding against his harder ones, blood soaking into your pale pink dress.

You pull away, panting for breath. “I hate you.” You chant. “I hate you. I hate you.”

He kisses you harder.

Your hands tangle in his hair as his lips devour you, hungry tongue meshing with yours. He moans in pain when you suckle his bruised bottom lip, the sound going straight to your core. He frantically reaches to touch as much of you as he can, presses his body against yours to make your chest heave with pleasure.

You pull away, looking at him hesitantly.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He pleads, voice cracking. “Don’t look at me like you’re scared of me.”

“I am scared, Eddie.” You whisper, a tear escaping your eye.

“I’m sorry, baby. I meant it when I said I’d never hurt you. I just wanna take care of you. Make you feel good the way you deserve. Will you let me do that? Can I show you? Please?”

Despite your fear, you’re warming to the idea that he’s still the Eddie that checks on you in the middle of the night, the Eddie that once drove an hour at 3:00am to pick you up from a party.

You swallow. “Yes.”

His warm eyes sparkle, capture your lips in another heated kiss. He moans desperately into your mouth as your lips slide over one another, panting as he firmly runs his hands up your hips, trailing up your ribcage and to your arms. He pins your hands above your head, stretching your body out and shoves his knee between your legs.

You break away from his mouth in pleasure, the coarse denim of his jeans rubbing against your panties. Your mouth falls open, head lolling back against the wall.

“Oh, you needed this, huh?” He says darkly, rocking his knee between your legs. “You like me. And you hate yourself for it.”

You chase his mouth but he dodges, a wicked look on his face. You fist your hands in his shirt collar and pull him down to capture his full lips between yours again, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Eddie groans, his mind immediately jumping to how you’re capable of drawing blood for him too, even if it is his own. His cock twiches. “That’s my fucking girl.” He murmurs, dragging his thumb against his lip to wipe the blood. “You’re not as innocent as you look, huh?”

You wrap your hand around his large wrist, bring his hand to your own mouth to smear his blood on your lips. His eyes gleam, cock painfully hard. Your gaze falls to his lips, bruised and bleeding, blood in his mouth and on his chin.

“Go ahead.” He smiles knowingly.

You let the tip of your tongue trace the blood on his chin and lick upward until you trace the seam of his lips. He swallows your next breath with a bruising kiss, your lips coming together in a frenzied, sick heat, the taste of copper and warm blood coating your tongue.

He squeezes your hip with a large hand, brings you down to grind against his knee, the act debasing but you don’t care. Eddie makes you crazy, his broad build, his possessiveness; his dark side.

“C’mon. Let me see that pretty face when you cum. Go ahead. Cum on my thigh like the sick little thing you are.” He murmurs, looking down at the mess you’re leaving on his jeans. He roughly forces you to look down, his hands framing your face. “Look at that. Look at the mess you’re leaving. Soaking fucking wet and I haven’t even touched you yet, do I make that cunt leak, baby? That all for me?”

“Yeah, Eddie. For you. For you.” You chant.

“Atta girl. Cum for me now. Cum on my thigh.” He coos, rocking his leg up into you. “Let go, c’mon.”

The coil in your stomach wraps tighter around itself, Eddie’s rough words making you throw your head back in a silent moan as you finally come undone. He holds you close to him, an arm around your waist to help you ride out your orgasm, your arms around his shoulders, held in a tight embrace as he continues to grind his knee into your pussy.

“Oh that’s it, that’s my pretty fucking girl. So good for me, doing exactly as I ask you. So fucking good, baby. Just breathe—you got it. Good girl.”

His words somehow prolong your orgasm, your pussy convulsing around nothing, until all you can do is dig your nails into Eddie’s shoulders and cry.

When you come down, you’re languid, but renewed, wanting more. Both of your eyes are blown, heady with lust, and Eddie brings your mouth back to his, unable to stay away.

Cradling the back of your head, he licks into your mouth and you angle your head to kiss him deeper, hungry for more as you mewl into his mouth, scrambling against the wall. You tug at his t-shirt, pull him closer by his belt loops, and he moans at your show of control.

Sinking to your knees, you keep your eyes up and on Eddie as you watch him register your movement, his brows furrowing with exertion. He plucks his blood-soaked t-shirt off his body, drops of crimson staining his abdomen and his hands now.

You look up at him with wide eyes. He’s intimidating from this angle, tall and broad, but still lithe; ink and blood covering his pale chest and arms. You trace the scratches on his lower abdomen, shivers erupting on your skin at the realisation of how he really got them.

You kiss the still-red marks, tonguing over his v-line and lower abdomen, bluntly scratching at the smattering of hair that leads below his jeans.

He cups your chin tenderly, leaving behind blood. “Tommy begged for his life. Begged me not to kill him, but I did anyway. Made him bleed out right by the pool while Carol watched. For what he did to you.”

You should hate this. You should get off your knees and leave. But you can’t. Not when you’re one orgasm deep and you’re wet between the legs. Not when you’re about to worship this man.

You kiss his hand, then his stomach, leaving a trail of wet kisses over his abs, tracing the tip of your tongue over the red scratches. You move over, scratching your nails down his stomach to mirror the other side, leaving angry red marks.

Why should Carol be the only one to get to mark him?

He hisses through his teeth, hands hovering over your head hesitantly as you lick over the fresh marks with more kisses. “What? You jealous?” He laughs.

You answer him with another swipe at his v-line, red claw marks imprinting on his skin. The tent in his pants begs to be touched, and when you rub over his hard cock through his jeans, his thighs tremble.

“Can I suck your cock, Eddie?” You ask innocently. “Please?”

“Jesus fuckin—“ He grits out, bracing against the wall in front of him. “Go ahead, baby. Take my cock out, lemme feel your mouth.”

You bite back a smile at his eagerness as you undo his belt, shakily pulling down his jeans and boxers together to free his cock. You swallow, your skin heating at the sight of his cock; average length but the girth takes you off guard, his tip red and leaking pre cum.

He looks at you knowingly, like he knows he’s going to destroy you when the time comes, but until then, he’s going to bide his time with your mouth. He groans breathily when you stroke the length of him, using both hands to twist and pull, goosebumps erupting on his skin.

“Shit, shit, shit. That’s it. Squeeze a little tighter there—ah—fuck. Oh, that’s it, baby.”

You sweetly suck on his tip, licking up his pre cum. Eddie’s abs twitch when your tongue swipes over the vein on the underside of his cock, and you make a mental note to tease him with that. His hips jerk forward on instinct, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth, his hands hovering over your head.

“Like that, Eddie? Am I doing a good job?” You ask, kissing his tip.

“Yeah, baby. Such a good job like I knew you would. Need a little more.”

You work way down the shaft, laying wet, open mouthed kisses on his heavy cock, languidly slapping his tip against your tongue. Eddie’s chest flushes with exertion. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his expression darkening when you take his hands and direct them to your head, silently asking him to take control.

“Show me what you want, Ed. Do it exactly how you wanna.” You murmur letting his cock slap your tongue.

You stay like that; mouth wide and tongue out for him to take the lead. A splitting grin takes over his face as he nods, gently gathering your hair on top of your head.

“My best girl.” He whispers.

He thrusts into your mouth slowly at first, tentatively testing the waters, but as your warm, wet mouth invites him in for more, his thrusts get deeper and more aggressive. Tears prick your eyes as his thick cock reaches the back of your throat with each rough thrust, his hands pulling your head forward.

“Fucking Christ, your mouth. So pretty with your lips stretched out around my cock, on your knees for me.”

You nod as he punctuates his sentence with a harsh thrust that makes you gag around him, and you feel him twitch in your mouth, spit and precum messily trailing down your chin, covering his balls and thighs in a slick sheen.

He wheezes, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yeah… you’re my filthy little girl, aren’t you? Love taking my cock any way I’ll give it to you, huh?” He lightly slaps your cheek, feels the vibration against his cock and throws his head back in pleasure, his hair a halo around his head.

“So pretty, so fucking pretty—my angel. My pretty little angel. A little wider—shit—just like that.” Eddie whines incoherently when you reach up and massage his balls, slick with your saliva while he holds you in place and fucks your mouth. “Thank you, baby—fuck. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Tears stream down your face, but you’re drunk on the taste of him, your pussy throbbing with his words and needy voice. You’re galvanised knowing that on your knees, you’re capable of reducing a man as powerful and terrifying as Eddie to this.

A whining, whimpering, mess.

He withdraws from your mouth with a drawn out groan, his cock twitching in front of your face. You glance up at him, a flush spreading from the centre of his chest to his neck, his ears and cheeks bright red, lips swollen from biting them.

“C’mere.” He murmurs, dragging you up by your throat—not even with enough force to reduce your airflow—but as a possessive gesture, a means of control.

He disregards the mess on your face and kisses you in a desperate clash of teeth and tongues and heavy breaths, his cock pressing against your tummy. He swallows your moans and whimpers with a light grip on your throat as he takes the breath from your lungs.

“Let's get you off your feet, what do you say?” He rasps.

You nod, hooking your arms around his neck as he sweeps you off your feet, dark gaze burning yours. He throws you on his creaky mattress, leaving you to crawl upward as he stalks towards you like you’re his prey.

Shoving your knees apart, he strokes your calves, laying gentle kisses on your now sore knees. “You trust me?”

You take a beat, making sure to run the scenarios through in your head. “Yes.”

He reaches for a knife from his bedside table, and your skin turns red hot, equal parts desire and terror mixing like a cocktail under your skin.

“Eyes on me, okay? Just relax.” He coos, kissing your forehead. “Not gonna hurt you.”

He settles between your legs, and despite you being the one fully clothed out of the two of you, you feel vulnerable but safely kept. He scrapes the blunt edge of the knife gently down your neck, circling your pulse point. It scratches against your collarbone as he continues its descent down in your skin.

You close your eyes as he hooks it around the neckline of your dress, and you feel him stall, remember his words.

Eyes on me.

“Good girl.” He breathes when you force yourself to look at him.

With a sharp tug of the knife, he cuts a jagged line down the centre of your dress, starting at your neckline and ending just above your belly button. You startle at the sudden movement and jump slightly but a hand on your hip holds you down. Slowly, he takes the two halves of the dress and rips with his bare hands all the way down until it falls open at your sides.

“Jesus Christ, you’re perfect.” Eddie rasps, trailing the knife back upwards.

“Don’t tease, Eddie.” You whine, shivering at the cold.

“Patience, my flower. I like to draw things out.”

You stiffen, the reminder of his extra curricular activities reminding you of who he is. He dips down and places a sweet kiss on your lips to absolve you of your worries, then with a tattooed hand, drags the knife between your breasts, then to the left. The sheets in your hands are the only traction you have as he circles your nipple with the knife, flicking the bud with the metal.

“One wrong move…” he reminds you. “One wrong move, and this could end terribly for you, couldn’t it?”

You whimper, nodding.

“Good thing you trust me. Better thing that I love you.”

He trails it down your stomach, watching the goosebumps appear on your skin as he travels south, the muscles under your skin jumping at the touch. The cold metal reaches your panties, scraping over your covered mound, and despite the imminent danger, you feel yourself dripping for him.

“You’re doing really good, baby. Proud of you.”

He goes further still, careful to always use the blunt edge of the knife, but with the weapon out of sight, you’re forced to hyper focus on the sensation, figure out which part is where. You cry out when the cold metal bumps against your puffy clit through your panties, your hips bucking.

Eddie laughs throatily, a wide grin on his face. “Oh, was that good? You liked that, didn’t you? My depraved little angel.”

“Yes, Eddie. Please, I need more.”

“That’s right, you do. Well done.”

You feel tension against the waistband of your panties before it snaps, your panties cut off at the legs. Eddie pulls you up roughly, dragging your panties off you and leaving you fully exposed and open to him. Gathering them in his hand, he brings them to his face, inhales deeply as his eyes roll back into his head.

”Fucked my hand over n’ over again with the panties I took from you. Wrapped around my cock pretending it was you, whispered your name when I came. You know that?”

His words make you squirm and he laughs knowingly. Gripping your chin gently, he tells you to open up so he can slip your panties into your mouth. The salty sweet taste of you floods your mouth, your slick coating your tongue and the cotton.

“You keep nice and quiet for me, I swear I’ll make it worth your while, baby. Can you be good for me?”

He’s in control and he knows it and it makes you writhe in pleasure. You nod eagerly, pussy fluttering at the prospect of what he has planned for you.

He slaps your cheek lightly again. “Good girl. Nice and quiet, yeah?”

He yanks you to the edge of the bed by your ankles and brings your legs to wrap around his waist, turning you as he lays on his back, moving up the bed.

“C’mon, baby. Come sit on my face, gimme that pretty pussy.”

You hesitate, feeling exposed and vulnerable, but he takes your hands in his, pulls you forward until you're straddling his waist. “C’mon. Let me taste you, baby. Please?” He coos.

Hooking two arms around you, he moves you up until you’re hovering above his face, the change in dynamic making your insides clench.

“Please, baby. Just wanna taste you. Please? Let me kiss that pretty pussy?” He whines, tugging on his cock.

You tentatively lower yourself onto his face, the only thing visible to you now, his upper face. He latches onto your pussy immediately, sucks your clit between his plump lips and your hips buck, trying to put some distance between you and the source of your pleasure. He moans loudly into your pussy, thick tongue and full mouth messily kissing your cunt, strong jaw anchoring you.

“Such a sweet fucking pussy, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me… could get drunk on the taste of you, so fucking wet, dripping down my face—my God.” He whines, hooking his arms around your legs to keep you flush to him.

Your legs tremble around his face—his face—blissed out and so full of concentration. You lean down and push the hair off his forehead, and he moans in pleasure, sucking your clit harder as you pull slightly on his scalp.

“That’s it, baby. Grind on my face, use my tongue. Make yourself cum for me, baby. Grind on me.”

Your heart beats erratically as you slowly work your hips in circles on Eddie’s face, moans and whimpers muffled by the panties in your mouth. His hands reach up to squeeze your tits, pinching your nipples almost painfully and pleasure sparks at the base of your spine.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Make me proud. Cum for me.” He encourages, flicking your clit with his tongue. The sound of Eddie’s mouth and your wet pussy fill the room as you chase your release, melting into him while pleasure washes over you in waves.

You cum with a silent scream, head thrown back and focus on the feeling of Eddie’s hands on your tits and mouth lapping at you. You come crashing down, electricity crackling at the base of your spine as you pull on Eddie’s hair.

You fall onto your hands with blood thrumming in every single nerve ending, your hair sticking to your neck with exertion. Eddie lays a messy kiss on your clit before lifting you off him and gathers you in his arms.

He checks your face for signs of concern, but you’re utterly blissed out. Unpicking the panties from your mouth, he wipes the saliva from your chin to kiss you. You’re boneless in his arms, trusting him to hold you up, sweaty body flush against his as his mouth moves over yours. He consumes your being, wanting you from the inside out, your entire body vibrating with need, more so when you feel his cock jump between your legs.

“You’re so hard, Eddie. So thick.”

He swears under his breath as you tug at his cock, heavy and warm in your hand. He grips your throat, a smile making its way onto your lips as he regards you with a knowing look.

A look that he knows you’re his. That you’re just as twisted as he is.

He spins you around, your back flush to his tattooed chest and grips your chin to make you look at yourself in the mirror in front of you. You stroke him languidly, feeling his sticky precum coat the tips of your fingers while his fingers spread your pussy lips.

“Look at yourself.” He urges, kissing your cheek. “Look at how wrecked you are, spread out and naked for me. Look at how good we look together, my flower. Look.”

The sight in front of you makes your knees buckle. Next to Eddie’s guitar, is your reflection, blissed out with your hair matted to your face, legs spread wide while Eddie’s ringed fingers rub your clit. Behind you, Eddie watches the reflection, his tattooed chest and abdomen littered with scratches and bruises.

Both of you are stained with blood, handprints marking your throat, your hips, your tits, actual remnants of a crime on your bodies, mixing with sex.

“Keep your eyes on that mirror, baby. Whatever you do, do not take your eyes off that mirror. You got that?”

“Yeah, Eddie. Anything you want.”

He lays a kiss under your ear to soothe the sting of two thick fingers plunging into your pussy, your head lolling back. The slick coating your thighs and pussy makes it easy for him to slide in, the sting soothed by the pleasure of him hooking his fingers inside you.

“Ohh, I know you like that, don’t you, my girl? That feels good inside my pretty baby’s pussy, huh? You wanna close your eyes but you can’t, can you?” He coos mockingly, lightly slapping your cheek. “No, you can’t. Because you said you’d do anything I want. So you’re gonna stay right here…and I’m gonna finger this pretty little cunt to get you ready for my cock.”

“Eddie…” you whine, palming his cock. “That feels so good, your fingers… so thick.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

He withdraws his fingers and plunges them deep inside you with each word, drawing out your pleasure like a length of elastic; tension building and building precariously close to a snap. The heel of his palm rubs against your clit as his pace increases, a furious work of his wrist leaving you hanging onto his arm for dear life.

“Cum, baby. Come on, gimme another one, I know you can do it. Do it for me, baby, let me feel you squeeze my fingers.”

“Gonna cum, Eddie…so close.” You whimper.

You watch his biceps flex and his shiny, slick covered fingers as you come undone. You’re decidedly full, but not full enough, fluttering around his fingers wildly as he talks you through your release. Your eyes go hazy with ecstasy as you fight to keep them open, to watch his onslaught like you promised you would.

“Good girl, good fucking girl. Pretty eyes on me, yeah? Just breathe baby, you’re doing so good. So fucking good squeezing me like that. So pretty.”

When your heartbeat comes down, he kisses your cheek, holding his ring and middle fingers up to the light, your slick stretching between his fingers.

He brings them to your mouth. “Suck.” He says simply, gasping when your tongue presses against his fingers to lick the taste of yourself off him.

“Sweet?” He asks.

You nod around his fingers.

“Well done, baby. We’re not finished yet, though.”

With a large hand on your upper back, he pushes you down into his pillows, the smell of him surrounding you like a haze. His sheets are rumpled, but a welcome reprieve, they smell like him and in a way, it’s like laying on him.

Eddie’s large hands angle your hips upwards just slightly, the rest of you still face down on the mattress. You feel the blunt head of his cock slide up and down your slit, your sloppy cunt making him slip.

A sharp crack lands on your ass, making you jump, the pain soothed by a cool relief as Eddie massages the skin, pulling at it posessively. He squeezes you hard enough to leave bruises but it only spurs you on, the sick thought of Eddie possessing you, marking you—owning you—makes you drip onto his sheets.

“Eyes on me, remember?” He rasps from the exertion of controlling himself. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.”

He braces himself over you with toned arms, his legs bracketing yours as he pushes the fat head of his cock inside you, agonisingly slow. His broad chest flushes a deep crimson.

You feel him slide right back out of you, and try again, his lips between his teeth. “God fuckin’ damn it, you’re so tight, pushing me right back out.” He pushes in again, and you watch him mesmerised. “Let me in, angel, c’mon. Let me inside you, gimme that sweet cunt. C’mon.” He grunts.

Every inch stretches you out, punching the air from between your lungs. You’re completely immobilised and at Eddie's mercy, trembling as he sheathes himself inside you.

You gasp when he buries himself to the hilt, impossibly full and dizzy with pleasure. “Oh my God, Eddie, that’s deep. You’re so fucking deep inside me—so fucking big.” You sob, fluttering around his cock.

He drops his entire body weight on you, pushing you further into the mattress, deliciously constricting your airflow. He pulls your arms out in front of you and interlocks his fingers with yours.

You feel his chest vibrate when he speaks, a deep, quiet rumble that kisses the shell of your ear. “Yeah? That deep enough for my baby’s pussy, hm? Stretch you nice and good?”

You watch the carnal expression on his face as he slowly starts to grind into you, the angle bumping that spot deep inside you that makes your clit jump. You’re sensitive and pliant under him but it doesn’t stop him from leaning in close and snapping his hips, muttering filthy words into your ear.

He pushes a thumb into your mouth. “Such a warm, wet, perfect cunt. The things I did for this pussy, to make you mine—God.” He grits. “You make me fucking crazy you know that? This pussy makes me crazy.”

Every inch of his body presses against yours, your skin moulding to his, sweat slicked and sticky, both of your thighs covered in your slick.

“Love your cock, Eddie. Love how you fuck me. Please, Eddie. Want more, please.” You whine, pulling his hair above you.

He builds his pace steadily, his hips snapping into your while he sets a brutal rhythm, pressing you further into the mattress. The hot friction of your nipples rubbing against his sheets and his cock set your skin on fire.

You barely register Eddie angle your hips up all the way before wrapping an arm around you and pulling you up—flush against him.

“That’s better. Look at you—fucking ruined on my cock, aren’t you? Who else can fuck you like this? Who else makes you this fucking pathetic and desperate?”

“Nobody, Eddie. Nobody. Just you, only you fuck me like this.” You choke out, legs trembling.

With an arm around your waist to keep you steady, he hooks the other around your neck, effectively putting you in a light headlock. You’re so close to your release, so dizzy with pleasure that you’re on the verge of passing out. Your head lolls against Eddie’s shoulder and your eyes roll back, your face a sight with fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

The lack of airflow increases the pressure inside of your body, fire pooling low in your stomach, making you drip .

“That’s it, that’s it, there you go, there you fucking go. You like it when I choke you don’t you, my filthy little girl. Gonna make you cream all over my cock, want it soaking my thighs and balls, baby. Give it to me.”

