#will. fix rev's arm later

[dayshines]

making ocs refs,,, yayyyy

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev.

cont.

synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: i just want the drama >:) may make more parts, and even extend said headcannons into longer fics in the future, but wanted to post something quick for mother’s day. hope you enjoy!

When you disappeared off the face of the earth, MIKEY had never been the same. One fight. One argument that spiraled out of control, and you were just gone...

He had people looking for you for about a couple years, the trail ran cold after a while and he had half a mind to think you were dead. Up until he got intel of your whereabouts one morning during a meeting.

That man got up and left immediately.

He wasn’t accompanied with any of his men, only because he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention in the broad daylight. Sure, him wearing a black hood, ball cap, and mask in a park didn’t really help him look inconspicuous but it at least concealed his identity enough for him to blend in. Mikey sat on a bench for a good forty minutes, anxious, making anyone who passed him shiver from his intense aura alone; even birds walked around him. After almost an hour of waiting, he began to feel frustrated. Perhaps, the intel was false. Just as he went to stand, already conjuring up ways to have Sanzu execute the idiot who wasted his time, he heard it.

Your voice. Seizing him, like a siren’s call.

His eyes were alert, darting around until they landed on your figure, spotlighted by the sun, like an angel descending from the heavens. You looked good, healthy. That was good. An array of emotions fought for their turn in Mikey’s heart—Relief, distress, anger, nostalgia. He couldn’t just pick one, especially when it came to you. As he watched from his spot, doing his best to not seem suspicious, he clocked the people you were approaching with excitement, your peppy stride as you waved at, what he presumed, to be mother and daughter.

However, his entire world turned upside down when the little girl extended out her arms towards you, and said “Mama!”

“Hello, my darling.~” You cooed, taking her into your awaiting arms from the woman, embracing the toddler tightly. “Mama missed you so much.”

“Missed you, mama!” was the child’s reply, followed by her giggles.

A bucket of cold water would’ve been better than this. Watching you converse with who he now assumes to be the babysitter, Mikey felt faint. Vision blurring, head pounding, heart clenching. You…you…no. There’s no way. You wouldn’t have moved on…you couldn’t have, not like this, not from him. You loved him, didn’t you? You still love him, didn’t you?

How could you…how could you?

Before he knew it, he started to follow you around. From the park, to the store, all the way back to your apartment. He already phoned some of the executives to start working in on the babysitter, and anyone else in your new found circle for information. He wanted answers. He needed them.

By the time you began fixing dinner, with your daughter laid down for a nap, you receive a knock at your door. Who could that be at this hour?

RAN was chilling outside the rendezvous spot for something the boss and a few other execs were participating in, having a smoke, minding his business, up until he sees a little girl with pigtails wearing a school uniform approaching, standing before him and just…staring. She barely came up to his thighs, could've been no older than seven. She was practically staring into his soul with bright lavender eyes that scarily reminded him of Rin’s when he was that age.

He stared back, head tilted as he blew out the smoke from the corner of his mouth. The hell was a kid doing on this side of town?

Then, after an uncomfortable staring contest, the little girl points at his cigarette. “My ma says those things are bad for you.”

Ran raised a brow, “Does she now?”

“Mmhm! She says it makes people unhappy.”

He offered a thoughtful nod, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Mm. Do I look unhappy?”

The girl looked at Ran for a minute, eyes squinted. Eventually, she shook her head. “No. But, ma also says people who are always unhappy get better at hiding it.”

Ran’s grin faltered. Her unwavering stare started to unnerve him, especially after hearing such a heavy statement come from such a small package.

After a brief moment of silence, he chuckled softly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away. He exhaled. “Smart woman.”

The little girl beamed, “Mmhm! My ma knows a lot of stuff.”

“Tsk. But not ‘Stranger Danger’, apparently.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, let alone approaching someone you don’t know. ‘s not safe. Especially for nosy little girls who stick their noses in other people’s business. Your ma never taught you that?”

The little girl rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “Duh. Of course she did. Everyone knows that rule,” she exasperated. Ran snorted, but yielded when she squinted at him, pointing as she sassed. “And I do so know you, so you’re not a stranger.”

This time, Ran couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “Oh, you know me, huh? That’s not good. ‘m supposed to keep a low profile. Say, you ain’t a cop are you?” He teased, earning another eye roll.

“No. Too small to be a cop, dummy.”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t notice. Where do you know me from, then?”

The little girl pointed over to the building..where the executives were having their meeting. She beamed, “Ma’s works in there. On important people days she can’t get me from school, so she tells me to come straight here, and to not talk to the purple man that stands near the building. She says you’re mean.”

Ran smirked, then gave a half-hearted shrug.

“She also says you’re my pa. But, I never believed her. You’re too old.”

Ran’s smirk dropped.

Whether more from the first comment or the last, you decide. But, one thing was for certain: he needed another cigarette.

SANZU cackled watching some guy struggle to round up a couple of rowdy twins at the convenience store. One was knocking shit off the shelves while the other ran circles around the guy. It was what he needed for his bitch of a hangover, a good laugh to distract from the ache in his skull.

However, he wasn’t laughing for long when you came around the corner of the isle, holding a few items with a smile on your face that soon faded once you saw the scene unfolding before you; the pinkette thought he was still tripping balls. Blinking a few times to allow any after effects of the drugs to clear up, when you didn’t disappear he used his long legs to swiftly yeet behind one of the shelves, peering around it like some paranoid stalker. The last time you had spoken, you had threatened to castrate him with your teeth if you ever saw him again.

And he’d be damned if he tried your bluff.

He watched in awe as you straightened those twins up quick. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought they were trained to obey you, and only you. Any other authority be damned. While the guy was putting all the stuff back on the shelves, sweaty and out of breath, you gently reprimanded them for causing trouble. You still made that cute pouty face you always did whenever you were mad at him…

“What did we talk about earlier? Hm? Mr. Satoru was very kind to help mama today, you know. You two promised me you’d be on your best behavior for him.”

Sanzu gagged. This was the rebound you let nut in you? This huffy moron who can’t handle a couple of ankle biters, this was your king? He had half a mind to just gut the guy to put him out of his misery from that pathetic display from earlier, alone. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be back home. He remembers when he was that age—Rowdy, reckless, the Antichrist. Adorable, but deadly. God bless that poor bastard’s soul.

Wait…Mister? Not…dad?

The first twin whined, stomping their feet. “He’s too boringggg!”

Come to think of it…if Sanzu squinted…the longer he looked at the little family…he swore the more he saw the resemblance of himself in the tiny gremlins. From the hair, to the eyes, all the way down to the mannerisms…Hang on. When had been the last time you two fucked? Three…no, was it four years ago?

The second twin huffed, pointing at the man. “Yeah! And he’s jus’ being nice so that he can sleep in your bed, mama!”

You flushed, nervously chuckling as you looked around to make sure no one heard. Sanzu ducked behind a bag of chips, now nothing but eyes peeking through the gaps of food on the shelf.

So…that loser’s not the father? Then…could that mean..?

“He’s mama’s boyfriend, remember? He’s allowed to do that. And he’ll be around for a while, so I want you two to be nice, okay?”

“…okay, mama.” They grumbled.

Sanzu almost popped a blood vessel, fist clenched around a bag of Lays and nearly busting it. He chuckled darkly, “Oh. We’ll see about that.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved.

likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[misctf]

Country Living

When he stopped to help you on the side of this lonely country road, you couldn’t have been more grateful. You didn’t expect your car to breakdown on these desolate backroads. Nor did you expect a lack of cell service. Your years studying in college didn’t exactly give you the knowledge on how to diagnose and fix cars. But based on all the smoke, you figured something was wrong.

“Aw, don't you worry none, I'm right happy to help y'all out.” He removed his ball cap and ran his hand through his short brown hair, “Name’s Bucky. What brings y'all to this neck of the woods?”

He was certainly taller and more muscular than you- not to mention ripe with the smell of a hard day’s work. And you could tell he was looking you over, the juxtaposition couldn’t have been clearer. Country vs city boy, manual laborer vs keyboard warrior, dropped out of high school vs college educated. The list could go on. But despite the bias you held towards these country folks, you were happy he was helping. And so you introduced yourself and expressed your sincere gratitude. Bucky smiled and gave you a bone crushing handshake.

“Ain't no trouble at all, I'm just glad to help out.” He smiled warmly, his dark eyes, while lacking intelligence, were filled with kindness and just a bit of mischief.

He winks at you and you felt your heart flutter for just a moment. Maybe it was the way his stubble framed his tanned face. Or the way the sweat dripped from his muscular arms as he worked on your car. Or perhaps it was the occasional glances he gave you and the sly smirk that told you he knew you were checking him out.

“I reckon I know what's wrong. Just need to grab a tool from my garage.” He said, wiping the sweat from his brow, “You care to join me? Looks like you could use a sip of somethin’.���

It was true. In the sweltering heat, you were certainly thirsty. And while part of you wanted to stay with your car, you felt beckoned to go with him. And so you did. You climbed into his pick-up truck and watched as he revved the engine. And before long, you were cruising down the old country road with your car disappearing from sight.

“Well, dang if this ain't my favorite tune!” Bucky said, turning up the volume, “You figure you into this kinda music?”

It was some country song. One about cars, beer, and living on a farm. Not something you’d listen to voluntarily. But as Bucky sang in his southern twang, you found your foot tapping along. Soon you were mouthing the words, almost as if you knew the song by heart. And a moment later you joined in with him, the two of you putting your hearts into every lyric. You barely noticed the southern twang that garnished your voice.

“Well, I'll be darned! Can’t believe you like these kinda tunes. No offense intended, but you don't quite fit the mold, do ya?” He says with a chuckle.

Bucky gives your arm a playful punch and you look down at the exposed, tanned skin of your bicep. Your muscles were contracting and seemingly getting larger, highlighted nicely by the wifebeater that clung tightly to your skin. You look up at Bucky and he gives you a wink. Again, you feel comforted by his kind smile and playful dark eyes. You turn away and absentmindedly run a hand over your growing biceps. So firm and tight, the skin somewhat weathered. But deep down you know something isn’t right. Its nagging at you, begging for you to say something. To at least find out what’s happening to you. You want to tell Bucky, but he’s just pulled up to his garage.  

“Mind givin’ me a hand findin’ my toolkit?” Bucky asks. You nod quickly- your anxiety being pushed deep into your subconsciousness. And as Bucky enters the garage, he pulls off his sweaty wifebeater, “Don't pay me no mind, it sure gets mighty hot 'round these parts. You’re welcome to do the same.”

And you follow his example. As you do, you catch a whiff of your pits. The musk that invades your nostrils is a far cry from the vegan deodorant you applied this morning. Moreso, your usually well-trimmed pit hair is now a curly damp bush of dark brown hairs that poke out when you lower your arms. The smell makes you dizzy and you feel like you might fall over, but Bucky lends you a hand.

“Don’t go faintin’ on me now.” He says with a grin, “We got a lotta work to do.”

“Don't you worry 'bout me none, I got this here handled.” You say- the words leaving your mouth without much input from your brain. Bucky’s eyes light up and he grins.

“I shoulda known that.” His laugh fills your ears and you swear it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve heard. He notices you admiring him, “Gotta find those tools now.”

You nod and start rummaging through his garage and workbench. You pick up a wrench and place it down. Then another and another. You never really needed to learn basic mechanic stuff, let alone the names of wrenches. You were more focused on your degree. Your degree in... In...? You stare at the composite wrench in your hand and your eyes narrow. You were studying something at that univer... uni... book-learnin’ place of yours, right? Your thoughts are distracted when some oil spills on your hands.

“Gosh darnit.” You mutter, wiping the oil on your work jeans. Work jeans that were stained and torn from years of laboring.

You turn towards Bucky to say something, but instead find yourself gawking. His perfect stubble across his face, the sweat gleaming on his firm and toned muscles, and the way his chest hairs frame his pecs. Your dick gets hard and you quickly start to massage your bulge. And when you see how well his work jeans fit tightly around his juicy ass, you can’t but help let out a whistle.

“You say somethin’?” He asks, turning to face you, “Yeehaw! Look at you!” He says, clearly gawking.  

You turn to catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror and your eyes widen. You bounce your juicy pecs, appreciating the light dusting of hairs that decorate them. You raise your thick, meaty arm and flex, causing your muscles to bulge. And then you look at your face. It had squared out a bit, giving it a masculine edge and your cheeks now sported stubble. You felt powerful, and you couldn’t help but continue to flex.

“Hey there big fella.” You let out a masculine moan as Bucky comes from behind you, his arm reaching around, and his hand grabbing a fistful of your muscle tit, “You’re bigger’n a bull in springtime!” You just nod, unable to produce words as pleasure courses through you from his teasing hand, “It sure does get lonesome out here in these parts. Reckon I wouldn’t mind some company, if it ain’t too much trouble.”

He spins you around, your bodies pressing up against one another. His hand moves down your abs and then down your work jeans. He’s staring deep into your eyes now, a primal lust replacing the prior warmth from earlier. And for the first time, you feel lost. Scared even. As though you’re going down a path you wouldn’t be able to back away from. The end of one chapter of your life and the start of another you weren’t sure you wanted.

“Wait a minute... somethin’ don’t feel right. I... this ain’t who I am.” You say, unable to talk like you used to.

“Now, don’t go overthinkin’ it. Just keep your eyes on me.” Bucky whispered, his hands working to undo the buckle on your jeans.

You watch as he pulls down your pants and slowly gets down on his knees. Your enlarged, throbbing dick continues to grow, adding inch after inch. Bucky is nearly salivating as he comes face to face with your monster, and without another word, his tongue traces along the shaft. You moan as his mouth expertly works your cock. He bobs up and down, taking its entirety into his mouth. You feel as his hands wrap around your waist and he grabs a fistful of your muscular ass, causing you to let out another deep, masculine moan. You can feel your dick throbbing, your balls growing heavy with your seed. And as he expertly works the head of your cock, you can feel it. You’re getting close... so close. And then it stops. You’re breathing heavy now, and you look down at him. A sheen of sweat covers your body, dampening your body hair and filling the air with your country musk.

“Wh... why’d ya stop?” You breath out.

Bucky smirks, “You sure 'bout this, darlin’? Leavin’ behind all that city livin’ and book-learnin’? Just you and me, livin’ simple out here?” He licks along your shaft again, “Once you say yes, that’s it. No turnin’ back, no second thoughts. You sure you’re ready for that?”

Was this what he wanted? To bring you so close? To send you into a horny frenzy? To make it so that in this moment, all you’d be able to say was yes? With a smirk and a wink, he went back to sucking your cock. And as he did, you could feel it. You could feel your brain shrinking. Your memories growing up in suburbia vanished. As were your memories of going to college in the city. Nerdy interests like videogames and comic books vanished from your brain, and you felt terror as you forgot about your friends and family. Everything that made you you was vanishing from your mind. Instead, you could feel new interests: farming, hunting, woodworking, lifting weights, and drinking beer with your husband after a long day. Your fashion sense simplified: wifebeaters and work jeans, and honestly going shirtless was preferred. And as your eyes dimmed to reflect your lack of intelligence, and Bucky bobbed up and down on your dick, you finally came, releasing all of who you used to be. And as you filled your husband’s eager throat, you blacked out.

If someone told you who you used to be in your past life, I’m not sure you would go back. When the police came by a few days after your transformation with a missing persons poster of some kid, you had no idea who they were talking about. You quickly forgot all about that encounter. You had more important things like fixing the truck. But before you did that, you should check on Bucky. It’s been a few days, and your balls were mighty full.

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

  “Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around. 

  Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

  “I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.” 

