#you have a GREAT story in part i and part ii and then part iii is a disaster | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunderingstars · 21 hours ago

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mundanite assembly

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what the stars reveal: interpretative analysis, theory crafting, elation!sampo and erudition!sampo, coining ma!sampo (short for mundanite assembly!sampo) as we speak, and printed!sampo too, small breakdown over windup world (iii), okay just hear me out, post-analysis clarity made me open my third eye for this one

word count: 10.8k

overview: a breakdown of all six mundanite assembly (unknowable domain) stories — “the great lie,” “those remembered,” “resleeved,” “dousing flames,” “printed truths,” and “windup world” — in the context of sampo koski’s potential backstory & identity.

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Introduction

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In terms of Sampo Koski as a character, I’m still not entirely confident that Mundanite Assembly (MA for short) applies to him. Although I detail a lot — and I mean a lot — of similarities between these stories and what we know about Sampo in this analysis, the truth is that his past is shrouded in so much mystery that it could have literally nothing to do with the Unknowable Domain.

That being said, I do hope I can put forward a solid thesis here: Mundanite Assembly may, in a chronological sense, provide information on Sampo Koski’s origins, identity, and backstory through the exploration of small moments in time across different, likely reincarnating, “copied,” or transferable, lives.

(Mundanite Assembly is a relatively new piece of evidence for Sampo theories, so I apologize if I miss any details or lore implications. I’m not too familiar with the Scholars’ Strife or the Second Emperor’s War, so feel free to let me know about any extra information I miss.

Also, a big shoutout to @/ricochetlovebombs and @/anothermtroubls for pointing me in the direction of Rubert and Rubert II!)

I will be referring to the second person “you” perspective of each story sometimes by who the protagonist is (a professor, a memory device, etc.) and sometimes by “Sampo” directly. This doesn’t mean I think the MA!Sampo theory is 100% true, only that using Sampo’s name gets my point across more clearly.

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General Observations

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— Chronology. The Great Lie ➜ Those Remembered ➜ Resleeved ➜ Dousing Flames ➜ Printed Truths ➜ Windup World. There are a few exceptions I’ll explain when we get to them, but this is the general chronology I see these stories taking (as it is the order they appear on screen).

— Chapters of Note. Resleeved (II) and (III), Printed Truths (I), and Windup World (III) are the most important parts for my understanding of Sampo as he relates to MA. Resleeved (II) and (III) deal with experimentation and creation themes, as well as “breaking,” abandonment, and Organic Heart, while Printed Truths (I) sheds some light on the “cell printing” process of copying individuals. Windup World (III), on the other hand, is likely Sampo’s first or near-first interaction with the Tavern, centering on Elation, being used as a puppet, cruel jokes, and the origin of some of Sampo’s current worldviews.

— General Themes and Events. The reason Mundanite Assembly comes across as a giant Sampo lore drop to me is because of the themes and events it includes. Here are a few:

— Focus on truth and lies; being “created,” brought into the world, and/or stolen; being abandoned, discarded, and “broken” multiple times; advanced awareness; inhumane and dehumanizing experiments; Organic Heart; rage, anger, and vengeance, sometimes carried out in full; technological and mechanical links to Curio Hacker; Nihility, Erudition, and Elation imagery; slow shift in worldview to accommodate Elation-aligned vocabulary; focus on money, wealth, and knowledge; entire sub-section about being a thief; explicit interaction with the Tavern, as well as being literally puppeted around for a cruel joke.

— Elation. While this analysis is a departure from my previous, solely Elation-focused theories, I do still believe the Elation has been a large part of Sampo’s life. Just because Mundanite Assembly focuses on a time where Sampo had more to do with the Erudition, it doesn’t mean that Elation isn’t important as well — in fact, there is a pretty strong shift from Erudition to Elation by the end of Windup World (III).

— The time gap after the Tavern is not detailed in MA, but likely includes most of his experiences with the Elation, including how he became so close with the Masked Fools and potentially an Elation Emanator himself.

— Existence. After looking at the stories individually and as a whole, I’ve come to think Sampo has a sort of “curse” on him, a byproduct of his existence that leads him to repeat equally painful and doomed narratives through paradox. While each story may be completely unrelated, they share uncanny similarities in violence, betrayal, and “breaking.” It makes me think, despite certain outside presences, that Sampo is trapped in a “loop” of inevitability, which would be what the Masked Fool is divining in Windup World (III). There is also the chance that he is the “copy” of someone else, like in Printed Truths (I).

— Perspective. While I want to believe each story’s “you” is talking about the same, repeating protagonist due to thematic throughlines and narrative similarities, there are likely multiple perspectives at play here. Resleeved and Windup World for sure feel like Sampo to me, as well as Those Remembered and certain parts of Printed Truths, but Dousing Flames especially seems “outside” the perspective of whoever Sampo is or will become. I will detail what I think the perspective of each section is when I get to them!

— Rubert. Rubert is an interesting case, mostly due to the fact he canonically has a successor — Rubert II — who inherited his memories. I do believe the original Rubert is dead, as per what is mentioned in-game, but Rubert II has a lot more mystery surrounding him. It’s entirely possible that the “copying” mentioned in Printed Truths (I) has to do with copying Rubert himself, and Sampo is the resulting clone. Also, who knows, there could even be a “Rubert III” out there that no one knows about! There are a few incongruences I’ll talk about when I get to each part, and it does mess with the perspective of things a bit, but it’s a theory worth considering.

— Cover Art. The Great Lie is red with a jellyfish hidden within, and is cracked. (Interestingly enough, this reminds me of the Enigmata, and since it links to Sampo’s breaking, it makes me think maybe the Enigmata is why he’s so confusing! Keyword: Lie.) Those Remembered is a locked box with a keyhole opening. (Perhaps meant to symbolize both the Memory Unit and opening of “Pandora’s Box,” so to speak. Key word for “copying” memories: Remembered.) Resleeved features blue — a very notable color — leaves encasing metal insides. (Reminds me of Organic Heart, points towards a new form or “outward appearance” masking the circuitry underneath. Keyword for “reforging” or new forms: Resleeved.)

— Cover Art (Cont.). Dousing Flames looks like a miniature galaxy. (Representative of the discussions of quantum mechanics and theory, as well as the almost vast, unexplainable nature of Sampo’s potential copying and reincarnation. Keyword for hatred, fire feather on day five of the shop event, or the fire in “Cloud of Doubt”: Flames.) Printed Truths is a round puzzle with the last piece fitting into place. (Indicative of the “puzzle” of copying higher existence, as well as Sampo likely trying to gain knowledge about himself and the universe as well. Keyword for money: Printed.) Lastly, Windup World features a clock with its hands and time slots in oddly-sized and placed positions. (Similar to the strange way time and life seems to distort around Sampo, as well as the Masked Fool talking about divining his “future.” Keyword for doll or puppet status: Windup.)

— Repeating Lives. This is a tricky one, because not much of Sampo’s character implies the sort of “life cycles” I end up talking about here — it’s pretty new territory as far as Sampo theories are concerned. However, this lack of hinting could make sense if Sampo himself is confused or unaware about it; especially if, perhaps, this is a byproduct of his existence that is doomed to repeat over and over unbeknownst to him.

— In terms of what does make sense,though, repeating lives or some kind of “cycle” would explain why all MA stories have similar threads and themes despite occupying different times, characters, and biology, as well as why they all end in the same kind of breaking or misfortune. It also explains why the Masked Fool in Windup World (III) is so deliberately taunting about Sampo’s “future” and “divination.”

— There is also the possibility that he, as a memory storage device or “copied” being, is simply simulating or remembering these lives in his memory, with the memories originating from different sources before all finding their way to the same place — him.

— Personally, I believe the Masked Fool’s prophetic “joke” in Windup World (III) may be meant to simulate Sampo’s existence; a cycle doomed to repeat, the way he returns “unharmed” to his seat after delivering what should’ve been a killing blow, and the “nihilistic” nature of not truly having a choice in any of it. The only question is if he remembers all the lives he’s lived or not. (*Cough* Whatever the AetherTurbo Bookmark from the Shop Event symbolizes may be helping him retrieve these memories, likely given to him by the Elation. *cough*)

— If I could sum up all of this, every iteration, every cycle, as one word, it would be: misfortune.

Now, let’s get into the specifics of each part! (I will be formatting them as a bulleted list with some extra explanations.)

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The Great Lie

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“The Great Lie” focuses on a professor who, after their students and school turn on them believing Synesthesia Beacons and general knowledge to be evil, finds themself shuttled through a series of academic conflicts that result in an unemployed, broken, and lonely life begging outside the gates of their former workplace. (Notably, this mental brokenness includes repeating the lines “I am a liar” over and over again.)

— The first paragraph mentions the “Enigmata,” which is an interesting choice if we’re viewing MA as chronological and even cyclical. Even more interesting is that it isn’t mentioned again after The Great Lie, becoming too obscured by other forces like Erudition and Elation.

— Takes place at Palonglek University. “You” can be assumed to be a professor there teaching Basic Aeonic Theory.

— Introduces a core discussion about the Synesthesia Beacon, and how “original knowledge” often cannot be accessed, instead being found through the filter of the Beacon.

— “The only thing there was no room for, was knowledge.”

— Starts “in the cold darkness,” a running theme with a few of these sub-sections. This may be able to be interpreted as how Sampo’s life always begins — in a cold or dark place.

— School of Relative Cognition; very Erudition-coded.

— The professor — “you” — stands strong in their use of the Synesthesia Beacon, even when being threatened with dismissal. In the end, they give over their copper ring, either willingly or by force depending on what dialogue is chosen. They are replaced immediately after.

— Despite the “Erudition” front of the school, it seems to be veering into the Enigmata more than anything else, talking about how the Synesthesia Beacon is “evil” and implying the glorification of knowledge is dangerous.

— Some running themes to note: cold darkness, Erudition, Synesthesia Beacons, lack of choice (all options leading to the same outcome), and being abandoned, discarded, or replaced.

— This new situation of dismissal is compared to “a precious flower being uprooted from a greenhouse.”

— The theme of discarding and abandonment continues: the government halts their educational stipend, students cut off contact, and their family leaves.

— Now “you are all alone, forced to become an elementary school math teacher in a small town to survive.” This seems to mirror how Sampo, the lonely character that he is, finds himself in Belobog, a relatively small planet occupying a relatively specific niche.

— Arguments start up among students again, this time over simple, easy information. “You” lose your job once again, and even though there are two choices — write a letter of complaint or accept the fate silently — they both lead to the same end. Nothing changes.

— “Fools” are mentioned in both dialogue options: “Even an ant has a more objective view of reality than this army of fools.” Foreshadowing, perhaps?

— Interestingly enough, even though the immediate situation doesn’t change, the movement of Relative Cognition eventually wanes, but not without leaving its scars. The former professor, now unemployed, without a family, and potentially homeless, is found begging outside the Academy, repeating two significant lines.

— “Aeons are a lie. I am a liar, I am a liar…”

— By the end, the protagonist is not only broken materially and mentally, but spiritually.

— The repetition of lying and “I am a liar” is interesting, as Sampo is often referred to as a “liar,” if not by implication then by occurrences like Ship of Fools that position him outright as “a liar with negative credit.”

Conclusions:

— I am not sure where this fits chronologically — although I am tempted to say it is at the “beginning” of MA since it’s the first one on the screen, “Those Remembered” does seem like a more solid origin to me; of course, it could all be part of the cycle, and perhaps “The Great Lie” really is the first glimpse we see of a repeating “life” since things tend to be reset so often.

— Despite where and when it may fall, this chapter introduces several running themes, especially the cyclical nature of conflict, the illusion of “choice,” and most importantly, being abandoned, discarded, or broken.

— “I am a liar” definitely sticks out to me as well!