You can barely form words, settling for a litany of, “Yes, yes, yes. Right there, Eddie, don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

“Not gonna stop. Not until you’re crying. Now c’mon, gimme another one, let me feel this pretty pussy squeeze my cock, c’mon. Make me proud, pretty girl, cum for me.”

You hang on for dear life as he fucks you right into another orgasm, your legs trembling and pussy convulsing around him, but he doesn’t let up. Pounds you right through your orgasm, skin slapping against skin, finally letting go of your throat so you can breathe again.

“Good girl, good girl, good fucking girl, that’s it. There you go, just breathe—you got it. Just feel it, you got it, c’mon, keep going, keep going.”

White spots your vision as you ride out your orgasm and Eddie finally allows you to fall forward, draping his body over yours immediately. You pull at his hair to bring him closer, slowly grinding yourself against his cock as you come down, a panting, sweaty mess, drowning in bliss.

You angle your head to kiss him lazily, his lips leaving your mouth tingling, tongue licking into your mouth.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re really fucking intense, Ed?” You tease against his lips.

“Why? You hear somethin’?” He chuckles, kissing you deeply.

He pulls out of you, tugging at his slick cock as he turns you over onto your back. You’re both dishevelled, and desperate, chasing a higher and higher release.

You spread your legs and invite him to use your puffy, sensitive pussy, your thighs and hips covered in juices. He slides in easier this time, grinding all the way into the hilt so his pelvis bumps your clit, while his pick chain dangles in your face.

You whine, gripping the sheets for an anchor as he starts to drive into you with a rough snap of his hips.

“Eddie…” you whine. “Feel so good, so deep.” You whimper.

“Yeah?” He grins, dimple splitting his cheek. He presses his hand into your stomach, withdrawing his cock almost all the way out and slamming back inside again. “Right here? You feel me there? Nice and deep inside this pretty angel cunt, made for me to fuck, isn’t it?”

“Just for you, Eddie. Just for you.” You chant.

Your slick smears everywhere, coating Eddie’s lower stomach and happy trail, his pelvis and balls, everything a filthy, sticky mess and you’re in heaven.

You fist your hands into the pillow next to you, spot a flash of black and white. Pulling on the material, you reveal another mask, and your heart swoops nervously, your body stiffening.

“You’re okay, baby. Nothin’ to be scared of—here.” He reassures you, slipping the hood on. It takes your breath away, having to reconcile Eddie’s body with the mask, but when he grinds his cock deep inside you, you snap back. “Just me. Just Eddie.”

You reach for his shoulders and spread your legs to invite him closer, wanting to feel more of him. Eddie smiles behind the mask, knows the reaction you have to it—to him—to the implications. He hisses at the feel of your fingernails digging into his back, cock twitching at your possessiveness.

“You like that don’t you, baby? I know you like seeing me with the mask on, I can feel you fucking creaming on my cock. Makes you horny doesn’t it, knowing I killed for you? You’re twisted. Filthy.”

You whine for him incoherently, feeling the muscles in his back flex and contract as he fucks you deep and fast, his creaky bed matching his rhythm. The mask cuts off Eddie’s breathing, makes it hard to inhale properly but finally having you under him, writhing and moaning his name the way he’s dreamed of makes him whimper.

“Wanna see you, Eddie. Please. Wanna see your face.” You cry, reaching for his mask.

He dodges your hands, pins them above your head with his stronger ones. “Tell me you’re mine first.” He grunts. “Tell me you’re fucking mine.”

“I’m yours, Eddie. I’m fucking yours, I’m all yours.” You offer freely, squeezing his hands.

He slides the hood off, forehead shiny with sweat, bangs matted to his face as he drops his entire body weight on you, pinning your hands again.

“That’s right. Mine to touch. Mine to taste. Mine to fuck. All mine.”

You’re dizzy with pleasure, taking whatever he gives you, your pussy squelching with each brutal pass of Eddie’s thick cock. “All yours, Eddie.”

“Tell me I’m yours.” He pants needily, using his body to drive you forward.

“You’re mine, Eddie.” You sob, raking your nails violently down his back to prove it. “You’re mine. You’re mine, Eddie.”

His cock jumps inside you, both of you closer to your release. “That’s right. You could try to forget any of this happened. But we both know, baby. You love this too much.”

“God—Eddie. Please. Please, please…”

“Please what? You losin’ your words, now? So drunk on my cock filling you up, you can’t think straight?” He slaps your pussy lightly, clit puffy and sensitive.

He grips your throat, making your head fall back and tongue loll out of your mouth uselessly. In a moment of pure possession, he lets a trail of his saliva drip into your mouth, kisses you deeply and thoroughly until you’re seeing stars and on the precipice.

“Good thing I can think for the both of us, huh? Dunno what you’d do without me, my dumb little angel. Need me to protect you, don’t you? I know, baby, I know. I can give you what you need, don’t worry.”

You’re reduced to blissful silence as Eddie bridges the gap between you and your release, his own, right on the edge as well.

“Gonna come, Eddie. So close, please, please, make me cum. I love it, I love you. I love you. I love you—Eddie, fuck.” You sob, hanging onto his back, crescent shaped welts marking his skin.

“Gonna make you mine, baby. Gonna make all this worth it. All of it, just a little more, yeah?” He pants, rhythm turning sloppy.

“Yeah. Make me yours, Eddie. Please. Wanna be yours.”

He drops his entire body weight against you, your stomachs pressing together as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Gonna cum inside this pretty pussy, baby. Make you mine forever, yeah?”

You nod, biting down on Eddie’s shoulder as you cum, locking your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. You convulse around his cock, pulling him impossibly close. Eddie moans into your neck as he reaches his release, teeth sinking into the skin below your ear as he cums deep inside you, his balls nestled against your ass.

He thrusts shallowly inside you, shuddering as you both come down, sweating and entirely ruined. Brushing the sweaty hair off your face, he kisses you deeply, pulling away with dopey eyes.

“Proud of you, baby. You did really good. Thank you.”

Your eyes grow heavy, and you’re content to lean on him on the way to the cramped bathroom, have him wash the blood off both of your bodies. You register it against the white porcelain of the bathtub as it circles the drain.

It takes a few weeks and slowly but surely, Hawkins returns back to normal. A week-long procession of back-to-back funerals are grim, your guilty conscience making you sick, but the sicker part of you wonders what else you could have Eddie do.

Two weeks after Andy Clayton’s funeral, you sit in the backseat of Steve’s BMW and watch the houses go by. You narrow your eyes, tapping Eddie on the shoulder once the white house comes into view.

“That’s the house, Eddie.”

“You sure, Sweetheart?” He asks, squeezing your hand.

“Positive. Jenny told me she saw it happen, Father Elijah with that little boy.”

“Alright. You heard her, Harrington. Let’s go.” He inhales sharply, getting out of the car.

You join them outside, tugging on Eddie’s hands, stopping him as he goes to put his mask on. “You’ll be careful, won’t you, baby?”

“Always am.” He smiles, bending down to kiss you.

——————————————————————————

tags: @fezcoismypimp @urlocaltwink @cottoncandywings @stardancerluv @hoe-for-fictional-men @momsaysimpunkrock @southside-serpent-bae @umm-megan @cozyyellowcardigan @binanas @imasimptoowth @adamdrivershairfluffer @a-laura @rosecolorgardens

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson ff #eddie munson fics #ghostface eddie #amber writes

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cdragons · 8 months

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Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 2

Previous Part, Next Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. But silver linings exist in the sticky toffee pudding Mrs. Gavey made for you.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Sex, Felix is Felix (a ho), Reader finally eating some good fucking food, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver is Oliver (a creep), alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: BRUH??? HOW DID I GET SO MANY NOTES IN PART 1??? Everyone has been so wonderful and supportive. I received so many questions and comments, which have all been great! Thank you for reading this story, and I hope that this part lives up the first one. Also, this is technically a Christmas fic bc it just fits with the story's timeline. I would like to thank Grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

Christmas Eve - Saltburn 2006

“Oh! Oh – y-yes, yes, yes! FUCK!”

Fucking the girl underneath so hard to the point where she likely saw stars. Meanwhile, Felix was trying to finish as soon as possible.

“So big! God, you’re so fucking big – FUCK!”

He brought her to his room and in his bed because he thought her hair just barely matched yours, and if he didn’t think too much about it – her voice sounded a bit like yours too.

But he made a mistake.

The girl – whatever her name was – sounded nothing like you. Her hair was nowhere near as pretty and shiny as yours, and her nails were fucking long and sharp that they were digging for his blood. Her makeup too – fucking hell, it was like she trying out for the opera with how much she caked onto herself.

Every time Felix saw you – whether in the library or under a tree – your nails were trimmed short. And from what he remembered, you didn’t plaster yourself in cheap cosmetics.

No, you never needed to. Your style of choice was simpler and more elegant than most girls he knew, including his sister, Venetia. Granted, he loved his sister to bits and pieces, but the girl loved her spray tan in the winter.

But worst of all – she didn’t have your eyes. Her gaze was too mindless and soft, a mix of adoration and unparalleled lust. Your eyes held vivacious rage and

“Felix?” What’s-Her-Face asked. “You okay?”

Fuck, he was getting soft.

Closing his eyes, Felix knew the only way he would get to finish was to think of you. He thought about the last time he saw you. He remembered how hard the wind blew and how cold it was that night. He felt himself harden at the memory of how alive your eyes were right before and after you broke his nose. His back still had the welts from the blows of your notebook. Every time he saw them in the mirror, he would lovingly stroke each bruise because they were the only evidence that you were real.

That you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

Letting his mind run wild, Felix imagined you here instead of this imposter. He’d imagine you on top – no way a woman like you would let anyone be on top, not even him. Fuck, you’d be the most wild thing ever to exist, he’s sure he’d let you do anything to him.

His heart, his soul – whether you cared for him or wished to crush him under your shoe – everything of his would be yours.

He wondered if you were the type to be into using a riding crop.

Regaining his vigor with his eyes still closed, he imagined you riding him until oblivion. Your breasts would fit perfectly in his hands as you would still be bouncing on his cock. Your head would be thrown back, and his eyes would roll to the back of his head at the feeling of your pussy tightening.

Oh God, he was going to blow.

Quickening his pace, the girl that wasn’t you was full-on howling in unbridled pleasure. When she climaxed, he could finally let go and come. Ropes of his cum spilled into the condom as he shouted out your name.

Falling to his side, he hadn’t bothered to check if Lady Not You remained in the sheets. It didn’t matter if she did; Felix was too exhausted to care. Finally feeling like he could rest, he fell into a dream about the day he felt his life truly begin – the day he met you.

First Week of Oxford University Michaelmas Term of 2006

Felix remembered the first time he saw you – it was after the first week since the term began. He and his mates were fucking around in Radcliffe, and the old bag running the desk was having a cow with them. He was bored out of his mind when all of a sudden – he spotted you on the upper level. You wore dark wash blue straight-leg jeans with rolled-up cuffs and white high-top Converse sneakers. It looked like your shirt must have been at least a decade old, given how the black-dyed cotton was faded to dark gray, and the paint looked cracked and chipped. Your thick locks were gathered in a loose but simple braid. Unlike everyone else, your eyes weren’t focused on him – but on the structure and life around him.

He had to know more.

Slipping a tenner to one of his friends to cause a distraction, he used the diversion to make his way to your spot on the second floor. Having a closer view, you were the most vividly gorgeous creature he had ever laid his eyes upon. He was worried that his movement toward you would alert you of his presence, and you would only scurry off – and away from him. But judging by the slight bobbing of your head, you wouldn’t be able to hear him since you were listening to whatever was playing through your earbuds.

All the better for him to keep observing you.

As he inched closer, his eyes caught the tiny wisps of your hair that weren’t contained by your messy braid, creating a lovely frame of your face while also bringing out the shine in your eyes. You had a simple gold chain around your neck with a circular locket hanging. From the side, Felix could faintly distinguish the words “Bon Jovi” in blue cracked paint and “1989” underneath a skull wearing red aviators.

He didn’t know who the fuck Bon Jovi was, but clearly, he was someone pretty fucking important to you.

But what captured Felix’s interest was how engrossed you were with the scene unfolding underneath you. Your eyes very rarely broke away from the view – only to quickly glance at the hardcover sketchbook you balanced on the white-painted railing. Whenever you glanced down at your sketch, Felix could see how long and thick your eyelashes were. Each time you blinked, it was like his mind broke down the movement of your eyelids frame by frame as if he were editing a Garry Marshall film. He wished he could be your cheek at that moment. If only to feel the gentle flutter of your lashes’ touch. Deep in your concentration, your lips were slightly pursed in a way that brought out their luscious fullness.

He couldn’t help but imagine how they would look around his cock. If he came inside your mouth, he was sure that some of his spunk would leak past your lips before you tried your best to swallow it down.

He was so lost in the fantasy of you and him that he hadn’t realized you had been calling out to him. Breaking out of his reverie, he looked down to see you right before him. And you looked downright pissed at him.

“Hey! HEY!” you exclaimed while waving your hand to his face to catch his attention.

You were American. How adorable.

“If you could stop staring at me like a fucking serial killer, I think your ‘mates’ are trying to get your attention.”

You pointed your finger at his group of friends still on the first floor. It seemed that they successfully drove away the grounds' warden. The old bat was now fixated on putting away all the returned or misplaced books on the shelves.

Must have been Farleigh’s idea.

Anyway, back to you.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Hey, can I get your –” but you were gone by the time he turned back to you.

Instead, he found himself alone on the second floor. He quickly glanced around to see if you had just moved to a different area. But you were gone. Racing the stairwell, hoping to catch up to you, he found that you had already walked too far for him to call you out without seeming completely desperate.

Except that he was.

He watched you walk away – shoulders back, posture straight, and head held high – and thought at how utterly unfair it was to him that you walked away from him so beautifully without giving him your number, or at least your name.

Felix woke up in a dark room; he was confused as to why the maids hadn’t drawn curtains – until he realized that Mum had likely sent them for their holiday after the party was finished.

It's too bad that he wasn’t there to see everyone out like a good son. But he wouldn’t beat himself over about it too much – chances were that his parents were also hungover off their asses too. He didn’t even want to imagine V’s state right now.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Felix dug into his closet to find whatever someone wore the morning after fucking a completely faceless stranger to scratch an itch meant for someone else. In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a little note on his nightstand. Swiftly plucking it with two fingers, he could barely make out the words written in swirly cursive.

My name’s Cassie. Just thought you should know for next time. Call me: XXXX-XXXXXXX 💋

Felix scoffed before tossing the dingy paper to the floor – destined to be forgotten before the next hour came – before locking himself in the bathroom to take a piss and wash off the smell of booze and cigs off his skin.

By the time he was finished, it was probably close to noon. He would have made his way down to the kitchens to fix something up – but he was immediately met with Farleigh as soon as he stepped out of the doorway. Bastard startled him up so bad that he practically jumped a foot off the ground.

“Fucking – really, Farleigh?” he asked. “Practically gave me a heart attack first thing in the morning.”

“It’s almost one so that ship has sailed.” He quipped back. “Aunt Elspeth and Uncle James were quite distraught when their golden son wasn’t seen by any of the guests when the party ended. It wasn't good when the Carltons’ daughter was gone for almost an hour. But at least she returned to her loving parents’ arms by the time it was to go home.”

Farleigh shot his cousin a curious look.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you? I’m pretty sure her name was Cassandra.”

Felix just shrugged.

“Don’t know about any Cassandras. Fucked a Cassie last night, though.”

Farleigh snorted a laugh as they went to the kitchens to see if any food was prepared.

“Merry Christmas, indeed.”

A few minutes of companionable silence passed before Felix asked his cousin something important.

“Hey, do you think she’s thinking about me?”

“Cassie or Cassandra? Because the answer’s probably yes anyway.”

“No, not them. Y/N, Y/N L/N.”

Farleigh immediately stopped. He genuinely wondered how Felix managed to get into Oxford sometimes. Sure, he was a legacy kid, but the line had to be drawn somewhere.

“You really think,” he slowly began, “that the girl who dragged you out of the library in front of everyone, broke your nose, beat you bruised with only her flimsy-ass notebook – because you ruined her painting – would be thinking about you?”

Judging by the look in his cousin’s eyes, yes. Sighing at the incredulity of it all, Farleigh could only shake his head before finding something to eat and drink away the migraine he could feel was coming.

Watching his cousin walk away from him, Felix knew he thought he was fighting a losing battle. But he wasn’t too worried. Everything would change during the upcoming term. Oxford was its own world – broken away from everything else. All that mattered to anyone in Oxford was this world's history, present, and future. And now – as it was made clear now to Felix – you were also part of that world. He would get to find you again and make sure to bring you to the point where you would look for him the way he would look for you.

Still, a selfish part of Felix hoped that you were even just the slightest bit miserable being away from him as he was being away from you.

Manchester, December 2006

You were having the time of your life.

Michael invited you to his home in Manchester for Christmas to spend the holidays with his family. You refused, at first, the idea of being a burden to your best friend during a time when it should be spent with family. Michael liked to put up a big front, but you knew that he was just as – if not more – excited to spend Christmas with his folks than you were before the “incident.”

But he insisted, and you could not have been more grateful for the invitation. But you wish you were a tad bit more graceful with your reaction when he first brought it up.

Oxford Dining Hall December 2006

You were angrily shoveling pasta into your mouth at the time. Sadly, the appallingly bland marinara sauce paired with the overcooked spaghetti and dry meatballs was the university's most flavorful dish.

“Come home with me.” He told you one evening during dinner time at the dining hall.

Caught off guard, you half-choked on the mountain of overcooked noodles in your mouth. Immediately, you reached for your glass of water to wash it down and to prevent a truly horrifically dull death.

“What?” you croaked out.

“Come with me to my house for Christmas.” He clarified, utterly unfazed by your near death. “Come on, you’ve been complaining to me all week about not being able to fly back for the holidays. And no one should have to spend Christmas eating whatever slop they’ll end up serving.”

“Michael,” you began, “I am not going to impose on your family like that. And you seemed to have forgotten one key detail: I can’t leave until I re-do the painting.”

“So, come over after you finish,” he reasoned, “I know you remember what to do, and that already cuts the time you originally spent on it in half. You won’t need a whole month to do it again, so come over when you finish. Plus, you don’t have your other classes to worry about.”

You knew that he was right – he was right about a lot of things – but the offer still made you uncomfortable. Scholarship student or not, you were no one’s charity case. If there was one thing you hated more than being underestimated, it was being pitied by people who didn’t know you. That wasn’t the case with Michael, but the feeling made you feel small.

You hated feeling small.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I would be imposing on your family. Your mom’s a nurse, right? She’s probably been looking forward to your homecoming for ages now. Informing her that she should be expecting a complete stranger, who would be staying for two weeks, would be a huge burden on her. She shouldn’t have that kind of stress burdening her during the holidays.”

He rolled his eyes at your concern.

“Don’t be a drama queen. I already have one in my life, and I’m genetically attached to her. And you’re hardly a stranger. Mum’s always asking when you would be visiting anyway. She’s worried if you’re eating enough or getting enough sleep. She’s a bit looney like that.”

You shot your friend a glare. He was trying way too hard to keep a cool, nonchalant façade. Michael Gavey was a total sucker for his family but in the sweetest way. During the long study sessions that stretched into the night, Michael’s defenses were lowered, and you could get more information about his life and home.

His mom was a Manchester Royal Infirmary nurse practitioner, while his dad was an accountant at Pearl Lemon. They met at a coffee shop. He was working as a barista to pay off his student loans, and she was a nurse just starting her residency. He wowed her with his terrible jokes, and she charmed him with her infectious smile, and the rest was history. Three years into their marriage, baby Mikey was born, with the addition of his baby sister Lilypad a decade later.

When you remained silent, Michael knew your stubbornness would give him endless headaches. But you were his best friend, the only person he saw worth befriending in the infinite sea of prats and slags that overpopulated their university. You laughed at his shitty jokes, and he snorted at yours. You would try to trip him up with out-of-pocket sums; he’d laugh when he answered them before your calculator. You had his back when some rugby bloke pushed him around, and he had yours when some fake tanned bitch called you a tramp.

“Look, I can’t promise it’ll be anything like your home. I know you miss your mum’s cooking and your dad’s drunk stories. But my parents already made me promise that I would get you to visit because it’s Christmas and no one should be alone and you’re going to die without me here and blah blah blah. Just say you’ll come? Lil’ will murder me if you don’t come. She’s been dying to hear all about the Great Apple and Broadway.”

“…It’s actually called the Big Apple.”

Your comment brought a loud and rather unattractive snort to leave his mouth. And the chuckle that came after brought a small and tentative smile on you.

“Look, are you coming or not?”

You had to admit, the invitation sounded welcoming. You were dying to put faces on the people that made Michael Gavey, well, Michael Gavey. He rarely talked about his family, but his tone was warm and soft when he did. It was such a sweet contrast to the snarky little shit you were used to, and so temptation won in the end.

“…Fine.” You agreed after dragging out the tension. “But I am bringing presents for all your family members, and you have to help me. And any funds that were spent on me are going to be paid back before summer. Got it?”

A true, genuine smile crept across Michael’s face.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“…Will I be seeing any baby pictures of you?”

“Don’t push it.”