  “Wha’?”

  “Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

  Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

  “Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair. 

  While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him. 

  Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him. 

  The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention. 

  Someone. 

  Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side. 

  Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

  He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

  Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

  They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it. 

  Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough. 

  Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie. 

  He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

  He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

  Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

  And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

  The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

  Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

  With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

  “It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

  If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

  Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

  NOW, 1989

  “Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

  “Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

  You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

  Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand. 

  When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

  Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

  You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

  Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying. 

  You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job. 

  You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan. 

  So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

  Your mother was murdered.

  Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

  Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional. 

  The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

  Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

  And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery. 

  Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself. 

  You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

  You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

  Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace. 

  The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

  Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells. 

  He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting. 

  So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

  When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead. 

  “Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

  It was a little odd, but you did. 

  When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

  “I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

  “I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

  Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

  The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

  You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him. 

  You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

  You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

  “Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

  You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

  “Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

  But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

  You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

  What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

  “YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring. 

  “He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

  You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

  “Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

  “Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

  You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

  You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.” 

  Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

  Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss. 

  “I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

  And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

  You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked. 

  “I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

  “Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.” 

  You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

  Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

  Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

  “It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

  You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that. 

  “That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.” 

  Didn’t feel like it.

  Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

  You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

  “No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

  Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

  “Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

  “You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands. 

  “And I can. Please, let me do this.”

  You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

  After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

  You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

  You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

  You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

  Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

  Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

  “It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it. 

  You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

  “So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject. 

  “It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university. 

  Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

  “See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?” 

  You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat. 

  “Okay, spill.”

  Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

  “Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!” 

  This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile. 

  “Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush. 

  “Steve Harrington.”

  “STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

  “Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

  “Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

  You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

  “Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.” 

  You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

  “And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again. 

  “Does he flirt with you?”

  “No.”

  “See him flirt with any girls?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

  “Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

  Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

  You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

  “He’s on the spectrum?”

  Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

  It got quiet for a few moments.

  ”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

  You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most. 

  She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

  ”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

  “Reefer Rick?”

  “Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

  Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

  Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

  Munson.

  You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

  You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

  Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

  “I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

  “Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

  You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

  Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

  Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

  “Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

  “No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

  “How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

  “I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

  Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

  “H-He’s your favorite…?”

  “Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

  “You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

  You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you. 

  “Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

  Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

  “He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

  Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

  You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

  You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

  You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea. 

  “Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

  Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

  Maybe a drink would calm you down.

  You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

  “The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now. 

  “What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

  “Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

  You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

  Oh, shit. 

  Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

  You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

  ”Funny seeing you here.”

  You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

  “Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

  You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off. 

  “It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

  “I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

  “Oh.”

  He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

  OH, THANK FUCK. 

  “Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

  “So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

  “Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

  She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

  “Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

  “Hey, Carol.”

  Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

  “You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl. 

  “Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

  “Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

  “You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

  Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

  When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

  Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

  “Oopsie.”

  But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

  “Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy. 

  Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

  Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

  At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

  You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

  Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning. 

  You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

  You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

  You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

  “You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

  “You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

  “Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

  He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

  “You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

  He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

  Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

  “I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

  “Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

  “Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it. 

  Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

  ”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

  “You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

  “Wall.”

  “Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

  “Great Wall of China.”

  Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

  “Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

  Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense. 

  Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

  ”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

  “Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing. 

  “Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

  “Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

  And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

  At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

  Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

  Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

  “Does that feel good?”

  You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.” 

  Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

  Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

  You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

  All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

  You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

  To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

  Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

  “I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

  You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

  When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

  The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

  The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within. 

  She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

  You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

  Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

  “Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

  Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

  You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you. 

  His right arm was out, palm up.

  He was waiting for you.

  You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

  Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

  “Sissy. . .”

  “Sissy…”

  “SISSY!”

  You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

  She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect. 

  What the hell?

  “You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

  You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways. 

  You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

  “It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

  “Oh my god…”

  “So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

  You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

  “Ooh, your knees…”

  You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

  “I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

  “Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

  Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

  “You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

  Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist. 

  “Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once. 

  “Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

  “It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

  “Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

  You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

  “Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

  “It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

  “Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

  “That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

  “Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

  “I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

  You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

  Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

  You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

  “─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

  ”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

  “And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing. 

  “That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

  Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning. 

  You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

  You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

  But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

  You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

  You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

  “Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

  You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

  “I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

  You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

  “Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

  “THAT WE DO!” 

  You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

  “What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

  “Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

  “Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

  “Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

  “Mm. White wine?”

  It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

  “Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

  You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

  “He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

  You shot him a glare.

  “Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

  You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers. 

  You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

  When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

  Then your eyes snapped open.

  Oh, god. You were a loser.

  After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

  A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

  “Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

  “Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

  There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

  “Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation. 

  “She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

  “I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

  “Yes, we got a free soda!”

  Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

  You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a  reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

  “Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

  Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

  “Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

  “Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

  “You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

  “All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.” 

  “Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

  “I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

  “I bet you can.”

  After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

  You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

  Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

  You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house. 

  Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder. 

  And it was coming from outside your front door.

  You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

  Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home. 

  You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

  “Uuuhhhnng…”

  This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

  ”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

  You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

  “Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

  You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

  “OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

  Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

  Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life. 

  “Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!” 

  You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

  Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs. 

  You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

  “Stop it!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Go away, I’m just a girl!”

  The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

  Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

  You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

  You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

  Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located. 

  On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature. 

  You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it. 

  Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

  The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

  When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

  Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

  His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

  “It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.” 

  He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation, 

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

  “Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

  “I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

  It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

  He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

  You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

  “Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

  He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

  “Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

  A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

  Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

  “C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

[zombholic]

MECHANIC ABBY DRABBLES

- you hate fitting that stereotype that women don’t know shit about cars but that stereotype was literally made because of you.

- your car engine was making funny noises, brakes squeaking and oil was very much needed in your poor car.

- you drove to the nearest mechanic and hopped out your little white jetta volkswagen convertible that was all decorated and girly inside, you loved your car but that maintenance had you clueless.

- you saw a girl walk up to you, humongous build, maybe a tiny bit taller than you with huge fucking arms, grease covered her hands, parts of her arms and face. you swore your knees went weak just by looking at her.

“you need help?” she wiped her hands with rag as she looked at you up and down, nodding you head you chirped up “yeah um, my car is making noises” you made a confused face earning a chuckle out of the blonde “what kinda noises sweetie?” she threw the rag on a chair that sat outside, walking up to your car.

“um i’m sorry i kinda don’t know shit about cars” you let out a small giggle before handing her your keys that dangled with a bajillion little trinkets, she got in your car, one leg out the car while she turned it on, revving the engine “ok so..” she got out your car “i can tell something is wrong with it but i do did to give it a diagnosis and it might take an hour or two?” she leaned against the car door.

“oh a diagnosis like a doctor” you partially joked “yeah like a doctor, you can sit in the garage until i figure out what’s wrong” she smiled at you.

- after she fixed your car she literally wanted to slam her head in a wall for not asking for you number.

- lets say a couple weeks later you return back with another issue.

- this time she asks for your number and you happily give it to her, you guys start texting nonstop until she finally asks you out on a date.

[ladymarvel27]

Flowers 🥀 Carlos Sainz

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Series Master List

Description: With your situation, is even the dinner date feasible?

Word Count: 1610 (oopsies🫢)

f1 masterlist

Carlos is waiting for his luggage. He is already dressed for the date, his brooch shining bright above the pocket of his blazer. His phone vibrates in his pocket. But he has to ignore it as his luggage arrives and he rushes to get it. He checks his wristwatch. “Half past seven!” He mutters under his breath as he takes his luggage and leaves.

After settling in his car, he takes out his phone from his trousers pocket. He keeps pressing the power button, but it won’t turn on. “C’mon! C’mon!” He muttered to himself as he continued pressing the power button. Finally, the screens lit up:

He cursed under his breath. He had to get you a gift. And a bouquet of your favourite flowers. Also, it was getting late too. So, he chose to ignore it. He revs up his car and drives away.

He fixes his collar, holding a small bag with a bouquet tucked under his arm. He presses the doorbell and takes the bouquet in his hand, waiting for you to open the door.

He is met by silence. No shuffling, no thuds, no footsteps. He presses the doorbell again. Same. “Amor!” He calls. “I am back!” He repeatedly presses the doorbell several times before he stops and huffs in frustration.

He opens the front door with an extra key he had. His eyes dart around, your flats lying around near the entrance, and your sandal is neatly placed on the shoe rack. “Y/N!” He calls, “Where are you?!” He goes upstairs, and keeping the bouquet on a table nearby, places the bag in the refrigerator. He went inside the bedroom. Looking around, he noticed the skirt of your dress on the balcony floor. He rushed there to see you lying on the floor. He turns you around to look at your face. “Y/N?” Your eyes were closed and you looked tired.

“Carlos,” you managed to speak out. “Dios mio!” He muttered under his breath and scooped you in his arms. He helped you lay down on the bed and rushed to bring a glass of water with a bottle filled to its brim. He rubbed your back as you rapidly gulped the entire glass.

“You should rest,” he lays you down, covers you with a thin blanket and turns on the air conditioner, closing all the doors. After some minutes of rest, you sit up.

“Hey,” he spoke up, sitting on the edge of the bed near you, “are you fine?” You take a deep breath, resting your back against the pillow. “Why weren’t you picking up my calls?” You ask.

“Oh, mierda! Sorry,” he says as he places his phone on a charger, “my phone was dead.”

“Carlos!” You shouted at him. “You have no idea how worried I was! I called your parents and they had the freaking same problem!” He gets up and wraps his arms around you. “Calm down!”

“Why the hell should I calm down?! I thought you were messing with me again like Tuesday-” “I am sorry,” he hushed and kissed the top of your head, his grip around you tightening, “it was just- I was careless.” You relaxed.

He sat down in front of you and took your hand in his. “I didn’t have time to charge the phone. I was already late. It was already half past seven when I was settling in the car.” He gets up and rushes outside. Your gaze follows him. He returns a few moments later with a bouquet and a bag. “Also, I had to get you-” he says, handing you the flowers, “and your favourite,” he places the bag on your lap. You opened the bag and your face brightened with a smile, it was your favourite dessert, “my favourite indeed!”

He rushes and grabs a plate and spoons. You placed the dessert on the plate and divided it into two parts, taking the bigger one for yourself. He takes the smaller one.

“By the way,” you spoke as he looked up, “you dressed quite well for tonight. You look handsome.” He smiles and blushes.

“For you mi amor.”

After an hour of taking a lot of fluids and some rest, both of you glanced at the clock.

“It’s way past nine now,” you breathed out.

“We can still make it on time if we leave now,” he spoke, taking your hand in his, “only if you’re feeling well now.”

You huff and rest back on the pillow, breathing out. You removed the thin blanket and went to the bathroom while his gaze followed your movement. You stood in front of the mirror, leaning on the sink. Time was running out, and your makeup was ruined indeed. You hastily opened the drawers and took out makeup wipes. There was a knock on the door. You opened the door. “Need any help?” He asked as he looked down at the wipes in your hand. He immediately placed a stool for you to sit in front of the mirror. He took one, and you wiped off the makeup together rapidly.

“So are you well enough to go?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. He smiles. “Well then, I must do some touch-ups then, we have only ten minutes.” You nod and get back to washing your face and he leaves.

Some minutes later you come out of the bathroom, your face moisturised and a light lipstick on your lips. But the room was empty. The room door was open and he was nowhere in the house. The doorbell rings. You go downstairs and open the door. He was standing there. “Hi,” he spoke and gave you the bouquet. You take them and reply, “Hi,” placing the flowers in a vase. When you turned you were suddenly scooped by him in his arms. He placed you on the couch. “The pink one, right?”

“What?”

“The sandals,” Oh. You nod. He leaves and comes back with the sandals. He helps you put them on.

“Have you taken everything you want to?” He asks and he opens the car door. “Yes,” you say as you settle on the passenger seat.

“So,” you breathe out, “we still have time?”

He blows air and replies, “For the dinner date, yes. But we will miss the dance.”

“So no couple dance?”

“Hmm,” he says, his focus completely on the road in front as he speeds up. You felt sad and sank into the seat. It was one of the highlights of September that you used to enjoy. The nights were perfect for dancing. You waited so long for this date, and both of you dressed up perfectly to dance together.

“We should have left after it.” You closed your eyes but immediately opened them when you felt a hand on yours. He rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Hey, it’s okay. Your health matters more than it.”

He opened the car and took your hand, leading you to a private dimly lit dining spot. The server brings the food and you two eat in silence. The two of you have small banters. He places his hand on yours and pulls to place a kiss on your knuckles. “I missed you.” He tells you about yesterday’s events. You pick up the glass of water and take a sip. His gaze follows your movement and he says, “You are feeling well, right?” You gulped the water down your throat and putting the glass down you nodded.

He takes your hand in his as you two get up. Your eyes roam from his hand to his face. He smiled as soon as your eyes met his. “Let’s go,” he says and two of you walk out. Even if the night wasn't going on as you two had planned before, you were happy in this moment, walking out after a good dinner date and holding his hand.

You felt him tug and you stopped before turning, “Not there princess.” You raise your eyebrows.

“This way.”

“Why?”

“Just come.” You sigh and follow him.

 He leads you to the backside of the restaurant near a gazebo.

“Good,” he smiles, “no one is here.”

You smirk, “Why are we here?” A lighting chandelier hangs in the middle of the ceiling. His hand goes into the inside pocket of his blazer and retrieves his phone. “Don’t worry, It is fully charged.” You chuckle. He taps on the screen. In a few moments, a song starts playing on the speaker, ‘Until I Found Her’. He places it on a small sill nearby.

“Mi Senorita?” He brings his hand forward, “Will you give me the pleasure to dance with you.” Your face brightened up with a smile as you nod. “Sure,” you take his hand, “I’d love to.” You gasp as he pulls you suddenly towards himself and his other hand finds your waist. You place your hand on his shoulder and start moving to the song.

“Ready for the final song?” You press your lips to his and pull away to nod.

He taps on his phone and ‘Havana’ starts playing. He pulled you closer as you rested your head on his shoulder. He loops one arm around you while the other hand intertwines with your other hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me before we would be doing this?” You ask while the two start to walk out of the gazebo. As soon as you step on the edge, flowers fall on you.

“Surprise makes you happier,” he chuckles.

“Oh my, Carlos!” You laugh as you brush them off from yourself.

“Especially when it is least expected," he says, smiling ear to ear.

Seperators credit: @saradika-graphics @saradika

Taglist: @faithshouseofchaos @itsjustvs4 @sunny44 @raynetargaryan2 @chaoswithus

A/n: Sorry for the delays everyone. School and sickness came together.😞 It was my first time writing Carlos fic series, I know this is mini but I enjoyed writing it.

[whiskey-bumblebee]

Hey, hope you're doing good today 🤠 dbf!Hotch who notices reader "having trouble with her car" and he helps her? She's more than capable of doing it herself, but she just wanted a reason for Hotch to come over while her parents were away. She may or may not have self sabotaged it to get him over there shirtless in the blazing sun, offering a dip in the pool as repayment, but hinting at more 👁️🫦👁️ i hope that makes sense lol

I LOVE THIS IDEA! thank you bestie <3 get ready to meet the smartest bimbo ever

Uptown Girl

Pairing: dbf!Aaron Hotchner/Reader (gender neutral!)

Word Count: 1695

Warnings: Innuendo, dbf!hotch (reader is an adult), brief mention of reader's parents (vague but they are Rich).

Tagging: @ssamorganhotchner @hotchsdoormat i think you two will like this <3

You can't hold back a smile as you dial Aaron's number from your parent's house phone. You twirl the cable around your finger as you glance around the freshly cleaned kitchen. There's a chilled bottle of San Pellegrino on the counter, the glass sweating from the heat. It's so quiet that you can hear birds outside, no doubt eating some fallen fruit from the trees outside the kitchen.