— I’m not sure where Rubert fits in here, as this professor seems to carry the same thematic “cycle” as the rest of the stories, but without any solid evidence as to being Rubert. It definitely seems to be the odd one out here, but maybe I’m missing something.

— Thus begins what I posit is Sampo’s repeating “life cycle”: cold darkness to awareness, the seeking or teaching of knowledge, separate “choices” made under the illusion of free will, and a series of conflicts or misfortunes that lead to being abandoned, discarded, or “broken” — either metaphorically or quite literally being killed. (In this case, it is the situational “brokenness” of the former professor’s material, spiritual, and psychological situation.)

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Those Remembered

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“Those Remembered” sees a T500 Quantum Memory Device buried and forgotten by the Candelographos in an attempt to save it from being destroyed by the History Fictionologists (affiliated with the Enigmata). In its time deep below the earth, it runs through the entire history of civilization, becoming extremely empathetic towards “humanity” and “civilization.” It is excited to be rediscovered.

— “Your race believes in a legend, that all things are born from chaos.” Reminds me of the Elation, the idea of “chaos” and “creation” having significant overlap!

— Nous is explicitly mentioned, creating this cycle’s link to Erudition.

— “You have waited endlessly in the chaos” — another point for the Elation.

— Once again, we begin in darkness. “Creation” is also present.

— The protagonist assumes the woman who appears is Nous, but she is later identified as Xiaoya, a scribe and student of a teacher who is also present.

— We are also given an explicit statement of identity for this protagonist; they are a “machine,” specifically a T500 Quantum Memory Device.

— Note: I am a bit unclear on the talk of Scepters here. I’m inclined to say the device is implied to be a Scepter, but the way things are worded is a bit weird, so it might not be one after all.

— “It is a life without love…” Although this is talking about the Candelagraphos, I do find the emotion of it interesting. In a way, it could also be applied to machines, to the stereotypes even in HSR’s present day that mechanical beings (like Intellitrons) are cold and unfeeling.

— The perspective warps when the memory device takes in its reflection: it becomes more distant. It’s not that it looks at itself and says “You are a square machine,” but rather that “You see a square machine,” almost as if having difficulty processing its identity as “not a person.”

— This is further supported by the “sudden realization” of identity, with one dialogue option even being to say it’s “A person that looks like a memory storage device.” If you pick that option, the Simulated Universe says it is incorrect.

— Either way, devoid of choice or free will, the machine is a machine, the “most powerful memory storage device to exist to date.” It can record all information on the planet.

— The setting for the first part is specified: The Candelographos research institute on Freya. Our protagonist has been sorting documents for ten years, before Xiaoya and her teacher ran away with it.

— “Your footsteps” is an intriguing phrase. It may be referring to the “group,” which includes Xiaoya and her teacher who are human, but the perspective means it could also be the device’s understanding of itself — still unwilling to believe it is purely a machine despite having no feet to walk on.

— Searching and running away are depicted as similar actions.

— Xiaoya and her teacher plan to bury T500 due to an ongoing hunt by the History Fictionologists; since the device can store all of the planet’s history, they want it to survive.

— “Plus, it’s the only one that exists.” Points to being “one-of-a-kind” (hehe, shop event reference!) and the uniqueness of a mechanical wonder or wonder of creation.

— “Having dug out a crater deeper than the height of a man.” Hmmmm. Makes me think some details are being talked around, so to speak. Footsteps, a human-height hole; despite the “smallness” of the original device, it almost seems as if it has some kind of human form now. It’s not explicitly mentioned, but the implications might just be there.

— Despite whatever dialogue you choose — “Bye” or “I don’t want to leave you” — they leave anyways. There is no choice in the matter, only fate, only inevitability. Once again, the protagonist is abandoned deep in the darkness, waiting and waiting and waiting for a reunion that will never come.

— Starting off in the dark again! (Although it is still a continuation of this “life”.)

— The memory device, spurred by a desire to understand a remark made in the last part, begins to pour over civilizational records, spending ten Amber Eras slowly learning the entire history of the planet, from stone tablets to the rise and fall of entire civilizations.

— Eventually, it reaches the names of Xiaoya and her teacher, realizing that they are long dead and only their names remain.

— “Humanity” and “civilization” are the answers to the question, and the device begins to harbor a deep compassion for them.

— (Note: “fools” is once again mentioned near the end.)

— Naïve excitement at the prospect of becoming known to the universe again.

Conclusions:

— The cycle starts anew: darkness, the illusion of choice, being abandoned. This time, it is advantageous, as the memory device is able to learn and develop compassion for humanity. (Perhaps this is where Sampo’s love for humanity comes from.)

— Due to the time spent underground, I feel like the next story, Resleeved, may be a continuation where the device is “found.” Or, it may be another cycle of life. There are no specific years or times given, so these events could be extremely far apart or incredibly close together. Who knows.

— I am not too familiar with the Scepters as a whole, but from what I can find on the wiki, the context seems to track as a chronological interpretation of MA!Sampo. (I’m still not sure about The Great Lie? Unless it is a prologue or takes place after Those Remembered in time.)

— Here, we see a device be “unboxed” during the time of the Scepters, then sealed deep underground to avoid destruction. As such, instead of being caught up in the conflicts of the time, it is given space to develop empathy, kindness, and enlightenment. I think it would be cool if Sampo is a Scepter (it would explain some of his powers and strange qualities), but the wording in the text is still unclear to me.

— Either way, there’s a large chunk of time where the device is able to sit and develop advanced awareness, much like in the “Ace Trash Digger” occurrence.

— Perhaps this is one of many “lives,” or just an advancing, singular consciousness that goes through a lot. It is also possible that these different events and stories could be simulated existences, things that are a part of Sampo yet aren’t. At the end of the day, my main point is that it’s all cyclical. (Even… Ouroboros in nature… (Sampo outfit and snake reference!))

— As for Rubert, I think this fits in as the “computer dumped in a trash pile” that became self-aware and, eventually, Rubert. Its memory storage very much matches the kind of intelligence that would interest Nous, although the “emotion” of everything doesn’t track. As far as what I’m interpreting, it seems the memory device grew fond for humanity — and by extension, organic life — committing itself to sharing the history of civilization with others. That doesn’t track with Rubert’s motive behind the Mechanical Emperor’s War; in fact, it almost seems to be the opposite. Still, I can’t ignore the thematic similarities. Maybe something happened along the way that drastically changed Rubert’s worldview.

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Resleeved

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“Resleeved” documents a thought-consciousness experiment carried out on an unknown participant wherein the subject is assimilated into different species’ biology. After being “broken” beyond repair due to the nature of the experiments, they are discarded, only to be met with yet another experiment — this time a transplant of Organic Heart — that also ends in failure. They presumably die after being shot through the chest.

— This is one of those exceptions where I don’t think the perspective is Sampo’s; instead, it seems to come from an outside storekeeper that has a conversation with (most likely) the doctor that carries out the experiments in Resleeved II and III.

— “… truth lies…” Cool way to include opposites in a grammatically correct sentence!

— “Fool” mention again. (This is getting to be a lot — I think this is the third time?)

— A scent compared to an “empty, lifeless ocean” is similar to darkness or the cold.

— Heavy themes of experimentation on a cosmic level.

— “How could there ever be truth born from foolishness?” Truth and fools once again.

— The idea of knowledge and wisdom being a “curse.”

— “An equivalent exchange cannot be reversed” also feels potentially pertinent to whatever Sampo has going on with Aha / the Elation.

— School of Evolutionary Perfection links to the perfectionism in The *Perfect* Grand Challenge.

— Generally, it seems that this doctor orchestrated a biological contamination outbreak that resulted in the conditions needed to have access to experimental patients.

— “127th awakening” implies a cyclical nature, potentially the ability to traverse different forms or lives.

— “A new character awaits every time you awake~” feels like it might be meant to represent Sampo’s situation — there are certainly many different situations at play in these stories, yet so many of them seem to carry the same cycle of darkness, experimentation, brokenness, and abandonment. These thematic elements would make sense if, similar to what this doctor is implying, Sampo has the ability to “reset” or occupy different lives in succession. In this way, the cycle would be inescapable, an ouroboros of tragedy he is forced to experience over and over no matter how many times he becomes someone “new.” (Also, this line is repeated several times, giving it some extra weight.)

— The experiment’s name is F0078. This could go back to the idea of Sampo having multiple names; it’s possible that, if Sampo isn’t one of the townspeople from part one, the memory device from Those Remembered was found by some… unsavory people.

— “Scholar, I am so cold” links to darkness and the cold.

— “I can take your thoughts from this experiment to use as the wick for the flames. Next time, I will be able to insert you into the Imperial Fragment.” I feel like this might shed some light on Sampo’s situation. There’s a good chance he personally hasn’t gone through all of these events himself, but rather remembers them as the result of thought combination or “copying.” Similar to the AetherTurbo Bookmark from his shop event, it gives the feeling of having done something without actually doing it. In truth, he might be an amalgamation of all these different perspectives having been used (or fused) into one, compact form.

— The next parts are blanked out, and I find this a little suspicious. It’s simulating the now-broken nature of the experiment — how they cannot process language properly anymore — but that also means we the reader do not get to see what “target species” they have turned into or what the results of the experiment were. If anything, this could be the cloning of Rubert, or even how Sampo got his humanoid form.

— “Endless silence” and darkness.

— “It is as if you have operated for ___ Amber Eras and been once again deleted by every ___.” Again, the blank spots are noticeable here. How many Amber Eras? If it’s ten, that would track with the “ten Amber Eras” the memory device spent processing in Those Remembered. “Once again deleted” could also refer to Rubert’s demise.

— Fortune versus tragedy — in the end, neither matter, because the ending is the same.

— “In the world of ___, emotions and judgments of value are merely absurd.” (The blank here could be Nous, or it could not.) This may also explain the difference between the “compassion” of the device in Those Remembered versus the emotional distance of Rubert and Rubert II. If, somehow, the memory device was the one cloned into Rubert II, then inheriting those memories may have been enough for a drastic emotional shift towards pure logic.

— (While it is possible this experiment is a townsperson, the cover art of Resleeved very much focuses on machinery being covered by an “organic” something, so I am leaning towards the memory device interpretation.)

— “Thought conduit ruptured” makes me think of the memory device too, as I don’t see the doctor wording it in this way if the subject was organic!

— “No longer fit for use” and “I suggest abandoning ___ and destroying all samples of this experimental batch if necessary” links to themes of abandonment, discarding, and brokenness. (Also, interesting how the name is blanked out. Wonder what it could be?)

— The mentions of time, space, and the strange limbo of shattered thought remind me of the Nihility, especially the “Liquid Flame in Void” Curio from the shop event talking about the abyss.

— Overall, in terms of Sampo, I see this as being one of the major experiments that turned him into who he is today; likely the “resleeving” of mechanical parts into an organic form. Whether this has anything to do with Rubert or not is up for interpretation. (Meaning, this “form” could have been how Rubert II inherited Rubert’s memories, or it could be a separate entity entirely.)

— The crying family and strange visitors that the protagonist doesn’t recognize could be the results of the experiment. If Sampo, potentially starting as the memory device, was combined with many different forms or consciousnesses, it’s possible the body he ended up with had a family — or even one of the merged consciousnesses could have one. This could explain why the family is there, but also why there’s no recognition to be had.

— However, “the little blood you have remaining still burns in your heart” feels more organic, but that could also be because he now has an organic form as a result of the experiments.

— Now that I think about it, Those Remembered’s memory device could have been Rubert, while Resleeved could have been a human or other townsperson being combined with said memory device, with the combination resulting in Sampo as Rubert II. 🤔

— “Death is my inevitable fate” seems very cycle-oriented to me, like no matter how many times a loop is repeated, it will always end the same.

— “My longing to survive still burns strong” may also point towards how, despite inevitability, Sampo will always try to keep going (i.e. rewards and costs and deals to survive).