You weren’t sure what exactly to expect from Michael’s family – maybe they were wonderful, or maybe the idea of an American that hailed from a city with some of the highest crime rates in the US gave them hives – but you were sure that you wouldn’t be alone if Michael were with you. Safe to say, your expectations were set way too low.

His dad's arms immediately enveloped Michael after you two exited at your stop and the station. You had always assumed most British father figures to be a bit cold and distant, but it seemed that stereotype didn’t apply to his dad. You went in for a handshake but were also caught in a warm hug. You introduced yourself while expressing your gratitude to him and his wife’s generosity.

“Oh no, please,” he insisted, “please call me Greg. Mr. Gavey was my father’s name, and I don’t think I’ve grown that many wrinkles yet.”

When you arrived at his home, it was a medium-sized red brick building in the suburbs. After entering the door and Greg announcing your arrival, quick footsteps ran down the stairs, and a young girl with golden honey curls in pajamas and a pink tutu ran to Michael.

“MIKEY!” she exclaimed. “YOU’RE HOME! Did you miss me? Why did it take you so long? You said your tests were done by the third. It’s the fifteenth today!”

“Lily, Lily,” Michael breathily laughed, “calm down. Of course, I missed you. But I had to wait for my friend because she’s hopeless with directions.”

“That is not true!” you blurted. “It’s not my fault I come from a grid system!”

“Anyway, this is my very good friend, Y/N L/N. Y/N L/N, this is my little sister, Lily.”

Lily turned to you with a big smile and curtsied like a perfect ballerina.

“Hello! My name is Lily! I’m eight, but I’ll be nine in April!”

You almost squealed at how adorable the sight was. You crouched down and mirrored her smile.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Lily! I’m Y/N, and I’m turning nineteen this coming b/m! Your brother here told me so much about you.”

“He did?” she asked with wide eyes.

“He did! He told you how smart you are in math and that you’re an amazing ballerina.”

Lily shyly looked down as a massively cute blush bloomed on her cheeks.

“I wanna be good at sums like Mikey. That way, I can help Daddy with his work like Mikey did when he was my age.”

“Ok!” interjected ‘Mikey,’ cheeks equally flushed at the slipped detail from his baby sister. “Time to find Mum. She in the kitchen?”

“Yep! She’s making roast chicken and mash with peas!” She turned to you. “Is Y/N allergic to anything?”

“Nope!” you replied, “Only dust, but I’m pretty sure that won’t be in the dishes.”

Meeting Michael’s mom – who was absolutely gorgeous, by the way – was another huge highlight of the break so far. Hearing you three entering the kitchen, she immediately turned off the stove and dashed over to hug you and her son.

“Oh, Y/N!” she warmly greeted you. “I’m so happy that you were able to come. Michael has told me so much about you. Have you adjusted well in Oxford? The time difference isn’t putting too much strain on you, is it? You both look so skinny – are they feeding you at all at that school?”

“Careful, Mum. You might scare her off.”

You shot him a mocking glare before answering his mother.

“Don’t be mean! And I think I’ve adjusted well enough to the university. Jet lag wasn’t too much of an issue because my parents made sure I moved into my dorm early and adjusted to the time zone changes before classes started. The food they serve at the dining halls doesn’t compare to homecooked meals, so I haven’t had much of an appetite. But after walking into the kitchen, I think I’ll be able to regain it once I have your cooking!”

“Oh, you are so sweet! I’ll let you get settled. Greg and I cleaned up the guest room for you. It’s next to Lilypad’s room. She’s excited to hear any stories you have about New York. It’s just on the second floor at the end of the hall.”

Walking back to the entrance to grab your bags, you were just in earshot of Michael and his mom’s conversation.

“Michael! Why didn’t you tell me she was so beautiful! I thought she was a model from Vogue when she first walked in! Are you sure nothing’s going on between you two? Should I expect any grandchildren in the near future?”

“Mum!” he loudly groaned as you softly chortled.

Christmas with the Gaveys was so much fun. You played a dozen board games. Michael was a beast in Poker and Uno while you cleared the board with Scrabble and Black Jacks. Mrs. Gavey was a fantastic cook – you couldn’t remember the last time you had any meal that had more than salt as a seasoning since coming to England. You tried sticky toffee pudding for the first time – you almost cried at that first bite. Everyone was so warm to each other and showered one another with so much love. Most of the neighbors watched Michael grow up, and many shared his childhood stories. It reminded you a lot of the Christmases at your parents’ apartment back in Queens.

The community and camaraderie- it was like you were back at home with your family. Your mom would pick up a roast duck from Peking Duck Sandwich Stall in Flushing while you and your dad would go to Eileen’s to wait in line to pick up your favorite cheesecake. The building would have a huge potluck on Christmas Eve, and everyone would bring a dish. Your neighbor, Mrs. Wong, would bring out everything necessary to make her famous dumplings. Everything was made from scratch. You and the kids of the building would learn how to wrap the fillings in the wrappers while the adults made the wrappers and fillings. You would play White Elephant with the other kids on Christmas Day, which usually ended in a fistfight.

You still missed home. You missed your parents and cat. You missed making cookies with your parents because Christmas was the only time when both of them had time off from work. While his school was still on break, you and your dad would take advantage of your mom’s employee benefits and watch a bunch of live Broadway shows.

When your parents skyped you, you cried after seeing their faces for the first time in so long. School was so stressful, and you were starting to regret traveling so far when you could have easily gone to a school so much closer to home. You tried your best to reschedule your flight, but round-trip flights were expensive, and they increased exponentially during the holidays.

You cried for an hour after seeing the prices online.

But thanks to Michael, you felt so much less alone than you would have if you had stayed at Oxford for the entire break. You introduced him to your parents during the call, and they loved him. It was such a massive relief that they liked your friend, especially because of how much his friendship meant to you. When he left the room, your parents basically forced you to ensure he would come with you to stay with you when you returned for the summer. They were shocked when you told them he had never had fresh jianbing or a decent slice of pizza. After the call, you were confident they were making a list of every store and stall you and Michael would visit during his visit.

Classic Queens’ family behavior – showing love by forcing food down your throat whether you like it or not.

At the moment, you were at the window in your room and looking at the moon. It was about three in the morning, and the rest of the household was asleep.

Well – everyone except one.

Michael had crept in about half an hour ago, and the two of you were just looking at the stars. You hadn’t expected to see so many – you could only see the lights from planes and aircraft at night back home. There wasn’t any talking, only comforting silence. The scene outside your window with the fresh snow on top of the rooftops and ground. Each house had a slight outline of their Christmas tree lights shining from their lower windows.

Your fingers itched for your pencil and sketchbook to immortalize it.

Ever so softly, Michael broke the silence while looking at you.

“So,” he began, “how would you rate your first English Christmas in the Gavey Household?”

You looked back at him with the biggest smile that Michael had ever seen on you.

“Ten out of ten. Would pay to see lightsaber reenactment again.”

If there was a God out there, you prayed for the coming term to be as wonderful as this holiday had been for you.

Suburban Prescot, Liverpool December 2006

In a well-established suburban home in Prescot, a short boy with crystal blue eyes and inky black hair locked himself in his room. The noise and babble from downstairs gave him a headache. He hated his parents. He hated his sisters. He hated being invisible and being from nowhere.

He had to get out of here.

In his backpack, a photo of a specific heir of a manor was safely tucked in the bottom. The new term was going to be different for him. He would make sure of it.

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @valeskafics, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindnow, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list by commenting!

#saltburn x reader #saltburn #saltburn crack #saltburn au #michael gavey x reader #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #oliver quick #michael gavey #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie

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blackbirdsblackberries · 2 months

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Don't drink the Kool-Aid pt.1

I'll create a tag list if people want to be tagged. There's a meaning behind Savior Anwir's name! This chapter is a bit short considering it's technically a prologue.

Your day is a boring loop yet one you’ve grown to love.

You wake up, get ready for the day, wait in line for your tray of shitty food, sit with your “team”, finish eating.

During the morning you spend your time exercising until you’re about to collapse. This will end around lunchtime in which you’ll get your lunch delivered to wherever you are in the place. Afterwards you are expected to show your devotion to your higher-ups, your family, your saviors. The rest of the day you either practice combat or defense.

Tiring as it might be, it was your life and you loved it.

You don’t remember your life before joining Savior Anwir in her division of the Daughters of Eve. The division is based in Gotham City, a place even the devil himself had abandoned. Atleast, that’s what you’ve been told.

You see, you’re not allowed out of the confines of the estate. It’s too dangerous, what if men take you away and use you? What if you get lost? What if you accidentally get killed? It’s terrifying to think of and keeps you away from the outside world.

Today however things have gone a bit differently, after showing devotion to your saviors you and everyone else is herded to the main hall - which was just the foyer area. This only happens when they take on new members.

Will they be mean? Would they be overjoyous? There’s so many options and you don’t like any of them, you don’t like new people or change, you like how everything is now.

You take your place in the second row.

The first row is for kids, the second for teens, the third for young adults, the fourth for adults, and the fifth for people over that age.

Savior Anwir stands atop the stairs in front of everyone, two people next to her.

One is a girl with blonde hair, tanned skin and striking blue eyes, she’s in a purple hoodie and black leggings. The other is a girl with short black hair, brown eyes and beautiful clear skin, she herself is in a blackish gray graphic t-shirt and light gray sweatpants.

People start to murmur, a teammate of yours turns to you.

“They seem off, right?” You don’t know why she’s asking you. Frankly, you don’t care, your team is full.

“I guess, but they seem nice enough.” Is all you say, no point in conspiring against people who haven’t even been in your presence for more than a minute.

The murmurs die down as soon as Savior Anwir raises her hands.

“Now, I understand everyone is excited for new sisters to be joining us,” Savior Anwir glances at the two beside her as if silently asking if she’s correct to call them sisters. Savior Anwir doesn’t actually care, she is simply doing it to make them seem more welcomed - you’ve been around long enough to know that.

She continues.

“But we must calm down and not cause strain on their mental capacities!” Savior Anwir puts a hand on either girl’s shoulders. “Please, introduce yourselves.”

The blonde one speaks up first “I’m Stephanie but everyone can call me Steph!” She seems energetic and like she doesn’t truly belong here.

The other one doesn’t speak up. Steph chuckles and speaks up again “This is Cassandra, you can just call her Cass! She’s mute.” Mutism is common here due to many people coping by not speaking at all. That’s probably why she’s mute, she was attacked and now chooses to be mute!

Right? Right.

Silence envelops the room then and you don't miss how Steph awkwardly looks around as if expecting applause - something you will not do until Savior Anwir says so.

Savior Anwir nods. "Thank you girls, you are very lucky to be joining today, it just so happens we've found some of our trainees have been plotting against us. So we have openings for you!"

You raise a brow, who would be so stupid to plot against your own family? The very family that graciously took you in and nurtured you, protected you and showed you true love.

Savior Anwir holds her hands out. "The two traitors who have decided they do not love us are none other than Mary Hailstone and Annie Malcomb! Please, come up here and shake hands with your replacements!"

You freeze, Mary and Annie belonged to your team, you three were as close as people get in this cult. They wouldn't of betrayed you... Right?

You watch as the two slowly ascend the staircase, heads down and hands shaking.

When you betray DoE there is only one punishment.

Mary and Annie both shake hands with Steph and Cass before Savior Anwir hands the traitors a gun each.

They had a choice, shoot each other or shoot themselves. They chose themselves.

You watch as Steph's eyes widen in horror and Cass's eyebrows twitch slightly.

You suppose you should pick up on little things they do now considering they'll be your new team members...

185 notes · View notes

gureumz · 1 year

Text

oh, you're the girl?

like a freak, like a g [installment 2]

rating: explicit

member: heeseung

premise: news travels fast in the frat house. and so do your bedroom noises, apparently. if you wanna sleep your way through the frat, it might be best to keep it down. or don't.

notes: fem!reader, greek life!au, university!au, dom!heeseung, unprotected sex, dirty talk, degradation, breeding, slight begging, mentions of stealing reader from jake, mentions of drugs

a/n: second installment of the 'sleeping around the frat house' series! and so the drama begins. don't worry if jake's installment is shorter than this, he will be coming back in the future installments heh. in the meantime, enjoy your stay with heeseung ;) *divider by cafekitsune

it's fucking horrendous how much the frat house reeks of weed tonight. you're surprised cops aren't banging the door down at this very moment as you're sure the stench has at least a 1-kilometer radius from its point of origin.

the music rings loud in your ears as you shuffle through the crowd of people hollering at the beer pong game in the living room. you bite your tongue when you feel a girl jam her elbow into your side, not even an apology or at least an apologetic glance given your way.

you sigh, trudging on, eyes scanning the faces of the people around you.

jake did say there was going to be a party tonight and that you're welcome to seek refuge in his room while people rage downstairs. but you have needs and one of those is food, and while you would prefer to not have the smell of cannabis sticking to your clothes, you are hungry. the last meal you had was the lunch jake ordered for the two of you nearly twelve hours ago.

you vaguely remember jake getting up to shower roughly an hour after the two of you finished what must have been your third round. that's when he told you about the party. you hummed dismissively, planning to leave even before the party starts.

but apparently, jake must have fucked you real good, because you knocked out for hours after you drifted off to sleep at the sound of jake's soft humming in the shower.

so here you are, scouring the party for your technically-not-boyfriend, wanting nothing more than to see a familiar face.

you reach the kitchen. no jake.

you peek through the window to look at the front yard. still no sign of jake.

you stumble out into the backyard and see that of course, it's a pool party, with about fifteen people crowding inside the water, spilling beer everywhere. because drunk and high college students around bodies of water are totally safe and fine.

you're about to storm back inside the house when you feel a warm presence materialize behind you.

you squeak in surprise when you find yourself face to face with one of jake's friends, his broad frame seemingly shrinking you in comparison as he eyes you down. you've seen him a few times before as his room is next to jake's. but you cannot for the life of you remember his name.

"are you okay?" he asks. his voice is smooth and clear, indicating that he's probably not as inebriated as everyone else.

"yeah, i'm just looking for jake," you explain. "you don't happen to know where he is, do you?"

the friend smiles, eyes flicking up and down briefly over your body.

"oh, you're that girl. the one jake fucks around with," he says, as if stating a well-known fact and not a semi-personal detail of your life.

your cheeks heat up as you nervously glance around to see if anyone's close enough to overhear.

jake's friend laughs, nudging your arm playfully.

"i don't know how to tell you this but there's no point in keeping it a secret. everyone in the house is well-acquainted with your...noises," he says, winking.

you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

"yeah, well, do you know where jake is?" you press on, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"he's off buying more booze," the friend states. "he just left, actually."

a twinge of annoyance tugs at your chest. he leaves you in his room and not even a text to tell you where he's going?

"you can stay with me for a bit," the friend offers. you study his face and he smiles, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"we can crash in my room," he adds, thumb jerking upward towards the direction of the house's second story.

you sigh, the beginnings of a headache creeping up behind your eyes.

"sure, yeah, i guess."

he smiles holding his hand out to you. you take it and let him lead you through the party. as you exit the kitchen and re-enter the living room, it seems as if the number of people have doubled, jostling you about and nearly knocking you off your feet. you feel jake's friend wrap an arm protectively around your waist, tugging you along towards the stairs.

he doesn't let go until you're right in front of his door.

the name 'heeseung' is spelled out in those small felt letters, the ones used for scrapbooking, stuck smack dab in the middle of the door.

'cute,' you think as you chuckle quietly to yourself.

"what's so funny?" heeseung asks, a playful look on his face. he swings the door open and motions for you to enter.

you shake your head. "nothing. the name on the door is just very middle school."

heeseung laughs, following you as you step inside the dimly lit room. a sunset lamp is turned on in the corner, casting faint shades of yellow, orange, and hints of purple and pink on the walls.

"it helps when the others drunkenly drag girls up here during these parties," heeseung explains. "you'd be surprised at how they forget which room is even theirs when they've had enough to drink."

you giggle, plopping yourself down on heeseung's bed.

"wait—are you the one that i'm hearing about lately? the girl that's trying to sleep her way around the frat?"

your smile fades as you remember the conversation you've had a week ago with jake. or more appropriately, the challenge jake sprung up on you that you so recklessly accepted.

"uh...," you begin, avoiding heeseung's eyes.

"yeah," you finish simply, shrugging. what else is there to say?

heeseung grins, clearly amused. he keeps his eyes on you as he empties his jean pockets of things, setting them down on his desk. keys, a wallet, a square foil wrapper—oh, wait—two square foil wrappers and—

"why do you have so many condoms?" you ask in mild disbelief.

"i'm director of operations, which just means i manage the house and make sure no one comes home one day with a baby," heeseung rattles off, picking up one of the condoms and brandishing it at you.

"hence, the condoms."

he points to a drawer in his desk. "there are two more boxes there. no frat babies on my watch."

you afford yourself a laugh. heeseung smiles along, stretching his lithe body out. your eyes observe the shift of his muscles under his shirt, the curve of his ass in his jeans, and the way his hair falls messily into his eyes.

heeseung groans in satisfaction and you rip your eyes away from his pecs.

"so, director of operations...," you say, raising a brow at heeseung.

"ah, jake did mention you were narrowing your, er, conquest to the executive committee," heeseung muses as he makes his way to you.

you crane your neck up at him and from this angle, you can easily lean forward, undo his belt, unbutton his pants, and—

"that's five more people to go through, including me," heeseung says with a grin. "you sure you can handle that?"

you scoff, shaking your head. "i really hate it when people underestimate me."

"i'm not underestimating you, sweetheart," heeseung denies, holding his hands up as if in apology. "i'm just wondering if you know what you're getting into."

you cock your head to the side, eyebrows knit together.

"jake might be willing to share, but the others?" heeseung stops there, whistling lowly.

you think about it for a moment. six guys, some you haven't even met yet. unknown kinks and fantasies. uncharted territories. he's right. what have you gotten yourself into?

"also, just a side note, we get tested every three months," heeseung says, pulling you out of your thoughts. "it's an initiative i started. we just had our last test the other week and everyone was clean."

you nod along, admittedly impressed.

"you're very efficient as the director of operations, heeseung," you compliment. a bashful smile spreads on his lips.

"thank you," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"i'm efficient in a lot of other things, too."

you swallow. you can see where this is going. you know heeseung locked the door earlier, and the show of condoms wasn't an accident, either. it's dark in this room but you know the look in heeseung's eyes.

your first actual conquest in your mission to see if you could sleep your way through the frat.

"really?" you ask, trying to stretch out the inevitable limbo, the in-between, the not-knowing of whether you're permitted to move to the next level.

"and what might those other things be?" you add.

heeseung laughs, sounding exasperated. he leans down and you back up, scooting further up his bed. heeseung plants one knee on the mattress, his arms on either side of your legs. he's not trapping you in. not yet, at least.

at this point, it's anyone's game.

"baby, let's just do what we came here to do."

that easy, huh?

turns out yes, it's that easy. because your legs are parting and heeseung is sinking between them, one hand reaching out to hold your face steady. his other arm braces against the headboard as he finally cages you in between the wall and his broad frame.

heeseung kisses you, rough and spontaneous and intense. you groan against his lips, your hands laying gently on his neck. you can feel his pulse and his heart is absolutely racing.

"come here," heeseung mutters, pulling you forward. he pulls you over himself as he sits back, your legs on either side of his thighs as you straddle him.

"say 'red' if you want to stop, okay?" heeseung whispers, a hand smoothing up your back.

you nod, perching yourself on heeseung's lap, resuming your assault on his lips. you bite down gently on his lower lip and he moans, nails digging into your sides.

you're about to lose your damn mind.

"fuck," you whisper as you feel heeseung roll his hips up against your core. he smirks, his mouth working its way down from your jaw to your neck.

"don't hold back on me now, baby," heesueng coos. he pulls back and looks at you, tucking your hair behind your ear. "i hear you every time you're next door in jake's room. wanna hear you do the same for me."

you bite your lip, your whole body heating up now that you're confronted with just how loud you are.

"come on," heeseung urges, pushing your shirt over your chest. you wordlessly put your hands up, letting heeseung tug the garment off you.

heeseung reaches behind you and snaps your bra open in a second. you shiver as you feel him pull your bra off.

he must have done this a thousand times before.

you let out a breath as heeseung dips his head, lips capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. his hair tickles at your chin and you can smell the faint scent of his shampoo. you smooth your fingers through his silver locks, tugging lightly when you feel him bite down.

"i'm not hearing you," heesueng mumbles between your mounds, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your skin. his fingers reach for your other nipple and he pinches down, hard.

that's when you let out a shriek of surprise, grip tightening in heeseung's hair. he hums, sucking on one spot right in the middle of your sternum.

no low necklines for you any time soon. or maybe you'll wear them, anyway. see what jake has to say about the hickey his friend left on you.

heeseung slides you off him, guiding you down onto his bed. he taps your hip.

"off," he says curtly, referring to your jeans. heeseung pulls back and gives you the space to tug off your pants, his own hands frantically pulling off his own clothing.

a minute later, the two of you are left in nothing but your underwear.

heeseung takes ahold of your thighs, spreading your legs wider. you hear him breathe in as he eyes your core.

"you're such a nasty whore," heeseung says abruptly, his hand coming down to slap your pussy. you gasp, lurching forward in surprise.

heeseung presses a hand on your stomach, applying the smallest amount of pressure. it's a warning. stay still.

"getting wet at the idea of fucking your boyfriend's friends," heeseung sneers, smacking your sensitive mound again over your panties. you whimper, shaking your head.