"Hello, Aaron Hotchner speaking."

"Hey Aaron Hotchner speaking," you tease. "My car won't start. I know it's your first weekend off for a while, but is there any chance you could come over and help me fix it?"

"Hmm," He says playfully. "And how do I know this isn't some elaborate ploy to spend time with me?"

"Come see for yourself," You reply, smiling. "It just won't start."

"Mhm," He agrees, and you can hear the humour in his tone. "And I suppose you can't just use daddy's Bentley?"

"Daddy doesn't drive a Bentley," You reply seamlessly.

Aaron's stumped for a second, and the line goes silent. "I thought he just bought a new one? A silver Continental?"

"Daddy drives a black Chevy Suburban," You say. (A/N: non-car besties: this is hotch's car <3)

Hotch clears his throat. "Baby, you can't just call me that."

"Aaron, please?" The playfulness has dropped out of your voice. "My car really won't start, and I'm supposed to meet my friend for tennis this afternoon."

"Of course," He replies. "Sorry, I thought you were just trying to convince me to come over."

"Would it be so terrible if I was?"

You feel a pat of guilt seep into your stomach, wondering if Aaron really did have more important things to do than attend to your car trouble.

"No," He adds, quickly. "I'd love to see you. Are you home alone?"

"My parents are in the Seychelles."

"Ah. So not home for dinner, I take it?"

You shake your head out of habit, then say no.

_______

When Aaron's black Chevy pulls up into your driveway, you come out onto the balcony and wave, then rush down the stairs to meet him. Sure enough, he sees your Corvette parked next to your dad's silver Continental.

"So you do have the Bentley," He teases, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist.

You kiss both his cheeks. "It's so good to see you."

"Well, you know why it's been so long," He sighs, caressing your cheek.

You look him over, his casual outfit throwing you off a little: dark blue Lacoste polo, straight-leg jeans, New Balance 574s. It was so different from his typical suit and tie, more dangerous somehow. Where you normally saw yourself as a paramour, sneaking in moments after work with your suit-clad lover, this felt more... ordinary. Like he was picking you up for a day of shopping, or to travel down to the yacht club. Like he might join you for tennis later. You tried to push the thought out of your mind, and to quell the fondness blooming in your chest.

"New York called, and I had to answer," You reply airily. "And you've been busy on cases, so it's not all my fault." You poke him squarely in the chest, and he smiles at the gesture.

"Alright, where's this car trouble you were telling me about?"

You lead him over to the spacious garage.

You slip into the driver's seat and turn the key. The car gives a few revs, then falls back into silence. You do it again for good measure.

"Let me try," Aaron says, leaning through the window.

He reaches into the car, turning the key himself. Sure enough, it doesn't start.

"Does your dad keep a set of car tools around in here somewhere?" He looks around.

You roll your eyes. "I have a set. I might be young and beautiful and wealthy, and young, and wealthy, and beautiful," You emphasize the repeated words, giving him a pointed look. "-but I'm not completely incompetent."

"Of course not, honey," He coos soothingly. "Are they in the back?"

You nod.

He walks around your car, and you watch him go in the side mirror, enjoying your view of his cute little ass in those jeans.

You hear his typical high laughter as he finds the tool set. When he walks around to the driver's side again, you smile innocently.

"What?"

He nods for you to get out, and holds up your tool set.

"The Swarovski crystals are a nice touch," He laughs. "And the pink."

"What? I can't have a cute little tool set to go with my cute little car?"

He rolls his eyes at you, but his grin tells you it's not with any real menace.

You hop out of the car and open the hood, leaning in just enough that you know your shorts will be showing off your assets.

"It's hot," You mention innocuously, and pull off your tank top, tossing it aside without looking back at him.

You hear Hotch take a deep inhale from directly behind you. "It is," he replies.

When you turn around, he's taken his own shirt off. There's just a small patch of chest hair, but the droplets of sweat are just glowing. He's as fit as ever, and you can't help yourself, you reach out and touch his chest.

"What are you doing?" He murmurs. "What about the neighbours?"

You pull away then, and look from side to side. "Aaron, do you seriously think we're close enough to any other houses that anyone will be able to see anything? It's like your place," You say, starting to run your hands down his abdomen. "And I'm sure you remember all of the mischief we..."

"4th of July weekend," He finishes. "I remember."

"You normally don't need much convincing," You say softly. "Is everything okay?"

He nods. "I'm just focused on trying to fix your car so you can go to tennis later. I promise, if we had a bit more time, I'd be all over you."

You smile at that. "Do you have time?"

Aaron leans in and nips at your earlobe. "I would've invited you over today to catch up. I was trying to come up with an excuse," He kisses your neck, "-when you called."

You catch his jaw in your hand and glance at his lips until you're sure he's caught you looking. His lips part, and his breathing turns slow and deep. That's all the encouragement you need, and you kiss him.

Your lips are soft and slow against his own. Immediately, his hands settle on your hips, ever the gentleman, not wanting to go straight for your ass. He does, however, nudge your legs apart so he can slot his thigh between them.

Whining softly, you rub yourself against his thigh.

"Can I be honest?" You gasp as he angles his knee just right, sending hot pleasure through your veins.

"Go ahead," He says coolly.

"I broke the car just so I could watch you come and fix it," You whisper.

Aaron smiles at the fact that you were also trying to come up with some excuse to see him, then his expression lapses into one of sympathy. "Oh, baby. You could've just called. You know I'll come running."

You press your face into his neck, embarrassed by how desperate you were to see him. It wasn't the fact that you wanted him that worried you. Any reasonable person would want him. He was tall, handsome, and had a dick the size of Saturn. No, it was your need that worried you. The deep-seated longing that settled onto you like dust whenever you didn't see him. Sure, you'd been having a great time in New York, meeting people, buying art, hanging out with your best friends, but it was hollow without him. More than once you'd thought of calling him on the hotel phone, letting his deep, calm voice lull you to sleep. You always felt your best when you were around him, like he drew out your best attributes in the same way that a perfect wine would match the meal, note for note.

"You smell so good," You breathe. "I want you all over me."

"We should fix your car first, or call a tow truck. I don't want you to be stranded," He said, stroking your hair.

You shake your head, a small laugh passing your lips.

"It's not that serious. Watch."

You turn your attention to the hood, and after a few minutes, you're in the driver's seat, starting your car as normal.

Aaron quirked his brow at you. "How did you do that?"

"I disconnected the starter relay earlier," You call, then walk back over to Aaron so you can show him. You open the hood again, then show him the plastic box where you can remove the relay from.

"It even has a little diagram showing you how to take it out," You point out, laughing to yourself.

"Right," Aaron replies. "And where exactly would someone like you learn how to do that?"

"Someone like me goes to a lot of parties. Nothing convinces a bunch of wasted rich kids not to drive quite like not being able to start their Lambos."

You can tell the way that Aaron's looking at you, so you don't look over at him.

"Don't do that," You mumble.

"Do what?"

"Look at me like that. Don't give me brownie points just for not being a total asshole."

Aaron sighs lightly. "Okay. But for the record, I think saving lives like that is commendable. Even if they're just 'wasted rich kids'."

"Alright," You say, closing the hood, trying to lighten the mood. "Do you want anything? Lemonade, coke?"

"I'm never sure if you're offering soda or something I could get in trouble for," He teases, catching your hand in his own as he follows you up the stairs to the house.

"Well, I'm sure my dad does have coke in the study, but if you're only looking for trouble," You pause in front of the door, turning around with a wide smile and your arms raised. "I'm right here."

"What about the tennis?" Aaron's already running his hands over your chest, nudging you through the doorway, towards the pool.

You grin. "She'll just have to play singles."

[staysdelulus]

Stray Kids - Changbin [MDNI!!]

Kinktober Day 5

Summary: After your childhood best friend promises to buy you dinner, you find yourself not enjoying a dinner, but him.

Warnings: fem!reader, pinv, no protection, stimulation, fingering (slight mention), etc. (not a lot of smut here!)

Word Count: 1298

It wasn’t like you were going to deny it. The most popular man on your college’s campus. Seo Changbin. He, who was known to not only be physically attractive, muscles rippling through the tight shirts he always wore, but was also one of the kindest people on campus. Whether that would be from helping out someone new find their class, buying a meal for a friend, or simply just chatting with the teachers, it was clear that he could be anyone’s dream guy.

He is also your childhood best friend. The best friend who spends his time with you whenever he can, often waiting for you to finish up packing outside the class.

Today was no different.

“Y/n, there you are,” he says, smiling lopsidedly as he ruffles your hair, grinning when you grumble to fix the mess he made. “You need to pack faster, or else I’m not driving you back to your apartment anymore.”

“Hey!” you gasp, eyes wide. “We literally live in the same building!”

Rolling his eyes, he takes your hand, frowning as he stuffs it into his pant pocket. “Gosh, Y/n. Take better care of yourself. You’re freezing.”

“Am not-”

“You suck at lying.”

His words cut you off, and you just roll your eyes, too tired to argue, eyes half closing. Noticing your tiredness, he speaks softly. “Hey, did you get your exam results back?”

You nod, eyes opening fully again, lips twitching upwards. “Yeah. I passed with a good score!”

“Good job!” Changbin says, grinning softly. “I’ll treat you to dinner later, then? Since you treated me last?”

“Sure,” you answer, smiling back as he opens the car door for you. He laughs lightly, watching as you buckled yourself in before he closed the door gently. He makes his way to the driver’s seat, revving up the engine before he begins the drive back to the apartment building.

The car ride was filled with laughter, soft giggles, and just chatter. Life was never boring when Seo Changbin was around. With a happy hum, you make your way up to your own apartment, waving a goodbye to Changbin before locking the door behind you.

Exhausted, you quickly shower and change, letting your head fall to the pillow as you take a long awaited nap. For the past week or so, you had been staying up late and waking up too early, your movements sluggish. Now that you were able to nap, it certainly did feel amazing.

With a last sigh, you set your phone on silence, not wanting to be interrupted while napping. Forgetting that in just a few hours, Changbin would be treating you to dinner.

And later, when Changbin finally knocks on your door, you’re still fast asleep, snuggled in your bed, covers wrapped around you lazily. Changbin takes out his key to your apartment, as you both exchanged them just for emergencies. With another knock, Changbin enters, eyes scanning the room before they lock onto your closed bedroom there.

“Y/n?” he calls out softly when he sees you. He smiles slightly, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest as you sleep, something he knew you had been avoiding in place of studying.

When you don’t reply, he enters quietly, climbing under the covers with you, as he was wearing his own set of clean clothes, the dinner he had brought long forgotten in the kitchen.

He gently wraps an arm around your waist, snuggling against you from behind before he closes his eyes, relishing the feel of you in his arms. After another half hour or so, you stir, your eyes bleary as you check the time.

“Wha- Changbin-”

Your eyes are wide as you finally realize who was there, who was holding you and hugging you from behind. Whirling around, you’re met face to face with Changbin, who looks almost surprised at the close proximity. As if he wasn’t the one who let the distance die down.

His breath trails over your face, his eyes searching yours as he gently cups your face with a hand. “Y/n… I…”

You swallow. This was it. You could… you could kiss him. You really could. He was the most… attractive person you had ever met, with an even more attractive personality. As if reading your mind, he gently tilts your jaw up, kissing you softly as the both of you close your eyes.

It felt right. The way his lips moved against yours. He pushes you back onto your back, the covers long forgotten as he deepens the kiss. It’s like suddenly, he just wants more. Craves more after having a taste of you.

As his hands delve to the hem of your shorts, your eyes fly open, widening as you tense, him immediately pausing as he pulls back. “Y/n… I- can I-? We can stop. I swear.”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Please.”

And with that, his hands pull your clothes off, his following suit, lost on the ground somewhere as he strokes himself. You whine softly when you catch the sight of his arousal, your eyes widening at the size. He only grins cockily, smiling as his hips aligned against yours. “Say red if you need me to stop, okay?”

You only manage to nod weakly. Because who would’ve imagined it? You and your best friend. In bed together.

“Okay.”

And so, he fucks you. He starts slow. Almost agonizingly slow. Covering your body with kisses before his fingers eventually finding your sensitive and throbbing clit. His fingers are slick with your arousal, stuffed in you, buried deeply, before he begins to move it, you gasping as you try to keep still. And as you continue to cry out, he eventually snaps, unable to hold back as his hips finally move.

Holding you down as he cries out softly, hips thrusting back and forth, moving in and out of you almost seamlessly. The way he’s holding you down with one hand, the other exploring you as you squirm. It was just too much.

“B-Binnie-” you gasp, blabbering softly. “Feels g-g-good- please d-don’t s-stop- B-Binnie-”

“Fuck, Y/n,” he stammers out, hips moving quicker. Whining softly, your hips move upwards, pushing against his desperately. The pleasure only grows, his eyes rolling back as he continues.

Your core is throbbing, a sense of overwhelming pleasure evident as you cry out softly. And with that, you reach your high, only his touch grounding you as you sob softly. He comes right after, gasping as he pulls out just in time to watch his arousal shoot over your body, now sticky and full of him.

“F-Fuck, Y/n…” his eyes are wide. Innocent. Like he was shocked by himself. By what he had just done. He gently kisses you, chest heaving, muscles rippling. “Stay here. L-Let me go clean you up, okay?”

When he’s grabbed a towel, damping it and wiping you down before himself, he tosses it to the laundry, staying off to the side.

“Binnine?” you whisper softly, eyes wide. He turns slightly, shifting uncomfortably as he dresses himself, you dressing yourself. “Did I do something wrong? Did you not like it, or-”

“No,” he says, immediately catching the slight hurt in your tone. He gently takes your hands, hesitant before he speaks again. “No, Y/n. No. I- I loved it. I just didn’t… I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“I don’t think you did,” you say back, eyes wide. “Just… I think you made it better.”

His heart warms, fingers intertwined with yours as he presses his lips against your fingers. “Let’s go eat, okay? And then we can talk about this. About us. And what this means.”

“Okay,” you sigh. “But I’m sore. Carry me?”

He grins softly. “Yeah. I’ll carry you.”

[moominsuki]

✎ᝰ SHINICHIRO SANO ; — in every single lifetime, it would always be you.

࿄ ! warnings — major spoilers for tokyo rev manga!! depression, angsty themes, but cute and sweet at the end. / note. i love shin so much.

before shinichiro was able to leap through time, his life being shit was merely a pathetic understatement. with his youngest brother practically unresponsive, the rest of his immediate family passing on and of course, the pushing away of his close friends, he was lonely. whatever words could be to describe an empty bitter loneliness could describe shinichiro sano.

shinichiro was moping around his bike shop as per usual when he wasn’t watching mikey; barely fixing the runes of his dusted old bikes when wakasa and you come in, arms looped in with each other. it was inevitable, you and wakasa being together even though shin had known you for longer. it was somewhat laughable - a cruel joke that shin sometimes thought and dream of having the chance to be with you, to hold you and to love you. but right now, he’s barely a shell of a human being and well, you’re you: gorgeous, kind, beautiful, funny: everything that he’s ever wanted. there’s no way you would’ve passed up the chance to date his friend, who was the exact antithesis of shinichiro. it’s why wakasa is so popular with the ladies and shin has had dates with himself, the four walls of his bedroom and his playboy magazines to pass the painful passage of time.

“hey, shin. just seeing how you’re holding up. you don’t look so good,” you say to him, through a pity-filled smile. shin feels like puking and kissing you at all once at the fact you care and think about him but wakasa slices through and shoves his friend in jest.