— “A little cardiac burning is not sufficient to halt your progress towards evolutionary perfection” also points towards the mechanical merged with the organic, as if the subject was previously a machine (and one preoccupied with “perfection,” which tracks with Rubert) but now finds themself in an organic form with “cardiac burning” — i.e. a heart.

—The fangs and rust-scented claws could point towards a borisin? I’m not sure how many other intelligent creatures we’ve met would match that description.

— Organic Heart (beating fruit) baby let’s go!!!!!

— For those that don’t know, Organic Heart is a Curio that the mysterious blue-haired entity offers us in the Curio Hacker occurrence; I’ve talked about it in my Simulated Universe Analysis, but Organic Heart here is basically a direct link to Sampo for me! (Which is why I’m quite sure, regardless of any perspectives beforehand, that Resleeved II and III’s perspective is Sampo’s.)

— After having the heart transplanted, the protagonist begins to recover, eventually feeling “too strong.” Plus their blood literally begins to boil, ouch!

— At first, I thought the “Mock Crimson Moon” reference may imply the subject’s new body is borisin, or at least affected in similar ways, but Mock Crimson Moon is actually a Weighted Curio in Divergent Universe that causes enemies to receive Fire DoT “Necrosis” after being attacked by Abundance characters. Due to the subject’s fits of madness under the moon, it is very much still possible there’s some borisin biology going on, but it’s also possible that “Mock Crimson Moon”s specific reference could be due to the blood boiling or the Necrosis of being used in experiments. I’m not entirely sure where to draw the line, but these are my thoughts!

— When the experiment, once again, is concluded to be a failure, the figure from the beginning shoots the subject through the chest. Death is implied.

— I’m not sure what the reference to the Intelligentsia Guild means either, it feels somewhat vague.

— Resleeved (III) may be meant to show a one-off experiment that really did die, but it seems strange that Organic Heart is present given that Sampo’s Curio Hacker occurrence has it too.

— Plus, the allusions to perfection, experimentation, and the melding of mechanical and organic very much line up with some of my Sampo theories.

— Who knows, maybe this was just another perspective added to the consciousness mashup that is Sampo Koski?

Conclusions:

— Heavy themes of perfection, experimentation, and being discarded remind me of Sampo.

— Additionally, the cycle repeats again: darkness, misfortune, abandonment, breaking.

— Resleeved (I) seems to be from an outside perspective, while (II) and (III) are likely the same subject.

— The subject’s disorientation in Resleeved (III) seems to imply that whatever happened in (II) messed with their consciousness so bad they can’t remember the people in the room with them — this may be because of the resulting thought combination between species.

— Many details are omitted at the end of (II), which may imply a connection with the memory device (potentially Rubert) from Those Remembered.

— If the subject really did die at the end of (III), in order for them to continue into the rest of Mundanite Assembly’s parts, they either didn’t really die, started another “cycle” or life, or were assimilated into the growing amalgamation of consciousness that is Sampo Koski.

— I also did want to note that Resleeved very much reminds me of the mythological Sampo, especially pertaining to creation, abandonment, and breaking.

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Dousing Flames

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In “Dousing Flames,” Scholar Cholkov and our protagonist are in proximity to the Perpetual Motion Project, which takes place during the Interstellar Energy War and, despite having promise on the outset, is eventually destroyed because it can’t keep up with the costs.

— The setting is Pier Point’s technological research and development department.

— “Research into the possibility of infinite energy sources” reminds me of quantum energy and the Ship of Fools occurrence, where the “broken mask” is mentioned to have made the Kuvida Nebula a dead zone after offering a solution for its energy problem.

— “Honesty just so happens to be a prerequisite for truth” reminds me a lot of the way Sampo handles truth and lies.

— “Another boring line that makes you yearn for sleep,” a little bit Elation-aligned.

— The perspective is of an engineer, specifically one that has made “innovations in the area of material engineering,” even developing a product based on an ultra nanocloth they invented. Someone selling products… sounds familiar.

— Also, the original purpose of the nanocloth was for advertisement printing, specifically to plaster billboards in the sky so people could look up to see them. Also sounds… very familiar……

— However, the product was never truly produced because the higher-ups said, and I quote, “The costs outweigh the benefits.” This may be where Sampo began to become preoccupied with risk and reward, cost and benefit. The sentiment very much mirrors his own in that regard.

— “Permanently solving an energy crisis” again reminds me of “Kuvida’s energy.”

— “It’s time to go to the canteen and recharge” is a specific combination of mechanical and organic, much like the previous experiments in Resleeved. “Canteen” implies drinking (something we know Sampo likes to do), an organic activity, while “recharge” is generally associated more with mechanical devices and electricity.

— The only thing is: I’m not sure how he got from point A (the end of Resleeved, being shot) and point B (here in Dousing Flames, working as an engineer). Perhaps that isn’t something we’re supposed to know yet, though, since all six of these Mundanite Assembly “chapters” are simply small blips in a potentially very long state of consciousness.

— The first paragraph is extremely Nihility-aligned, even reminding me directly of the Horizon of Existence with its monochrome color scheme, infinite expanse, and “boundary line.”

— Despite being clarified as the Technology Department’s “Perpetual Motion Project,” the resemblance is uncanny.

— A Scepter is mentioned, meaning these events are still taking place around when they would be active.

— “But, there shall come a day when the stars will be extinguished.” Very ominous and Finality-aligned!

— The Interstellar Energy War is mentioned, also placing it in proximity to Rubert; according to the wiki, this seems to be around the time right after Rubert’s death.

— You have two dialogue options here, either to express optimism or pessimism for the future of the technology. Notably, the pessimism option heavily features how the Intelligentsia Guild is only focused on profit, as most ideas are ruled “garbage inventions” and likely discarded.

— Already, we have themes of experimentation, abandonment, and, interestingly enough, profit thrown into the mix as well.

— Eventually, the Perpetual Motion Project is declared a failure, and the formerly constructed sails are destroyed since the plan wasn’t worth the costs.

— In this case, the protagonist is the one destroying the sails, although one dialogue option reads “They forced me.”

— In the end, Scholar Cholkov passes away, and the protagonist leaves a flower wrapped in their ultra nanocloth invention in front of his grave.

— Notably, both our perspective “you” and Cholkov are described to have grey hair and wrinkled faces, meaning they’ve both aged considerably. I’m not sure what to make of this; it’s possible that if Sampo is subject to repeating or resetting “life cycles,” then this would be just another one nearing its end, ready to start anew. However, other options are that this is simply another consciousness in the “soup,” a different perspective entirely, or a metaphor meant to show a similar cycle as it happens to a different individual.

— Either way, the focus on profit and “costs versus benefit” is not lost on me!

Conclusions:

— I really want to say I see connections to MA!Sampo here (especially since it takes place during the Interstellar Energy War and ties to him have been present in so many other parts of MA), but it really is possible that this is an entirely different perspective.

— There is, however, still quite a running theme of abandonment, destruction, and even some Nihility in here.

— If this does have something to do with Sampo, I can see his emphasis on profit and risk forming during this time!

— Overall, I don’t see any huge implications for his backstory, other than a potential reference to the “energy” mentioned in relation to the Kuvida Nebula in Ship of Fools.

.✦ ── ✦.

Printed Truths

.✦ ── ✦.

“Printed Truths” introduces the idea of a “printing” project, wherein individuals are copied or cloned into identical forms. When issues of Path power arise, a scholar sets out to find an Emanator to (assumedly) copy. Later, a thief eats a synthetic Curio apple and is sentenced to death. The school that housed the original project moves into a new era of working with the Council of Mundanites (or an association of bright minds).

— Printed Truths (I) is another exception where I feel the perspective is not directly related to Sampo; instead, it seems to come from an outside committee of scholars discussing (more like arguing) over a “printing” project.

— Essentially, this project is meant to “copy” the Path power and memories of specific individuals through cell printing. Most of this text is discussion over how Path powers may (or may not) carry over, mainly attempting to figure out how to get them to match up as they need to.

— Several solutions are proposed as to why this certain copy doesn’t have Path power, like “because the original is still present,” “the problem lies in their memories,” and “perhaps you need to deceive the Aeon.”

— This leads to talk of eliminating “the original,” getting the Garden of Recollection’s help, and even working with The Riddlers. (Keep in mind The Riddlers for later.)

— (Also, note: If I remember correctly, the original Rubert’s death has some mystery surrounding it, as there are a few different ideas as to what happened. Since this grey area seems to be present, perhaps these scholars really did find a way to “eliminate the original.” Just speculation!)

— Eventually, the project is terminated, but not without the scholar in charge of it having an epiphany and realizing she needs to find an Emanator (potentially to copy).

— This scholar does disappear at the end, leading me to wonder if she really did go on a search for that Emanator — perhaps she also found one, and perhaps Sampo is the resulting copy? (Since Rubert was part of the Genius Society, I would also assume he might have been an Emanator as well. 👀)

— This is for sure a Sampo perspective if there ever was one. With how Printed Truths (I) ended, I am tempted to say this might be him as a copy of someone else (likely an Emanator, potentially Rubert). Also, this is a bit of a crack theory, but I do find it really funny that Aha Themself might’ve let Themself be copied.

— Our protagonist is a thief breaking into the farm of a wealthy resident.

— “Bringing the moonlight with you” reminds me of the moon in Resleeved (III).

— Interestingly, fruit is present here, with the thief attempting to steal it and being forced to kill the old man holding it before the old man could fire his gun. The thief then eats it.

— Apparently, this fruit was a synthetic Curio, and when the thief is arrested, the court eventually decides to kill them because of all the research they destroyed in the process of eating it.

— The only way out would’ve been to prove some legitimate change occurred after ingesting the fruit, but the dialogue offers no such option.

— “My digestive system has run smoothly” reminds me of a machine “running” or “processing.”

— It also reminds me of Sampo mentioning how to complain about your dinner in the shop event, as “complaining” about the apple may have saved the thief’s life in this instance by producing worthwhile information.

— “… comically murdered by you.” Elation is beginning to seep in to these stories more and more.

— The time is implied to be around the Scholars’ Strife.

— The thief is then shot through the head, and synthetic Curio technology remains unavailable. I find this interesting because in Sampo’s pop-up event, we are literally helping him create synthetic Curios. A little irony, if you will.

— My main confusion is that, although the thief is not explicitly said to have died, getting shot in the head with a bullet sure implies it. Once again, I’m not sure how Point A connects to Point B. This has Sampo written all over it, yet the thief still dies at the end. The only explanation is that either Sampo has a way of coming back to life, “resetting,” or something similar.

— Or, perhaps since Organic Heart has been involved in all of these experiments (like in Resleeved and this section of Printed Truths), if it somehow found its way to Sampo maybe he got the memories of everyone involved. Just an idea!

— In this section, a young scholar named Chrystella attempts to get older scholars to listen to her thoughts on age, passion, knowledge, and “research pragmatism.”

— These dialogue options stick out to me: “The mysteries of infinite space-time?” “True ultimate intelligence?” “The engine of a perfect society?” I don’t have many deep thoughts, but I just wanted to point these out.

— She also mentions how the scholars once “chased Arblad out,” which means this is the same setting as Printed Truths (I) but at a later time. Presumably, the chronology goes in sequence: (I) shows Arblad discussing the printing project, (II) likely shows a resulting creation disrupting the Curio process, and (III) shows the School of Pure Creation moving into a “new era.”

— “Perhaps we do not need to completely drain this school of its blood. Maybe we just need a little transfusion.” Reminds me of Resleeved’s experiments, especially (III) when it specifically mentions blood. Might be a mirror to what happened in those experiments, “transfusion” of consciousness rather than complete draining, or maybe it’s nothing.