"n-not my boyfriend," you sniffle. "he's n-not."

"still," heeseung responds. another loud smack. harder this time.

"what kind of person lets a whole frat house slut them out? a dirty fucking whore, that's what."

you feel tears prickle at your eyes as heeseung lands a few more slaps on your aching pussy. you're drenched at this point, making a mess for sure on heeseung's sheets.

heeseung practically yanks your panties off, revealing your glistening cunt. he licks his lips, the pads of his fingers pushing lightly against the relative area of your clit.

your back arches slightly off the bed. your whole body seems to shake of oversensitivity.

heeseung hurriedly discards of his own boxers and your mouth instantly waters as you're greeted with the sight of his cock, long and girthy, tapering off perfectly toward the tip.

heeseung props your legs open, aligning himself with your entrance. your eyes meet and you look at him, confused.

"what happened to your whole 'director of operations and no frat babies under my watch' spiel?" you ask.

heeseung snickers. "i'm a bit of a hypocrite, baby."

he pauses, studying your expression and waiting for you to say something. the safe word. your teeth worry at your bottom lip but you nod.

"go ahead," you whisper.

heeseung nods as well, pressing himself against your leaking entrance. your mouth falls open as heeseung manages to squeeze in half of himself in you. he pauses, planting his hands firmly on your hips. he pushes all the way in, pulling you down on him at the same time.

you both gasp.

"oh fuck," heeseung curses. you clench down on him and he grunts.

heeseung starts to move, and if there's one thing you know about him by now, it's that he wastes no time. he's ramming into you relentlessly after only a minute, your head spinning as your mind tries to catch up with your body.

he feels good stretching you out like this, that's for sure. your pussy squelches each time heeseung pushes in, proof of just how wet you are for him.

you're moaning uncontrollably now, heeseung's hips snapping up against yours. looking at him, his forehead creased, eyes squeezed shut, it dawns on you what you've started.

if all the other guys on the executive committee would look just as good as heeseung does right at this moment, buried to the hilt in your cunt, then maybe you are a nasty whore.

"heeseung, heeseung, heseeung!" you cry out, unable to contain the pleasure coursing through your body.

heeseung leans down to press his lips messily onto yours. tongue and teeth and spit greet you as you kiss him back. you wrap your legs tightly around heeseung's hips and he lets his eyes roll into the back of his head.

"baby, oh god," he says, pressing his forehead against yours.

"you think jake will mind if i cum inside this pussy?" heeseung whispers, his breath ghosting over your face.

you can't help it. you moan out like a cockhungry slut at heeseung's words.

"please," you beg. "need your cum, need it inside me."

heeseung chuckles darkly, pulling away slightly. "you need it? gonna go around and tell my brothers that you need their cum too?"

you shake your head, though you're unsure why you're doing this because you know heeseung's right. maybe at this point, you've truly gone dumb over cock. heeseung's cock.

"no, no," you protest. "n-need your cum now. need it, want it so bad."

heeseung wraps his arms around you, pressing your bodies close together. he buries his face in your neck as he continues to fuck into you shallowly. your belly tightens as your own release approaches. the friction of heeseung's abs against your clit pushing you closer and closer.

"gonna cum," heeseung warns. "gonna cum inside this pussy, god—"

you feel heeseung twitch inside you and a final drag of his toned abdomen over your nub sends you over the edge. you tighten your hold around heeseung as you sob onto his shoulder.

the two of you lay still for a few moments, breathing heavily. you hold each other close for another minute before heeseung pushes himself off you, sweeping his sweaty hair back.

he grins down at you before kissing you lightly.

"i might need to steal you from jake after this," heeseung jokes as he slowly pulls out of you. he grabs a towel hanging off his desk chair, holding it between your legs.

you laugh weakly, your head lolling to one side as you feel exhaustion wash over you.

heeseung plops down beside you, arms automatically winding around your midsection. "you can stay here for tonight."

you hum in contentment, snuggling up to heeseung.

---

jake is frantic as his call is unanswered for the fifth time. where the fuck are you?

the party has mostly died down by now and he thought you probably had gone home. that's when he started calling. two missed calls. no problem. you weren't a phone call type of person, anyway.

he asked everyone who he thought might know you at this party about your whereabouts and if they saw you leave or not, but no one seemed to know where you wandered off.

hence, five more missed calls.

"you alright?"

jake looks up from his phone to see sunoo dragging a plastic bag behind him, halfheartedly picking up stray cups and chucking them into the bag.

"it's ______. she's not answering," jake complains, pressing the 'call' button once more.

"oh her," sunoo says with a knowing smile. "i saw her with heeseung a few hours ago. they haven't gone back down since."

jake pauses, immediately ending the call. he sighs, half wanting to laugh and half wanting to punch himself.

so, it's started. alright, then.

#enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #heeseung smut #heeseung scenarios #w: heeseung

1K notes · View notes

marleyybluu · 1 year

Text

Boys

dad!Oscar x mom!reader

Sum: Oscar's not a fan of his daughter going on a date.

WC: 928

Warnings: old draft not proofread.

this was not what I originally wanted to post but this was in my drafts so I'm letting it go out into the Tumblr world.

"Ay! Papaaa! It's not a big deal!" The teenage girl dramatically raised her voice throwing an outfit on her bed, she suddenly hated her closet. Her father's arms crossed over his chest, an unhappy look on his face as he stood in the door frame. "Who is this guy? Why have you never told me about him? Where is he taking you?"

You chuckled rolling your eyes at the small argument as you stirred your pot of food, your youngest sat in her high chair giggling her head off. "You're laughing? Girl you are next." You joked pointing at her which only made the twelve-month-old laugh even more. A bedroom door slammed and your sixteen-year-old appeared. "Ugh!! What is wrong with your husband!?"

He was dad when everything went her way but was quickly your husband once when things go awry.

You shrugged. "You know how he is, girl, but I mean you could have said something to him."

She let out an exaggerated sigh and plopped herself down around the kitchen table. Your daughter had let it be known to you and you only that she had a crush on a boy named Nico at school, you'd known of Nico, met him a few times and seemed nice. Then one day your girl comes home squealing with joy about how the young man liked her back and asked her out on a date. You were happy for her and found it a bit cute that she'd reached this stage in life, a bit cautious of what was to come if the unspeakable happened.

Young heartbreak was a bitch.

Oscar on the other hand was not too fond of the thought of his daughter, his precious angel, going on a date with a boy he's never heard about. The doorbell rang causing your child to jump up, her hands ironing out her light blue dress from any creases, even though there were none. Your brooding husband came sliding down the hall on his way to open the door. You had asked her to turn down the stove so that you could beat him to the door so he wouldn't terrify the young boy.

He caught wind of what you were doing at picked up his pace, you attempted to match him and almost met up with him until he shoved you out of the way, not so hard that you would plummet onto the floor but enough to knock you off balance.

Oscar had made it to the entrance his iconic scowl returning to his face as he answered the door. The young man swallowed, fear visibly creeping in when he was met with a more well-toned, and well-tatted man who looked like he was ready to put his foot where the sun doesn't shine. "Who are you?" He nodded.

"I'm uh, I'm Nico. I'm... I'm here to pick up Nia... if that's okay." He stammered.

"Well, it's no-"

"Nico, hi sweetie how are you?" You chimed in pulling on Oscar's arm, your nails digging into his skin causing him to hiss and cuss under his breath. "I'm good Mrs. Diaz. How about yourself?"

"I'm great. I think Nia should be here any second she's just grabbing her jacket."

"Where you guys going?" Oscar asked arching his brow. Nico played with the bottom of his black shirt, the poor kid was sweating. "Just the movies, McDonald's or something after."

You smiled. "That's nice."

Nia cleared her throat as she appeared from behind her mother. "Hi, Nico." She blushed. His smile was all of a sudden brighter. "Hi Nia, you look pretty."

"Thank you. You look pretty too." You softly smiled as you watched Nia's face fall, probably thinking what she said was stupid.

"Thanks."

The young girl said goodbye to her parents and they watched her get into the passenger seat of his car and drive off. You closed the door turning to Oscar who still had a frown on his face. "You are a piece of work Spooky."

He kissed his teeth, you never called him that unless you were upset. Now, technically, you weren't mad at him you just wanted to sting him a little for almost ruining your daughter's nice evening. "She couldn't wait until she was at least twenty-five to start dating." He groaned.

You raised your eyebrows in amusement. "You didn't wait. I didn't wait. We were their age once Papi. Es la vida. Let her grow."

He pouted, that was his firstborn, the first to have him completely wrapped around her finger, poor Oscar was at her beck and call no matter what. So, as much as he hated to say it out loud, he was sad that his little girl was growing up right before his eyes. Your husband followed you back into the kitchen, slithering his hands around your waist, holding you close. He hummed at the smell of your hair pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

"If, and I mean if, he breaks her heart. I'll come with you to beat him up." The two of you laughed. "Deal."

Oscar turned his attention over to your youngest who was stuffing her face with a small store-bought cupcake. He smiled at the icing covering half her face, he grabbed a paper towel and wet it before wiping off her face. Her little hands reached for his face and he leaned into her tiny palms, kissing all over her face causing her to explode into a fit of laughs. He took her out of her high chair lifting her in the air. "You gotta wait a little longer than sixteen to date okay mi amor."

You kissed your teeth and threw a kitchen towel at him. "Estúpido."

More Papa Spooky otw bcus i have a problem

if you liked this fic feel free to like this fic. Comments and reblogs are appreciated. For the newbies I see y’all I just can’t respond.

Peace and love

Tags: @skyesthebomb @darqchilddaydreamz

#oscar diaz #fem!reader #spooky #spooky x reader #spooky x fem!reader #oscar diaz x fem!reader #oscar diaz x reader #spooky fanfic #spooky fanfiction #on my block fanfic #on my block #on my block fanfiction

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roz-ani · 8 months

Text

As someone who was absolutely thriving while watching episode 5 and being a huge fan of Alastor being a dad/mentor/godfather figure to Charlie, I think one thing needs to be made clear: Alastor doesn't see her as his daughter. He is, however, meant to slowly warm up to the idea of the Hotel and to the people living it. The thing that holds the audience back from fully grasping that idea is the show's pacing. As Al continues to be the best-written character in the show, I wanted to focus more on his motivation and actions in light of the events of episode 5, while also being aware of how much work the audience has to do to fill in the gaps created by the show's writing.

As fun and entertaining as the idea of Charlie and Alstor having this kind of bond is, it is not without its flaws.

Where did this idea of Al being supportive of Charlie's idea even come from? Obviously, the pilot. The Radio Demon shows up at the doorstep and offers his aid. He claims he's doing it for himself, but hey, he's still helping, right? Well, technically. The moment the Princess asks him if he believes in her cause, he laughs it off. He doesn't support her dream and does not necessarily want to make the Hotel work in the sense that he would like to see it succeed. Alastor is fully convinced it's a lost cause - hard work that doesn't pay off. He wants to see it function. He wants ongoing entertainment in the form of sinners failing to redeem themselves. Well, he doesn't get to watch that much if you look at how much redeeming there's actually going on it the show.

He provides the staff, renovates the building, even gives it its official name, and agrees to make the commercial to promote the establishment. The only issue he has with the last thing is the form of the promotion. If Charlie asked for a radio advertisement, he would definitely go out of his way to make it appealing. Would it actually work? Who knows? Probably not much, and we need to remember that no one can be forced or manipulated to stay at the Hotel.

Let's stop here for a moment, though. Now that we know that someone (Lilith... or maybe Eve, but let's leave that for another post) has Alastor on a leash, we can take a different look at the Demon offering Vaggie his help with the commercial. He was most likely sent to help with the establishment because Lilith does want to see Charlie's idea work. Alastor's contract most likely requires him to help and protect Lilith's daughter. Still, he wants to do it on his own terms. So the only requirement he makes is that he will not be involved with television in the future, even if it would help the cause.

Here we face our first problem. This is everything he does for the Hotel in the show. There is literally nothing more we see him do due to the limited number of episodes. We don't even see Charlie and Alastor talk. The last time they had a proper conversation was in the pilot.

Now, here we can notice what made people see Alastor as Charlie's father/mentor figure. In the pilot episode, and especially during his song number, Alastor goes out of his way to touch Charlie and even dances with her. He makes the building look more appealing, showing the owner he's capable of making her dream come true. He does that again episode 5.

Vivzie did say they have a good relationship. The Radio Demon actually likes Charlie's personality and appreciates her artistic talents. Unfortunately, we don't see it in the show itself. We just fill this gap by ourselves. If you want to understand better, put yourself in the shoes of a person who only saw the pilot, which is becoming less and less canon now, and immediately started watching the show without any behind-the-scenes information. Ask your friends to watch this show, like I did, and you'll see what the issue is.

But back to the main topic. Personally, I see Alasto as more of Charlie's (fairy) godfather. Just like the fairy in Cinderella's story, Alastor uses his powers to make the protagonist's dreams come true. He fulfills her requests, like the commercial, but adds his own twists, like the Hotel's name and the deal with Vaggie. I still remember he doesn't actually care about the cause, but it's still entertaining to see him working. Well, again, it would be, because we don't really see him doing that in the show itself.

So, time passes and Lucifer shows up. Now, if looks could kill, this episode would last less than 5 minutes. Alastor IMMEDIATELY hates Hell's boss. His eye starts twitching the moment he hugs Charlie. I would even argue the way he smiles while observing the preparations is much more sinister. He knows who's coming and he doesn't like it.

It doesn't take long before these two start their petty argument. I've seen people come up with a few main ideas for Al's pettiness towards Lucifer:

He hates that yet another power figure didn't recognise him. Partially. We know that Alastor's ego can be easily hurt. He's been gone for seven years and still thinks he's all that. Sure, he's still powerful, and he proves that in the episode, but he's not as relevant as he thinks he is. There is one issue with that argument, though. This is the first time these two meet, and Alastor shows his aversion to Lucifer the moment he arrives. I would say Charlie's father not recognising the Radio Demon just adds insult to the injury.

Alastor had an abusive father, and he hates Lucifer for acting similarly. Possibly. If we want to fill the gaps ourselves again or treat it as a headcanon. We don't know much about Al's childhood, only that he had a good relationship with his mother. If that is the case, we have yet to see it in the show.

Lucifer is the reason why Alastor is on Lilith's leash. Now, that's more likely. My guess is that after losing to Vox, Al made a deal with Lilith and the two of them were gone for 7 years. We have yet to learn what they were doing, but Lilith eventually sent the Radio Demon to help her daughter, while he saw his return as a chance to reestablish his position in Hell's hierarchy. Now, one could argue that was not necessarily hinted at in the episode as well, and I do agree. Yet, I do believe this is the most likely answer, as it would fit the plot and is the most likely part of Al's character to be explored in the future.

Alastor sees Lucifer as a threat to his work/an obstacle. That's an idea that popped into my head recently, and it's strongly connected to the previous theory. Alastor definitely knew that Charlie's dad was… not very supportive of her work. If he somehow managed to dissuade her, it would mean the Demon failed to fulfil his task/hold his end of the deal. It would not only absolutely ruin his ego but also have contract-related consequences.

I think we may explore this issue the future if the show is given a chance to do so. For now, I believe it's safe to say that the main reason for Alastor's aversion is his contract and personality.

But why the pettiness? Why the whole act about being Charlie's biggest supporter? Because Alastor is petty. His ego is quite fragile. We saw that when Carmilla dismissed his return or when Husk warned him about Mimzy. Just like Lucifer, he doesn't believe in Charlie's cause, but Lucifer makes Alastor's aversion even stronger by just straight-up insulting him and his work.

And if Al is willing to send a guy flying because of a coat (that's already torn at the bottom mind you), he's absolutely going to put such a person in their place. The thing is, he can't. Not in this case. We're talking about the King of Hell. Despite his mental state, he's still more powerful than any overlord. We can joke about Vox wishing to have this kind of rivalry with Alastor, but we do see the Radio Demon and the Fallen Anger going head-to-head during their song number. But if Lucifer is so powerful, how can Alastor "beat" him? Simple, by manipulation.

Here we come to the whole father-daughter relationship issue. Everything Alastor does and says is intended to piss off Lucifer. He keeps touching Charlie and talks to her in a way we have only seen during the song number in the pilot. While he does that, he gives her biological father a sinister look any chance he gets. "See? I'm winning. I can give her whatever she wants. In her eyes, I'm just like you if not better."

Now, we need to remember that Charlie is fully aware of Alastor's intentions. She knows he's aiding her for selfish reasons, so why isn't she completely taken aback by his sudden flow of affection and praise? Because it's Charlie we're talking about. In episode 3, she "confessed" that she loves the Hotel residents despite not being that close with them in the first place, and, well, she does have daddy issues. Whenever Alastor looks at her during the song, it feels like he's forcing Charlie to believe what he says and does. The Radio Demon is truly giving the Princess everything her father has failed to provide, and she falls for it.

Remember, Alastor enjoyed watching children suffer after the Stock Market Crash of 1929. He is not a father material. Mentor? Sure. Father? Definitely not. That's why it feels so weird when he says he wishes he had a child of his own. He has never acted this way toward Charlie. He is willing to say anything to make her and Lucifer believe his intentions because he simply wants to win this argument, and he just happens to be in a position that allows him to exploit other people's insecurities.

It makes sense, right? It sure does if we apply the suspension of disbelief notion here. Again, we haven't seen Alastor do any of the things he mentions in the song. The last time he and the Princess talked was in the pilot. We just assume they get along. I think this is especially visible when we stop to think about the fight near the end of the episode. Charlie claims Alastor is protecting the Hotel. It definitely looks like it at first, and we could argue that this is something he signed up for. However, Alastor basically admits that for him, this is a chance to show everyone why he still should be feared. He treats this as an opportunity for a power display. Not because he cares about the Hotel. The writers WANT us to believe that's the case by making Alastor send Mimzy away right after the fight is over. Nothing indicates he cares more about the Hotel. That's why people are not sure if we should treat Alastor's talk with Mimzy seriously.

The show has already done that before, especially in episode 3 with Carmnilla and Vaggie. We know nothing of these two, and we are just supposed to bond with them and understand their way of thinking and actions. Some of that is even in episode 4, when Husk says what everyone's main deal is - Sir Pentious being insecure, Vaggie hating herself, Charlie wanting to resolve other people's problems instead of her own, and Angel Dust putting on an act. We haven't seen any of those people, besides Angel, talk to Husk before, and there was very little time to establish whether all those issues were actually the case. The only reason why we can believe Husk is because we know all that information from the crew, wiki trivia, and because the episode proves Husk was partially right about Angel, whose character act is probably the second-best established one in the show. We know we're meant to fill in the gaps, but there are moments when we're just confused once we turn on critical thinking.

So, Al's argument with Mizmzy is supposed to feel like he's starting to care more about the Hotel because Charlie tells us so and because we can guess that this is most likely Alastor's main character act. Paradoxically, the reason it's not so clear-cut is not just Hazbin Hotel's bad pacing, but Alastor being the best-written character in the show. We learn more and more about him, but there is still some mystery to his motivation. It is never laid out for us like it is with Vaggie (damn, she really is getting the short end of the stick). We're never told, "Hey, this is his deal".

This show is genuinely held back by its format. The writers pick the best, most relevant moments and put them together to create a narrative that ultimately feels incomplete. Interestingly, I think the people who realise it (and are not out there to absolutely tear the show down) are not exactly mad but disappointed. They tend to feel ambivalent or find it hard to care about the characters unless they choose to ignore the missing parts. I believe the show's redeeming qualities, like the voice acting, songs, and its heroes' personalities, make the problems easier to handle, but that doesn't change the fact that it's simply getting more and more frustrating.

Nowadays, writers are left with two choices: severely changing their story or opting for bad writing/pacing to fulfil their vision. Hazbin Hotel's creators clearly went for the second option. We don't know what exactly was changed because of the budget and the show's format, but the main premise is just not present in the series. We're not observing much redeeming, and the whole deal with Heaven feels like a season 2 plot idea. Are the writers doing their best with what they have? It depends on what we consider "doing your best." Personally, I understand they want to make the series entertaining. They want people to be intrigued and interested in the premise, but the execution is just hopeless. Just because you can do more doesn't mean you should. What looks good on paper is not always going to work in a different medium. Show, don't tell.

You can't expect the audience to fill in the gaps for your sake all the time. What you think is intriguing may be just another reason for people to realise how lacklustre your creation is.

I know it sounds like I'm just blaming the crew, but I am fully aware that they're not Benioff and Weiss. They would absolutely accept more episodes. Just like with Charlie, their efforts are futile when they're not fully in control. Still, that doesn't change the fact that the final outcome is deeply flawed. As an audience, we can't just keep saying, "Well, they wanted to do more, but the studios didn't let them." Yes, that is the whole problem. Yes, studios shouldn't have so much power over someone's creation. Hazbin Hotel's writers are trying their best, but not with the pacing. They are making everything else redeem the issues with the story progression. While the show is genuinely enjoyable, it is mainly so when you, as a viewer, decide to turn a blind eye to the pacing. When you convince yourself that as long as something fun and plot-relevant happens, the show is well-written. I don't want Hazbin Hotel to be perfect. I want it to realize that some things should be prioritised.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #alastor #charlie morningstar #lucifer morningstar #lucifer hazbin hotel #roz writes #mine

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therealcocoshady · 4 months

Text

Recovery - Chapter 38

Synopsis : Reader listen to the leaked track in which Em mentions her.