“you need to take care of yourself, shin. y/n was kind enough to make you something to eat since you’re basically starving yourself,” scolds wakasa, with y/n chastising wakasa for being ‘too harsh’ - all the while shin rolls his deep sunken eyes.

“yeah… yeah, thanks. thanks y/n, you didn’t have to do this,” replies shinichiro, taking the lunchbox and your fingers brush a little and shinichiro inhales a little at the touch.

“well, we’re gonna head off. got a date downtown. i’ll be back to check on ya, though, so don’t kill yourself in the process,” yells wakasa as he grabs y/n’s hand and exits and you turn to say a hasty goodbye.

“bye, shin! see you later! take care of yourself!”

ding.

just shin and his lonesome self. what he wouldn’t give to be able to live a normal life where mikey was fine, his family was okay and you were by his side. what if, huh?

ᝰᝰᝰᝰᝰ

the moment he realised that his family were okay was akin to a miracle to him. he almost collapsed at the sight of mikey running around the living room, like how a 9 year old should.

“shin? why are you crying?” asks mikey and shin couldn’t articulate himself if he tried.

“he’s been hysterical all day,” says their grandfather and they all sigh at their not so little and much older crybaby brother.

“yeah, well, you should clean yourself up. the gang are coming down to the shop today. they’d call you a pussy if they saw you like this,” says mikey plainly and emma slaps him across the head for being so crude.

shinichiro, after a powernap, wet tissues and soggy hugs, heads down to his bike shop. sanzu is there, along with wakasa and benkei and a few other kids. he hasn’t felt this happy - this lucky in a long time.

ding.

“oi, y/n, no girls allowed!” yells a young sanzu and y/n scrunches her face at him and brushes at the boy’s hair. shinichiro’s head shoots up at your name and you’re… still everything that he’s ever wanted just from looking at you in your cute little sundress. you’re just as gorgeous as he remembered. just as kind too. you’re even nice with the brutish kids who linger around his shop like a magnet.

“you’re so cute when you try to be all scary, sanzu. but, i guess you don’t want what i cooked for you,” you sigh, all fake-sad and sanzu and draken jump up at the prospect of food.

“you shouldn’t spoil them so much, y/n. you’re making them soft like shin does,” wakasa points out in a disappointed tone but he jumps to fight the kids for the plate of food. shin comes over to the group standing by the front desk of his shop and you jokingly punch wakasa and to shin, it’s a little strange. why aren’t you all over him? aren’t you both dating?

“and that’s why they like shin more than you. me included,” you wink and you make eye contact with shinichiro as you say this and a striking grin takes over your face. shin doesn’t think he’s seen you so bright and excited to see anyone… to see him?

“you’re not gonna say hello to me?” you pout, skipping over to a dungaree-clad shinichiro and shinichiro rubs his sweaty greasy hands on the denim sitting on his legs.

“hey, y/n.” he says tentatively, like he’s trying to test the waters but this just causes your pout to deepen and shin has the urge to kiss it right off your face.

“what’s up with you today?” you ask curiously, jumping over to circle your arms around shin’s neck and mikey pipes up, with his face stuffed with food:

“he’s been acting like a weirdo and crying all day. but at least he’s not kissing all over your face like he always does in front of us. yuck,” shudders his younger brother and shinichiro’s eyes widen like saucers at his words. he’s already stiff at you touching him so casually but mikey confirms, in his own roundabout way, what the nature of your relationship with shin is-

“i would gladly kiss all over your face if you want, mikey, no need to be jealous of shinny,” you laugh, breaking shinichiro out of the ongoing battle in his mind and the young boys yell out in disgust and indignance but shin is still staring at you in disbelief. amongst all the noise, you look at him again and place a hand on his cheek and he leans subconsciously into your soft touch.

“you good, baby? you wanna go somewhere private?” you whisper to him and shin tests the waters by pulling you close by the waist.

“n-no, it’s just… you look beautiful today. have i told you that before?” shin asks and to you, he’s just being complimentary and silly but he’s genuinely asking - he wants to know how good he is to you. if he treats you like the princess you are.

“i think you’ve told me a few times,” you giggle and you pull his face down with both your hands to kiss his nose and he lets you kiss him all over his face till he emotionally can’t take it anymore, wrapping his arms around you and presses his lips deeply onto yours.

kissing you feels exactly like how he expected it - to you, this was one of many kisses you’ve had together but it was shinichiro’s first time kissing - not just anyone, but you. you taste of your pear and apple chapstick and you smell exactly how you did the last night he saw you.

tears run down his face before he can stop them and you pull back when you feel streams of salty tears hit your cheeks and you softly tap your own face then his before looking at your boyfriend all quizzical and somewhat accusatory.

“shinny? what’s with you today? is there something i should know? did you cheat on me?” you spitfire at him in a mix of shock and worry and shinichiro shakes his head fiercely.

“fuck, no, of course not, would never - it’s just-just that ‘m so lucky to have you. don’ deserve you,” he grunts, sniffling a little and you smile but raise a brow.

“where’s all this coming from? are you sure you didn’t do anything?”

“would kill myself if i did,” and you laugh at the earnest honesty in his words and he pulls you in, kissing all over you face - holding you so tight he’s afraid this might be a dream.

“he’s crying again,” laughs inupi and the young boys look at the couple with comical disgust.

“keep that shit away from us when we’re trying to eat,” grumbles wakasa and you stick your tongue at them and turn to face shinichiro again and you bonk his head slightly with your own.

“you sure you’re okay?” you make sure to ask at least one more time, knowing how dramatic your boyfriend could be. if only you knew what was really going in his head. but you didn’t need to. not when he already has you now.

“promise. just - stay with me… today? please?” shinichiro pleads. stay with me forever. you pretend to contemplate, tapping a finger on your chin before nodding and looking at him with so much love he can’t believe it’s reserved for only him.

“can never say no to you,” you kiss into the corner of his mouth and shinichiro takes you by the hand to where he was working originally before you gracefully torpedoed into his new found life.

as you plop yourself into his lap and point out the motor he was working, smiling proudly at your boyfriend, shinichiro knew that if there was another world, another existence, another lifetime; that he would still find his way back to you every time.

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © moominsuki. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: it’s done!! it took me forever and i hope it lives up the expectations, but purple tie smut is here, as requested by the wonderful @smileysvech when she sent the middle picture, that really got the whole thing going 😅 also the title means “tie me up” in russian, allegedly, according to google translate

word count: 5.5k (which is wild bc i really thought it was longer whoops)

tw: use of a tie to restrain, dirty talk, smut

summary: andrei ties you up and has his way with you

Andrei presses his lips to the spot below your ear, sucking gently. His beard, grown in thick after weeks of being lazy about shaving, scratches deliciously at your skin. You wiggle under his attention, tugging gently at the fabric in your hands. He ignores you, trailing warm, soft kisses over your skin.

“Stop, Andrei,” you giggle, his nose brushing against the shell of your ear. “I’m trying to fix your tie.” You tug at the tie’s fabric again to emphasise your words. The breathless quality to your voice really undermines the effectiveness of your command. So naturally Andrei doesn’t listen.

His hands smooth over your hips, squeezing gently. “Fuck the tie,” he mumbles, kissing the side of your jaw. “Let me get you off before I go.”

Your cheeks heat up and you shake your head even though you want nothing more than to push him back on the bed and have your way with him. “You’ll be back home in like six hours,” you murmur, fingers working expertly to knot the purple silk tie at his neck. His proximity makes it hard for you to work quickly, the loose ends of the tie flipping up into both of your faces as you make the knot. You fucking love this tie, something about the brightness of the purple against his skin and hair color. “If you can wait that long, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

And whatever Andrei wants to do to you is usually something you can agree with. Half the time you’re convinced that you’re a sex addict, the way you constantly want his body on yours.

“Whatever I want?” Andrei repeats, fingers trailing along the waistband of your jeans. You shiver a little at the rough scrape of his calloused skin against your stomach. His index finger dips under the denim, blunt fingernail scraping against your side.

“Mhm,” you affirm, brushing imaginary lint off the lapels of his suit jacket, your fingers finding their way into the little hair wings at the nape of his neck and tugging gently. He makes a quiet purring noise, like an overgrown house cat.

He ducks his head and kisses you hungrily, tongue sweeping across your lower lip. You grasp at his collar, holding onto him when your knee buckle a little from the intensity of his kiss. Dazed, you barely comprehend him when he says roughly, “be ready for me, solnyshka. Because I’m taking control tonight.”

Heat pools between your legs and you subconsciously press your thighs together. “I…that sounds like a plan,” you stumble over the words, your brain short circuiting a bit from the heated look in Andrei’s eyes. He kisses the corner of your mouth, positively chaste for him, and pats your ass gently.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, letting you give his tie one final adjustment before raking his hand through his hair and heading out the door. The Lamborghini in the driveway revs and you press your thighs together, wondering just how annoyed he’d be if you took a little bit of the edge off before he gets home tonight.

You twist a shaky hand around the end of your hair and huff - just like Andrei to get you all hot and bothered when you won’t be satisfied for at least six or seven more hours. Luckily, or unluckily, you have a to-do list as long as your arm so you head out to your own car to run errands before the game.

The game is, to put it mildly, an unmitigated disaster. Andrei practically spends more time into penalty box than on ice, taking five different penalties over the three periods. Brady has to go down the tunnel after taking a puck to the face - luckily he’s fine save for a handful of stitches. Pyotr gets pulled after letting in the tying goal and there’s a minor scrum after the whistle to end the second. Worst of all, the Canes give up a 3-1 lead to lose 5-3.

You know Andrei is going to be cranky as hell when he gets home, but at the same time, he’ll be more aggressive in bed, which is something that you need right now. You’ve been trying to ignore the spark of desire that Andrei left you with before the game, but watching him play and argue with the refs from the penalty box, even though the TV, has you all hot and bothered again.

Sure enough, while you’re trying to kill time by cleaning up, you get a text from Andrei: Be naked for me when I get home. I don’t want to waste any time getting my mouth on you.

You blush at his text, grinning toothily to yourself.

But obediently and with shivers of excitement running up your spine, you change into a matching lace set - deep purple to match Andrei’s tie. You’re waiting at the door when Andrei pulls up, the Lamborghini’s engine cutting off and leaving an anticipatory silence in its wake. When Andrei opens the front door, you’re leaning casually against the wall, a small smirk on your face. He drops his bag to the floor and nearly growls when he sees you, muttering, “thank fuck,” and surging forward to kiss you.

He’s rough, one large hand coming to rest at the base of your throat, fingers pressing against the column of your neck, squeezing and tilting your chin up so he can kiss you hungrily. His mouth slants over yours, the force of his lips against yours almost bruising. Andrei’s other hand is on your waist, holding tightly and pulling you flush against him. You kiss him back, fingers threading through his hair, rocking against the front of his pants, his cock hard against your core. His body is hot through his suit.

“I said to be naked,” he mutters, keeping you pressed against the wall as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses from the hinge of your jaw down your neck. His hand is still wrapped at the base of your throat, his thumb caressing the jut of your collarbone. He squeezes, fingers flexing around your neck, and you gasp a little, feeling dizzy for a brief second before his grip loosens. Your head is thrown back against the wall so Andrei has easy access to your neck. His teeth scrape over your collarbone and he bites down, brief but sharp pain flaring and sending a rush of heat through your core.

“Thought you might have fun tearing these off,” you murmur, twisting your fingers in his hair and tugging. He hisses at the sensation and flexes his fingers over your hip. Those same fingers slide down to tangle in the thin lace covering your ass. He caresses one ass cheek before giving it a little pinch. You jolt in his grip, your panties completely soaked. A little moan slips past your lips and you press harder against his cock. He grins against your skin.

His teeth catch on the strap of your bra snapping it a little. “Did you pick this to match me, solnyshka?” He breathes the question, voice hoarse, while his hips roll lazily against yours. The press of his erection against your cunt is making coherent thought difficult. Your legs open a little more, your stance widening, and Andrei’s thigh moves in between them, lifting up so hard muscle is up against the throbbing heat of your cunt. You whine and rock your hips against him, the sensation of lace against your clit nearly enough to get you off.

“Mhm,” you hum, riding Andrei’s thigh while he moves both hands to your ass, gripping and kneading and pulling you harshly over his suit pants. His lips are on your neck again, biting and sucking marks all over your skin.

“Ty ne slushayesh', malen'kiy otrod'ye,” he says against your neck. Even if your brain wasn’t a lust-soaked puddle of goo, you’d have no idea what he’s saying. But the rough edge to his tone clicks in your brain and you know he’s reprimanding you for something. “I said I wanted you naked when I got home,” he continues, sliding you over his thigh again. His hand smacks against the side of your thigh, stinging a little. The rough drag of lace and suit fabric against your soaked cunt is heavenly, your hips rocking into the friction, eyes rolling back into your head.

“I…I…” you gasp, breathless from the building orgasm. Suddenly, Andrei’s thigh is gone from between your legs and you’re left wanting. “What?”

Your stomach twists, the throbbing between your legs incessant. Through the haze of the denied orgasm, you look up at Andrei and register that his mouth is twisted in a smirk and his eyes are dark from his blown pupils. “Little brats don’t get to come when they want. They have to earn it,” he says, voice like gravel. His fingers dig into your hips, bruising.

“Andrei…” you murmur, reaching for him. He shakes his head, dodging your touch.

His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, tugging experimentally. You whine, trying to get him to bring his thigh back where you want it by wrapping your hands around his belt and pulling on it, and he snaps the elastic against your skin. “Ah, little brat. When you don’t listen, you don’t get rewarded,” he wraps one hand around both your wrists and holds them over your head, scraping his teeth against your jaw. His other hand, still tangled in the lace, yanks, and the fabric shreds, falling to the floor and leaving you completely bare.

You shiver at the sudden exposure to the cool air, Andrei’s fingers dipping lower and teasing at the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat, “not wet enough for what I want to do, solnyshka, we have some work to do.” He cups your cunt, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit. A strangled gasp stutters past your lips and you drop your head back against the wall, murmuring his name. “Upstairs,” he demands, releasing your hands and swatting at your ass to get you moving.

A giggle rips through your body and Andrei smiles at you, a full, genuine smile that shows off his missing tooth, breaking his character for a moment to kiss the side of your head. “Upstairs, solnyshka,” he growls against your hairline and you shiver again, practically skipping upstairs with Andrei hot on your heels, grabbing your ass as you go. Your thighs slip together, dripping with your arousal.

The bed is only partially made, the covers pulled up but rumpled and pillows haphazardly set at the top of the mattress. Andrei grabs at your waist and pulls you flush against the front of his body, hips rocking so the hard ridge of his cock presses against your bare ass. The fabric of his suit pants creates a delicious friction and you press your ass back against him, moaning a little. His hands splay out over your stomach, covering so much skin. “Are you going to listen now?” He asks lowly, breath tickling your ear and moving wispy strands of your hair.

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding as Andrei knocks his foot in between yours, spreading your legs apart and pushing down on your upper back so you bend at the waist. Your hands brace against the mattress and Andrei’s down between your legs. He bites one of your ass cheeks, soothing over the spot with his tongue, stroking lazily at your clit with the tip of one finger. Your legs shake and arousal floods your stomach, dripping down your thighs. “Andrei…” you murmur his name, bending further and resting your weight on your forearms. The new position pushes your ass higher in the air and closer to his face, giving him the opportunity to attach his mouth to your cunt from behind. A shriek rips from your throat when he sucks at your clit, hands wrapped around your thighs to keep you in place. He hums against you and it’s only a matter of heartbeats before you’re coming on his face, gasping for air.

“Good girl,” Andrei’s voice is muffled, “but you can do better.”