— The Council of Mundanites is also mentioned by name, which also links to the name of the entire Unknowable Domain section “Mundanite Assembly.” Essentially, the Council, and especially the name of Mundanite Assembly, is likely meant to convey the converging of the brightest minds in the Guild. On a larger scale, perhaps all six of these “chapters” are meant to represent the wonders of creation that occurred during this time period, complete with Rubert, the Scepters, and whatever or whoever Sampo ends up being.

Conclusions:

— Printed Truths (I) and (III) are likely outside perspectives of scholars in the School of Pure Creation, relating specifically to events surrounding “copying,” cell printing, and the creation of individuals who share the same physiological functions. I believe Printed Truths (II) to be the perspective of a resulting creation, perhaps the copy of an Emanator or even Aeon Arblad was able to make after she left in Printed Truths (I). With this perspective explicitly being a thief, as well as the “comical” aspects of the situation, I believe this perspective to be related to Sampo if not Sampo himself.

— The only thing that doesn’t make sense is the death at the end of Printed Truths (II), but I suppose that could be explained by Path, Emanator, or otherwise experimental power. It could also be explained by Organic Heart, which may have memory-storing or transferring properties.

— Printed Truths (II) also takes place at night (darkness), and through a series of ironic misfortunes leads to death or otherwise “breaking.”

— I am not sure how this all stacks up to the Sampo we know today, but I do think the similarities are there. (Again, large gaps of time and all.)

.✦ ── ✦.

Windup World

.✦ ── ✦.

“Windup World” chronicles a butterfly effect death that occurs during an attempt at revenge, where the protagonist is burned alive while watching and waiting to see what happens to their nemesis, then into a “paradox” of code during an experiment where a Scepter tries to predict the end of a miniature civilization. Eventually, a Masked Fool at the Tavern uses our protagonist for an “opening act,” making them divine their future as a wooden puppet in the palm of the Fool’s hand, then eventually “kill” themself in front of a live audience.

— This is where we get a bit “red-string-board”y, so buckle up!

— This is another perspective I see as being Sampo, and here is where I think things start to come together.

— First, my thesis: Despite all the deaths that occur throughout Mundanite Assembly, I believe the protagonist (Sampo, in this case), has memories of Resleeved, which causes him to enact revenge on the doctor who subjected him (or who he remembers to be him) to those experiments.

— This revenge could, in all actuality, be towards someone else or a random different plot point, but this is what I feel connects Mundanite Assembly’s different parts the best.

— As for the story itself, it details the protagonist approaching an old scholar (potentially one we’ve seen in another part) and asking for help with revenge.

— The old scholar refers to himself as a “relic of a past generation,” which implies he might be the older scholar from Dousing Flames (III) — in this case, Dousing Flames may not be Sampo’s perspective at all, but rather the one of the scholar he eventually comes to for revenge. Just speculation!

— However, the man is also implied to be… more than human, in a way? The butterfly effect is heavily referenced here (as it has stood in the background for most of these stories), and the man seems to know exactly what to do to help our protagonist start the fire that eventually engulfs both them and the target.

— “Expanding and contracting, taking in a releasing, like the wings of a butterfly or the spinning of a loom.” This doesn’t seem very “normal” to me, so it’s possible this old man is a special case or even someone with Path or Emanator power.

— “With faith, the removal of a single nail can topple an entire empire.” Very big implications, perhaps speaking from experience? I feel like it’s referencing Rubert’s empire, but not exactly from the perspective of Rubert himself.

— A crow is nestled on the windowsill; reminds me of the bird from Everlasting Hatred.

— “A perfect assassination” occurs, and through the butterfly effect the protagonist’s nemesis is burned alive, though not before the flames reach the protagonist and burn them alive too.

— Again, death occurs, but it still feels very… Sampo to me? So much of his character revolves around hidden hatred, betrayal, and implications of revenge that it seems strange to me that, if Sampo is involved in MA, this wouldn’t be at least tangentially related to him. Perhaps the old man really was him instead? Or again, if he can “reset,” perhaps he is just moving onto his next “life.”

— Once again with inevitability, as no matter what you do or what you choose, it all leads back to the butterfly effect, back to the flames and death.

— Interestingly enough, the “Cloud of Doubt” Clown’s Item shows a door burning, similar to the protagonist burning alive here.

— It also seems to say something about how this protagonist went so far to achieve revenge that it destroyed them too, much like Icarus flying too close to the sun.

— If this isn’t Sampo, I feel like it is at least a warning he should heed in the future.

— This part deals mainly with “predicting” the end of a miniature civilization (Sandpit Civilization 013) with the help of a Scepter.

— “You think that this so-called legacy is enough to filter clarity from chaos?” What is the legacy here? It reminds me a bit of “Rubert’s Legacy” that Rubert II inherited.

— “The trigger of this great war is the death of a governor’s concubine in the Second Empire, who drinks poison. The war ends 17 years later as it is proven that her cup was never poisoned. The source of the poisoning was a copper label that was inside the barrel that dyed the entire barrel’s content jade green.”

— This is a particularly notable quote because the dialogue options are either, “What an absurd story” or “It’s like looking in a mirror.” Assuming that our perspective here may yet again be Sampo (or someone directly related), we now know that something about this story is connected. In the protagonist’s eyes, this “fake poisoning” due to misdirection — or rather, false assumptions made based on appearance — is relatable to their own situation.

— For Sampo, I wonder if this means he has been mistaken for someone horrible before, despite the fact it’s all on the surface. Appearance-wise, this could be because he shares an appearance with Rubert or even Aha Themself, leading people to assume the worst of him despite the fact the majority of what he shares is in harmless appearance (or what he perceives to be so).

— It is also possible that this is meant to imply certain conflicts or wars were not always what they seemed, and who may have been deemed the “bad guy” may have only been based on false assumptions.

— Additionally, when the protagonist specifically attempts to use the Scepter to predict the future of Civilization 013, it malfunctions and extrapolates out into a “mess of code” that, if deciphered, would cause a “paradoxical loop.” Again, hear me out, but what if our protagonist (Sampo) is meant to be referenced by this code and “paradoxical loop.”

— I’m starting to think that maybe, as a result of the cloning process or something similar, he created a paradox within the universe simply by existing, causing him to loop over and over (potentially like Resleeved’s experiments, the thief’s death, and the “revenge” death). This could also explain the thematic commonalities of misfortune, butterfly effect, and breaking — no matter what he does, the paradox is inevitable.

— Things also go back to normal when the other person present, Prados, intervenes. Although he does things a bit differently and the gist is that there is some interference with the Scepter itself, it still interests me that the “paradox” exists for our protagonist only.

— “This is editing” also implies messing with the base function of the device itself. (A bit similar to “printing,” might I add.)

— The “answer” is also implied to be linked to Terminus, and yeah, I haven’t mentioned it much yet but the Finality is definitely at play throughout all these stories. It makes me wonder how it works into everything.

— The edited version is published, and Civilization 014 begins.

— I do want to note the numbers here; they could mean nothing, but it also makes me think of “loops.” Leaving out The Great Lie as a potential prologue, there are thirteen stories from Those Remembered (I) to Windup World (I). Windup World (III) is number fourteen. Again, it could be nothing, but it just makes me think of cycles, and stories, and how the paradox of 013 is ignored in favor of marching straight on to 014. Just something to think about!

— Finally, we have reached the main course! If I had to pick only one story I thought was directly from Sampo’s perspective, it would be Windup World (III) without a shadow of a doubt. Actually, when viewing it through the lens of MA!Sampo, it ties up things quite nicely (at least for Star Rail, who loves being cryptic).

— Generally, here is what I’m picking up: Masked Fools, World’s End Tavern specifically, potentially Sampo’s first time at the Tavern, being puppeted around for a joke, death and “breaking,” divination and predicting the future.

— We start off in what can reasonably be assumed as the World’s End Tavern, watching a Masked Fool introduce a new comedy. Given the “confusing and bewildering” qualities of their voice, as well as the confusion expressed by our protagonist throughout this section, I also believe it may be their first time here.

— The Fool also mentions they have retrieved “a lost period of The Riddlers’ history and edited it into a miniature comedy” for the Tavern’s entertainment. I find this intriguing because The Riddlers have been mentioned all throughout MA, especially in Those Remembered when the memory device was hidden from History Fictionologists.

— Additionally, Printed Truths (I) sees the team wonder about working with The Riddlers on the cell printing project; I wonder if that part actually ended up happening.

— “Lost period” of history also catches me, because it again reminds me of how the memory device and potential resulting copies seem to be left behind, discarded, or lost for large periods of time. “Edited” also goes back to the idea of cell editing and prediction editing.

— It almost makes me think Sampo is meant to be the subject of this; that, despite being the opening act, the comedy was always implicating him in a way. He was always the main attraction. Or, perhaps, he was simply meant to “open” for it in the way that period of time blossomed into its own “butterfly effect” of tangentially-related events like the rise of Nanook far beyond the original war.

— Dialogue options: “I want to glimpse the foul deeds to the Gods,” “I wish to admire the folly of a genius,” “I wish to taste the rage of an actor.” All of this seems to be present throughout MA, and I feel like it relies on general themes — wonders and unnatural experiments, genius taken too far, projects created and fought over and discarded, revenge and rage from hurt parties.

— (It is possible that when the masked man says, “your requests shall be no challenge,” the resulting actions are simply meant to be just that: a recreation of the general themes of Mundanite Assembly’s timeline. However, I feel things are rarely that simple with Star Rail, and much of the specific wording and implications of this scene are… a lot for Sampo, so I think it may be a double-meaning kind of situation. As Sampo loves to so often do, there’s a good chance that this scene is meant to be symbolic of something he maybe doesn’t even know about himself.)

— A beam of light puts him in the spotlight; the main attraction, if you will.

— “Shocked, you realize that you have been transformed into a wooden puppet in the palm of his hands.” Links to Sparkle’s light cone where Sampo is a puppet, as well as all of *gestures vaguely* everything Sampo has going on with Doll Theory. Simply put, he has many implications of lack of agency and being “puppeted” around, so this situation makes a lot of sense in that regard.

— “You are a scholar who firmly believes that the future is a code that can be calculated.” Beyond the general ties to the MA time period’s obsession with knowledge, this also connects to Curio Hacker and the pop-up shop’s day seven Curio with code in the background. This line may also be alluding to Sampo as someone who is or used to be someone with a similar mindset.

— “Why can it not be a drink glass or a star chart?” The drink glass is notable due to Sampo’s habit of liking to drink.

— The protagonist then goes from a “scholar” to a “babbling, eccentric diviner,” and the Fool mentions how it’s a little “heavy-handed” but better than that “old pedant.” Could be nothing, or heavy-handed could be a double reference to Sampo’s identity and old pedant could be a reference to Rubert or the other, specific scholars we’ve seen. In fact, it could even be a way of saying Sampo, as a copy or clone, may be “better” or more “fun” than the original.

— Here comes the big part.

— “Divine your own future,” the Fool says.

— In the context of the “joke,” this could be a shallow pretension, but it could also be an order. If this Fool possesses Aeonic, Emanator, or even Path power, they may have the ability to genuinely have someone see into their own future. Everything from here on out could, conceivably, be Sampo genuinely predicting his future.

— So, what is divined? Death, as always. The star chart says the protagonist will die in the Tavern in one minute, by their own hand.

— The Fool asks what our protagonist will do. The dialogue options are: “I will take my own life,” “I have to take my own life,” or “Why don’t I get a choice?”

— “You,” apparently, have been drawn into the trap of Finality. After strangling themself and exploding into a colorful burst of stars in front of everyone, the protagonist returns to their seat, unharmed.

— “Though a healer can heal themselves, a diviner cannot tell their own future. If our universe is but a great diviner, once they glance their own destiny, would they not simply end their own lives?”

— The Fool then introduces “The Decline of Quantum History.”