Tags : angst

You stared at Marshall for a couple of seconds, in complete and utter disbelief. He seemed terrified. You had seen this look more often that you liked to admit. The very look that said he was guilty of something he definitely wasn’t proud of. You had first seen it the you fount out about him sending armed guys to threaten the rapper who had referred to you in a diss track, when he had admitted to threatening Josh, when you overheard Tracy mentioning blowing him in London… He stared at you, nervously biting his lip, not saying a word.

- Is it true ? You asked. Did-did you really name-drop me on a track ?

- I… It wasn’t supposed to be heard, he said. By anyone. Ever.

- What track is it ?

- Doesn’t matter, he said. Babe, I swear to God, it doesn’t matter. I… I have to call my team. We need to get that shit removed.

- You really are stupid, aren’t you ?! Jamal asked with a sardonic laugh. It dropped last night. It’s been listened to millions of times, reposted everywhere.

- I want to listen to it, you said.

- No you don’t, they both said at the same time.

- If my name is mentioned on a stupid track, I deserve to know ! You argued.

- Babe, please don’t, Marshall pleaded. Please.

- Don’t ‘Babe’ me, right now, you said. Jamal, give me your phone. I want to listen to it.

- Y/N, no… I hate to agree with this motherfucker, but… Don’t listen to this shit, Jamal said.

- That motherfucker’s still your boss, Marshall groaned. You better-

- Wait until I shove a drum machine up your ass, your friend shot back.

They stared at each other, looking as if they were about to hit each other. You didn’t care for either of their arguments. You didn’t need any of these grow men babying you and you deserved to listen to this damn song. You sighed and ran up the stairs to grab your phone. If the track had already gone viral, you’d find it pretty easily. As soon as you started to walk, they both followed you and tried to argue but you slammed the bedroom door in their faces and locked it behind you. You heard them yell at each other and sighed.

- Y/N, come back, Jamal said.

- Baby, open the door, please, Marshall asked.

You sighed and simply started to play the song. As soon as the first notes started playing, you heard complete silence. For an agonizing four minutes, you had to listen to your boyfriend, the man you loved, who said he’d always have your back, assassinate your character. You felt complete disgust, similar to the first time you had heard « Kim ». It wasn’t that the song was bad - on a technical and lyrical level, it was probably excellent - but knowing that these lyrics were about an actual person, about you, made you feel sick. He was describing nothing less than a torture scene, rapping about sequestering you in order to avoid a breakup, painting a scene in which he hurt you physically, going as far as impregnating you and making you abort with a butcher’s knife. The whole thing was horrendous and you thought you were about to faint when you heard your name, your actual name. It was impossible. It couldn’t be. This had to be some sort of nightmare. To make it worse, you had the urge to check the Internet’s reaction. Everyone seemed to be out there, celebrating « Eminem going back to his Shady era » or whatever that was. A few people seemed shocked but, in majority, fans seemed to be here for it. To add to the nightmare, people were linking the name in the song - yours - to the pictures that had leaked a year ago. The pictures of you in lingerie, that the Internet seemed to have forgotten - was back. It made you sick to your stomach. You felt vulnerable, like a prey. Your face, your name, your body were out there for people to make fun of. You were starting to feel dizzy so you laid on the bed, trying to breathe. You kept on listening to the song, hoping to hear another name than yours. Any other name. But each and every time, it was your name that came up. You heard the guys knock on the door, begging you to open. After a couple of minutes, you shakily opened, tears streaming down your face.

- I’m so sorry, Marshall said as he tried to pull you in his arms. Baby, I am so, so sorry…

- DO NOT TOUCH ME ! You screamed as you pushed him away.

- Baby, le-let’s talk, he begged. Please, Y/N. You have to know it-

- Tell me it’s a fake, you pleaded. Please tell me it’s AI or something.

- I’m so sorry, he said.

- Please tell me you didn’t write this, you continued. That you didn’t mention my name.

- Y/N, I- I didn’t mean to, I swear, he said.

- You didn’t mean what ?! You asked as you screamed. You didn’t mean to make a beat ? Didn’t mean to write the lyrics and then take the time to record the whole thing ?!?!?!

Your chest was heaving and you were full-on bowling. Marshall was standing in front of you, too close for comfort. He extended an arm to reach for you but you slapped his hand away as soon as he tried to touch you.

- Touch her again and I’m throwing you out the window, Jamal threatened.

- Fuck, Marshall said. Talk to me, Y/N. Please talk to me. Please look at me.

- I… I need to leave, you said.

You started running down the stairs and opened the door. You were in your pajamas, barefoot but at least you got some fresh air in your lungs. The skin on your face was burning, so were your eyes. You tried to focus on the air filling your lungs, trying to regain some composure. After a couple of minutes, you felt a had on your shoulder and immediately recognized Jamal’s.

- Hey sis, he said sheepishly. You holdin’ up ?

- I can’t believe he did this, you said. Have you heard that track ?!

- I have, he said. That’s why I came.

- That’s the most disgusting track I have ever heard, you replied. He… He fucking name-dropped me. And all these comments online…

- I know, Jamal said. I know.

- It’s vile. It’s disgusting. It’s… It can’t be true.

- I know, he simply repeated.

You started crying again and he engulfed you in a big bear hug. You had been hurt before, but no pain compared to this. You felt betrayed and humiliated. You kept on crying in Jamal’s arms, still not believing the man you loved had done this.

- Get in the car, Jamal said.

- Why ? Where are we going ? You asked.

- Home, he said. You really want to stay here ? With him ? After he did that ?

- I guess not, you shrugged. Wait… I have to take some clothes with me.

- Get in the car, I’m taking care of it, he said.

He opened the car and you sat in the passenger seat while he got back to the house. A few minutes later, you heard him come out of it, arguing with Marshall.

- Let me talk to her, he begged. I can explain.

- She doesn’t want to talk to you, man, your friend said. Leave her alone or I swear to God I will end you.

- Jamal, please, he pleaded. You know I would never hurt her. You know I love her.

- What I know is that you used one of my fucking beats to rap about torturing my fucking sister ! Jamal roared.

Your friend got in the car and drove you to his house, where Talia greeted you with a long hug. The three of you sat at the kitchen table and they encouraged you to eat some breakfast while you discussed the horrendous track.

MARSHALL’S POV

He didn’t hear of Y/N for a whole week. In the meantime, he heard from a lot of people, though. A few hours after she left the house in Jamal’s car, he got a phone call from Paul, who chastised him as if he were a teenager. The manager came to visit him and they sat in the living room, in order to work things out, on Paul’s insistence. As far as he was concerned, he only cared about Y/N and how he could get her to talk to him. As soon as he arrived, Paul examined his face.

- Did she hit you ?! He asked with a hint of surprise. Wouldn’t have thought she’d be this strong..

- Jamal did, he replied curtly.

- You might be lucky, then, Paul said. Is Y/N here ?

- Left with him, he mumbled.

- Never thought I’d say that, but I’m actually grateful she didn’t sign the NDA or put the addendum she talked about, Paul commented. Might have taken you to the cleaners…

- Paul, no offense, but I don’t give a fuck, Marshall said. My girlfriend left and won’t answer my calls. For all I care, she can take all of my money and full ownership of the label.

- Thank God It’s not happening, Paul groaned. I think we should talk about it, though. Because you seem to have set the Internet on fire.

- I don’t know what happened ! He finally snapped. We argued, I went to the basement studio and recorded that shit out of spite, because I was fucking pissed and scared after an argument. I have no fucking idea how this shit leaked !

- I’m sure we can find someone who can trace the leak, Paul said. But we have other issues. I have people calling me asking for statements from you. The Internet is truly ablaze. That’s some shock value right here.

- You say that as if it were a good thing, Marshall commented.

- If there’s someone who can make something good out of it, it’s you, the managed pointed out. It’s a leak but we might use it to our advantage. Slim Shady being back again. Maybe there’s an album concept…

- I don’t care about Shady, I want Y/N, Marshall roared. And I want the head of whoever leaked that shit ! I’m not using it to my advantage, I’m not promoting it and I’m not giving anyone a fucking statement !

They discussed for about an hour. Paul was a long-time friend and understanding of the situation. He knew more than anyone that Marshall was prone to using recording as a cathartic exercise and that some songs were not meant to be shared. In the past, they’d had to deal with leaks and, though each one had been a colossal pain in their asses, none was as bad as this one. Leaks were usually bad for business but, so far, none of them had destroyed his personal life. This one might as well do the trick, though. He had recorded it right after their argument, when Y/N would not speak to him and it was nothing but the result of his mind going to the darkest of places. Something shameful, using words to convey anger instead of sadness and fright. In a way, this was no different from the Kim track : him using violence on a track in order to express his obsession for the person he loved the most.

- So we agree, no statement ? Paul asked. No promotion ?

- If we put out anything, that should be a public apology to Y/N, Marshall said. I went on Twitter quickly… Have you seen that shit ?! Her picture, her name, they’re fucking everywhere and it’s my fault. I fucked up.

- At least, when you rapped about killing Kim, there was no social media, the manager agreed. Look, if that’s what you want, we can put a statement. I should warn you it might be pretty damaging, because a lot of people might not take kindly to you backtracking on something like this, but if you feel like we have to do this… We will.

- Really ? You’re not suggesting that we feed Y/N to the wolves ? Marshall asked sarcastically.

- I know I’ve been hard on you about your relationship with her, Paul said. But I also know that you usually put in your best work when she’s around. As your manager, I don’t think it would be strategic to publicly apologize to her. But as your friend, I want you to be happy. And I know she’s turned you into a better person. The whole team does.

- Thanks man, he replied.

They were interrupted by the noise of the front door opening. He quickly jumped from the couch, hoping to see Y/N coming home, and that he would finally be able to talk to her. Instead, he was met with Hailie’s angry gaze.

- Hay, he said. What are you doing here ?

- What do you think I’m doing here, Dad ? She asked. I’ve come to ask you for an explanation. Stevie and Alaina are on the way too.

- I take it that it’s about the track…? He asked.

- Of course it’s about the track ! She almost yelled. I can’t believe you did that !

- It’s a leak, he tried to explain. It wasn’t meant to come out or be heard by anyone. Ever.

- Still, she said. Y/N is a mess. She’s being harassed on social media, everyone’s coming for her…

- You talked to her ?! He asked.

- Yes, I called her, his daughter explained.

- She won’t take my calls, he said.

- Shocker, Dad, she said. Jesus, I wonder why she wouldn’t want to take a call from someone who recorded a song about torturing her…

- I know I fucked up, he said. I don’t know what to do…

- I can’t help you here, Dad, Hailie shrugged. She specifically told me she doesn’t want to speak to you.

He nodded. In the grand scheme of things, he could see why Y/N wouldn’t talk to him. Hell, if the shoe was on the other foot, he wouldn’t want to talk either. He looked at Paul, who was still sitting in the living room.

- I think we should put out that statement, he simply said.

- I’ll call the publicist right away and have him draft something, Paul replied.

- I want to approve it first, alright ?

- Of course, Paul said.

The manager said his goodbyes and promised to get back to him as soon as possible. Stevie and Alaina arrived and he was met with some sort of intervention which, really, was his three daughters chastising him. He wouldn’t expect them to support him blindly, they were old enough to have a mind of their own, but he was a bit shocked by the intensity of their reaction. Overall, there was a lot of screaming and shouting at him, pointing out how inappropriate the whole thing was.

- It was bad enough when you rapped about killing Mom, Alaina said. But Y/N is our age. You’re literally slandering someone who’s old enough to be our sister !

- I know, he said, but you girls know it’s just fiction, right ? I would never actually do these things. Half of my tracks are fictional.

- It’s not the issue, Dad ! Stevie argued. The issue is that she’s our age, being attacked by a grown ass man who could be her Dad. And that the fans are siding with him ! She didn’t ask for anything !

- I know, he said. Believe me, I know… I just… With everything that went down with your Mom, I have learned lessons, you know ? I never would have put out this track. I know how much it hurt her and I wouldn’t wish the same thing on Y/N. It wasn’t meant to be heard. It’s just me, taking things too far. Like a diary.

- Except that someone accessed that diary and leaked it, and now she’s paying the price, Hailie said.

- … Yeah, he said. I don’t know what to do.

It had been more than twelve hours since Y/N had left and he still hadn’t heard from her. And, as it was to be expected, neither Jamal nor Talia would pick up the phone either. He buried his face in his hands. He had fucked up, he knew it. But he was merely trying to let his anger out in the only way he knew how. The last thing he had wanted when he made that stupid track was for anyone to hear it, let alone enjoy it. Knowing that some fans were praising his writing on this one had nothing pleasant.

- Honestly, Dad, this is the most disgusting song you ever put out, Hailie continued.

- Agreed, he said. I don’t know what to do, girls. I don’t want to lose her. I know I deserve to, but I can’t.

After a couple of hours of discussion, his daughters ended up leaving. They were still clearly mad at him, just like everyone else seemed to be. The day after, he got a call from Dre. His mentor and friend sounded genuinely concerned. The leaked track was typically something he would have told him to shelf and never put out.

- You went too far with this one, Dre said. I’ve heard you go hard on some shit but that was… nasty.

- I know, Marshall replied. Believe me, I know… But it’s a leak, you know ?

- That’s what I heard, Dre replied. How is your girl doing ?

- I wish I knew, he said.

Dre wasn’t the only friend and collaborator who was concerned. Even Porter and Royce talked to him about the lyrics and how they went too far. He’d heard that so many times that he almost snapped at them but, really, he couldn’t really blame them. He was the only one to blame and he knew it. They also told him that Jamal was livid, threatening to come and destroy the entire studio, and they had to talk him out of it. His friends were disappointed in him, Y/N wouldn’t talk to him and even his daughters didn’t seem to want to be associated with him at the moment. It seemed like everything was falling apart. He was truly disgusted with himself. That’s when he decided to put out a statement, speaking in his own name. It was a rather short message, posted on his social media account, apologizing for the shocking lyrics, explaining that the track was not meant to be shared and calling for everyone to stop harassing his partner, whom he had made the mistake of name-dropping. He also apologized for using Jamal’s beat, stating that it was originally meant for another track whose release was postponed. He was not used to public apologies but this one might be overdue. And perhaps it would get Y/N to talk to him. However, in the following days, he still didn’t get any news from her. He tried to go to Talia and Jamal’s to talk to her but he was met with an angry Talia who refused to let him see his girlfriend and threatened to call the cops on him for harassment. He resorted to sending flowers and letters to Y/N, begging her to at least let him talk to her, even on the phone. One evening, almost a week after the track leaked, he got a call from Talia’s phone.

- Talia ? He asked. What’s up ? How is she ?

- It’s me, he heard Y/N say.

- Thank God, he said. How… How are you ?

- How would you expect me to feel… ?

- Right, he said. I’m… Thanks for calling me.

- You know, for someone who made fun of Josh for buying out every flower shop in town, you sure are filling the house with a lot of bouquets, she commented. I guess I’m calling because I’m afraid there won’t be any flowers left in Michigan by next week if we keep this going.

- Jewelers are next on the list, he said sarcastically.

- You know, you could spend all the money in the world, it wouldn’t make things better, Marshall, Y/N said.

- I know, he said. Believe me, I know. I guess I just wanted a chance to apologize, tell you what really happened. You have no idea how sorry I am.

- I believe I do, she said with a sarcastic laugh. Every one of the fifty bouquets you’ve sent contains a note saying how sorry you are.

- Can you come home ? He asked. So we can talk ?

- I would, but for one, I’d be afraid of being held up against my will and, two, Simon is coming over for diner tonight, she replied.

- Simon… Your ex, Simon ?! He asked.

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #recovery fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem fluff #eminem imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine

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libby-for-life · 6 months

Note

So, I got an idea for a request, an Au with Adam as Demeter, the Greek G̶o̶d̶d̶e̶s̶s̶ God of agriculture.

So this takes place right after the whole Lucifer and Lilith Incident. Adam is left reeling from the betrayal of his first friend (yeah "friend") and his other half. The angels tell him that they will make him a new companion, but he doesn't want a replacement, he wonders what he did to deserve them both leaving him (developing those abandonment issues already, I see).

But with a sudden great and mighty crack of thunder and lightning, Adam disappears from Eden and appears in Mount Orthys. He is found by Rhea, who is tired of all her kids haven been eaten by her husband Kronos and decided to take him in, before being found out and promptly being eaten whole, joining the others (except Demeter because she doesn't exist and is replaced by Adam) in Kronos stomach even though he's not thier sibling.

Back in Eden, the entirety of Heaven is freaking out because the first man is just gone. He's nowhere in Eden. He just disappeared under their noses. Once they

calm down, decide since they already made Eve as a replacement for Lilith, they can just make a replacement for Adam. Using Eve's rib, they create Steve and erase Adam and Lilith from history, their titles of first man and woman now belonging to Eve and Steve.

When Lucifer breaks into Eden, he succeeds convincing Eve to bite the apple, but when he tells her to give it to Adam as well (definitely not because he's a yandere for him and is his top priority), Eve asks who Adam is.

Eve: Adam? Who is that?

Lucifer: ...Adam? You know the first man??

Eve: You mean my husband Steve! He's the first man, not whoever this 'Adam' is

Lucifer:....what.

*I've already thought of more scenarios with this Au, but this is already pretty long, so i'll stop it here

Now, you kinda need to give me more, but this is beautiful. I love the idea of Adam becoming a God. Rhea slowly feeds him a special salve that turns him immortal. And while technically he is Adam, the god of agriculture and farming. He also had another name that he went by. The Reaper. It's where the scythe originated from. He reaps the fields and it's up to him on whether you have plentiful food or a drought that year.

He came across Persephone and immediately adopted her as his own once he saw how innocent she was to the world. She reminded him so much of Lucifer of someone he once knew but he couldn't put his finger on it.

She was creative with Spring. Such beautiful flowers came from her. The angels may have may have made the earth, but the gods were what kept it going. Kept it from dying. The angels in Heaven thought that they did a good job making the world and the universe but it was Adam's family that kept it from perishing. He had a family in the gods. They treated Adam as one of their own.

Until one day, Persephone gets kidnapped and taken to Hell. Adam is on a war path. He will find his daughter and the gods are backing him up.

The entirety of Hell shakes and splits open as twelve-foot-tall people radiating power and light storm in, all wielding weapons that, despite not being angelic weapons, are powerful enough to kill sinners.

They will find Persephone.

Meanwhile, Lucifer soon catches wind of these godly beings and goes to confront them. He sees Adam for the first time since the dawn of Eden and nearly has a heart attack. Adam. The first man. He was back.

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #greek mythology

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midnightechoes · 1 year

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So this week is going to go down as maybe the most sapphic week in animation history. It’s going to have a great case, there are so many sapphic shows or shows with prominent sapphic couples airing this week.

Don’t know what I’m talking about? Here’s a quick rundown:

Yuri Is My Job!

Premiering on Crunchyroll on April 6th.

Yuri is My Job! is based on a yuri manga of the same name. It follows high schooler Hime, who cares deeply about her image as sweet and helpful, even though she’s actually selfish. She accidentally injures the manager of a cafe, and agrees to work there to make up for it. But this is no ordinary cafe, it’s like a cafe dinner theater where all the waitresses play characters from a fictional high school and act out skits for the patrons. Hime’s character is supposed to be in love with one of the other waitresses’ character, but she starts actually falling for the girl. Only problem is, behind the scenes the other waitress seems to hate her.

Yeah, that sounds kind of bonkers! I can already see the story now, Hime starting out playing a role, and eventually having to legitimately earn the love of Mitsuki.

Birdie Wing: Golf Girls’ Story

Season 2 premiering on Crunchyroll on Friday, April 7th

Ah Birdie Wing. If you saw season one, you know just how delightful wacky this show is. It follows the stories of Eve, a golfer that plays in illegal underground golf matches for the mob, and Aoi, a golf prodigy and the new sensation of the golf world. Their lives crash into each other and the chemistry is overwhelming and immediate.

Technically Eve and Aoi aren’t canon as of the end of s1, but it’s hard to imagine that the show isn’t heading in that direction. It makes no effort to hide the fact that these two are into each other.

I’m so excited to see what season 2 has in store for these two. Birdie Wing is just a delightfully weird little show.

Princess Principal: Crown Handler Chapter 3

Premieres in theaters in Japan on Friday, April 7th

Alright, so this won’t be useful to a lot of people reading this, as this is only premiering in Japan this weekend. But I wanted to mention it because (a) it’ll come over to the US sometime this year, and (b) Princess Principal is awesome and I want to promote it when I can.

Princess Principal was a 12 episode series that aired in 2017, and Crown Handler is a six-part sequel OVA series.

In a nutshell, Princess Principal is a steampunk spy thriller set in an alternate universe European kingdom that has been divided by a wall, Berlin-style. It follows a team of spies, masquerading as high school girls, as they try to prevent the two sides from going to war.

I know, “why is this on a list of gay shit?” Well, because it is. Two of the main characters, Ange and Princess Charlotte, are big-time into each other and while the original series does the anime thing of “we’re only allowed to go so far with this”, the OG series has a lot of intimate scenes between the two and does end *SPOILERS* with the two of them sitting on the beach together while holding hands.

And perhaps Crown Handler, being made years later, can finally take their relationship farther.