He flattens his tongue over you and your hands scrabble at the sheets, fisting the fabric until your knuckles are white. You chant his name, voice getting higher and higher pitched as he licks at you, sliding one hand up over the front of your thigh and circling your clit with a calloused fingertip. As Andrei works you over, you raise up on your tiptoes, pressing your face into the mattress and screaming his name. He presses his fingertip firmly against your clit and you see stars, your entire body going liquid. He holds his finger in place, never letting you get relief from the overwhelming sensation.

Andrei strokes at the back of your thigh with one hand, using the other to coax you through the aftershocks of your second orgasm. You slump against the bed, turning your head to the side so you can breathe. “That was…” you mumble, shaking your head.

With a low chuckle, Andrei gets up, leaving you feeling empty, and manoeuvres your limp body so you’re on your back, ass and legs hanging off the edge. The entire lower half of his face is shiny with your arousal and he looks self-satisfied. “I have so much more I want to do with you, solnyshka,” he rasps, shedding his suit jacket and tossing it onto the chair in the corner of the room. He reaches down and winds his hand under your back, unhooking your bra with practiced fingers. The lace is tugged off your breasts and tossed to the floor in a dismissive gesture.

You stretch a little, arching your back, nipples pebbling under Andrei’s heated gaze. He trails the backs of his knuckles over the side of one breast, running his thumb against the underside. Your nipples tighten painfully, pinching under his light touch.

“Like what?” You murmur hazily, eyes heavy lidded.

Andrei hooks his index finger into the knot of his tie and wiggles it back and forth, loosening the fabric. His full lips curl up into a smirk and he tugs at the purple silk, pulling the tie out from under his collar. Loosely, he wraps it around his fingers and flexes them. “Arms up,” he commands. “Over your head.”

Oh.

Excitement zips down your spine and you manage to scoot back up the mattress, your arms over your head and crossed at the wrist. “You’re in charge,” you grin, the post-orgasm haze fading away as fresh desire blooms in your stomach.

Andrei rests one knee on the mattress next to you, tracing his hand up your arm before looping the tie around your wrists and expertly tying it off and keeping you attached to the headboard. “Good?” He asks genuinely. His hands wrap loosely around your wrists, fingers running under the tie’s fabric to make sure it’s not too tight.

You give your arms an experimental tug - tight enough to keep you in place, but not tight enough to hurt you. “Very,” you nod, rubbing your thighs together.

“If you start to hurt,” he says, popping the top few buttons on his shirt with his fingers, “you tell me.”

It’s an order, not a suggestion, and you nod again, obedient. He grins at you, working the rest of the buttons through their holes and letting his shirt hang open. You enjoy the glimpse of tanned, toned stomach and press your thighs together again, wiggling against the mattress as desire rolls through your body. “You’re dripping,” he murmurs, voice low. The shirt gets dropped to the floor, his muscles flexing with the movement. He runs a hand over his pecs, flicking at a nipple with the tip of his middle finger. You watch as the bulge behind his zipper grows, straining the fabric to its limits.

“It’s all for you, baby,” you reply, licking your lower lip. “Touch me, Drei. Please.”

Andrei’s hand drifts down his stomach, scratching lightly, before he roughly runs the palm of his hand over his growing erection. “I thought I was in charge here?” The question is rhetorical. Your wrists are tied over your head and Andrei’s not about to touch you before he’s decided you’re both ready. His palm works lazily over his cock and his jaw is tight, so you know he’s feeling the pain of the confinement of his pants.

You let your legs fall open, baring yourself to him, and Andrei sucks in a breath. A muscle tics in his jaw and his hand stops its lazy path. “You are,” you whisper, “you’re in charge. But you know you want to touch me, baby. It’ll feel so good.” Heat rushes between your legs and you can feel the sheets growing damp underneath your ass. Your breathing grows shallow with the effort of keeping your legs open. All you want is relief from the ache.

Andrei kneels at the foot of the bed, his hands running up your calves. He lifts one leg up and kisses the inside of your ankle, the scrape of his stubble making you shiver. “Good for you, solnyshka? Or good for me?” His breath his hot on your skin.

“Both of us,” you stumble over the words - his other hand is moving further up your leg, thick, strong fingers squeezing at your thigh. His fingertips stop inches from where you want them and his grip on your ankle, keeping it at his shoulder level, is preventing you from rubbing your legs together so you’re left to suffer through the throbbing of your clit, the unbearable desire for him to fill you up.

Andrei kisses the inside of your knee before putting your leg back down on the bed. He’s lightning fast, grabbing your ankle again before you can press your legs together. “Ah,” he admonishes you, “legs apart. You’re only coming when I say so.” He spreads your legs and taps the tops of your feet. “Keep them here.” His tone brokers no argument

You nod and watch his every move, his hands going to his belt buckle and undoing it, the metal clinking softly. He grins, watching you watch him, and makes a show of it. The button on his suit pants is flicked open slowly and he takes his time with the zipper, letting out an involuntary groan when his cock is freed from the confines of his pants. The fabric covered bulge of his erection is prominent between the open v of his zipper and your mouth waters, your hips wiggling on the bed with your legs still splayed open, trying to remain obedient.

Andrei kicks his pants off, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor and all you can see is his gorgeous body. Smooth, tanned skin covering lean muscle. And he’s all yours.

“Should I get rid of these?” He asks, hooking one thumb in the waistband of his boxer-briefs, tugging them down slightly so the line of his hip bone is exposed. His other hand dips below the fabric, and you watch hungrily as the fabric stretches obscenely around the movement of his hand fisting his cock and stroking roughly. Your eyes are glued to the movement, watching his hand work.

Your head bobbles on a nod, back arching as you try and get some sort of relief from the ache between your legs. At this point, you’re so turned on just seeing Andrei’s cock will probably be enough to get you off. Now that you’re mostly recovered from the two back to back orgasms, you’re desperate for another. “Wanna see you,” you murmur, kicking a foot at him weakly before planting it flat on the mattress and opening yourself up further for him. “Wanna have you in me.”

“Be patient, solnyshka,” Andrei’s voice is a low growl that shoots straight down your spine, warming your stomach. He grins when you shiver, finally pushing down his briefs, letting his cock free. He’s still gripping it in one strong hand, but you can see the red, weeping tip and you can’t help it - your legs snap together, thighs clenching and twisting, trying to get some relief. You close your eyes and breathe heavily, struggling to keep your arms over your head when they want so badly to rub between your legs and relieve the pulsing ache.

The next thing you know, your legs are wrenched apart and Andrei’s shoulders are keeping your thighs spread. “Andr-“ you gasp his name, cutting off in a moan when he brushes his nose against your clit, licking at you and flattening his tongue over you. He stiffens his tongue and plunges it into your cunt, fucking you hard and fast. Your arms jerk, instinctively trying to reach down and tangle your hands in his hair, to hold his face against you. An unintelligible wail leaves your throat while Andrei works you over, holding your inner thighs still with both hands.

You chant his name, babbling and kicking your feet out as he tongues your clit, sucking down on the sensitive nub and ripping an orgasm from your body. Andrei keeps licking, drawing more from you until there’s a gush of fluid between your legs and you wriggle, trying to get away from his face. It’s too much, too fast, and tears stream down your face, overwhelmed. Your back arches off the bed, hips pushing up into Andrei’s face while he sucks at your clit.

“Too much, too much,” you cry, nudging at Andrei’s side with your heel. The aftershocks of your orgasm have your legs trembling, stomach muscles clenching. Andrei pulls back, leaning on his knees a little. His face is soaked with your arousal - again! You didn’t think that you could come like that, hard and fast and gushing - and he swipes a hand over his mouth, licking his lips.

His eyebrows are drawn together in concern and he runs a gentle hand over your shin. “You are okay? Should I stop?” His cock bobs in front of his stomach, looking painfully hard, and you suck in a shaky breath, evaluating.

“No, I want,” you hiccup the words, catching your breath, “I want more. Keep going. But slower.” You can’t even form a coherent thought, but every nerve ending in your body is on fire and you just want more of Andrei. “Too many, too fast,” you murmur, dropping back against the pillows, shifting your ass out of the damp spot on the sheets.

“Okay,” he runs calloused palms over the tops of your thighs, thumbs stroking at the sweaty skin, “slower for my baby. You’re so good.” He croons the praise. “So good for me, taking my fingers and my tongue like an angel.”

Andrei’s words are slurring in a mix of English and Russian and you know all the blood in his body is in his cock, making him distracted. You grin at him, looking at him through your eyelashes, and shift your wrists over your head. The silk tie twists and rubs at your skin, warm from your body heat. You want to be untied so you can get your hands on Andrei, run them over his shoulders and chest, wrap your fingers around his cock, but he’s not done with you yet.

He lies flat on his stomach between your legs, giving you a perfect view of his muscled back and ass. Andrei bites gently at the inside of your thigh, running his tongue over the spot to soothe it. His beard rasps against your skin, making your whole body shake, and he winds his left arm under your right thigh, holding his fingers against the inside of your thigh and resting his cheek against your skin. “We go slow, solnyshka,” he promises, as if he hasn’t already given you three mind-blowing orgasms, as if you hadn’t come in a gushing flood all over his face. The fingers of his free hand trail up the outside of your left thigh, dancing over the jumping muscles. You relax under his touch, loose-limbed and hazy, brushing the sole of your foot over his side, making him twitch when you reach a ticklish spot.

“I think about this all day,” Andrei says roughly, pressing the pad of his thumb against the crease of your thigh, swiping it through your sweat and arousal. “From the time I leave,” his breath is hot and tickles your thigh, making you clench your core muscles. Andrei’s eyes darken as he watches your cunt squeeze around nothing. “All I want is this, you, tied up, sitting there like a queen.” His fingers skate over your skin, swiping through your folds, making you shudder and clench. The tip of his index finger dips inside of you, pumping slowly, lazily, providing no real satisfaction. You clench around it, the single fingertip no comparison to the length and thickness of his cock. You need more than one finger in you for any satisfaction.

This is just Andrei teasing you, making sure you’re desperate for him.

“Andrei,” you whine, wriggling in his grip, engaging your stomach muscles and trying to sit up more. He presses his fingers harder against your inner thigh, scraping over your hipbone with his teeth.

“Moya koroleva,” he mumbles against the mark he made. “Purple for royalty, my beautiful queen, wet and sweet for me. Waiting for her king to make her happy. To make her scream.”

Your back arches off the bed when his thumb circles your clit, still swollen and sensitive. Andrei’s dirty talk always makes you wetter than you thought possible. He grins against your skin, plunging a second finger inside of you and moving his wrist. You let out a keening wail when his fingers curl, bending your free leg at the knee and pulling ineffectually at the tie around your wrists. As Andrei works harder, pumping his fingers in and out of you, reaching his other hand up over your stomach to splay out and keep you in place, you force your eyes open, hating to miss the show.

He adds a third finger, stretching you to your limits. His hand and wrist is damp, the insides of your thighs sticky and trembling.

His head is buried between your legs, licking delicately at your clit, the smooth expanse of his back shining with sweat. The perfect round globes of his ass jerk and move with his irregular rutting into the mattress. The bed shakes under you, Andrei’s hips pistoning. “Drei, baby,” you gasp, wanting him inside of you. It’s a fucking crime for him to get himself off against the bed instead of inside of you. “Please, please, come…” your words are slurred and unintelligible, “in me. On me. Drei, please!”

“One more, solnyshka, then me,” he mumbles, curling his fingers. “One more. Give me one more. I want to see you fall apart.”

He plunges his fingers to the second knuckle and you scream, clamping your thighs together around Andrei’s head. His laughter is muffled and the vise-like grip you have around him makes his movements shorter and sharper, his fingers pumping in quick little bursts. Pleasure coils low in your stomach, building up your spine, your thighs clenching around Andrei’s head until the dam breaks and you scream, Andrei’s fingers pressed firmly against your G-spot, his tongue relentless against your swollen clit. You cry, writhing under his palm, feet flat on his shoulders. His face pushes against your cunt, hips working into the mattress, your back sliding up the bed until your arms are a little bent at the elbows, the tension from the tie going slack. Breathing heavily, you grind against his face and hand, chasing the last of the aftershocks.

Your body goes limp, completely wrung out. Satisfied with himself, Andrei pulls his fingers from your cunt and sits back on his knees, cock standing proudly at attention, looking impossibly hard. “Andrei,” his name is a dreamy, weary sigh on your lips and he grins, cocky as hell.

“My turn,” he says simply, leaning over your body, covering it with his, and jerking his hips forward. He enters you in one easy slide, settling himself in the cradle of your hips. He plants his forearms on either side of your head, face inches from yours. “I’ll do all the work.”

Andrei closes the distance between your faces, kissing you lazily as his hips pump, the head of his cock hitting deep inside of you. You groan into his mouth, pain and pleasure mixing and setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. You’re so wet and slick for him the glide of his cock is seamless, so turned on that there’s no burn from the stretch of him filling you. His mouth trails hot, wet kisses over your jaw, biting at your earlobe while he snaps his hips into yours. “So wet, so tight,” Andrei mumbles into your ear. “All mine. Only mine. Ya tebya lyublyu, moya solnyshka.”

You wrap your legs around his hips and squeeze tightly, urging him to go harder, faster. He does, grunting into your hair, the powerful muscles of his legs and back working hard. Your heels dig into his ass cheeks and Andrei buries his face in your neck, your skin muffling his shout. Above you, his entire body tightens before he comes, finishing in you with a few powerful, stuttering strokes of his hips. You’re not going to come this time, but you’ve had your fill of orgasms and really just want to get to the point of the night where you can cuddle with Andrei.

“Come on, baby,” you murmur in his ear, desperate to get your hands on him. “Fill me up.”

Andrei bites at your neck, making you squeal and laugh, lifting your hips up to meet his. When he’s done, still half-hard inside of you, his body drops on top of yours, a warm, sweaty weight. You brush your nose against his temple, legs still wrapped around his waist. He’s still for a minute, kissing lightly against the side of your neck and tucking his hands under your head to tangle his fingers in your hair. You wiggle a little under him, starting to feel a little crushed.

“Andrei,” you whine a little, “I feel kind of gross.” There’s cum dripping out of you and down your ass cheeks, sweat and spit drying on every part of your body.

“One minute,” he mumbles, tugging on your hair gently before rolling off of your body. He looks at your seriously, a frown line forming between his eyebrows. “You didn’t come.” His pout is sweet, a stubborn glint in his eyes telling you that he’s ready to dive back in and give you another orgasm.

A laugh bubbles out of your chest. “Andrei, baby, I lost track of how many orgasms I just had, I’m good. I promise,” you grin sleepily, rubbing your legs together against the stickiness on your thighs. “Untie me and carry me to the bathtub.”

Not that you’d tell Andrei, but your shoulders are starting to go numb. He kisses the underside of your arm and reaches up to undo the knot. The silk tie loosens and Andrei wraps it around his hand while your arms fall into your lap. You sigh happily, stretching your arms to the side and rotating the feeling back into them. “I love that tie,” you grin, sitting up completely now that you have full

movement back.

“I love the purple against your skin,” Andrei replies, running his silk-wrapped knuckles over your side.

You roll onto your side and throw your leg over Andrei’s hip. “We should get silk sheets,” you suggest. “Think how nice those will feel…”

Andrei shifts back and tugs you closer, rubbing his hands over your shoulders, loosening the tension that had built up. You sigh and let your head flop back onto the pillow, mumbling “oh, that’s nice.”

His hands work down your arms, massaging the tight muscles and encircling your wrists, rubbing his thumbs over the reddish marks left from your struggle against the restraint. Andrei lifts each wrist to his mouth and kisses the marks, melting your heart. “Whatever your serdtse desires, solnyshka,” Andrei mumbles against your skin, “I’ll give you.”