— Man, that’s a lot! In terms of Sampo, if we are interpreting this as a potential, true divination of his own future, here is what I think this is saying: he is trapped in a cyclical loop — or “paradox” — of misfortune, death, and “breaking.” He does not have a choice in this. Despite, for the first time in MA, actually asking in awareness, “Why don’t I have a choice?” there is still no choice to be had. He hurts himself, simply by means of existing. It is visceral, and inescapable. He may have the ability to “reset” or “heal,” but telling his own future is a different ballpark, and knowing — truly knowing — the extent of his repeating fate would cause nothing but depression and despair. His end will likely happen due to his own “butterfly effect” decisions.

— It is also possible that, if Sampo really has nothing to do with this, he is instead the Masked Fool playing the joke, although there is no way to know for sure.

— I am still leaning towards our perspective as Sampo, though, if not just because of the being turned into a literal wooden puppet.

— Perhaps this puppet is itself a symbol of prophecy, as Doll!Sampo could still be a very real thing in the (potentially large) time gap between Windup World (III) and present day. In that case, Sampo being turned into a doll (or doll equivalent) by Aha could be similar to him being “stolen” or even “reset.”

— Overall, yeah, there’s a lot to be had here! Also, I just want to say how fucked up that joke was. It makes me think Sampo’s view of treating everyone with dignity and looking sideways at the Fools may have to do with this event, or something close to it. After all, if he was used for a joke like this — literally made to kill himself (approximately) for the entertainment of others — I feel that would shift his views quite a bit. (Though, we still don’t know how he felt after: Traumatized? Angry? Elated? Free? Maybe all at once. Sure makes for a compelling soup of emotions to convince him to keep coming back to the Tavern.)

Conclusions:

— Windup World (III) may be Sampo’s first time at the Tavern, being puppeted around for a joke having, potentially, to do with his identity or previous identities intertwined with the events of Mundanite Assembly as a whole.

— The “joke” itself may even have a double, prophetic meaning for a cycle he finds himself trapped in or actions he will take in the future, such as being treated as a toy or dying by his own hand.

.✦ ── ✦.

Extra

.✦ ── ✦.

— “Pusuit’s End” is what you get after completing all of Mundanite Asembly. It’s a key, and can be used to increase heat in the Workbench of Creation. Personally, I think it could refer to several different things (like Polka Kakamond or other members of the Intelligentsia Guild / Erudition), but if we’re talking about what’s most relevant to MA, I have a feeling it could reference Arblad’s “printing” experiment.

— “The infinite layers of nutshells encase the ruler of the universe, yet even so, she continues to turn the key, opening the next door indefinitely.” This sounds similar to Arblad’s determination to copy Path power in Printed Truths (I). “Pursuit’s End” may hint at her finding a way to achieve what she wanted, and increasing the heat at the Workbench of Creation could further strengthen the connection between this item and “creation.”

— In the case of Arblad, Sampo might have been this “creation” that finally achieved what she wanted — or, simply one in a long line of attempts.

— “Imperfect Scholar” is the achievement you get for completing Mundanite Assembly. I think it moreso deals with the general themes of the era, but “imperfect” also reminds me of The *Perfect* Grand Challenge’s focus on perfection!

— Just wanted to make a note of this!

.✦ ── ✦.

Conclusion

.✦ ── ✦.

Overall, what do I take away from all this?

— Perspective. I believe, at the least, Windup World (III) is from Sampo’s perspective. If we’re going with a “copying” or printing theory beyond that, I would say Those Remembered, Resleeved (II) and (III), Printed Truths (II), and Windup World (I) are his perspective. This would account for the memory device’s (potentially Rubert, an Emanator Sampo could have been copied from) experiences, as well as the experiments with species changing and Organic Heart’s transplantation, the thief’s consumption of (assumedly) Organic Heart and their eventual death, and the butterfly effect “revenge” death of being burned alive. Windup World (III) would bring things together into a more present-day situation, where Sampo may or may not have these spliced memories.

— I am also inclined to believe Windup World (II) could be his perspective because of the paradox code.

— This means The Great Lie (which I am still not 100% sure on), Resleeved (I), Dousing Flames, and Printed Truths (I) and (III) are outside, non-Sampo-related perspectives taking place as context for the events of the experiments going on at the time. Arblad especially is notable, since she presumably left to find an Emanator to copy.

— Timeline. If we are going with the most robust theory for MA!Sampo, I would say that he, in this form now, was created in between Printed Truths (I) and (II) when Arblad likely found someone to copy. If this someone was Rubert, then Sampo — again, Printed Truths (II) — would have the memories of Those Remembered and Resleeved (II) and (III). Going forward, he would die after eating the apple, but, perhaps due to some kind of paradoxical existence, find himself back in the loop of consciousness for Windup World (I). He would be burned alive, then returned for either Windup World (II) or Windup World (III), depending on how much (II) might actually apply to him. Then, Windup World (III) would be his first time at the Tavern. In the time after, he likely became more familiar with the Fools, leaving room for Elation-centered events like gaining his mask, becoming an Emanator, or even potentially being turned into or treated as a doll by Aha.

— Themes. Generally, MA sets up Sampo with a horribly tragic cycle of mistreatment. Abandonment, loneliness, hopelessness, darkness, dehumanization, death, and “breaking.” It’s all there. The worst part is he can’t even seem to escape it, much less understand it. The butterfly effect prevents him from finding a different path to take, inevitability chains him down, and the loop of it all makes sure it happens over and over and over again. No wonder that Fool remarks how the universe would kill itself if it knew its own future. If MA!Sampo, Printed!Sampo, or Rubert!Sampo (RubertII!Sampo? RII!Sampo? R.II!Sampo? What’s a good name for this? LOL.) ends up being true, then his story is incredibly bleak. His future is incredibly bleak. Perhaps that’s why he’s with the Elation — potentially with Aha Themself. He just wants to find a way out.

— Thanks for reading this far, I hope this made more sense than my Pop-Up Shop Analysis (I felt like I had a clearer head writing this)! Hopefully it’s also been able to put some things in perspective. I’m not completely sold on this (or any) theory because of how much wiggle room there is, but I feel like it could at least be a solid one to add to the more popular theories! Anyways, I’ll leave you with some key questions to think about!

.✦ ── ✦.

Key Questions

.✦ ── ✦.

— Who is Sampo? Is he a cell printed copy of an Emanator or Aeon (potentially Rubert or Aha)? Is he a mesh of mechanical and organic creation, doomed to repeat loops of misfortune due to the paradox of his existence? Is he an experiment gone wrong?

— How does Sampo’s “consciousness” work? Has he inherited the memories of past experiments or copies? Does he have partial or full amnesia?

— Which parts of Mundanite Assembly might be memories Sampo has? Those Remembered? Resleeved (II) and (III)? Printed Truths (II)? Windup World? If so, which might be memories simply “copied” over, and which are memories he himself has experienced?

— Are the Masked Fools helping or hurting him? (Or, perhaps both?) Are they helping him free himself and release the bottled up despair of being trapped in a horrible loop? Or are they leading him further into a cycle of self-harm that can only end horribly?

— What might have happened “in between gaps” of time, especially after Windup World (III)? Was he noticed by Aha afterwards? Has he since become a “doll,” or even been stolen?

— How does the Finality play into things? It’s mentioned quite a bit in MA, but how does it slot in with the Erudition, Elation, or even Sampo’s specific situation?

— thanks for reading to the end !! :)

— an extra meme i couldn’t fit in this post!

#⌞ ✎ sunder.writes ⌝#⌞ ✧ super.nova ⌝#⌞ 🎭 ⌝#hsr #honkai: star rail #sampo #sampo koski #sampo hsr #hsr sampo #sampo honkai star rail #hsr analysis #hsr theory #honkai star rail

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mermaidsirennikita · 1 year ago

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my message to any series writer, whether you're writing a TV series, a book series, a movie series, I don't care

before you continue a series you ended previously

ask yourself:

do I actually have a substantive reason to continue this, or am I just reviving characters who had their definitive endings already

#this is to tiffany reisz today but it's also to anyone #it's honestly become a pet peeve of mine in this era of Revivals #i'm sure i can think of some stories wherein this has made sense #but it feels like most of my favorites.... no #i mean even the godfather--don't buy that this was truly intended to be a trilogy in the beginning lol #you have a GREAT story in part i and part ii and then part iii is a disaster #reviving usually means 'walking back' and i think you have to stand by some of the calls you make as a writer and go #'ENOUGH.'#i'm actually not a devil in disguise hater but i also think this is why a lot of lisa kleypas readers hate that book #they all wanted more sebastian but the only way to give him something to do #especially in a romance series #was to dredge up his past #and that actually wasn't what people wanted in the end; they just thought they did bc they wanted more material #but sometimes.... less material... is better

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itneverendshere · 5 months ago

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THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18)

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛" + "def some little smut during the enemies part and a long story"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; kidnapping; smut!; violence!; rafe is a red flag; guns and blood; p in v;

word count: 8k

part ii; part iii; part iv; part v; part vi; part vii (finale)

The sun dipped low, painting the Outer Banks marshes in shades of fiery orange. Tensions between Kooks and Pogues had hit a fever pitch, and in the middle of it all? Rafe Cameron, the last person you'd want to encounter. Ever.

Every run-in with him left a bitter taste in your mouth. It was like he had a knack for getting under your skin. Arrogant, volatile, downright psychotic — Rafe was a walking disaster. Each interaction with him sucked the life out of you. You were convinced that nothing good could ever come from being around him. And yet, there you were, another Maybank, caught in the chaos of the island's most influential family feud.

You knew the risks, but loyalty drove you forward. And now? Well, now you were in deep shit.

Your plan had been reckless, driven by the desperate need to save Sarah from her deranged family and retrieve Pope's stolen cross. Everything had gone smoothly until chaos erupted, and you found yourself abruptly yanked away from the corridor by a strong grip on your arm, before you could even call out for your brother and Kie.

Another hand clamped over your mouth, stifling any attempts to scream. In a blur, you were dragged into a dimly lit cabin, the men's hold on you unyielding. Struggling was futile and stupid against his iron grip. He tossed you inside, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him.

The gravity of your situation hit hard immediately – you were alone, at the mercy of the Cameron's. Ward Cameron, the man who'd silenced anyone who dared oppose him, even going as far as faking his own death, kidnapping his own daughter, and manipulating his son into committing murder. Because in his sick twisted world, family trumped everything. Even murder.

Great.

Your mind raced as you took in your surroundings. The cabin was small and sparsely furnished: a bunk, a tiny porthole high on the wall, and a single chair bolted to the floor. There was a faint hum of the ship's engines, a reminder that you were far from land and any chance of immediate rescue. You quickly checked your options but there weren't many. The door was solid, and you didn't have anything strong enough to force it open. Fuck, fuck fuck.

You took a deep breath, trying not to lose your shit. Panic wouldn't help; you needed a plan. But then, like a nightmare come to life, the devil himself stepped into the room, his eyes piercing as they landed on you. The man who had captured you stood behind him, a smug grin on his face.

Rafe was visibly surprised to see you, but he quickly concealed it behind a calculating expression. His forehead glistened with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his temples. His shirt clung to his back, soaked through from the scorching heat, and beads of perspiration trickled down his face. He wiped his brow with a weary hand and his gun gleamed ominously in the dim light.

"Well shit,” Rafe's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Look what we have here. Didn't expect to see ya again so soon pretty Maybank.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing with questions. Where were your friends? Were they safe? Was your brother even alive? Before you could ask, Rafe continued, his tone mocking.

"Your brother really did a number on you, huh? Left you behind without a second thought. Typical Maybank shit. Always knew you were unreliable."

Son of a bitch.

You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your composure. "You're lying," you countered, "He wouldn't leave me."

Not unless he was forced to.

Rafe chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Believe what you want. They left. Now, you're my problem. Lucky me."

“You’re lying.”

His eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint as he walked towards you.