RWBY Volume 9

Volume 9 episode 8 airing on Crunchyroll on Saturday, April 8th

RWBY has been ongoing, and the current volume has been airing since February, but there’ll be another episode this Saturday. Right now RWBY is in the middle of dealing with a lot of trauma, BUT, the bees are canon and dating so every episode of RWBY is now officially gay. So says me.

The Owl House: Watching and Dreaming

Series finale airing on the Disney Channel on Saturday, April 8th

I’M NOT READY TO LOSE THIS SHOW! 😭

*ahem* The third and final season 3 special airs on Saturday, and promises to be mega emotional and super gay.

I’m grateful that this show had a chance to finish its story, something a lot of sapphic media doesn’t get to do. But I am still pissed about it getting cancelled in the first place simply because it didn’t fit their “brand” (read: this show is too gay for Disney).

But I just know that Dana and her team put together a sensational finale.

Mobile Suit Gundam: the Witch From Mercury

Season 2 premiering on Crunchyroll on Sunday, April 9th.

Affectionately called G-Witch, season 1 of this show was a revelation in the fall. It follows the story of Suletta Mercury, precious cinnamon roll and the most talented mobile suit pilot around, and Miorine Rembran, daughter of the president of the Benerit Group, a mega-corporation that has massive political power.

The show revolves around a school that’s mostly full of the children of powerful people. And then there’s Suletta, a nobody that just wants to be a normal girl and have a normal school life but through a series of events ends up in a mobile suit duel that she easily wins, earning her the title of Holder, which makes her Miroine’s groom.

At first, the two treat the arrangement as a business arrangement, both seeing practical value in this arranged engagement. But it’s obvious that Miorine is actually pretty into Suletta from the start, and we see Suletta slowly falling for Miorine too.

G-Witch is incredible. Part awesome mecha fights, part political intrigue, part romance between two useless girls who’d rather die that admit their actual feelings.

I am SO EXCITED for season 2!

LGBTQ media hasn’t had it great as of late, with a ton of frustrating cancellations and it almost feeling like Hollywood is going backwards in terms of its commitment to giving us space to tell our stories.

But animation, both in the US and in Japan, seems to be making great strides, being our light in the dark.

All five of these shows are airing episodes this week, and Crown Handler will be in theaters this week and on streaming/blu-ray later this year. RWBY has been airing for weeks and its been the gayest volume yet. the Magical Revolution of the Reincarnated Princess and the Genius Young Lady just finished airing and was wonderfully sapphic. I’m In Love With the Villainess is scheduled to air sometimes this year. And just maybe we might get Arcane season 2 before the end of the year.

I’m excited for how sapphic and yuri animation is progressing, I hope it keeps going forward.

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proxylynn · 6 months

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My theory of Hazbin Hotel's main plot.

[This may just be a hot take or me whimsically spitballing headcanon, but I have thought about this and, while I don't have all the puzzle's pieces, I think I have enough to make out a decent picture. So bear with me as I unload the insanity that has been in my head since entering the Hellaverse.]

Starting things off, I think the main villain/antagonist of HH's plot is the obvious elephant in the room...Roo aka The Root of ALL Evil.

According to Vivziepop, Roo is a "looming threat in the distance", possibly hinting toward her being a future antagonist and she mentioned that there is no character that she is more excited to get into than Roo, but, she also mentioned that it's "gonna be a long time". So likely we won't see her properly till season three but get hints throughout season two and teased at the end. I will make no claim that "defeating" Roo solves everything in the universe because that's nonsense. There is no good without evil. So you can't just off Roo who's been there since the beginning. And I mean THE beginning. I'm talking the creation of EVERYTHING.

"Angels that worshiped good and shielded all from evil."

Evil exists at the start before Lucifer does anything, this is a fact. So where am I going with this? Let's continue down the line. To the one driving my train of thought...Lilith.

For someone who didn't eat the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil, Lilith was very aware of certain things and had independent free will. But humanity didn't get this autonomy till after the fruit fiasco, so what happened? Why did Lilith have magic main character self-awareness? Well, let's think about this...Why was there such a tree in Eden in the first place? The Angels are making this a paradise and keeping evil out of Earth. So why place a tree in there that would fuck it all up? This was why they didn't want Lucifer making shit because they were worried his ideas would be too risky and bad could happen. So again, why was this tree here? What if...The Angels didn't make it.

I propose, as her name so implies, that Roo sprouted the tree up without the Angels knowing in the hopes the fruit would be eaten and allow evil to taint the world. Lilith might have gotten a hint of what the tree granted and what simple veil that clouded her eyes was lifted enough to make her reject Adam and flee the garden. It's even said that "together" she and Lucifer share the gift of free will with Eve, but Lilith seems to take this stand back and watch approach when Lucifer gives her the fruit, almost like she's uncertain what eating it will do so she keeps her distance. This again, also hints that Lilith has had free will from the start and didn't eat the fruit because it was only when Eve ate the fruit did evil finally break the seal to enter Earth.

"As punishment for their reckless act, Heaven cast Lucifer and his love into the dark pit he had created."

Now here's where it gets a bit more headcanony because this line could mean nothing or everything. Lucifer and Lilith are banished to the newly made Hell. I repeat...Heaven cast Lucifer and Lilith into Hell. Nowhere does it say she died. So...We have the first human woman who didn't eat the fruit and never died. By technically, Lilith still has her immortality. She's the oldest human alive. It's also stated Lucifer shares his power with her (and Charlie), which makes sense if she's just some dull human. So, now imbued with this mix of angel/demon rizz, Lilith becomes even more OP and Hell's mary sue Queen that dominates like the bad boss bitch she is.

"Lilith thrived, empowering demonkind with her voice and her songs. And as the numbers of Hell grew, so did its power."

Lilith as a character has a surprisingly decent amount of info to work with considering we only saw her for the smallest moment. So here's some goodies I've collected from the wiki that are of note.

{According to Vivziepop, Lilith is the "big, slowburn mystery" of the show, adding that we are going to slowly start getting answers over the course of the "next couple seasons", and that season two gives some more pieces to it.}

{When asked about what Lilith was like, Faustisse described Lilith as graceful, regal, and politically charged. Lilith is someone who is exceptionally equanimous. This was implied in "Overture" as in the "Story of Hell" book she is depicted helping Hell thrive over the years using her voice and her songs.}

{When asked about Lilith and Lucifer's dynamic, Faustisse believed their relationship could be summed up with the phrase, "Behind every man is a greater woman", and that they love each other very much. They describe Lilith and Lucifer as "passionate, cheesy lovers". They are of the opinion that Lilith "wears the pants" in her family, but they think both Lilith and Lucifer are switches within their intimate life.}

{When asked about Lilith's powers, Faustisse declined to answer, citing possible spoilers for the main series. They did, however, state that they did not think Lilith had wings like Charlie and Lucifer, although saw no reason why she wouldn't be able to manifest them if she wished. According to Faustisse, Lilith can change the shape of her horns, but it's unlikely this will be shown in practice in the series as it would apparently be difficult to show that kind of constant change over consecutive scenes.}

{When asked if the Eden family have some connection to the royal family as well, Vivziepop declined to answer one way or the other.}

{Due to her origins as a former human, it is likewise unclear if Lilith is connected to the Sinners, who are deceased humans and became demons after death; as Lilith was alive when she was banished to Hell, her transition between human and demon is ambiguous.}

{Faustisse has suggested that she is somewhat good with children}

{Lilith disappeared seven years prior to the series for reasons unknown, never responding to any of her daughter's attempts to call her. Curiously, she was missing the same amount of years as Alastor. Lilith was later revealed to be in Heaven in "The Show Must Go On". Although the exact reasons remain unknown, it was heavily alluded to that she had made a deal with Adam at some point.}

You might look at all this and be like "Lynn, you dummy, we know all this. This is just random stuff". Oh, I think not. Because in just these bits we get so much. Let's begin with the character setup for diving into my main theory.

I think Lilith does love her family. She has a loving and amazing husband in Lucifer and in Charlotte (aka Charlie) the most adorable and kindhearted daughter any mother could ask for. As Queen, she took charge and made Hell less of a pit to wallow and suffer in, and more like a new home to begin anew. So then...What happened? Why would she suddenly leave and cut all communications? Here is where we dig into the meat of it all. My theory of why Lilith left.

Remember how I said Lilith didn't eat the fruit and still had free will then pounded that over and over into you? Well, going on what I said about her getting "a hint of what the tree granted", Roo could've infected Lilith and gifted her awareness while in Eden. Now in Hell where Roo is arguably stronger due to all the sin and sickness that permeates the realm, her influence on Lilith would increase. Lilith, being the big brain that she is, probably felt something was amiss when she got pregnant. Nine months is a long time to plan things out, and maybe doing a few concerts to warn others of impending danger subtlety might've worked...but only for so long. She needed something. A safety. And that safety was her family. Lucifer likely could've been useful but his depression was beginning to take hold with each failure and the worsening sinners as years passed. So...plan B...Charlie. She would instill in her daughter everything she knew and give her a "destiny".

"But Lilith's hope remained. And her dream passed down to their precious daughter, the Princess of Hell."

With Charlie, Lilith instilled that the people were important. But never explained in what way. As she continued to prepare her daughter, Lilith would come to understand this reason. Power. Roo thrives on the tainted evil that seeps from the sinners. So just as she finishes schooling Charlie, she sets up another backup plan to still Roo's intake long enough for her daughter to figure out a way of her own...And this is where Adam comes in.

"Adam is dead. Your deal is done and I'm in charge now. Your brat is threatening the very foundation of Heaven. And if you want to stay here, you're going down there, and stopping that bitch. You understand me…Lilith?"

Feeling Roo's corruptive influence getting worse because sinners just keep coming, Lilith contacts Adam. Now Adam is still salty but hears his first wife out as she caters to his ego. But Adam is wiser after millennia and knows she's not being innocent here. He bluntly gets her to just spill the beans to which she does, she needs out of Hell. Adam grabs this opportunity and says he can sneak her into Heaven but it'll cost her. He knows how much her precious people mean to her so, vindictively, he says he'll take her in if he can go into Hell and kill demons. Little does he know he's playing into her trap. She "reluctantly" agrees so long as no Hellborn are harmed, only sinners. Adam is all for it, even makes a cover story to tell Sera later how killing sinners in Hell will keep Heaven safe, and Lilith then goes about doing the hardest thing she's ever done. She tells Lucifer of some details of this new Heavenly Extermination thing and that she'll have to go away for a long time, promising to return but unsure when. Heartbroken, Lucifer watches as his love leaves him, their daughter, and their kingdom.

"Hey, mom. I know I keep calling and you must be busy... Really busy... But, um, the interview didn't go well, and... I don't know if I'm ever going to make a difference. I don't know what I'm doing. I could really use some advice, mom. I... I think dad was right about me... Ahah, oof. Eh, anyway... I'll stop talking before this gets long. Love you, bye..."

"Don't worry, Mom. I'll make you proud."

Vaggie: Did you hear from your mom?

*Charlie shakes her head in dismay.*

Vaggie: Oof… how long has it been now?

Charlie: Not that long, only…seven….years, off doing something important, I'm sure! But, this kingdom was something she really cared about. Something I care about.

This is what I think it's all been leading to. Lilith having made Charlie into someone for the people and wanting to save souls in a, as funny as it is, maintaining the very balance that got fucked up way back in the garden sort of redeeming way. Restoring order by allowing the good to go where it should've gone in the first place and keeping Roo weak. Maybe Lilith can even get her own redemption, being partially responsible for allowing Roo into our world in the first place. The only added weight I have left to give to my silly little "infected Lilith" idea is how she looks at season one's ending.

She looks pissed and upset, which we can say for a few reasons like how Lute just straight-up calls Charlie a bitch to her face. Like, dude, dick move. But, with Adam dead and seemingly no progress from Charlie (that she knows of), Lute is forcing her to go back to Hell where Roo's influence can grip her once more. I'm not entirely sure just what that could mean but for the sake of the Alastor/Lilith theory fans, let's say when Roo is strong she can puppet Lilith into infecting others via demonic deals. She might have done this countless times with mixed results, only to have full success in Alastor. But Mr deer is a bit too successful a test subject and thus gets his powers leashed. Now we have Alastor trying to force his way out of this mixed-up double-power deal by roping in Charlie, the one kink in this chain that could cause everything to break if forced too much.

It would explain his latching onto Charlie and seeking a deal since the very first time they met. She's a means to an end. The key to unlocking his proverbial collar. It even explains his out-of-nowhere instant disdain for Lucifer. Of course he'd be hostel to the husband of the bitch that metaphorically screwed him and poses a threat to his current plan of using his daughter for his own means.

Well, this was a long as fuck rambling. I hope even a shred of this made sense. Now to sit back and wait for season two to come along and either be like "I got something right" or "Wow I was dead wrong on so many levels". I wonder how long that will take?

"In an interview posted on February 2, 2024, Vivziepop thought that the production of season two might take about one-and-a-half to two years, roughly the same production time season one had."

Oh...um...Looks like we have some time. So, we can expect the new episodes to land in late 2025 at the earliest. *sets up chair* I can wait.

#op random #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #hazbin hotel lore theory/headcanon #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel lilith #hazbin hotel roo #roo hazbin hotel #lilith hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #adam hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #charlie hazbin hotel

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kydrogendragon · 9 months

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Dec 21 - The Best Present

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Murder, and Blood.

When Hob awoke that next morning, nothing had seemed different. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary Monday morning that he wouldn’t have blinked twice at. You know, if it wasn’t for a mysterious woman sitting on his kitchen counter, slowly picking away at one of the apples in his fruit basket.

He jumps, reaching for the closest object he could use as a weapon - the table side lamp in this case - and brandishes it with a confidence that only someone who had fought for most of his five hundred years of life could. The woman doesn’t even blink. She wears all black, a simple black tee, black jeans, and a pair of high-heeled black boots. It reminds him a bit of the getups the goths he’d take home with him would wear. Most interesting of all, she wears a pendant of a large silver ankh around her neck.

She looks at him with kind brown eyes and smiles. “Hello Hob.” And if everything else hadn’t gotten his attention, that statement did. He lifts the lamp higher, angling his legs for better stability and glances around the room, trying to spot how the hell she managed to sneak in.

“Haven’t heard that name in a while,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The woman shakes her head, amused, as she slides off the counter. She sets down the half eaten apple and wipes her hands on her pants. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“A favor?”

She hums. “Yes. And it wasn’t until last night that I could ask it.”

Hob shakes his head. “The hell are you talking about?”

The woman steps forward and Hob’s grip on the lamp tightens. “One more step and you’ll regret it.” She smiles and takes a single step forward. As she does, Hob goes to lunge but stops as he meets her gaze.

Ice rushes through his veins as the very core of him recognizes her for what she is. She is the face he has seen in battlefields and hospitals. She is the voice that has called to him while he rests in the in-between of life and death. She is the sound of wings when one is near the end.

She is Death.

His knees give out and he falls to the floor, the lamp drops from his grip and the bulb inside shatters. “No. No no no no no, please no, please!” He pleads. “I’m not ready yet. I don’t want to die. I won’t, I won’t!”

Death kneels beside him and stretches out a hand. He flinches, eyeing it carefully. “I’m not here to take you, Hob. Not unless you want me to.”

“Never,” he replies, staring into her gaze. She nods.

“Good. I think my brother would hate me if I did.”

At that, Hob blinks. “Brother?”

Death hums and lets her hand fall. She crosses them, resting them atop her bent knees as she talks. “Yes. That’s why I’m here. I need you to help free him.”

Hob shifts, pulling himself into a cross legged position. “Why me?”

She looks up and sighs. “Because I can’t. Where he is is somewhere that I can’t go. Not completely. But you can.” She looks back at him and grins. “Besides, technically he asked for you.”

A sinking feeling fills Hob’s gut. Flickers of memories of a dream echo in his mind. The pale face of his Stranger. His tears, his silent pleas. His throat is tight when he asks, “Your brother, who is he?”

“Your stranger.”

The snow falls on the ground outside of Fawney Rig. It’s Christmas Eve in 1991 and Hob stands in front of the car’s boot as he goes over his tools of trade. A crowbar rests on one side, sandwiched by rope, an axe, a shotgun and two different handguns along with enough ammo to light the place up if needed. He’s got a variety of clothes and food and water in case his Stranger needed it along with a well supplied first aid kit. When Death had told him where to find her brother, she hadn’t exactly told him what to expect. He’s honestly unsure if she knew, other than he was trapped.

Christ, wasn’t that a thought? His Stranger, trapped. Held prisoner by a total jackass that, most annoyingly, he’d met before. Just once when he was a lad. His father had been leagues worse, but had at least hosted a party for his departed son. Hob had fought with Randal in the war. After digging into the Burgess's more, he’d found that the old man had bragged about capturing Death. Clearly that hadn’t worked, but it seems like he had caught something. And when the old man finally passed, it seemed like his son wasn’t any better. Pity. The boy seemed like he could have had a good heart in him. Nature versus Nurture, he supposed.

Hob pulls the mask down his face and zips up his jacket. He sticks the two handguns with freshly loaded mags into his holsters. He slots the extra mags into his belt and then swings the shotgun across his back. Not the most efficient weapon for this job, but might come in handy. The rest, he figures he can always come out and grab later if needed. There wouldn’t be anyone left alive in here after he was done anyways.

Closing the lid, he climbs back into the driver’s seat and revs up the engine. The metal gates in front looked thicker than they actually were. He’d checked ahead of time. They were made to look nice but not necessarily be effective at keeping someone out. For instance, ramming through them with a car would be pretty easy. Which is what he planned to do.

Back the car up a good distance on the curly driveway, he holds the gas and brake down, letting his wheels spin before he releases the brake. The car lunges forward, gaining speed rapidly. With a crash, the gates are flung open by the sturdy metal body of the vehicle. Hob powers up the remaining driveway to the front of the house. He skids to a stop right at the front of the manor and bounces out of the car.

A guard is posted outside and jolts awake from his chair. He reaches for his gun but is too slow. Hob quickly draws his right side handgun and pops the man twice. The silencer muffles the sound of the shot as the bullets hit him straight in the chest. Blood pools through the dark uniform. He falls to the ground.

Hob dashes up the stairs and pats the man down. He was hoping for keys or a radio perhaps of which he finds both. There aren’t many keys on the ring, but he takes them anyways. One most likely opens the front door after all. He slots the radio onto his belt and proceeds to go through the keys until one clicks the door open.

The house is quiet. It is late at night after all and all the house staff should be gone at this hour. Hob wasn’t a complete monster. He doubts that the maids and cooks were onto any of the occult proceedings here and if they were, well. Hob has ways of tracking people down if he needs to.

He creeps forward, gun poised and ready as he rounds the corners. The main floor is relatively empty. There was a single guard that had been wandering the halls. Hob takes him out from behind and guides his body to the ground as to not make a sound. There’s a different key on this guard’s key ring. It’s thick and sturdy. More importantly, it looks old. He takes it.

Hob finds a sturdy metal door down the next hallway - probably where the guard had come from in the first place - and tests the handle. Locked, unsurprisingly. He holds up the newly acquired key and smiles. Yes, that’ll work. As tempted as he is to barge down there and free his friend immediately, he knows he needs to eliminate anyone else first so they can escape without worry. Pocketing the key once more, he continues his search through the house.

The second floor provides even less interest. No guards and no Alexander or Paul either. The third floor, however, that’s a different tale.

Hob pops the guard stationed outside of the bedroom. The man had been sleeping in the chair just outside. For all the wealth that Burgess had, it seems like it was wasted on paying these men.

He nudges the bedroom door open and is met with the sleeping figures of the elderly men who had kept his friend captive all these years. Rage burns within him as it has for the past six months since Death first dropped by. He’d gone off of the limited information she had and slowly pieced together a harrowing puzzle of his friend’s absence. 1916 brought with it the sleepy sickness. 1916 brought Burgess into fame and fortune as his claims of the Devil in his Basement were spread, mostly with doubt. In 1916 his friend was forcibly ripped from whatever reality he resides in and has been kept in this dusty old manor ever since. And it was all because of the men here and his father before him.

Hob feels no guilt nor sadness when he draws his other gun, a revolver he’s favored for many years, and presses the cool barrel against Alexander’s forehead. The man stirs and Hob pulls back the lever with a click. His eyes open wide and he shakes as he takes in Hob’s looming figure. Alexander opens his mouth to speak but Hob just shakes his head. The other man’s jaw clamps shut.

“There is no bargaining. There is no begging. You’re going to die tonight and I’m going to tell you why. Then, I’m going to kill your husband in his sleep because while he wasn’t directly related to all of this, he was complacent, so I’ll give him the same courtesy I did the guards. Once that’s done, I’m dragging you out of your bed and into the damn basement that you’re holding my friend captive. You will scream and cry and plead like the pathetic excuse for a man I know you are while I slit your throat in front of him and the last thing you’ll see will be the greatest mistake of your miserable little life.”

Unsurprisingly, Alexander screams. The figure beside his shifts and Hob lifts the barrel of his gun up and fires it straight into the other man’s skull. The movement stills.

Hob holsters his gun and pulls the frail man from his bed by his hair as he continues to scream. He drags his body across the floor and out of the room. He drags him through the growing pool of blood from the guard stationed outside of their room and chucks him down the stairs just for the fun of it. Hob clambers down the stairs as Alexander cries and tries in vain to pull himself across the floor away from his own personal reaper. Reaching down, he grabs a fistful of the man’s nightgown and continues their trek to the basement.