Giggling lightly, you sigh, “right now, all my heart desires is a hot bath with my fiancé and a fancy sandwich the size of my head. With like three different kinds of cheese.”

Andrei’s answering laugh rumbles through his chest and vibrates your entire body. “I can give you both of those,” he says, kissing your forehead. “Stay here and I will make the bath for you.”

He climbs out of bed and pulls on his briefs, leaving you to stretch out happily, the pleasant post-sex soreness settling into your entire body. You blink slowly, listening to Andrei run the bath water, thinking how lucky you are to have a man who’ll tie you up, have his way with you, and then treat you like a queen afterwards.

“Flower bubbles or citrus bubbles?” Andrei calls from the bathroom.

A goofy grin transforms your face. God, you love him so much.

[bevswashere]

Koi No Yokan

Chapter 30: Miss Fushiguro

December 2009 8 months later.

"I'm glad you took the time to meet with me, Miss Fushiguro."

"What did he do this time?"

"He stabbed his classmate with a pencil."

I look to the boy at my right, slumped in his seat with his arms folded as if he hadn't done anything. No, he knows he's done something wrong, he just doesn't care. "Why?" I ask him, not the principal.

"I told him to get out of my face," Megumi says. "I used the pencil when he got closer."

I sigh largely, massaging the center of my brow. "So, what now?"

"Your son is in consideration for suspension," the principal says. "I've brought up concerns about Megumi's behavior to your husband before—"

"He's not my husband."

The principal leans back in his seat, nods slowly, surely thinking two teenagers accidentally had a baby they can't control. Whatever the presumptions, they're better than the reality. "Your son has caused repeated disciplinary offenses, and is a danger to the rest of the students here. Expulsion isn't out of the question."

"We'll correct this at home," I try to say firmly. "Megumi will apologize to the boy he hurt."

Megumi immediately objects, "Who said I would—?"

"I wasn't asking."

The principal smiles. "Good, I hope we can get all of this in order."

We enter the parking lot, extremities tucked away in our coats to keep warm from the snow. "Seriously? A pencil?"

"Would you have preferred I use something else?"

We rush into the car and turn the heater on quickly. I breathe into my palms for warmth. "Is some other kid bugging you really so big of a deal you had to stab them?"

"It's not that he was bugging me," Megumi says, "He does it to a ton of the other kids too, pushing them around, taking what he wants from their lunches."

"Then tell your teacher, and have his parents meet with the principal." I pull out of the parking lot, back towards their apartment. "I'm not saying your intentions are wrong, but Satoru and I really don't have the time to keep going to these meetings."

"Then don't go."

Megumi, bundled in his coat, so small he barely takes up half of the seat, has his gaze fixed towards the window. "Would you prefer I say I don't care about your shit attitude, and just leave you alone?"

He doesn't answer me, and we remain silent for the rest of the drive.

∞

"You're late."

I sit myself down in one of the chairs of Yaga's office. "There was an emergency."

"You'll need to fix that habit by April."

"Spoken like a true principal."

"Let's try to be serious here, Kaede," he says. "Taking this job, you'll need to become a rock for these kids. That means no more lashing out, breaking furniture."

I defend. "I replaced all of it, didn't I?"

"If you're to lead young people, you can't act on your emotions like another young person. You need to be steady, reasonable." Yaga folds his arms. "And if a student dies, you move on, and teach the next one."

"That's harsh."

He takes a piece of paper out from his desk, and slides it across to me. "Order your uniforms, move your things into your new room and office. We'll go over matters of curriculum once that's done."

I unfold the paper to find only one line of text, an address. "You're sure this is right?"

"I'm nearly certain."

Taking the paper with me, I leave Yaga's office, only to turn back in the doorway, "Yaga Sensei."

"I'm not your Sensei anymore."

"Do you really think," I hesitate, "I can do this?"

"You're more than qualified."

"But am I strong enough?"

"Brazenly so."

∞

I boarded the soonest plane possible to Osaka, navigating my way into a run down condominium where the scent is sour and the dated wallpaper peels at the ends. I knock, wondering how long I would have to wait if no one is home, but I feel reassured by the steady flow of cursed energy growing closer to the door. I hear the door unlock from the other side before I'm met with wide green eyes. "How did you find me?"

"I called in a favor." I teeter awkwardly on my heels. "Can I come in?"

He opens the door wide, revealing the singular room apartment. All their clothes are neatly hung onto one rack, dishes and cookware piled in one stack by the dripping sink. A mattress is tucked away into the corner, across from it a fraying mattress pad, and between them one desk with books stacked beneath a short leg. "I know," Shigeri says, "What a fall from grace."

"Are you okay? You're eating enough?" Shigeri certainly looks thinner, more aged since we last spoke. "If you need money—"

"You came here to give me money?"

"No," I quickly defend, realizing how deplorable a person I must be, stepping into someone's home, expecting them to need money at first glance. "You stopped writing. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"The clan is still making things difficult for us." He rubs the back of his neck at the thought. "I couldn't be sure they wouldn't intercept anything I send, figure out where we're staying."

"You're already exiled. What more could they do?"

"They're already interfering with me taking any missions which would be the quickest way to get income." I can see the stress on his face when he says this, weighing him down, sinking his stature. "They could have us evicted, make us homeless for the rest of our lives."

"Why?"

"Spite," he says simply. "I was supposed to take over as head of the clan. They don't appreciate stepping away from a role like that."

"I should have found you sooner. I could have done something."

"I don't want your money, Kaede."

"Then I could have sorted things out with the Kamo clan."

"And how would you do something like that?"

"I could go there and threaten to kill anyone who messes with you."

"Since when do you kill people?"

I stutter at first. "I don't, but they wouldn't know that. Or I could arrange a way for you to get missions without interference. I'll talk to the higher ups–"

"Who will refer back to the Kamo clan saying Uematsu Kaede knows where I am." He smiles somehow. "It's okay."

I look around again, dissatisfied with the way things have turned out for someone so kind. "Where's your sister?"

"Working. When the clan cut me off from missions we both picked up part time jobs. I didn't want her to, but they're good to her anyway, give her meals to take home." He frowns. "Don't give me that look."

"I'm not giving you any look."

Shigeri steps closer, smiles in the soothing way he used to, where his eyes soften and only his top teeth can be seen. "You're pitying me."

"Of course I am. You're sleeping on the floor."

"Stop it." He takes both of his hands and rests them on my shoulders. "I'm okay, Kaede-chan, really. I know it doesn't look ideal, but we're getting through it."

I'm only half convinced. "There must be something I can do."

"You came here. That's enough." He pulls me towards the mattress pad. "Here, sit. Tell me what you've been up to."

We arrange ourselves, sitting side by side on his mattress pad. I'm relieved to find out it's well-cushioned at the least. "I'm going to start as the first-year teacher at Tokyo High in the spring."

"Really?" he says. "That's great. You love kids."

I hesitate at first to mention the Fushiguro's, or the deep despair I've tried to fight since graduation, or my attempt to join the cult of a mass-murderer, but honesty has always come easy between Shigeri and I. The second I confess one feeling, the rest pour out.

"Good thing he turned you away," Shigeri comments, "That could have been troublesome."

"I can't say I would have actually hurt anyone." The comforter above Shigeri's bed is soft, velvet. I find myself playing with the hems. "But there was nowhere else to go. All my family was gone, then my friends."

"What about Gojo-san?"

"Forget him."

"I'm sorry that didn't work out." I laugh at this. "Hey, I mean it. I never wanted you to get your heartbroken, even if it was by him."

"It's fine. It's been a long time since then." I look out through their singular window, see the snow sprinkle onto the sill, quietly, gently. "What if you came to work at Tokyo High with me?"

"Let's try to be serious about this, Kaede-chan."

"I am being serious." My eyes meet his, soothing like pine. "Yaga is still looking for a third year teacher. If you can't get missions for now, you'll still have income from teaching, and you guys wouldn't have to worry about housing anymore. Besides, I won't have to fly every time I want to see you." Whatever I had to say next is cut off when Shigeri leans in and kisses me.

It's short, lips locking for only a moment before he pulls away, "Sorry. I had to know what it felt like at least once."

I let him because it's reassuring in some ways, admitting everything I had done, and him still wanting to kiss me. "Try again."

He scans my face, taken aback. "You don't have to." So, I lean in this time, feeling the hair above his neck ruffle through my fingers, his hand on my cheek. It's unexpectedly pleasant. His lips move with a certain tenderness, hesitancy that's comforting, makes me want it more. Even when his lips trail down to my neck it's light and loving. "So," my breath grows heavier, "You'll come to Tokyo?"

His words vibrate into my collarbone. "If you want me there."

I lean into him, feel the flesh of his ear against my lips, "I want you there."

I reach for his chin, lifting it to reconnect our lips. Then by the center of his chest, my hand guides him backwards into the mattress pad. I get on top of him, leaning over to resume our kiss. When I grind myself against him, I can feel he's hard. He moans into my mouth, but breaks away, "Not like this."

"How do you want it then?"

Shigeri props himself up onto his elbows, reaches out to push the hairs away from my face. " I meant not here."

I understood, however disappointed I may feel, and remove myself from on top of him to lay down at his side instead. He wraps a hand around my jaw, stroking the skin with his thumb. "You'll really come to Tokyo?"

"I'll go wherever you want me to." 

[tickle-bugs]

For the writing thingie, maybe ler!Robin lee!Steve? The phrase could be “Steve, don’t make me sit on you again…”

your honor, they are everything to me. hope u enjoy!! still trying to figure out robin tbh

Under Covers

Robin leans her bike against the garage, careful not to scrape. Steve’s home--his car sits idle in the driveway, waiting patiently to ferry them both to Family Video. They’re already late, technically, but they’re not late late yet. 

An argument could be made that she could simply bike to work, admonishing Steve from the high horse of punctuality, but that’s no fun.

She jiggles her key in the lock and throws the door open, dumping her bag by the door. It’s quiet and dark downstairs, the kitchen unused, neither of which are a good sign. Steve’s usually a morning person, but on the days where he isn’t, he has to be surgically removed from sleep. It’s a coin toss, really, if he’s late over his hair or late for oversleeping and his hair. 

She inhales as much as her lungs can manage, then: “Steeeeeeevvvvveeeeee!”

No response. She scowls. 

She helps herself to a glass of orange juice and promptly rinses the glass, never one to make extra work for Steve when possible. Bothering him, yes, but inconveniencing him? Not if she can help it.

She thumps up the stairs two at a time. Steve’s bedroom door is cracked open when she gets there, exposing the comically lumpy mass of blankets on his bed and the upsetting pile of laundry in not one, but two corners of the room. Robin has half a mind to do a running jump onto the bed, but he’s gotten way too good at convincing her to take pre-work naps. They need this job. Unfortunately. 

“Steve. Steven. Steeb.” Robin leans in the doorframe, biting her lip on an affectionate smile. Steve’s hair pokes out just at the top of the blanket pile. 

“Don’t make me sit on you,” She says a little louder, moving over to the left side of the bed. Steve wrinkles his nose and makes a grumbly noise. 

“Three, two--”

“Bobin?” He mumbles, squinting at her. 

She pounces. He screams, muffled by the blanket, but then he tumbles into wild giggles and flails for purchase. 

“Get up, get up, get up!” She squeezes at his sides through the blanket, feeling around blindly but knowing intimately where to strike. His arms fly free of the blanket and he starts grappling with her, trying to poke at her like the bastard he is, but she’s on a goddamn mission. Either they’re getting to work on time (unlikely) or he’s going to die (still on the table). 

“Get. up.” She starts tickling his ribs, sliding up under his arms every time he tries to swat at her. Steve honest-to-god snorts, which she didn’t know he could do. She catalogues it for later. 

“W-Why--Ah, Robin, nohoho!” Steve whines and covers his face. She starts poking at his stomach, speeding up whenever he tries to grab her. His laughter revs like an engine. He twists away suddenly, curling up on his side and as close to the edge of the bed as he can physically get. Robin chuckles at him and tazers his side. He makes no sense. Only Steve would forfeit all the empty space in his bed rather than use it to escape. 

“We’re late, dingus!” She reaches back and squeezes his thigh. He shrieks like his life depends on it, voice cracking around his laughter in that way she loves. 

“I’m up!” Steve wheezes, lunging forward to grab her wrists. She squeezes again and he crumples into the mattress, throwing his head back against the pillows. He tries to say her name, or possibly curse at her, but all that comes out is a jumble of syllables and frantic, nervous giggles. 

“No, if you were up, you’d be getting ready.”  She pauses, just to prove her point. Steve pushes his hair out of his face and fixes her with the bitchiest look he can manage. She grins. He scowls. 

“I’ll drag you out of bed if I have to.” She crosses her arms. When he wriggles down into the bed like an indignant little worm, he earns her wrath. It’s only natural. She’s given him an out and a half. Robin feels around under the blanket and grabs Steve’s ankle, skittering her nails over the curve of his heel and up. It’s a fast track to a black eye, but she’s gotten quicker lately. 

There’s a screechy peal of laughter, then a thump--a loud one, and not from Steve’s side. Robin peers over the right side of the bed, feeling for the nearest pillow to defend herself from whatever creatures might lurk in here. 

Instead, she finds Eddie Munson. His hair’s a mess, more so than usual, and his face is bright pink. He’s oddly jittery.

“What.” Robin and Eddie blink at each other. She looks down at her hand, clutched around what is decidedly not Steve’s foot, then back up at Eddie. He gives her a sheepish wave. 

“Oh my god.” She drops Eddie’s ankle. Eddie. Here. In Steve’s bed.

“Robin--” Steve holds his hands out soothingly. 

“Oh my god.” She drops her head in her hands.  

“Is that a good ‘oh my god’ or do I need to change my locks?” Eddie asks from somewhere beside her. He climbs back up onto the bed and drops beside her. The mattress dips to accept him. 

“Still deciding,” She groans. Steve rubs her back, murmuring something soft and sickeningly fond in Eddie’s direction. She’s happy for Steve--god, she’s over the fucking moon for him, really. She teases him because someone needs to, but her heart swells knowing there was a resolution to all the yearning passing between the two of them. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I should’ve been the first to know!” Robin smacks Steve’s bare chest. He catches her hand. 

“Well, you’re like the third to know.” Robin glares at him, but Steve throws his hands up in surrender. “Kidding! Third, because me and Eddie. Honestly, Rob, we were gonna tell you.”

“We’re, uhm, still figuring it out.” Eddie nudges her shoulder, but his shmoopy eyes are firmly on Steve. Gross. 

“Alright, well…I have questions. So many questions. But first--” She pokes his chest as aggressively as possible. Eddie copies her, hitting Steve’s stomach instead. 

“Up, yes, I knohow--” Steve’s voice breaks on a giggle. He crumples awkwardly into Robin, twisting away from Eddie. Robin’s tempted to help, but she leans away from Steve to give Eddie more access. Drama’s more fun, anyhow. Steve doesn’t laugh nearly enough. 

“No--” Steve points accusingly at Eddie. Eddie only grins wider in response. 

“You’ve given me a tremendous gift, Buckley!” Eddie cackles, wiggling his fingers into Steve’s sides. Steve yelps and bolts, managing to skid in the bathroom and slam the door before Eddie can vault over the bed. Robin and Eddie both chuckle. 

“Sorry if I helped make you late,” Eddie says, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. A devious little idea grows in the back of her head.

“Yeah, you did.” She lunges at him with an evil laugh. Eddie squeaks and tries to scramble away, but Robin’s on him already, heart growing three sizes at the now-pair of dinguses she’d never choose to live without. 