You took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. The cold, metal wall pressed against your back, mirroring the chill that settled in your bones. It felt like you were being hunted.

"Now, what am I going to do with you?" he mused, tilting his head as if genuinely contemplating your fate. The gun in his hand swung lazily at his side, but you knew better than to think it wasn't ready to be used at any given moment.

You swallowed hard, your mind frantically searching for a way out of this hellhole. He was unpredictable and volatile; years of snorting cocaine and family trauma did that to some people.

But maybe, just maybe, you could reason with him. You were always a litte too good for your own good.

“Rafe, listen. You don't have to do this. Let me go and we can both walk away from this. No one has to get hurt."

Again.

His laugh was bitter, like you were trying to humor him,"You think I'm going to let you go just because you asked nicely?" He stepped closer, his breath hot against your face. "Nah. You're going to stay right here until I decide what to do with you.“

You tried to keep your breathing steady, but all you felt was fear.

The odds were against you, as they had always been your entire life.

"What do you want, Rafe? The cross? We can make a deal."

His eyes narrowed, the amusement fading.

"You think this is about money? About that fucking cross? This is about power. Control. And right now...huh, shit, I control you." He leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. "The cross is mine now. How do you feel about the Bahamas?”

Your top lip curled in disgust, “I’d rather drown.”

His smile twisted into something even darker. “I think you’re worth more alive, at least for now.”

You refused to show him any more fear. “To you? Or Ward? Do you only get this cocky when daddy’s not around to rein you in?”

Rafe’s expression hardened, and for a moment, you thought you’d pushed him too far. He leaned in close, his eyes cold and unforgiving.

“Watch your fucking mouth, Maybank. You don’t know anything about my family.”

You laughed bitterly, unable to stop yourself. “Yeah, no. You're right. Just that you're dad’s little lapdog, doing his dirty work while he pretends to be some upstanding citizen. And where’s your mom in all this? Oh! She left.”

The punch came so fast, you didn’t see it coming.

Pain exploded across your jaw, and you tasted blood. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t fucking talk about her, dirty pogue. Ever.”

Anger took over you like wildfire, hotter than the pain. Your jaw throbbed, but the rage was stronger. You wanted to hit him back, to wipe that smug look off his face, to make him feel the hurt he had inflicted on you. Your fists clenched at your sides, every muscle in your body burning with desire for retribution. The fury in your eyes matched the darkness in his.

You spat blood at his face, glaring up at him defiantly. “You’re just a puppet. Your sister hates you, your dad uses you, and deep down, you know it. You’ll never be more than his bitch.”

His grip tightened painfully, rough fingers digging into your flesh, lips twitching into a snarl, but you didn’t flinch. If you were going down, you’d go down fighting.

His eyes flickered with something you’d never seen in him, before he released you, stepping back. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? So tough.”

“Smarter than you,” you shot back. “At least I know who I am. What are you, Rafe?“

He stared at you, tongue pressed against his cheek, eyebrows furrowed. Then he laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent chills down your spine. His hand reached out, and your breath stilled throat tightening as he fiddled with a lock of your hair. He’d let out another laugh, entirely dismissive of the way you’d felt.

“You’ve got guts, Maybank. It's gonna get you killed.“

You wiped the blood from your mouth, “I’ve survived worse than you.”

And you had.

If anything prepared you for violence, drugs, and pain, was living with Luke Maybank your entire life. And maybe, if you didn’t hate Rafe with every fiber of your being, after everything he’d done, you’d feel sorry for him. But you didn’t, and he sure as hell didn't feel sorry for you.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the low hum of the ship’s engines. Then Rafe turned on his heel, motioning to the man by the door. “Watch her. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Do I look like fucking Michael Phelps? Where the fuck would I go? We’re on a ship you crazy bastar—Hey! Rafe! Open the fucking door!”

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the small, dimly lit cabin. You listened to his footsteps fade away, feeling a sense of dread settle in your chest. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into? They could kill you, dispose your body in the ocean and no would care. No one would think you’d gone missing, because you were a Maybank and that’s what your kind of people did, apparently.

Your brother would probably assume you were dead, he’d try to get justice and fail in the end, because the rich always won.

The musty air of the cabin felt oppressive as you turned away from the small porthole, where the bright sun and endless expanse of blue ocean mocked you from beyond.

The days melded into one another, marked only by the delivery of meals and the sporadic presence of Rafe. You had hoped for some clarity, some hint of what your future looked like, but his visits offered nothing but insults or complete silence.

You paced the small room, your mind racing with the possibilities of what they had planned for you. The guard remained a silent sentinel, a constant reminder that escape was not an option. But then, the cabin door creaked open again, and you tensed as Ward Cameron stepped in, his presence commanding immediate attention.

He gave a nod to the guard, who stepped out, leaving you alone with the man who held your fate in his hands. A fucking lunatic with enough means to play for all the dramatics he enjoyed. Great.

"Get comfortable," Ward announced, "We're almost there."

"Almost where?"

"The Bahamas," he replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "A little slice of paradise, if you will."

"And what happens then?" you pressed, needing to know more.

Ward studied you for a moment, “Keep out of sight, stay quiet. Rafe and I have some business to attend to, and we can't afford any distractions."

"And if I refuse?" you challenged, though you knew the answer.

Ward's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. You knew he enjoyed watching people squirm around like worthless worms.

"Let's not be stupid, sweetheart. You're here because you know too much. Refusing isn't an option. Cooperation, however…”

A chill ran down your spine at his words. The answer was very clear, and you realized that your only chance was to play along, at least until you could figure out a way to escape this nightmare.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Eventually, you felt the ship slow, the engines quieting as you approached your destination. When the door opened again, Rafe was there, that stupid frown always attached to his face.

"Time to go," he said simply, motioning for you to follow, "Move."

You stepped out onto the deck, the warm, salty breeze hitting your face as you looked around. The sight of the lush, tropical landscape did little to ease your anxiety. You were led to a smaller boat, and soon you were speeding towards a secluded island, the main landmass of the Bahamas visible in the distance. You were a world away from the familiar streets and faces of The Cut. It was straight out of a postcard. Something you and JJ would fantasize about while high of your asses and writing bucklists.

God, JJ. You only hoped he made it. You’d never gone a day without each other before you were dragged into this mess last summer. It wasn’t fair. You only wanted enough money to get by, an easy fix to get everything sorted, finish college, ship your dad somewhere far away from you two. But Ward’s greedy ass had to ruin everything for you.

As the boat neared the shore, you couldn't ignore the feeling of impending doom. Were you going to die there? In between pristine beaches and swaying palm trees?

Rafe’s hand gripped your arm, his grasp tight as he led you onto the sandy beach. Ward followed close behind, as he surveyed the scene before him.

"This way," he said, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

You followed obediently, your mind racing with possibilities. Escape seemed unlikely, but you there was still a slim hope that you could find a way out of this mess. Eventually.

The path led deeper into the heart of the island, the dense foliage casting long shadows as the sun began to set. You could feel the weight of Ward and Rafe's gazes on you, watching their prey.

Finally, you reached a clearing, and your heart sank as you saw what awaited you. A small house. In the middle of nowhere. Oh god, you were a dead woman.

“This will be your home for the time being" Ward said it like he was offering you a vacation rental and not kidnapping you. A lunatic.

You wanted to protest, to demand answers, but you knew it was futile and there was little fight left in you from how tired you'd been feeling.

“Rafe will be keeping you company."

The way Rafe’s head snapped in his father’s direction told you more than what you needed to know. Once again, daddy dearest was calling the shots without taking his opinion into consideration.

Ward’s casual cruelty was suffocating, a reminder of the power he had over everyone. As he turned to leave, leaving no space of negotiations or pleadings, Rafe’s eyes bored into yours. No questions asked, only blind devotion to his father.

The door slammed shut, leaving you alone with Rafe once more. He looked at you, resentment playing across his face, like this was your fault and not theirs.

“I’m not going to make this easy for you," You hissed, “I’m not dying here. Not with you.”

Rafe chuckled, greasy bangs moving as he shook his head, “You really think you have a choice here?” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space, “You think you’re special? Nah, Maybank. He’ll get rid of you eventually, don’t worry.”

“Exactly. He will, not you. You don’t have any control either and I think you hate being here as much as I do. That shit makes us both prisoners.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard, “Stay out my fucking way or I’ll kill you myself.”

You were sure he wouldn't, only if Ward asked him to.

He’d fucked up enough before, when he accidentally shot Sarah and didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. You knew he wouldn’t do it again, not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulder and his trust fund. Ward Cameron hated slips ups, hated even more the monster he raised, but he sure came in handy when he needed him.

"Empty threats," you shot back, squaring your shoulders. "I've dealt with bigger monsters than you, Rafe."

He only started at you, eyes bloodshot red, perhaps from the lack of sleep or maybe because he was high off his mind, you didn’t care to ask. But just as quickly, his usual sneer returned. "Enjoy your stay, Maybank.”

With that, he turned and left the room. Him and the stupid slamming of doors. You were alone again.

You had to get out. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were a Maybank—survival was in your blood. You took stock of your surroundings once more, this time with a sharper eye. The walls were thin, the windows barred, but there had to be some weakness, some way to exploit the situation.

You ran your fingers along the seams of the walls, looking for anything that might give. Your mind raced through every piece of advice JJ had ever given you about breaking and entering. You’d done a lot of that over the years, and while most people thought you pogues were simply criminals, they never cared enough to ask why you and your brother spent so much time in and out of the sheriff’s department.

So, what if two dirty, no-good kids were barely hanging on for dear life? No one gave a shit.

Weeks blurred into each other, each one marked by the same routine.

Rafe's visits, Ward's passive aggressive threats, and the endless search for an opportunity to escape. You watched Rafe carefully, noting his every move, his every interaction with Ward.

You noticed the way Ward belittled him, treating him more like a tool than a son. It was a toxic dynamic, one that made you wonder if Rafe was as much a victim as you were. You’d seen bits and pieces before, but Sarah had described Ward as some sort of saint up until recently.

Rafe on the other hand? Their dynamic was so different from what you were used to. You and JJ were like two peas in a pod, you’d die for him and you know he would do the same, no questions asked. If there was one good thing in your life, it was your brother.

You couldn't help but feel a little pity for Rafe, despite everything he'd done. He was a product of his environment, molded by a father who saw him as nothing more than a means to an end. It was easy to spot the cracks in his armor if you spent enough time in the same room, the secretive moments of doubt and vulnerability. The way his hands would shake every time Ward raised his voice, the way he would bite his nails to hide the embarrassment booming in his cheeks. How he never walked into his father’s space or any other room without announcing his presence.

It gave you whiplash.

You began to argue less with him, your animosity giving way to a grudging understanding. You hated feeling so…forgiving. This boy had done unspeakable things to you and your friends, to your family…and there you were. Feeling sorry for him like you didn’t know better.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the small house, Rafe brought you dinner. He placed the plate on the table, his movements tense, his expression unusually subdued. Strangely so, you’d memorized that expression. You didn’t even have to ask to understand what had gotten under his skin.

"Why do you let him treat you like that?" you asked, your voice softer than usual. You didn’t understand why you did it. You regretted the words the moment they came out of your lips, but there was something inside itching you to ask.

His eyes snapped to yours, rage and something else—pain—flashing in them. "What the hell do you know about it?" he snapped, but there was less bite in his words. At this point he just sounded tired.

"I understand,” you replied, thinking of your own father. "I know what it's like to want to prove yourself, to be more than what they think you are."

Rafe's jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to the floor. For a moment, he looked lost, like a boy searching for something he could never find.

"You don't know shit," he muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice.

"I know enough," you said quietly. "You don't have to keep doing this. You don't have to be his puppet."

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You think it's that simple?"

"Maybe not. But you can choose to be better than him. You can choose to stop this.”