The key fits like a glove and Hob pulls open the ancient heavy door. Alexander pleads with him, begging Hob to stop this, that he doesn’t know what he’s doing or what he’s freeing. He’s wrong, of course. Hob knows exactly who he’s freeing. He’s freeing his friend, even if the other man didn’t want to admit it.

The basement is cold. Much colder than the rest of the house and upon entering the windowless room, he’s pretty sure a part of that has to do with the bloody pools of water that surround...

Jesus wept... Hob wishes he could revive everyone just so he could kill them again. His Stranger sits in a damn ball of glass, suspended over the floor and worst of all, they’ve striped him down bare. There are metal spikes inside the fucking thing too so the poor sod can’t even lie down if he wanted. A flood of rage hits him again like a hammer. He barely processes his actions as he shoots the two guards to their right dead. He barely hears Alexanders screams and cries. Adrenaline courses through him as he approaches his friend.

His Stranger stands, hunched over because of course the damn thing is too short for him to even stand fully. His hands are pressed against the glass and his eyes are open wide. He mouths his name as a single tear falls down his face.

Hob jerks Alexander’s body forward, pushing him into a kneeling position, holding the man’s weak body up by his hair. He reaches down and pulls out the blade in his boot and presses it against the man’s neck, all the while, staring up at his friend.

“You made a mistake, Burgess. Your father made a grave one many years ago but he’s dead and unfortunately, I can’t kill a dead guy, much as I’d like to. But you didn’t do a damn thing. So now, I get to kill you.” Hob says, pressing the blade a bit harder. The skin underneath begins to break. Not enough to kill the man. It’s closer to that of a shaving cut, but it makes the man beneath him struggle against his hold.

“Please! Please, I beg of you, don’t do this! I didn’t want this!” Alexander pleads. “Please, I wanted to let him go, I did! I just wanted to be sure he wouldn’t come after me and Paul. Oh God, oh Paul.”

His Stranger’s eyes burn into him, those bright blue eyes seem to be lit from within as he watches intensely.

“But you didn’t let him go, did you? You didn’t do anything. You just left him here to rot. And you would have continued to do so until you died, wouldn’t you?” Hob’s voice is cold as steel as he tugs on the man’s hair.

“Oh God, no, please. I swear I never wanted any of this! This is all my father!”

“No. No these past few decades have all been you. You can’t blame your sins on a dead man. Not anymore. So now you’ll pay the price for trapping my friend down here like a goddamn curiosity display.”

“Please no! Plea-” The man’s cries are drowned out by the gurgling of blood as Hob swiftly slices through the man’s neck.

“A gift,” he says, staring up at his friend. “For you.” Hob tosses the man’s body off to the side. Blood pools up, spilling over his chest from the wound and out of his mouth. His eyes are wide with fear as he falls down to the side. His hands press against the slash, but it’s hopeless. It doesn’t take long for his movement to still.

Hob watches it. As Alexander Burgess dies on the cold concrete, the rage in Hob’s body fades with it, replaced with sadness and exhaustion. He turns to his friend who watches him, his mouth parted, almost in awe. He steps forward and examines the cage. There are some sort of runes painted into the floor that he assumes are important. He scratches his heel against them, testing their resilience only to be met with the easy smearing of golden paint.

Pathetic, Hob thinks to himself. They couldn’t even get high quality paint. He doesn’t have much time to think much else as he’s suddenly tossed backwards by a force stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. It was as if a bomb had gone off inside the cage and, looking up, he wonders if it did. The glass is party shattered and a whirlwind of… something, Hob’s honestly not sure what. Magical clouds? Sure, magical clouds. They swirl around his friend as he steps out of the cage, flowing black robes forming around his body as he sets foot on the ground. He steps forward and the clouds fade until it is just him, his friend, and the carnage around them.

Hob stumbles up to his feet and smiles as he walks over to his Stranger. He goes to ask if he needs anything, but he’s beaten to it.

“Hob Gadling,” His friend says with an easier smile than he’s ever seen on the man’s face. “You came. I did not think...”

“I’d always come for you. Especially if you need me.”

His friend’s eyes are red with the threat of tears. “How did you find me? I could not speak in your dream.”

“Your sister helped.” His friend’s eyes widened.

“My sister.”

“Yeah,” he says, adjusting his jacket from where it had gotten blown out of sorts from the magic blast. “Apparently something with that dream I had the other night let her ask me for help? She didn’t really explain, or give me all that much information, honestly, but she had given me the name Burgess. Took a bit to figure out where you were and get what I needed, but I wasn’t about to let you sit down here another day longer if I could help it.”

A tear falls down his friend’s cheek. “I owe you a great debt, Hob Gadling.”

“No debt owed. It’s what friends do after all,” he says, looking down at his blood stained boots.

A hand tugs him close and suddenly he is nearly nose to nose with his friend. There is an expression on his face, one that Hob can’t quite parse. “You would still name me friend after all you had said to me?”

“Wha-”

“You promised to woo me, after all. Was this not simply the start of it? Rescuing me like a blushing maiden in a fairy tale? Spilling blood in my name like a loyal knight to his king?” His friend purred. His eyes were hooded as he stared down into Hob’s eyes. He can see a dart of his pink tongue in his peripheral and Hob can feel the quickly growing erection pressing against the thick denim of his jeans. He’s glad his friend is holding onto him because he’s pretty sure if he hears his friend say another word with that voice, his knees are going to give out on him.

“Would you like that?” He asks, his breath growing short as his friend looks at him like he’d like to devour him. Hob swallows. “I would, you know. I did. I’d kill more for you, if you’d like. Whatever you want. It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Such a wonderful gift, but a dangerous thing to promise. Are you certain?”

“Always,” he pants. His friend’s eyes flash, the blue swirling into blackness as he leans forward.

Lips capture his own and they are just as soft as he remembers from his dream. Oh God, yeah, his knees are giving out. Between the adrenaline of this whole evening and the magical bomb blast thing, this, right here, this is what’s going to have him killed.

He moans into his friend’s mouth and shakily grips into the silky robes he wears as he feels a smooth tongue curl inside of him. He’s not sure how long they stay there, but it’s long enough that Hob’s vision is turning black from the lack of air. Wouldn’t be the worst way to go, honestly. And he’s tempted to let it when his friend pulls back, but not far. Just far enough that Hob can take in a gasp of air.

“Fuck,” he wheezes as he struggles to maintain balance.

“That can be arranged,” his friend hums. Maybe Hob had died and this was actually heaven.

He hears his friend sigh, the air caressing his face. “I must return to my realm. It has been absent far too long.” His friend releases his hold on Hob and he mentally pats himself on the back for only stumbling, not collapsing. The upward curl of his friend’s lips sends Hob’s heart soaring again.

“Right,” he says as his brain comes back online. “Uh. Do you… need a lift anywhere? Not sure I can drive to another realm, but I can get you out of this town at least.”

His friend shakes his head and tilts his head upward. His eyes dart around as if he’s searching for something unseen. “No,” he says, smiling a moment later. “No, I have found a means to return. But I will come back to you soon, Hob Gadling. This, I swear.”

His friend’s eyes are pitch black when they meet Hob’s gaze once more. It sends a chill down his spine and does nothing to help his aching prick. “Wait!” He calls out as his friend raises his hand. His Stranger arches his brow, but pauses his movement. “Before you leave, can I know your name, at least?”

His Stranger blinks. “My sister did not tell you it?”

Hob shakes his head. “Said it was your secret to tell, not hers.”

His Stranger huffs affectionately and raises his hand upward. With a smile, he says, “You may call me Dream.”

“Dream,” Hob whispers as he watches the figure of his friend fade away, not unlike the memory of a dream. He stands there, letting the mixed cocktail of emotions flow through him. Eventually, he moves, going through the motions of disposing of a crime scene (at least any evidence that would tie himself to it). Once all the damning bits are properly disposed of or at least brought with him to dispose of later, he makes his way back up the stairs, into his car, and heads back home, eagerly awaiting when his Stran- no - when Dream would visit him again.

#hob gadling #dreamling #dream of the endless #the sandman #ky writes #december writing list #kydrogen's december drabbles 2023

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abitohoney · 9 months

Text

All I Want for Christmas Is You

Chapter 6 of 6 - Bells are Ringing

AO3 link

CH1 || CH2 || CH3 || CH4 || CH5 || CH6

Sevika x female reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI, 18+, NSFW

Tags: Sevika/Reader, AU - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Lesbian Sex, Cunnilingus, Teasing, Humor, Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm Delay (nothing extreme), Begging, Strap-Ons, Face-Sitting, Corny & Cheesy Dialogue, kinda sappy, light bondage

Word Count: 7.4k

Fic Summary: It’s your first year spending the holidays with Sevika, and though the two of you couldn’t be any different in your level of holiday spirit or view of the traditions that come with it, your shared adoration (and sexual attraction) for each other is more than enough to get both of you through it together.

A collection of little holiday-inspired scenes, technically chronological, but really could be read in any order or as stand-alone oneshots. Includes a nice blend of sugar (fluff) and spice (smut).

Chapter Summary: Beyond excited at the prospect of marrying your one true love, you arrange a small wedding in record time. In less than a week's time, you’ve got your special day planned and set for New Year's Eve. (includes a nice blend of sugar and spice)

AN: Brand new chapter for this holiday season!!!

Beyond excited at the prospect of marrying your one true love, you arrange a small wedding in record time. In less than a week's time, you’ve got your special day planned and set for New Year's Eve. It helps that the only guests invited are Sevika’s- and by extension your- friends. Silco and all his crazy crew.

Turns out your impatience paid off for more than just you. You learn Sevika is actually quite a mess of nerves when it comes to these things. In those few days leading up to your big day, she’s either pacing your home muttering things to herself or smoking cigarillo after cigarillo at your tiny kitchen table and nervously tapping her foot nonstop.

When the day arrives though, it couldn’t be any closer to perfect. There’s a lovely dusting of snow covering the ground, trees, and buildings. The sun shines brightly above, making everything sparkle like something from a lovely snow globe. It’s chilly, but without a single breeze, it’s actually comfortable.

You sit in the small dressing room connected to the reception hall, donning just a white corset bra and short slip as Ran works on your hair and makeup. You’re rather surprised at how skilled they are, not only in application and technique, but also in selecting such a beautiful mix of silver and white accents. Ran even dons a lovely silver suit, and subtle streaks of sparkling silver in their choppy black hair.

Just as Ran finishes up your lipstick, you hear the door fly open.

“Here’s your dress lady!” Jinx hollers as she comes bounding over to the two of you, slinging your wedding dress around like a ragdoll.

She knows your name, but insists on calling you ‘lady’. Likely something to do with her dislike of Sevika and thus you by relation. You take no offense to it, honestly finding it rather entertaining. How your forty-year-old fiance managed to have beef with a teenager is something you’ve yet to learn, but it amuses you nonetheless.

“Thanks Jinx,” you reply with a smile, “You can just hang it up right there.” You nod towards a small rack behind a privacy screen.

She all but throws it onto the rack before clomping over to inspect Ran’s work. As she leans down, well into your personal bubble, you try not to laugh at her scrunched up face while she scrutinizes your makeup. She too is all dolled up with silver and white. Although it’s obvious she did her own work considering it looks as though she’d simply locked herself in a closet and set off one of her bombs, but full of silver and white glitter.

“Nice job Ran,” she finally exclaims before straightening back up with a dramatic swing of her blue braids. “She looks halfway decent.” Her bright eyes look down at your figure before meeting your eyes. “Lady, I really don’t know what you see in Sevika. You should marry Ran. Ran’s single.”

You nearly choke at that last comment, eyes growing wide.

Ran appears considerably less shocked, their dark lips curling into a crooked grin.

“Well, Jinx, I see a lot in Sevika–”

“Also I thought white dresses were only for virgins.”

Now Ran bursts into snorts and barely contained giggles.

You narrow your eyes at the mischievous blue-haired girl.

“What?” she exclaims, then dramatically rolls her eyes and head. “Everyone knows you two did the dirty deed in Silco’s pantry at the Christmas party.” She accents those words with a circle of thumb and pointer finger on one hand, sticking the pointer finger of the other hand repeatedly in and out of the circle.

Ran’s thoroughly enjoying themselves now, and you can’t decide whether you should laugh at Jinx’s crude and ridiculous gesture, or be embarrassed by the fact that more than just Silco knew what you and Sevika had done.

“Speaking of that lumbering oaf, I’m gonna go see how Silco is fairing with his attempt to make her less ugly,” Jinx states before promptly spinning on her heel and skipping towards the door to an adjacent room.

You turn back to Ran, who is just finally recovering from the hilarity of that scene. “I really don’t know what to make of that girl,” you admit, “She’s funny, but obviously blind. Sevika is literally the most attractive woman I’ve ever met.”

Ran shrugs before starting to pack up all their supplies.

You make your way to the floor-length mirror behind the privacy screen to admire your hair and makeup. Ran had really outdone themselves. All that was left was to slip into your wedding dress. A quick glance to the clock says you have less than twenty minutes before the ceremony starts. You wonder how Sevika is fairing. You hadn’t seen her since breakfast that morning, and she had been a disaster of fried nerves.

You hear the door to her dressing room fly open suddenly, followed by the cackling of Jinx as she prances back in.

“What’s so funny?” you ask suspiciously as you step back out from the screen.

“Sevika is freaking out!” she cackles.

Oh no.

Brows knitted in worry, you rush past Jinx and towards the door.

“Hey! Isn’t it bad luck for her to see you before the wedding?” Jinx calls out.

“I don’t care. She needs me. Besides, I’m not in my dress yet.”

The moment you step into the room, you realize just how bad it is. Sevika is sitting, or at least she’s in a chair, but bouncing her legs so erratically it looks like she’s got bugs. She’s facing Silco as he works on applying her makeup. Or at least trying to.

Before you can even say anything, Sevika’s wild eyes are on you and she’s leaping from her chair, ignoring the fact that the eyeliner Silco was in the process of applying has now left a black streak clear down the side of her cheek.

“Oh, that’s not a problem. I’ve just been trying to apply your makeup for the past hour,” Silco drawls with a dramatic throw of his hands.

“Babygirl!” Sevika exclaims, her stormy gray eyes taking in your state of undress, “Are you okay?”

She too is not fully dressed, donning only a pair of white boxer briefs and a white wife pleaser.

Silco turns in his seat to peer over his shoulder at you, rolling his good eye before capping the liner and tossing it into the pile of cosmetics.

Sevika steps around Silco to get a closer look at you. Her brows are knitted in worry and sweat beads along her hairline. She really was freaking out.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, taking her human hand into yours and rubbing it soothingly. “But it looks like you aren’t. What’s wrong?”

“I’m fi-” Sevika pauses, her eyes growing wide. “Where are the rings?!”

She spins around, searching the small room in a frenzy. You have honestly never seen your fiance so frazzled in all your time with her. She was usually so level-headed, or at worst furious, though never with you. She was quite literally a hot mess.

“Sevika, they should be in your jacket pocket. Remember, we put them in there this morning so you wouldn’t lose them.” You pick up her jacket from where it hangs over the back of a chair, pulling out the two boxes from the inside pocket. “See. They're right here. No need to worry.”

Sevika spins around and you can literally see the relief wash over her face. After you slip them back into the pocket and lay the jacket back down you take her hand again and pull her close. You smile up at her softly. Using the side of your thumb, you wipe away the bead of sweat at her temple. “Everything is going to be just fine,” you assure her. She doesn’t appear to believe that, her brows still tightly knitted in worry. So you take her human hand and sneak it under the back of your slip so she can feel the skin of your bare ass. The corner of her mouth twitches as she takes a handful and squeezes.

So close.

You wrap your arms around her neck and pull her down for a sweet kiss. Or at least you intended it to be. The moment she pulls your body flush to hers, she seems to relax. Her tongue prods at your lips, which you happily grant entrance. She swirls her tongue around yours, both of you moaning softly.

Silco intentionally clears his throat, but neither of you pay him any mind. You’re not about to stop kissing your fiance when you can literally feel her worries melting away, taken over by lust.

Her metal hand joins her flesh hand beneath your slip, grabbing a handful of your other asscheek and gently kneading it. She slots her knee between your legs and uses her grip on your ass to drag you up along her thigh. The long, deep moan you release echoes in the tiny room when she finally breaks the kiss to catch her breath.

The two of you stare into each other’s hooded eyes, aching, needy, and oblivious to everything else around you. Specifically Silco.

“I want to fuck you right here. Right now ,” Sevika husks, emphasizing that last word by dragging your aching cunt up along her thigh again.

“Sevika,” you whine, recalling you two have only a little time left before you need to be out and ready for the ceremony. But Janna, do you want her right now.

“No. Really, don’t mind me. I rather enjoy a free show,” Silco drawls sarcastically from his seat.

“Sevika, we have to get ready,” you say softly.

She stares down at you for a moment, lips parted as she contemplates. You know she’s fighting between admitting you’re right, the logic, and wanting to fuck you silly against the door, the instinct.

“If the two of you wish to be at your own wedding- on time- I suggest you save your escapades for tonight,” Silco drawls.

Sevika releases a long sigh.

He’s right.

You’re right.

She releases her hold on you and steps back.

Though she looks just as hot as she did moments ago, new beads of sweat glistening against her dark skin, she at least doesn’t appear to be the least bit worried. But, just to make sure, you grab the small flask of whiskey you had snuck into the other pocket of her jacket and pass it to her.

“Drink. I need you to relax and enjoy our big day.” Realizing her eyes are not on your face, you follow their stare to find she’s focused on your breasts, which are pushed up and out thanks to your ridiculously tight corset-style bra. You smirk up at her. “Why don’t you give each one a kiss for good luck.”

Silco groans loudly.

Sevika’s lips curl into a smirk and she bends down to not only give each breast a soft kiss, but also to make an attempt at sucking a bruise into the supple flesh.

“Sevika!” you chastise, “You can’t mark them. People are going to see it!”

“That’s the point,” Sevika mumbles against your skin before licking a long stripe from one breast to the other. As she straightens back up, she flashes you one of her lopsided grins, knowing damn well she was pushing your buttons and getting you worked up.

With a roll of your eyes, you stretch up to kiss her cheek. “Save the bad behavior for tonight,” you tell her before heading back to your dressing room.

Great.

Now you’re horny and hot as hell, and you’ve got to get into your dress and somehow manage to look and act normal as you walk down the aisle towards the woman who got you so hot and heavy in the first place.

Though you managed to finish getting ready with plenty of time to spare, you can’t help but worry about Sevika.

You stand beside Ran, arm linked with theirs, as you wait for your time to walk down the aisle. The aisle is a long, white length of silk that runs down the sidewalk that leads from the sliding glass door you stand before, clear up to a beautiful gazebo. The gazebo is dressed in lovely drapes of white and silver silks, flowers, and a sprinkling of lovely green sprigs. The snow is lightly falling, creating the perfect winter scene, just as you’d always imagined it. And the icing on the cake; you can see your gorgeous fiance standing under the gazebo, dressed in a beautiful white suit, perfectly tailored to her muscular and curvy build. Her silver tie sparkles just as brightly as the snow surrounding the area, as does the lovely white snowflake pin that holds her silky ebony strands back in its typical half-ponytail. She looks absolutely stunning.

Silco stands back and off to the side, dressed in a silver suit similar to Ran’s, acting as both best man and the one to give Sevika away. Even from this distance, you can see the small smirk on his face as he watches Sevika. It honestly warms your heart how damn cute this is.

You take a deep breath, and slowly release it through your nose. Nerves tingle and burn beneath your skin, but you wear the most enthusiastic smile. It’s a wild mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbling up with each passing second.

Ran taps you on your arm and you turn to find them giving you an encouraging grin. “Ready?”

You take one more breath, then nod.

Ran opens the glass door, arm still linked with yours, and guides you out as the music plays.

The guests, only a couple dozen or so, all turn from their seats in the chairs along the front of the gazebo to watch. It’s almost comical, seeing all of Silco’s crazy crew all dressed up in fancy suits and dresses, all full of bright smiles as you walk down the aisle. Some even look close to tears.

But your attention is quickly drawn to your waiting fiance whose eyes are locked on you. Sevika smiles that cute little crooked smile you love so much as she takes in the sight of you in your beautiful white dress and fluffy white shawl. The snow is feather soft as it falls on you and your guests. Though Sevika is sheltered beneath the gazebo, you can see specs of snow just starting to melt into her dark hair.

You’re all smiles and bright eyes as Ran walks you up the stairs leading to the podium where Sevika stands with the officiant. Seeing her up close, you can really see how downright stunning she is. Her white suit fits deliciously snug, accenting every line of muscle, every curve of chest, hip, and waist. The silver tie, snug to her neck, sparkles much like her silver eyes. But what really knocks you out is the way she’s smiling at you. Like you are literally the most beautiful and perfect thing in the world to her. Your heart swells knowing that’s exactly what’s going through her head.

You stand across from her, nodding to Ran as they step aside and towards the back as your maid of honor.

As the officiant addresses the guests, you almost tune him out entirely, too lost in grinning at your wife-to-be, who appears just as lost in you. Your warm breaths mingle, little white clouds swirling and mixing between you. Though the air is chilly, your entire body heats with excitement and adoration.

Sevika looks as if she’s finally lost all those anxious thoughts. You’re not sure if it’s the drink you handed her earlier, or if she’s just too distracted by you to care. Whatever the reason, you’re grateful that she finally looks comfortable. This moment is just as much for her as it is you.