[scentedpepper]

Missions, Malaise and Migas Pt. IV | Leon Kennedy

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Final Part

Fandom: Resident Evil

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Male Reader

Summary: Leon and Y/N have some underlying issues. Ones they tried to warn DSO about.

Content Warnings: None

Other Pairings: Luis Sera x Reader

Author Note(s): I looked this over briefly in class 😥 ignore errors 🙏

It's sometime later that you open your eyes, not knowing how long it has been, but the lights in Luis' hotel are still glowing warm and your partner is sitting beside you, on the bed. You're not sure when your legs had made their way up onto the mattress, or when you'd turned on your side and laid with your hands placed together. All you know is that the bed is comfortable, the room is warm and the area is void.

Your gaze is blurred for a moment and the man is unaware of your consciousness until he can feel the bed move underneath him, ever so slightly.

His eyes raise to your body and stay fixed for a few seconds and he releases the sigh in his chest. You're not sure which part of this whole ordeal it's meant for, but you don't question it as your vision focuses on the table that's been pushed back up and the sandwich that sits atop it.

Your eyes begin to drift around the hotel room and you prop yourself on your elbows before Leon tells you to stop. His voice is much calmer than before. The anger is gone.

"He's out. Getting supplies for us with Ada. "

Your forearms crunch with the strain of your body and the weight you're pushing on them. There's a slight dip at the head of the bed and the feeling of his hand is soft yet firm when he presses your left arm down, putting you back in the position he found you.

"Rest. " He can't bring himself to say much more.

Your eyes close and the sigh that follows is tired. Tired, the way you always feel now. You wonder why he's here, why he hadn't gone with Ada and you wonder what time it even is. And if you're safe.

Of course, you aren't.

But that knowledge lays in the back of your mind for now, until it's ready to be disturbed again. Which, it inevitably will.

When you look at your partner, you're faced with his stony expression and he speaks before you even say anything.

"When they come, we leave. You don't wander off from me. When I point, you shoot. Understand?" Leon stares hard at you, his words sharp, direct and calculated like it all takes no thought.

You want to be civil. Really. You want to keep this new resonance of calm and you're too tried to rev the engines but– you're not his subordinate either. And you've never taken kindly to being spoken to as such.

Your need to take responsibility seems to evaporate and float out the window and before you know it, you're pushing yourself up from the bed and you're not speaking, not saying anything. Not even looking at him now, you just walk towards the bathroom door.

Leon watches your body twitch in protest at the sudden movement of your muscles and his lips press tightly together when you seem to just ignore it. The bruising on your lower back has turned a deep, ugly shade of purple and it's blotchy, painful.

It looks bad.

And you're still not moving slow enough. Not to him.

Leon shifts and he is there as your fingers turn the knob. Your head has whipped around when his hand almost covers your wrist, the heat of his fingers resting atop the bandages. His shoulders are slumped forward slightly and his free hand massages the back of his own neck, closing his eyes as he goes in to speak.

His voice is low and weary and it doesn't seem to hold the same weight it had before.

"Listen. "

"I don't have the patience. "

Your eyes close, you try to move in. To push the door open or shirk away, but both of your wills are too strong and instead your hand comes down hard on the metal of the bathroom knob.

"Are we doing this?" You ask.

"What, exactly?" Leon replies in a grave tone, the corners of his mouth curling downward. "Because it looks like you're avoiding the issue. "

Your brow raises. "Do you even know what the issue is?"

The question hits him like a brick and his jaw sets solidly. "Yes. " He states, emphasizing the last vowel, shifting in his spot before adding more. "I wasn't the one that went and took off in some stupid, blind fit of rage. "

You want to say something else, something more. It's on the tip of your tongue but with the little self control you have left, you don't. "The mission will be back on track, alright? Don't worry about it. " You try the door again. But, to no avail, so your head rolls on your neck, stretching the taught muscles.

"Not yet. " He replies and his hand flattens against the door as he pushes. "Look. We had a disagreement. Things get said. That's life. Now grow up, step up and do the job. " He stops for a second, keeping the door closed, seeing the way your left cheek hollows and flutters when you bite it, probably out of annoyance.

Then, something deeper sets into the creases of your face and it keeps coming, seeping like honey into the creases of your expression. He knows you're keeping something inside but you're hesitating and he's forcing it out.

"What?"

"You're an asshole, you know that, Kennedy?" The words pump out like oil seeping from a car. Disgusting, slippery and he doesn't want it on him. "Still the same one I met 10 months ago. "

It's like the clouds outside have taken his face and made his expression disappear like raindrops touch the Earth. There's surprise, but the rest is indefinite.

The sound of the broken door moving draws both of your attention away and makes the air stale. Shifting and fumbling and then Luis enters, still talking, still alive and Ada is following closely, a bag grasped in her hand.

"Mi amore! You can say you missed me now. " He's turning back around to fully enter and shut the door and he's being playful and doesn't seem to read the thick tides in the air.

"Hey. " You greet, softer than you've ever spoken to Leon.

You glance at Ada and you can tell she's analyzing the situation for what it is. Because it doesn't take a scientist to know something is not right between partners. Her eyes catch the way you guys are peeling away from each other, hands leaving the door and faces smoothing out as if to hide whatever words or heated looks you just exchanged and the act fools Luis. But not her. Never her.

Luis has stopped for a moment to hold your face and it's only after he gives you a quick peck on the cheek and starts talking to everyone does she see the relief for a moment on your face, the ease of posture and the slacking of the skin around your eyes.

Her attention is on Leon almost immediately after the interaction, and there she is, like a crow, watching. Circling. Picking apart the loose threads and the seams. She starts at his brows first, knowing if his facial muscles are tweaking, even the slightest, it's gonna be there. And it is. Subtle. An irritation. But there. He's trying to hide it, mask it. Keep it to himself.

She picks at his lips next. Thinner and pouty. Sealed tighter than ever before. Any information wanting to escape he's keeping very secret. Very private and held back.

But it'll show.

The way he holds his body language is a lot less expressive, his shoulder sags, so subtly if you weren't truly paying attention, you'd never know.

And his eyes follow, almost dance in uneven steps as they tread tactfully after Luis then follow you following Luis. Who is oblivious, but attentive, and carries the conversation to make up for your silence. She's got to admit, the man has character.

Her attention returns to Leon's gaze when he rolls them and then the way he's walking to stand towards the farthest wall across from you, still watching as you and Luis converse, the words flowing naturally, not all bunched up and jagged like yours and his.

Her focus hones into the twitch of his face.

He looks tired now, possibly regretful, the way his muscles are sagging and his skin is growing soft and melancholy at the creases, around the eyes.

But his jaw is still set and the blue is still resting on the two of you. Critiquing the details. The way your hands brush together as you pick items out, how Luis maneuvers past you with a soft hand on your back, how his warmth radiates when he stands within proximity. And the fact that you're actually receptive to this man has him twisted up.

The longer Leon focuses on your sudden bout of happiness, the more he wants to leave and turn away, let it flood over him.

But he stays there and he doesn't even notice the way Adas eyes are doing twirls and cartwheels over his features. His expression is on you and so is his brain, though he would never admit it.

She's noticed all the information she'll need. Her lips curl slightly at a thought as she unpacks the things from Luis satchel onto the counter.

Right here. In front of her eyes.

That even the man who's saved the world numerous times can't hide the fact that he's head over heels in love.

[eddiemunsonsmiddlefingers]

I was looking through my fic notes because I'm poking around at my long fic again (how has it been almost a year? oh my God) when I found this fix-it snippet that I will never finish, but personally like too much to let rot in a folder unseen. The assumption is that instead of going to the Creel house, the Party is trying to go directly to the Upside Down to fight Vecna there.

Enjoy?

---

Robin often questions her life choices.

Joining band? Good choice. 

Trying to kiss Jenny McNeil in 8th grade? Bad choice.

Getting a job at Scoops Ahoy? Really bad choice, because that’s what led to a long list of terrible events she would prefer to selectively forget. Not that she can do that, really, but you know. She can daydream sometimes.

The thing is, she’s currently sitting in a stolen Winnebago with Steve Harrington in the driver’s seat. That would be fine, given that becoming his best friend was one of her better decisions, except he’s hauling ass in reverse, his body painfully twisted around so he can see out the back window. He’s chanting “shit, shit, shit,” but as frantic as the words are, his hands are confident and his face has settled into a sort of calm determination that Robin knows all too well. She’s seen it before and knows what it means.

He thinks we’re going to die. She wishes she didn’t know Steve quite that well, but then again there are a lot of things she wishes she didn’t know right about now. That includes the fact that she, too, thinks they’re going to die. She could do without that thought for sure.

“Could you get us the hell out of here sometime this year, Steve?” Dustin is clinging to his seat opposite Robin, his eyes fixed on the strobing lights and angry mob visible through the windshield. He’s scared and angry all at once; Robin can practically feel him revving up to start yelling. 

“Can it Henderson,” Eddie says. He’s crouched behind the driver’s seat, his entire body folded in on itself to stay out of Steve’s way. He reminds Robin of a gargoyle with his dark clothes, tightly-coiled muscle, and ringed fingers clutching at his knees. “Stevie needs to concentrate or there won’t be enough of our remains left for the cops to care about.”

“That’s a bit—” Lucas loses what he’s about to say as they swerve around a corner and come to a screeching stop, “—morbid.” He looks behind them, at the concrete wall literally inches from his face, then turns back looking a little green. “Got it.”

“Hang on,” Steve says as he falls back in his seat and wrenches the wheel to the left. 

A moment later everyone is tumbling over each other as gravity shifts from front to back and they barrel forward. There are people running after them at first; Robin is pretty sure she sees Ms. O’Donnell carrying an actual pitchfork next to a kid named Lenny who used to talk her ear off about Star Wars every other day at Family Video. He has a hunting knife in one hand and a torch in the other tonight, and he’s yelling something she can’t hear. Monsters from an alternate dimension have nothing on the surreal impact of seeing her neighbors armed to the teeth and roving the streets like bloodthirsty lunatics. At least Robin isn’t the only one making terrible choices these days. It’s a small comfort, but it will have to do.

“There is no way we’re getting to my place through that crap.”

Eddie’s stating the obvious, as far as Robin’s concerned. They’ve tried every possible approach and been blocked at every one. Their options are give up or give in, and the latter isn’t truly an option at all. She’s relieved to see Lucas and Nancy nodding agreement. Dustin looks conflicted, but after a moment his chin jerks up as well. 

“Okay, so we’ll go to the lake,” Steve says.

“Can’t do that,” Erica calls from the very back where she’s sitting by Lucas.

“What, why?” Robin catches Steve’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he speaks; he looks tired and harassed, maybe ten seconds from a complete meltdown. “It’s massive; they can’t guard every inch of it.”

“The water would ruin our gear,” Nancy says. “No firepower, no fight.” Her lower lip is chewed pink and puffy and her eyes are somehow even bigger than usual, but she has her hands wrapped around her shotgun with confident ease.

“No music, no protection,” Lucas adds. He and Max aren’t going to the Upside Down, but he has a point. What if Vecna grabs one of them like he grabbed Max and Nancy? The Walkman tucked inside Robin’s vest suddenly feels much heavier. 

“That about covers it,” Erica acknowledges in a magnanimous tone.

“God damn it.” Steve drums his hands on the wheel as he guides them around a corner and into relative darkness. 

Dustin sits up suddenly. “We’re forgetting something.” Everyone looks at him and he rolls his eyes. “The reporter guy Nancy mentioned, remember? Frank.”

“Fred.”

“Right, Fred. Vecna took him, so there would be a gate where he died.”

“That’s practically on top of Forest Hills,” Steve says. “Crawling with angry locals and cops, remember? Not exactly accessible.”

Nancy straightens, her lips pursed in a way that indicates thinking cap on. “If we can find it fast enough, we might be okay. The police are more interested in catching a perverted mass-murderer—”

“Harsh,” Steve interjects, dry as old popcorn.

“—Than in guarding a cold crime scene, so—”

“—So let them have me and use the distraction to get to the gate.” Eddie starts out confident, but his voice breaks mid-sentence and then he’s burying his face in his hands with an odd strangled noise. “Jesus.”

“What? No!” Steve yelps. The RV lurches to the side as his head whips around. 

Robin lands on her knees next to Eddie before she even realizes she got up. “Hey,” she says, awkwardly patting at his arms, his shoulders, his hair and back. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, has no idea what to say, but Steve needs to drive and Dustin’s yelling at Nancy, and no one else is moving, so she’ll have to figure it out. “We’ve been over this, dingus. We’re not giving you up.”

“If you don’t, I will,” he whispers, looking up at her from behind the fingers caging his face. His cheeks are streaked with tears, and damn, Robin is really out of her depth here. “Chrissy’s family deserves justice and admit it, won’t you? My future’s looking pretty bleak.”

Nancy and Dustin’s voices clash in the background.

“Take a number and have a seat. Everyone’s future is looking pretty bleak right now,” Robin says. She hears Steve huff a pained sort of laugh. “We aren’t going to turn you in, and we won’t let you do it on your own, either. We kick Henry-Vecna-One’s slimy ass. Together. Then we sort out the rest. Also together.” 

She keeps talking, the words washing over one another. She wishes Eddie would stop crying. She wishes they were literally anywhere but hurtling toward certain death in a Winnebago that smells like stale smoke and armpits. She wishes she’d never even heard of the Upside Down, because maybe then she’d be hiding under her bed instead of talking down a guy who used to scare the living shit out of her. She sort of wishes Eddie still did—scare her that is—because at least that would make sense.

“If Hawkins can buy Will Byers coming back from the grave, it can deal with Eddie Munson being significantly less freaky than they thought he was. Jury’s out on whether your ego will survive, but you’re going to be fine. We’re all going to be fine,” she finds herself saying and yup, it’s time to stop talking because she’s officially hit the babbling phase.

Eddie unfolds without warning, arms spreading wide. The next thing Robin knows, she’s toppling into a hug that is somehow aggressively tight and shockingly gentle at the same time. She braces herself for an awkward come on, the sort of gratitude-driven romantic garbage that Harrington of yore once tried to pull, but all she gets is Eddie’s voice in her ear, husky and sincere as he whispers, “thanks, Buckley.” 

He squeezes her shoulders, then helps Robin settle against the opposite wall with a small smile and oddly business-like hands. He doesn’t like me like that, Robin thinks with bewildered certainty. It’s strange to feel such profound relief when every other part of her life is an active shit show, but she isn’t about to question it.

“Okay buttheads, show’s over,” Eddie declares as he shoves himself upright, visibly collecting the fraying edges of his dignity about him. He makes a show of pushing his hair back and adjusting his bandana; when he looks up, the only sign he’d been crying is the red rimming his eyes. “If any of you brats say a word about this, I’m burning your character sheets and confiscating your dice,” he adds, extending a threatening finger at Dustin, Lucas, and Erica.

The boys tumble over each other reassuring him, but Erica puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head to one side. “What makes you think I care?”

“You wound me,” Eddie says, eyes going comically wide. “What is our party without Lady Applejack the Nimble?”

“I want better gear.” 

“As you wish, my lady.” Eddie flourishes one arm in an awkward seated bow. “When our battle is won, we shall discuss your arms for the next campaign.”

“It better be damn good…jackass.” 

“Language!” Steve exclaims, sounding exactly like a middle-aged mother about to turn this car around, damn it.

Erica flips him off with a wide grin, and chaos ensues.