Rafe looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time. It was borderline unnerving. The weight of his stare. The way your stomach flip-flops under his attention.

“Shut the fuck up and eat, Maybank."

But beneath it all, there was something else. Something you’d seen before, when you looked at yourself in the mirror after you took the biggest beating of your life and Luke finally got thrown into jail: hope.

He didn't say anything, just turned and walked out, leaving you alone.

Again.

The days continued to pass, but something changed. Rafe was less hostile, more contemplative. He didn't treat you as roughly, didn't hurl as many insults. It was a small change, but it was there. And you began to see a way out, not just for yourself, but for him too.

You knew what he did, knew what he was capable of, but no one deserved to rot in hell with someone like Ward. You needed to bide your time, to wait for the right moment. And when that moment came, you had to be ready to act.

Another day began with the same oppressive humid heat. The sun had just started to rise, casting golden hue over the island. You were in the small kitchen of the house, preparing a meager breakfast from the limited supplies you had that day. The routine had become almost mechanical, a way to keep your mind occupied and stave off the panic.

Rafe entered the kitchen, eyes barely open as he wiped the sleep away. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the sound of the liquid hitting the glass breaking the silence. Very healthy.

He stood with his back to you, staring out the window.

“What’s Luke like?”

You froze, your hands pausing mid-motion. It was an unexpected question, one that made you want to hurl on the spot even though you hadn’t had anything to eat yet.

“Why do you want to know?" you asked cautiously, wondering if it was some kind of trick question.

Rafe shrugged, still not turning to face you. "Just curious. You Maybanks are a tight bunch, right? So what's he like?"

Tight bunch…that was one way to put it.

You took a deep breath, trying to decide how much to reveal. "He’s a drunk, a thief. But he's still my dad."

He finally turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing. "So why do you stick around? Why not just leave him?"

You knew what he was trying to do, giving you a taste of your own medicine. You couldn’t blame him.

"Because he's family. And sometimes, family is all you have. Even when they’re terrible, even when they hurt you, sometimes you can’t just walk away."

"Family's supposed to be everything, right?" His voice carried a bitter edge, hinting at his unresolved inner conflicts.

"That's what they say," you replied quietly.

He took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving yours. "Must be tough, having a dad like that."

Tough? It was heartbreaking. Knowing that the one person who was supposed to love you, cherish you and protect you for life never gave a single fuck about his kids? Yeah, sure it’s “tough”.

"Guess we have that in common.”

Rafe looked away, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, we do." He set his glass down with a heavy thud, the sound resonating in the small kitchen.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, but then he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly.

"I get it," he said quietly. "More than you know."

You watched him, the way his fingers ran along the rim of the glass. "Then why do you keep doing this? You don’t have to."

“It's not that simple," he snapped. "You think I have a choice? I killed someone. For him.”

It was the first time he had said those words out loud. And it made him sick to his stomach. That he’d been scared and high enough to do something so reckless, just so they wouldn’t take away his dad.

"We always have a choice," you countered, "Maybe not the best ones, but we can always choose to be better."

He shook his head, turning away. "You don't know anything," he muttered, but there was less conviction in his words than before.

"I know enough," you said softly, watching his retreating back. "And so do you."

He paused at the doorway, his hand gripping the frame tightly.

Without turning around, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "I'll see you later."

As he left, the kitchen felt colder, but you knew you had reached him, even if just a little. And that gave you hope.

After that, Rafe’s visits were less frequent, and when he did come by, there was an uneasy tension between you both. You couldn't tell if it was because of your last conversation or the sheer exhaustion of being trapped in this toxic cycle.

Still, every interaction seemed to chip away at the walls he'd built around himself, revealing little glimpses of the person he might have been, had his life taken a different path.

Tonight, the air is still, the only sound is the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. You have been biding your time, watching for the perfect moment to make your escape. The house is quiet, Ward is gone and you haven’t seen Rafe in two days. By now, you know how the guards outside fell asleep before 2am like clockwork.

You can it.

This is your chance, and you can’t afford to waste it.

You move silently, slipping out of the small bedroom and into the hallway. Every creak of the wooden floorboards seems to echo in the stillness, and you hold your breath, praying you won’t get caught.

Your heart races as you slowly turn the handle of the front door, wincing at the faint click that accompanies the action. Once outside, you glance around, ensuring the coast is clear, then make your way towards the small boat moored at the edge of the beach.

The plan is simple: get to the boat, start the engine, and head for the main island where you could find help.

You keep low, moving quickly but cautiously, like a cat. The boat is within reach when a noise behind you makes your blood run cold.

The crunch of gravel underfoot is unmistakable.

You turn sharply, and in the dim moonlight, the silhouette of one of the guards emerges from the shadows. The asshole who got you here in the first place. He’s closer than you had anticipated.

Your heart pounds, adrenaline moving through your veins as you break into a sprint, abandoning stealth for speed.

"Stop!" the guard shouts, his voice carrying across the trees. You don’t dare to look back, your eyes locked on the boat. A sharp crack split the night—a gunshot. You feel a searing pain in your arm, but you can’t stop. You push through the pain, your goal now just a few yards away.

Another gunshot rings out, but you are too focused to notice where it lands. You reach the boat, hands trembling as you fumble with the ropes. The pain in your arm intensifies, but you force yourself to keep moving, when suddenly, a heavy hand grabs your shoulder, spinning you around.

You struggle, kicking and thrashing, but he’s stronger. He pulls you to the ground, pinning you down as he radioes for backup. It feels all to familiar. You hate very second of it.

"Got her," he says into the radio, his terrible breath hot against your ear. You try to wriggle free, but his grip only tightens. Moments later, two more guards arrive, hauling you to your feet and dragging you back towards the house. This wasn't supposed to happen.

The sting in your arm is painful reminder of your failed attempt as they pull you inside, your brief taste of freedom slipping away. You were so fucking close.

Moments feel like hours as you sit in the chair, the pain in your arm throbbing with each heartbeat. They didn't even try to stop the bleeding.

The quiet murmurs of the guards outside are interrupted by the heavy, hurried footsteps of someone approaching. The door flies open, and there stands Rafe, disheveled and wild-eyed, a gun clutched tightly in his hand.

“What the fuck is going on?” he barks. His gaze scans the room, landing on you.

The sight of the blood staining your arm makes his expression shift from bewilderment to fury.

He storms towards you, his eyes blazing. “What happened?” he all but demands.

Before you could answer, he whirls around to face the guards who re-enters the room. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Rafe shouts, waving his gun erratically. “She’s bleeding! I try to sleep in peace and this is what I come back to?”

The guards exchange nervous glances, shifting uncomfortably under Rafe’s glare. “She was trying to escape, Mr. Cameron,” one of them stammers out. “We had to stop her.”

His expression twists with rage. “So you fucking shot her?” His voice drips with incredulity and disdain. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? My father wants her in once piece.”

The guard who caught you tries to explain, but Rafe cuts him off.

“Shut up. Just... shut up.” He turns back to you, his eyes softening slightly as he takes in the sight of your injured arm. Or maybe the pain is making you delirious.

“We need to get that cleaned up,” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. Without another word, he holsters his gun and gently takes your uninjured arm, pulling you to your feet. The guards look on, unsure of what to do or say.

Rafe shoots them a deadly look. “Get out,” he snaps. “Before I shoot you bitches myself.”

Once Ward’s men leave, Rafe's demeanor changes. His concern, which had briefly softened his striking features, making younguer, hardens back into anger. He runs a hand through his long hair, pacing the small room before finally stopping in front of you.

He looks pissed.

He sneers at you, his voice dripping with exasperation, "I thought you had some brains in that pretty little head of yours," he spats out, practically screaming in your face, "What were you even thinking? Do you realize how close you came to getting yourself killed?"

You try to speak, to defend yourself, but he doesn’t give you the chance. His words come fast, "You could've died out there! A bullet barely missed you—do you even understand how lucky you are?"

The monologue doesn't stop there.

His fists clench at his sides, "I just don't get it. Do you think you're invincible? Because you're not. You're just..." He stops himself, taking a deep breath as if trying to control his temper while he paces around th room, unable to stay put, "You're just reckless," he continues, his voice quieter but still seething, "You didn’t think about the consequences, about what it would do to..."

What?

"Don't act like you give a shit about me," you call after him, your voice trembling. You don't know if it's the pain or the weird pull in your stomach making you feel all weird and fuzzy inside.

He stops in his tracks, his back stiffening for a moment before slowly turning to face you,"I don't," he retorts, "But my ass is on the line too. You think Ward won't come down on me if something happens to you?"

You take a step towards him, despite the throbbing pain in your arm, not buying his bullshit speech.

"So this is all about you, then? Your precious ass and how it looks to Ward? Typical Cameron bullshit, only caring about themselves."

Rafe's eyes narrow, his jaw clenching. "You don't know what you're talking about," his voice is dangerously low. "You think this is easy for me? Keeping you safe, dealing with all this? It's not just about me. It's about keeping everything under control."

You scoff through your nose.

“Here we go again. Control? You think dragging me back here, shooting at me, is control? It's chaos, Rafe. You're just as trapped as I am, and you can't stand it."

His face twists showcasing his wrath, and he takes a step towards you, closing the distance.

"Shut up!” he growls. "You don’t understand the pressure I'm under. The expectations, the demands. I didn’t ask for any of this."

"And neither did I," you shoot back, a strict finger aimed at his face in warning, “So shut the fuck up.”

He takes another step, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and ragged.

"You have no idea what you're talking about. You think this is just about me? It's about keeping everything from falling apart. It's about—"

Before he can finish, you grab the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer, your faces almost touching.

“I don’t care about your excuses, Rafe. I don’t care about your pressures or your fucking control. All I know is I’m not staying here.”

The look he gives you was filled with enough ire to have a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, the hollow beneath his dark brows deepening as his pretty features contorted. His breath comes in short, sharp bursts. His hands come up, gripping your waist, not gently but not roughly either, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

"You're impossible," he hisses, like the snake he is.

"And you’re a coward.”

The next moment happens without much thinking. Without any thinking, really.

Rafe’s grip tightens, fingers didding into your skin and before you can process what is happening, his lips crash into yours with a ferocity that you never saw coming. His mouth is demanding, almost punishing, and you, like an idiot, kiss him back, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as you want to push him away.

The kiss is all rough and desperate, there's only room for anger and frustration, a collision of two souls too damaged to recognize the depths of their own pain. You should know better.

And yet, beneath the layers of animosity and resentment, there is a stupid spark—as if you are both too messed up to understand how much you need each other. Each fingertip of his leaves an imprint wherever he touches, a silent declaration of the strength he’s restraining. And some sick twisted part of you finds that attractive.

It’s like he’s fighting to contain this fury within him, to keep it from overwhelming you both. But you want it.

If someone told you you’d be kissing Rafe fucking Cameron of all people just a month ago, you’d think they were crazy. And yet…

All you want are his hands on your body, his warm skin against your own.

Oh his hands.

They roam slowly over your lower back, over your waist again. You breathe out a sigh of relief, taking the collar of his shirt in both your hands as you pull him closer, relishing in his warmth. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes. And while you grew up hating that particular combination, it worked on him.

He pulls away slowly, your lips the last to part, and blinks down at you. You watch him lick his bottom lip, swollen, wet with both of your spits, taking in the sight of you.

“’You’re bleeding—“

“Shut the fuck up.”

His blue eyes flare with renewed anger, turning almost black—something darker, more primal. Your words are like a match to gasoline. He doesn’t answer verbally; instead, he takes a half step back before swooping you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly.

With a swift motion, Rafe carries you to the dining table, and you barely have time to register the cool wood against your back before he’s on you again, his body pressing down on yours with a desperation that matches your own. There’s no tenderness there, only raw need.