Sevika repeats her vows as if on autopilot, her eyes on you the entire time even as she slips her hand into her pocket to retrieve your ring.

“With this ring, I thee wed.” Her voice is deep and low, as if she only intends for you to hear. As if you’re the only person there.

Your cheeks burn and ache with how hard you smile as she slips the ring on your finger. She must be feeling the same, her smirk so big and wide you can see that adorable little tooth gap of hers.

She hands you her ring from the same pocket and you can hardly contain your glee as you slip it onto her thick finger. “With this ring, I thee wed,” you say softly, voice shaking with excitement and emotion. You feel the familiar prick at the corners of your eyes, so close to bursting into happy tears.

Sevika’s eyes are glued to your lips and her fingers twitch at her sides. She knows what comes next.

“You may seal your union with a kiss.”

The officiant barely finishes his sentence before Sevika’s metal hand is gripping your waist and pulling you against her body. Her human hand slides along the side of your cheek, fingers behind your head guiding your lips to hers in a bruising kiss.

She kisses you like she’s been craving it for years. All tongue and teeth with no regard to the onlookers. Not that they seem to mind as they cheer, clap, and whistle.

You wrap your arms around her neck and attempt to match her fervor only for her to pull you impossibly closer. Her tongue swirls around your own. You’re almost dizzy and out of breath by the time she finally releases you.

She rests her forehead against yours, a dopey smile on her face as the two of you attempt to catch your breath. The condensation from your now much warmer breaths almost clouds your vision.

“Not even death will take you from me,” she whispers.

You beam up at her. You’re not sure how that could be true, but you believe every word she says.

The two of you walk hand in hand down the aisle together as the guests toss the freshly fallen snow at you. You giggle and shield your face against Sevika’s shoulder, clinging to her bicep and trusting her to guide you back to the reception hall.

By the time the two of you manage to get inside, you’re both covered in the white fluffy snow. You do your best to dust it off Sevika’s suit and hair as she does the same to you.

Sevika grabs you by your forearms and pulls you against her. You gasp at the unexpected move, nearly forgetting how to breathe when you meet her fiery gaze. She looks ravenous.

“I want to fuck you,” she husks, her lips a hairsbreadth from yours.

“I- I do too, but-” you start, words failing you when she teases her tongue along your bottom lip.

“But nothing,” she rasps, “Let me take you into that dressing room and fuck you for the first time as my wife.”

Your cheeks burn and your core aches at her words. As tempting as it is- as tempting as she is- you two will be expected out in the reception hall any minute.

“We- we just need to be patient. After the reception, we can start our honeymoon and do it as many times as you want.”

“How long is the reception,” she all but growls in frustration.

You giggle at her impatience. Though you don’t entirely blame her. You’re just as enthused to consummate your marriage.

“A few hours.”

“Fuck,” she curses, shaking her head while it still rests against yours. “Babygirl, I can’t wait that long.”

“You can,” you insist, “I know you can. Just be patient and it will all be worth it.” You pull back from her. She reluctantly releases you from her grasp, her nostrils flaring in sexual frustration. “Just think how much more fun it will be when you can finally release all that pent-up energy.” You reach up on your toes to kiss the tip of her nose before whispering in her ear. “I’ll let you have me however you wish.”

You pull back to examine her face. That soft, sexy smirk is back. Seems you’ve placated her. At least for now.

“Now come on, wife , let’s go entertain our guests,” you say as you link your arm with hers.

The reception goes on without a single problem. With an open bar, you were pretty sure Silco’s crew would be more than content, no matter the circumstances. Most of them mingle amongst each other near the bar after dinner, but several do make it to the dance floor where you and your wife spend a good part of the night.

The first song is specifically for you and Sevika. It’s slow and sweet. Sevika surprises you, remaining well-behaved despite how close she holds your body to hers. Her arms are wrapped tightly around your waist, yours around her neck as the two of you sway back and forth to the slow tempo.

You both wear soft, adoring smiles, gazes locked and turning out everyone else around you. Sevika tilts her head before dipping down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. Your skin warms and tingles at the sweet gesture. Then she brings her mouth to your ear. You expect her to whisper something dirty, but you’re left pleasantly surprised.

“I love you.”

Those three simple words nearly take you out at the knees. When she pulls back to peer down at you, you’re certain you’re going to cry. How did you ever get so lucky to snag such a beast of a woman whose heart she only shares with you? No one else gets to experience this side of her. At least not up close and personal like this.

“I love you too,” you choke out, so damn close to breaking into tears. You rest your head on her strong shoulder, face buried against her neck for the remainder of the song, not trusting yourself to keep it together if you remain looking at her.

Several drinks in and Sevika definitely starts losing that control, quickly shifting from sweet, lovey-dovey to that fiery passion you knew all too well. Not that you’re complaining. Even your inhibitions start to slip away the more you drink and dance.

By the time the DJ calls for you and Sevika to the middle of the dance floor for Sevika to remove your garter, Sevika has lost all restraint.

Sitting on the chair facing your guests, you know you’re in for it with how Sevika eyes you like fresh meat. It’s no surprise when she puts her whole upper body beneath the skirt of your dress. Not at all necessary for the task at hand, but you know she’s got other things on her mind than just retrieving that tiny bit of lace wrapped around your thigh.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, biting back the sounds that threaten to escape as you feel her lips press against the inside of your calf. Your cheeks burn under the scrutiny of so many people. And it only worsens when you feel the press of Sevika’s warm, wet tongue slowly gliding up the inside of your thigh. The one without the garter.

Sensing her final destination, you bring your hand to cover your mouth and hope the audience thinks it’s just to stifle giggles. She reaches your thin lace panties and pauses. Unknowingly, you hold your breath, legs damn near trembling in anticipation. It’s a good thing you have your hand over your mouth. There’s no holding back the wanton mewl she pulls from you as she slides that devilish tongue clear up the center of your slit, moaning as she tastes your arousal through the thin fabric.

You close your thighs around her head, realizing all too late that you’d just sealed your own fate. She takes advantage of her locked position, her mouth pressing against your barely clothed cunt. Another swipe of that thick muscle has your mind reeling and your core clenching.

Just when you think she’s going to do it again, she takes mercy on you and pries your thighs open. She moves to the opposite thigh, her teeth catching on the edge of the lace lining the garter and smoothly pulls it down your leg and off over your heel. She stands, garter still between her teeth, cheshire smile on her smug face. She grins at your flushed face for a moment before turning to the audience to show off her successful retrieval.

Everyone cheers, hoots, and hollers, spurring on that ego of hers. If you weren’t so damn flustered, you would give her a good piece of your mind. Unfortunately, you aren’t even sure you can manage to stand on your wobbly legs.

The remainder of the night doesn’t get any less risque. After several more drinks and dirty, slow-grinding songs, Sevika removes her jacket, rolls up her shirt sleeves, and loosens her tie. She stands behind you, hands on your hips as she grinds against your backside to the beat.

Her mouth moves up along the side of your neck, sucking, licking and nipping at the stretch of delicate skin. You tilt your head to the opposite side, granting her more access as you moan softly, uncaring if any of your guests on the dance floor can hear.

Her lips pause at your ear. “How much longer are we gonna do this, babygirl?” she husks.

You hum and smile as you push your ass further back into her, rubbing it in a motion you know she can really feel.

She growls and nips at your ear. “If we don’t go soon I’ll just drag you to the bathroom and fuck you there.”

You slide your hands down the side of your body until they meet hers where they grip your hips. “Aren’t you the one who always speaks of patience?” You tease. “We’ll be done soon. Couple more songs.” You glance around the room, there’s only a few stragglers over at the bar and a couple on the dance floor. “Almost everyone has left.”

“Well then maybe I’ll fuck you right here then,” she purrs, sliding her flesh hand down to cup your cunt through the layers of your skirt.

“Sevika!” you chastise, but it’s lost to her in the way you moan her name and grind against her hand.

She chuckles, warm breath wafting over your neck and shoulders, and good god you are very tempted to take her up on either of those offers.

You two barely make it to your private little cabin she booked for your honeymoon before she attempts to rip your dress off. You stumble in as she kicks the door shut behind her, her hands ripping at the zipper of your dress. The dress falls into a pool on the floor, quickly forgotten. You’re left in just your corset bra and slip skirt.

“Wait!” you exclaim as she attempts to rip those off as well. “I bought something special for the occasion!”

“So What. I’m just gonna rip off whatever you put on,” she husks and pulls you back towards her by your waist.

“Fine, but at least let me put it on so you can see it once!” you insist. You squirm in her grasp, too tipsy to manage your movements. Not that you would have ever stood a chance against her strength anyway. “It will be real quick. I promise.” When you dodge her mouth reaching for your neck, she finally caves.

“Fine. But make it quick,” she huffs.

You scramble over to your suitcase, nearly toppling over when you bend down to pull the bag out that hides your lingerie. Sevika snorts from her spot leaning against the wall behind you and you shoot her a nasty glare. “You’re a bit drunk too,” you remind her, “You hit your head not only getting into the limo, but also getting out.”

She rolls her eyes before her hungry gaze follows you as you saunter- or more like wobble- towards the bathroom.

You’re grateful for selecting a fairly simple set of lingerie. In your current state there’s no way you would manage anything complicated. After slipping out of your bra and slip with minimal tipping over, you quickly pull on your white, lacy babydoll. You take a quick glance in the mirror, pleased to find the cut of the babydoll perfect. It accents every curve delightfully and reveals just enough skin to tease.

“Thought you said this would be quick!” Sevika grunts from just outside the door.

When you sneak back out the door, you don’t bother hiding the grin painting your face. You know she’s going to like your little outfit, even if she does rip it off you. “Patience, Sev,” you purr.

She pushes herself off the wall and turns to you. You swear you can see her pupils widen the moment her gaze travels up your scantily clad form. That lovely crooked grin of hers appears and you can’t help but giggle at her obvious approval.

“You like it?” you ask sweetly.

She steps closer, that sexy smirk curling higher. “I do.” She slides a finger across the fabric hugging your breasts. “In fact-” She lets that finger glide down the thin fabric between your cleavage and licks her lips. “-I think we’ll keep it on tonight.”

You giggle. “Doubt that.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

You reach up to grab her tie with a playful smile. “I bet you can’t last more than three minutes before you’re ripping this outfit to shreds.” You start to pull her towards you as you slowly back your way to the bed.

Her lips curl into a crooked grin. “Oh you wanna make a bet, babygirl?” Her hands find your hips, eyes locked on yours as you continue to pull her.

You nod.

“I win, you’re mine to do with as I please for the entire night.” Her voice is low and dangerous. As if what she’d do with you would truly be devastating. But you both know, no matter who wins, you’re both going to enjoy it.

“Well if I win, which we both know I will, you’re mine to do with as I please for the entire night,” you counter.

“Deal.”

You take a quick glance at the clock beside the bed. 11:41. She’s got to last until 11:45. Highly unlikely. Your attention returns to her and don’t bother trying to hide your confident smile.

The backs of your knees bump into the mattress and you tug on her tie, pulling her lips to yours. Both of you moan into each other’s mouths, tongues swirling and fighting for dominance. Of course Sevika wins, every part of her overpowers you. Not that you mind.

You continue to pull her along as you sit on the bed and scoot backward. She follows without breaking the kiss, her knees moving along the bed on either side of your thighs. It’s not until your head collapses against the pillows that you finally release her and break the kiss. Lips parted and wet, you both attempt to catch your breath.

Sevika hovers over you, her hands on either side of your shoulders and knees on either side of your hips, eyes half-lidded and burning with lust.

After a moment she finally rises on her knees. She loosens her tie and pulls it over her head. Her grin is lecherous. That should have been your warning, but rather than toss the tie aside as you expect, she scoops your wrists up and wraps the tie around them before securing the other end to the headboard.

Your gasp of surprise is met by a sinister little chuckle. One that has that familiar ache between your thighs pulsing.

She quickly removes her white blouse and tosses it aside before shimmying out of her pants, leaving her in just her white wife pleaser and boxer briefs.

Her mouth crashes into yours again. This time her kiss is wild. Sloppy. But she doesn’t linger there long before she’s making her way down the side of your jaw to your neck. She moves her knees, pressing them between yours and forcing you to spread them open.

You wrap your legs around her waist, moaning as she finds your pulse point and sucks hard. Then she’s moving even lower until her mouth finds your breasts. You desperately want to thread your fingers into her hair as she sucks matching love bruises into the plump flesh of each breast, releasing a frustrated huff and pulling against your restraints. You can feel her lips curl into a devious smile, clearly amused by your distress.

“You’re an ass,” you whisper breathlessly.

“You love it,” she mumbles before licking a long stripe between your cleavage.

As much as you’d like to argue that fact, not only is she right, but your head empties the moment she rocks her hips, dragging herself between your legs.

“Sevika,” you whine, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure rolls through your body.

She chuckles and rocks her hips again.

You can already feel the desire pooling low in your belly. The two of you have been craving each other the entire day. It’s not going to take much to get either of you off. Especially not when she keeps acting so fucking cocky.

One of her hands grope at your breast while the other remains on the mattress. She continues to grind into you, pulling moan after moan from your parted lips. Her fingers slip beneath the cup of your lingerie and attempt to pull it down.

She growls in frustration, the fit of your lingerie apparently a little too good. The rhythm of her hips falters as she diverts her attention to her attempt at removing the offending material. You peer down at her through hooded eyes, a small smile on your face as you witness her struggles.

She mutters something under her breath, most likely a curse, and you barely contain your laughter. It’s only a matter of time before her frustration boils over and she rips your clothes off, just as you said she would.

She glances up at your bound arms, realizing she can’t pull the lingerie off over your head and it’s her own damn fault.

This time you snicker and she flashes you a nasty look. She sits up on her knees, and even though you know what’s coming next, you still release a startled squeal when she reaches down with her clawed metal fingers and tears right through the flimsy lace. She doesn’t stop there either, making short work of your underwear as well.

Now she’s the one chuckling. Not that it matters to you. A quick glance to the clock, 11:43, and you’ve confirmed your victory.

“You lost!” You exclaim, but you’re not prepared to find that smug smile still painting your wife’s face.

“Did I, though?” She taunts, her eyes darting up to your bound hands, then back to your surprised face.

Realization sinks in, but before you can protest, her mouth descends to your breast, teeth clamping down on the hardened peak.

Your sharp gasp dissolves into a soft moan as she soothes the marks she left with a swirl of her tongue. Your eyelids fall closed again. Her lips remain curled in a devious grin while she continues to suck and tease the sensitive nub.

She moves to pay the same attention to your other nipple, alternating between biting, licking, and sucking. All the while you strain against the tie holding your wrists, desperately wanting to touch her. To guide her head lower where your body aches for her the most.

“Sevika, please,” you whine, arching your back when she bites down particularly hard.

“Please what?” she asks.

Your eyes slowly flutter open to find her smirking face now hovering over yours.

“Please touch me.” You know those words won’t be enough for her. They never are. She’s a sadist who loves to make you tell her exactly what you want, just so she can see you flustered. Though you'd be lying if you said that didn’t make your core burn just as much as it did your cheeks.

“I’ve been touching you, sweetheart.” she teases.

“Lower…” your whine trails off into a wanton moan when she intentionally pushes a knee between the apex of your thighs.

“Where?”

“Sevika!”

“Use your words. Tell me where you want me to touch you.” She’s taunting you, but Janna it’s so damn sexy, especially with that husky voice of hers.

You squirm beneath her, trying desperately to rub yourself against her knee, but she quickly pulls it away with a chastising “Tsk”. You’re so damn turned on and needy you can’t help the pathetic sob that rips from your throat.

Finally, you cave.

“Touch my pussy! Please, Sevika!” you beg, cheeks burning.

“That’s my good girl,” she purrs and you keen. She brings her lips to yours in a passionate kiss, stealing your breath away. She slides her calloused fingers slowly down your stomach until two fingers rest just outside your wet folds, her middle finger hovering just above.

She swallows your whimper.

You swallow her evil little chuckle.

She finally takes pity on you and slides her middle finger through your slit. Her tongue swirls around yours, mimicking the motion of her fingertip circling your clit.

You writhe beneath her. The sensations are too teasingly slow and soft. You need more. You need her inside you. When she hears you whimper against her lips, she finally breaks the kiss to peer down at you.

“Sevika,” you gasp, “Stop teasing!”

“Hmm,” she hums, “You want my fingers inside that pretty little cunt?” That damn cocky smirk still paints her face and it makes the knot low in your belly pull tighter.

You nod your head frantically.

“You sure it’s ready?”

Another nod.

“I don’t know, babygirl. I don’t want to hurt you if you’re not ready.” She runs the tip of her finger through your entrance again, collecting your juices before returning to tease the bundle of nerves above.

Even in the haze of your arousal, you’re aware that she knows damn well you are more than ready. You can feel the wetness leaking down the insides of your thighs. And you know she feels it too. She’s toying with you. Trying to get you even more riled up than you already are.

“I’m ready!” You try to give her a stern look, but it falls short when she slides two fingers through your folds.

She hums again, “You are pretty wet.”

You say nothing, just stare up at her with pleading eyes. Janna, she’s so fucking sexy you’re certain the moment she finally does give you what you need you’re going to lose it almost instantly.

Just when you think she’s finally caving, she drags that blissful torture on even longer, deliberately sinking her middle finger ever so slowly inside you. Simultaneous groans fill the room. For as many times as she’s used those fingers, you’ll never get used to how sinfully thick they are. How you can feel each knuckle and each callous drag along your walls. Likewise, she never gets enough of how deliciously tight and wet you are.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” she groans, her warm breath wafting over your lips as she lowers her head. “Such a tight, wet pussy.”

A wave of pleasant warmth rushes over your lower half, followed by an ache that makes you crave more.

“And it’s all mine, isn’t it?” she husks.

Words fail you as she slides the last remaining length of her finger inside you and trails the tip of her tongue across your bottom lip. Your eyes flutter shut.

“Is this pussy mine?” she asks as she begins slowly sliding her finger in and out.

You swallow thickly and try to answer, but you’re too drunk on pleasure.

“Answer me or I stop,” she growls before nipping at your bottom lip.

You yelp, more startled than hurt.

“I- I-” you struggle to form words while she relentlessly distracts and teases you, running her tongue along the little indents she left on your lip. “Yes, it’s yours. All yours.”

“That’s right,” she husks, her lips grazing yours before she seals them with another quick kiss.

She starts fucking you with a slow, steady pace, rocking her hips with the motion as if she was strapping you. You rock your hips along with her, teeth catching your bottom lip in an attempt to hold back your moans. But she’s not having that.

She slips another finger inside, increasing her pace until you’re unable to keep your mouth in check. Moan after moan spills from your parted lips as she fucks you in earnest. Your hips rock with hers in time with her fingers thrusting. The bed shakes, headboard rattling against the wall. Neither of you notice, too high on the sounds and sensations the other is providing.

You can feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, the knot in your belly burning and drawn tight. The rocking of your hips falters until you finally give up and let her take complete control.

She gladly takes over, speeding up even more, curling her fingers so with every withdrawal she’s hitting that sweet spot that makes you see stars.

“That feels so good,” you mewl.

“Yea? You like that?” she huffs, her breaths just as ragged as yours.

“Janna, yes!” You fight against your restraints, desperate to touch your wife.

“You’re close aren’t you?” she grunts against the side of your neck.

“Yes!”

Those fingers are thrusting inside your sopping wet cunt so hard now the room is filling with debauched squelching sounds.

Your body tenses, every muscle pulled taut. You’re so close.

“Cum for me,” she growls before sinking her teeth into your neck.

All the sexual tension that had been building that day finally releases in a tidal wave of pleasure. Blinding light flashes behind your closed eyes. A string of nonsensical words spill from your mouth. Your walls clench and spasm around her fingers, pushing your release out in a gush that drenches her hand.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s it. Let it all out. Such a good girl for me,” Sevika groans into your ear, her fingers pumping into you while you ride out that blissful high.

When your body starts to twitch beneath her, overstimulation setting in at the end of your high, she slows her pace before finally pulling out completely.

You’re startled from your post-orgasmic bliss when you suddenly hear fireworks somewhere in the distance. You turn to glance out the large glass door to see the bright colors lighting up the night sky, then you see the time. 12:00. New Years.

Unbelievable.

You turn back to your wife with a smile as large as you can manage in your fucked out state.

Resting on her forearms and knees, Sevika peers down at you adoringly, her lips pulled into a satisfied grin. Both of you pant, equally out of breath.

All you can manage to think at that moment is how damn lucky you are to have such a wonderful wife. Not just because she’s indescribably good in bed, but also because she’s so fucking sweet. She rented this cute little private cabin for the two of you to spend your honeymoon. Prepacked said cabin with goodies and firewood for the fireplace. She even perfectly time your special moment with the fucking fireworks!

She reaches above you to remove the tie from the headboard and your wrists, and you immediately pull her down for a sweet kiss.

When you release her, she pulls back just far enough to touch the tip of her nose to yours.

You suppose you can forgive her for reneging on your bet. Kinda hard to complain when she fucked you so good AND timed it with the New Year.

“Happy New Year, wife,” you whisper.

She smiles down at you lovingly. “Happy New Year, my perfect wife.”

#arcane #sevika #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #arcane sevika x reader #fanfic #honey writes #BONUS CHAPTER FOR THIS HOLIDAY SEASON! 😁#Plans got all jacked up so posting earlier than I originally intended

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