“What’s next?” Dustin asks as things begin to quiet down. When everyone looks at him, he heaves an exaggerated sigh and starts ticking points off on his fingers. “We can’t go to Eddie’s place. We can’t go to Lover’s Lake. We aren’t sacrificing Eddie to find the other gate.” He glares first at Nancy, then at Eddie. “By now the police also know this thing is stolen, they know Eddie’s in it, and they know Steve is driving. They may even know we have weapons if someone at the War Zone bothered to tell them.”

“Looks like Steve’s a felon after all,” Max comments out of nowhere, a sly smile dancing across her face. “How are you getting out of this one, jailbird?” Lucas snort-laughs, and Max’s smile grows until her teeth are showing and her eyes are scrunched up in glee. 

“Hide,” Steve says decisively. His body shifts and the RV skids to a stop. It’s dark outside, but Robin’s pretty sure she can see trees.

“Hate to break it to you Harrington, but the police can find this piece of shit far easier on the side of the road than they can while it’s moving,” Eddie drawls around the cigarette he just put between his lips. He lights it, inhales, then blows the smoke toward the front seat as he tucks his lighter away. “And they can definitely catch us faster.”

Steve rounds on them, running a hand through his hair with the same energy a starving man might attack a burger and fries. “We aren’t staying here, dumbass. This is Murkywood, or whatever it’s called. The Byers’ old place is about twenty minutes away if we cut through the forest.” 

“Isn’t that a bit, well, obvious?” Nancy asks, frowning. “Will is their friend and I mean…Jonathan…” She does an odd gesture at her chest rather than finishing the sentence.

Steve reaches down and plucks the cigarette from Eddie’s hand, takes a drag, then passes it back as he looks from one kid to the next. “Have any of you dickheads been playing at the Byers house since they left?”

Robin is too preoccupied with the front row seat she has to whatever the hell is going on with Eddie’s face to hear their response. Eddie is staring at his cigarette like it sprouted horns or something, brows drawn together as he rolls it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. When he realizes she’s watching, he jams the filter in his mouth and looks away. 

Huh. 

Steve’s voice penetrates Robin’s churning thoughts. “Get it together kids, we’re going for a walk.”

[thatoneandlonelyemo2005]

I keep almost forgetting about these

But 4th part! No NSFW just body descriptions that make Mush go crazy. ALSO Blink isn't being mean anything with the pet names is just him being silly although later on in the AU Mush grows to like them

-

“Ya need any help?” Blink asked as he saw the pastel looking at his car. His locker was jammed and he had to hunt down the janitor. Making him one of the last ones out of school.

"I can figure it out myself." The pastel glared at him.

Blink shook his head, "Sure sweetheart, like you know more stuff about a car than me. But I can just drive away, just wanted to be helpful, but if you wanna stay stranded here, be my guest." Blink scoffed and started to walk to his bike.

"Wait! I'd promised a friend I would meet them tonight. Can you fix it please?" The boy's eyes were wide and hopeful. 

Blink grins before turning around, settling on a frown again to make the pastel a bit uneasy. He went to the front of his car and opened the hood. "Well, sugar, that's something you did need a mechanic for."

Mush glared at the punk, "Whatever! Can you please take it to your shop?" 

"Well we need a tow truck for that honey-" 

"Stop calling me pet names you creep! Just do what you gotta do."

Blink rolled his eyes. "Well if you don't wanna hang around here until I can get a truck, dollface, you'll have to ride my bike to the mechanic shop. You can do whatever there, Klopps' also got a chill area. But I fear you'll have to ride with a creep like me." Blink roughly closed the hood again, crossing his arms and staring at the pastel boy, awaiting his decision.

"Can't you just call someone?" Mush glares at him, praying he wouldn't have to be on a motorcycle.

 "Well yeah but either way you'd have to sit here by yourself. And I heard this place gets rough at night. " 

"That's such a lie! This is a damn high school." Mush shook his head. 

Blink sighed, "Look, just get on okay, it's really not that bad." 

"No thank you." Mush crossed his arms and turned away. Blink rolled his eyes, "God you pastels are such babies.”

"I'm not-" Mush made a noise like he was screaming silently. "You know what? Sure, get me on that damn bike, blondie."

 "Hey, don't-" 

"You've called me 4 different weird pet names in the last ten minutes, you don't get to complain!" Mush, with as much dignity as he had left, got to the bike and waited for Blink to mount it, the punk only shaking his head and forcefully shoving his helmet into Mush's hands. "Get that on and then hurry up, pastel."

Mush grumbled something but it was drowned out with the rev of the engine. 

"Hold onto me okay!" Blink yelled. 

"No-" But the jerk of the bike stopped him from speaking. Instead he wrapped his arms around Blinks' waist hoping he wouldn't fall off.

It was a terrifying experience, Mush really had to hold on tight to the punk, the leather of his jacket was cold under his fingers, even though he still felt hot. It was just too much. With every turn he thought he'd fall off but he never did and then luckily, he stopped in front of the mechanic shop and Mush could stumble off the bike, ripping off the helmet to take a few deep, clean breaths.

"Never again am I riding that! How do you even ride that thing? You could get killed!" 

"Whoa calm down sugar-" 

"I said not to call me that!" Mush threw the helmet at him. 

Blink caught it before it hit the ground, "Hey! Be careful with my helmet. And I don't know your name so what else should I call you."

Mush hadn't thought of that, but it still didn't make the names okay. They were nice, in a way, but it just felt like he was doing it to be mean. "Mush. My name's Mush. Now let's get a towing truck to get this over with as quickly as possible, please." Mush crossed his arms and looked around the mechanic's shop carefully, finding a curly haired punk smoking a cigarette and looking at them with barely restrained gloating.

"What'd catch Blink?" He called over. Blink set his helmet on the handle bars, "A pastel fish I'd say." He smirked as he passed Mush. It suited him in a way. Mush he kept repeating in his head. 

Mush frowned at the comment, "He said you got a tow truck." 

The curly boy raised an eyebrow, "What's it to you?"

 "His car is a little fucked up right now." Blink said as he passed go get the keys from the rack in the office area.

"Oh, did his car get too much pink and break down?” Mocked the smoking boy, throwing his spent cigarette down and stepping on it to extinguish the flame. 

"God, are all you punks this infuriating." Complained Mush.

"To you, yeah." Blink roughly pat him on the back as he came out again with the keys. "I'll get the car, you can wait somewhere 'round here, Kloppman'll show you what you need I guess. Until later, sweetheart."

Mush watched the boy climb in the car and he wanted to yell at him but couldn't even form words. He hated him yet something about him wanted to not say anything. "He's over there Mr. K." The curly boy pointed at him. 

"Hello." The older man smiled. "I hear you're having car issues."

At least someone here was nice. "Yes, it just wouldn't start in the parking lot. I didn't know what to do." 

The old man put a hand to his shoulder and steered him inside where it was cooler. "I'm sure Louis can repair it, would you want a cold drink until he's back? For the shock." 

Mush sat down in one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs and nodded. "Only if it's not too much trouble, Mr. Kloppmann."

"Oh it's nothing. Trust me, I know the boys can be a bit rough." Mr. Kloppmann chuckled while going to the fridge. 

"You can say that." Mush grumbled out. 

Mr. Kloppmann pushed a glass to him filled with lemonade, "Louis is a great kid ya know. He's just a bit rough sometimes." 

Mush shook his head and looked away through the door to see the curly haired boy hug a smaller kid. Maybe it was his brother or someone who would become another punk when he grew up. But the curly head boy spun him around and it was weird seeing them act nice. He'll just have to wait now. He prayed for the time to go faster.

It didn't take too long until he saw the truck driving back, Mush's pale yellow car in tow. It didn't look any worse for wear so it was probably fine, but he still felt anxious.

 "That's yours then, boy?" Asked Mr. Kloppman, looking out the windows. 

"Yes. Louis um... he looked under the hood at school and everything." 

The man nodded. "Well I'll take a look myself until Louis changes to something he can work in. Feel right at home, my boy." 

Mush nodded and sipped on his lemonade, looking out the windows. Kloppman first helped the curly haired boy and Louis put his car inside the working area and then opened the hood himself, the taller boy looking over his shoulder but quickly getting swatted away. It was a few minutes where Mush wasn't sure what to do, just worriedly looking at his car until Louis came out again, now only wearing an already slightly stained white tanktop and just under the knee-length shorts. Mush sank a bit deeper into his chair, sipping on his lemonade and trying to keep from staring at him. 

His lemonade was gone before he knew it. He blamed it on staring at Louis bend over to grab things and look at stuff. Mush crossed his legs as Louis wiped his face with his shirt showing off his stomach. A blush spread on his face and he held a hand to cover his eyes. He was screwed.

A little bit later he was talking to Kloppmann about payment. Handing him the money and saying a ‘thank you’ he began to walk to his car where Louis just closed the hood.

"Should be workin' well again.", the punk said, cleaning off his hands from oil stains and Mush had to physically move his eyes away from the action. 

"That's good." Mush shuffled his feet, feeling like he shouldn't just leave like that. "Thank you... for offering help, Louis." 

The blond startled a bit. "How'd you... oh, Kloppman. Yeah just call me Blink, the old man don't call us by our nicknames out of principle or something."

"Ok...i-ill be going now." Mush walked around him and opened his door. But he grabbed his wallet pulling out some money and shoved it towards Blink, "A tip... For all the hard work. Thanks again." Mush got in his car and looked up to Blink who was transfixed on the money. Mush bit his lip but shook his head and began to roll down the driveway.

-

I just might be biased but I do like this one a lot<333 Blush can warm my heart just as much as Bumswiftery can ( @chaosfairy18)

[red-dye40]

please give us the director's commentary for "IT'S NOT A FETISH THING." i loved that fic so much!!!

i live to please you anon (thank you!!!)

because it’s a one shot we’re gonna do the whoooooole thing :)

There’s a Bub’s Burger Boy piggy bank just kind of sitting on a crate in the corner–arguably the most unsettling piece of decor here.

i can’t even begin to tell you how much research i have put into determining what reverend meat is (like is he a ceramic figure or like a molded plastic or what)—based on my research ☝️🤓 there plenty of variances of big boy burger figures made by funko NOOOOW but back before like the 2000s almost all the collectible figures of the boy were actually rubbery piggy banks and i cross referenced a bunch of actual banks listed on ebay with the very few rev meat appearances and kinda settled on him being a late 80s variant (which i think lines up well with the timeline) 🤪

also fun fact @margaritaville gave me that exact piggy bank for my birthday this year :)

“So. It’s been a while.” She tries again. “Yes.” “Still killin’?” “Mmyep.”

i have such a deep fascination with nny as a side character and i have a profound fetish for the times in which he is completely disinterested in his killin thing

Nny feels a small twinge in his brain; a little shiver of something that makes him sick and overwhelmed. He presses his fingers hard against his temples to try and relieve some of the sensation.

this headache thing iss nny constantly remembering the pain associated with the head trauma devi caused him the night of their date, and the subsequent overwhelm is him realizing He Is Horny For It but doesn’t know how to proceed. later, when devi gets the same headache, it’s kinda the opposite side of the same coin.

Last month I bought a wholesale box of gas station hot pickles and stuffed them full of the white goo inside Twinkies, and I ate the whole thing in one sitting.”

this was originally a line of dialogue in ancaux!

“Nny… what you’re describing sounds less like a cause for alarm and more like a cause for… just living your life like a normal person. It feels like you don’t allow yourself that luxury, and it’s making you insane. Maybe also pregnant? If you just let yourself, y’know… eat good food, have some hobbies that aren’t murder-based, maybe make a friend that isn’t presumably that Burger Boy you can’t stop looking over at–maybe you won’t be such a raging lunatic all the time? Or, I don’t know, it could be a nice start??”

i imagine devi suffers from the virgo disease of needing to problem solve everything—like she can’t help it, even when it’s for someone she absolutely detests. it all seems so simple to her, like just stop being fucking crazy!!!!

though i never stated this ANYWHERE in the text, i placed this fic a few months after nny’s phone call apology, and in that time devi’s taken some good care of herself, less full of rage and more just like. wow that guy is so fucking sad and pathetic. i would love to fix him or maybe just tear his guts out.

There’s something extremely unprepossessing about your victim willingly offering themselves up to you. She unenthusiastically grabs him by the wrist. Turns his arm over.

i reeeeeeeally wanted this whole part to feel. almost boring, definitely awkward. consent is obviously good and communication is good and also what i think a lot of ppl maybe don’t realize is sometimes this negotiation grinds things to a halt and devi was really hopin she could just roll up and maim this fucker.

Devi can tell that, behind his hands, Nny is blushing hard again. She can’t get enough of this power dynamic.

i also have a fetish for absolute maniacs melting into a puddle because a hot girl has the upper hand and is kind of making fun of them for being a sniveling brat

“You are so incredibly fucked up.” She tells Nny. He kinda chuckles.

i really like this little exchange honestlie :) i think it must be kinda fun to share the full scope of his “”””hobby”””” with someone who won’t immediately run away and maybe even on some level appreciate it. like devi’s disturbed, yeah, but she knows she can best nny so she’s not really scared of him, and she’s about to use all this stuff on nny so rn she’s kinda into it? maybe that only makes sense to me but :)

His finger dislocates like nothing, right at the base, and he feels a gross shooting pain run all the way down his wrist. The air is still thoroughly knocked out of him, so he can only wheeze and kick his legs. Devi gives the same finger a little twist and a little tug. She’s almost hoping it’ll come right off and maybe sound like a cork popping when it does. Instead, little blood spots begin rising to the surface right at the point of tension, forming quick and easy bruises that swell his joints. She feels satisfied with that–she releases the forceps, but keeps her grip on his hand so she can move right along to the next finger.

i rewrote this part soooooo many times. originally i wanted devi to slowly saw off his fingers, one at a time, and she was gonna be talking a lot more doing it. there was a though that this fic was actually gonna be one in a series of three, and with each installment the violence was gonna get worse and worse and more and more blatantly horny. so i pulled back on the amount of gore and made devi talk a whole lot less bc she’s just so focused on “making it feel good”. eventually tho the second installment turned into sexual trauma clip show and became its own thing, so i sometimes wish i made this part grosser. but i also think i’ve read it so much i’m completely desensitized to it.

His mouth is a mess of spit and blood and mucus. Tears are streaming down his face and he’s moaning, kind of laughing, fully blushing and heaving.

I HEART FLUIDS!!!!!!!

Then a huge barbed hook, mounted at the end of a pole almost as tall as her. She starts to pull it down. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Nny deflate a little.

pssst! it’s the hook nny used to cut mmy open!

“Show me where.” She orders. He nods again. With a weak and shaky hand, he points down to the lower part of his abdomen, not quite in the middle but presumably far away from anything vital. Devi takes a breath. Sidles up a little closer. Her left hand, harsh but tender, grabs the back of his head. She pokes the tip of the knife right where Johnny had pointed out. And it’s a risk, but he holds out his hand under Devi’s to offer to guide her along. She thinks about it. Takes another breath. Moves to wrap her left hand around Nny’s fingers, around her hand holding the knife, and the two of them go for it.

when i was writing this i was like “ugh this is too sweet for them” and really was scared it felt out of character, too shippy, etc. but i also do think devi would not want to actually kill someone, not even nny, at least not in this narrative. the cover art i made for this fic has a screenshot of a google search that says something like “places to stab someone that won’t kill them but will still hurt” which is truly what i searched in order to figure out where she could stab him.

His face drains of all color. His eyes kind of roll back in his head. Something guttural sounds from the back of his throat. His grip on Devi’s hand lessens, and all at once his arm drops limp at his side.

death gurgle as a metaphor for cumming

THATS PRETTY MUCH ALL I GOTTA SAY ABT THAT!!!!!! thank you again for ur kind words :)