He pries your lips apart again, his tongue sweeping in as he kisses you deeply, his mouth moving invasively over yours. His fingers grip your jaw with a vice-like hold. A strange sensation flutters beneath your skin, and you wrap your legs around his hips, closing the distance between your bodies as he presses flush against your center.

His hands move with such intent, slipping under your shirt, his fingers tracing every curve with a delicious blend of roughness and urgency. Your hands tangle in his hair, urging him closer as your kiss deepens. Everything around you fades into background noise as the room spins, his body so close making you breathless, his taste lingering on your lips.

You tug at his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons because you just can’t wait. He lets out a deep, sexy growl that makes a shiver run down your spine. His hands are all over you, touching your skin and leaving fiery trails wherever they go. It feels like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, wanting to claim you in a way he hadn't before.

"You're impossible," he mutters against your lips, the words barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. He leans down closer to your collarbone, to catch the scent on your skin, and he can’t tell if you are amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks round.

"And you’re an asshole,” your voice comes out breathless.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly "Drive me fucking crazy.”

"Good," you reply, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him down again. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding back on you, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

But you don’t want control. You want to lose yourself in this moment, to forget everything you've been through and just feel. Live a little and forget about your problems.

Rafe seems to sense it, his hands becoming more insistent, his touch more possessive. He lifts you slightly, positioning you better on the table, his body slotting perfectly between your legs. The friction is exquisite, a delicious tease that leaves you wanting even more.

"Rafe," you breathe, and he almost falls to his knees at the soft whimper that leaves your lips, unable to stop the jerk of his hips forward.

He responds instantly, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as he kisses you with a fervor that leaves you dizzy. The table creakes under your combined weight, but neither of you care. Your hand grab his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin exposed.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, your eyes locking with his. There’s a wildness there, and for the first time in your life, you like it.

You reach up, tracing his jaw with your fingers, feeling the grown out stubble beneath your touch as his mouth, hot and demanding, leaves a trail of fire in its wake on your neck. A noise of pleasure slips from your mouth as he palms at your breast, thumb grazing across your nipple as his teeth graze your collarbone, kissing down, littering your skin bite marks.

"I hate you," you pants, pouring as much venom into your words as possible. Your thighs tighten around his hips, feeling every inch of him against you.

“Your body doesn’t,” He replies coldly, each syllable slowly drawn from his throat.

“Fucking asshole.”

“Fucking brat.”

You open your mouth to hiss something at him, to fight back, show him that you are the one in charge, but the intention dies the moment Rafe cups you through your shorts.

A pathetic excuse of shorts due to the heat.

Heat blooms in your stomach, melting into a torrent want that floods your skin and leaves you breathless. His determined blue eyes pierce into yours, watching as he presses the heel of his palm against the apex of your thighs, his middle finger tracing your pussy and applying light pressure to the sensitive dip between your legs.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty?” He asks, lips brushing over your mouth, loose bangs brushing against your brow “Thought you had more fire in you.”

He moves your shorts and underwear out of the way and your lips part on a sharp inhale as you feel him touch you for the first time. You can't think properly while he's doing this. Your brain feels to mushy to form a proper sentence.

“Yeah, thought so.”

All that matters is the man in front of you, his relentless grip on your senses, his control over your body.

"God, I hate you," you whisper again, the words almost a prayer, a futile attempt to cling to the anger that has fueled you for so long.

But even as you say it, you know it’s was a lie. Partly.

You hate how much you need him right now, how much you crave his touch, his dominance. Perhaps you’ve been locked away from society for too long. That’s the only plausible reason for you to let Rafe Cameron touch you.

Rafe smirks, a dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes.

"No, you don’t.”

You do. At least you used to, everything is confusing now.

He teases you, his touch light and teasing, drawing out your frustration, your need. "Tell me what you want," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a seductive growl that makes your heart race.

You bite back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. But the need is so overwhelming, you nearly give in.

“Fuck you," you spit out, your defiance crumbling under the weight of your desire.

He chuckles darkly, his fingers finally slipping inside you, curling and stroking in a way that makes your hips buck against his hand. Oh, he was going to ruin you.

"That's right," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me hear you."

A broken moan escapes your lips, and you arch into his touch, your body writhing with need. His fingers move expertly, finding all the right spots, driving you near the edge with a skill that makes you breathless. Every touch, every stroke is designed to push you closer to the brink, to break you down until you are nothing but a trembling, pleading mess. You hate that he's so good.

"Rafe, please," you finally gasp, the words ripped from your throat by the overwhelming pleasure. "P-Please, I need you."

You'd be embarrassed later.

His smirk widens, and he pulls his fingers away, making you whimper in frustration. He doesn’t make you wait long, though. With swift, practiced movements, he frees himself from his pants, the sight of him hard and ready making your mouth water.

Without a word, he positions himself between your legs, the head of his pretty cock teasing your entrance.

"You ready for me?"

You nod, your eyes locking with his, "Please.”

He doesn’t need any further encouragement. With a single, powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you. The sensation overwhelming, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that makes you cry out. Your back arches involuntarily, your lips parting as he enters you, filling you completely in a way you have never imagined.

He rolls his hips firmly against yours, and your head tips back as his cock rubs perfectly against you. You never felt so full. He doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath, giving you another firm roll of his hips, testing you out, figuring out his rhythm.

His movements are hard and relentless, pounding into you, knocking the breath from your lungs with each forceful thrust, barely giving you time to adjust. Not that you want slow.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his muscular back, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his. The table creaks and groans beneath you, but you don’t care.

All that matters is the man above you, his relentless drive, his unwavering hips. His hands grips your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. You can feel him losing control, his need matching your own.

Your eyes squeeze shut, blocking him out so you can pretend you aren’t stupid enough to let the man that ruined your life fuck the living hell out of you.

"Eyes on me,” he growls, his voice all rough and commanding. "Let me see you.”

Even though you really want to shut him out, you just can’t fight the crazy pull he has over you. His voice is like a force of nature. You open your eyes against your better judgment.

Seeing him above you, his face twisting with raw need and determination sends chills down your spine. His eyes are locked onto yours, filled with this unyielding intensity you never seen before and that leaves you breathless. No one had ever looked at you like that during sex.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with approval. It makes you want to run for the hills, "Fucki—Oh, fuck. Y-You're sucking me in so nicely, huh?"

With each thrust, he drives you closer to your orgasm, your body responding to him in ways you can’t hold back. The pleasure is overwhelming, it leaves you gasping, moaning, begging for more. You don't even know what you're doing anymore. His name slips from your lips in a broken, desperate plea, and he answers with a renewed vigor, his movements becoming more frenzied.

"Fuck," he growls, his voice rough and strained. "You're so tight... feels so fucking good."

You can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words. Your entire world has narrowed to this moment, to the feel of him inside you, to the overwhelming pleasure that consumes you.

"Rafe," you whimper, the sound barely more than a breath. "I'm—I can't..."

He understands.

His pace quickens even more, his thrusts becoming almost brutal in their intensity. "Come for me," he commands his voice a whisper against your earlobe that sends shivers down your spine. "Let go."

His words push you over the edge, and you come with a scream, your body convulsing around him. The intensity of your release is like nothing you ever felt before, a white-hot explosion of pleasure that makes you lose it. So this was what great sex felt like?

Rafe follows you over the edge, his own release crashing through him with a force that leaves him shaking on top of you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rides out his orgasm, groaning as his movements slow down, until he finally stills, still buried deep inside you.

For a moment, everything is still, the only sound the ragged breaths but then he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, there is something almost tender about him.

“Y-You—“ He sighs, pausing, “Don’t pull that shit again. I’ll get you out, okay?

“Rafe...“

Before you can process his words, before you can question or argue, his lips are on yours again. Differently this time. Gentle.

Devastating almost.

“You’re still bleeding Maybank.”

Right. He'd fucked you good enough to forget about the pain. The moment of vulnerability between you evaporates, leaving you with the realization of your situation.

You just fucked Rafe Cameron. On a table. After being shot.

You push at his chest, forcing him to back off slightly, and hiss through clenched teeth, “Then do something about it."

He just stands there, staring at you as if he has never seen you before. As if he’s truly seeing you for the first time despite having known you since you were seven, despite all the moments marked by violence and terror. And you hate every second of it because your heart is practically leaping out of your chest.

No one has ever looked at you like that before.

And then he simply shakes his head, coming closer again, resting his forehead against yours, hands back on your thighs, fingers pressing as if he needs to ensure that you are real, that everything’s real.

“We’re getting out.”

You want to believe in him more than anything. In that moment, it’s the only thing that matters. Even if it sounds stupid. You need it, at least for now.

“Yeah?"

“Yeah, pretty Maybank. You and me."

“Okay.”

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x maybank!reader #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe x female!mc #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe smut #rafe fic #request

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landograndprix · 10 months ago

Text

╰┈➤ ❝ desire • l.n c.l c.s ❞ II

part i - part iii

➪ Charles hasn't paid much attention to you after your daughter was born but a certain Brit does.

➪ Charles is not trying to do his best to safe your relationship but a new friendship is blossoming between you and lando.

➪ established relationship mom!reader x dad!Charles x lando

➪ thank you so much for the love this fic us getting, it honestly was just a silly idea i had, absolutely insane 😭 google translate is my bestest friend

➽────────────────────────❥

y/nusername

📍 Monte-Carlo, Monaco

liked by landonorris, manon_roux and 412,322 others

y/nusername the day after hits different when you've got a mini you 🍷

tagged: manon_roux, noellepicard

view all 1,523 comments

manon_roux hangover central over here😩

↳ y/nusername I would too if I drank about every drink available

noellepicard nobody told you to down all that tequila

manon_roux thanks for the support you guys

formulaonef1 Manon being the wildest of them all is not something I expected 💀

julieeeexo oh yeah the day after a night out definitely hits different, I know all about it!

charlieferrari zoë with her little bow 😭

hannahh how do you have time to read? I have a 8 month old and I'm barely able to read 2 pages a day!

↳ y/nusername I'm very lucky with a daughter who never skips a single nap and loves her sleep 😅

joris__trouche just like her mother

y/nusername oh definitely 🥰

landonorizzzz the fact that joris has been paying more attention to y/n than I've seen Charles do in the last couple of weeks is fucking hilarious to me

landoscar and its all too much for little zoë leclerc 😴

carlito55 did you and charles break up?

robyn_diaz had so much fun last night, so glad we got ti meet! 🤩

↳ norrizz isn't this lando's gf? 😂

norry4 unfortunately 😂

norrizz unfortunately??

norry4 she didn't really hide the fact that she's dating lando just for her 5 seconds of fame and money 💀

oscarpastry they're robably just fwb, lando said he was single in an interview couple weeks back

noellepicard mom's big night out, great success

landonorris still alive?

↳ y/nusername barely

landonorris I know the feeling

carlandooo lando...what are you doing here? 👀

charlesherve oh god watch this be the new ship of the fandom 🙄

➽────────────────────────❥

y/nusername posted to their story

➽────────────────────────❥

y/nusername

📍 Monte-Carlo, Monaco

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 526,009 others

y/nusername les derniers jours de l'été ☀ (the last days of summer)

tagged: charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc

view 1,562 comments

thurthur gotta love the leclerc family 😭

manon_roux mademoiselle fille passe une journée difficile, je vois 😴 (miss girl having a tough day i see)

↳ y/nusername c'est un travail difficile d'être un bébé (it's a tough job being a baby)

manon_roux ..et quelqu'un doit le faire 🥰 (..and someone's gotta do it)

bott_ass take me to Monaco pls

joris__trouche still not an invite? 😔

↳ sharl16 joris being abandoned by his boyfriend and his boyfriends girlfriend 😔

arthurlec omg arthur and charles 😭

noellepicard j'espère que tu as passé une bonne journée, hottie ❤️ (hope you had a great day, hottie)

↳ y/nusername toujours 😘 (always)

arthur_leclerc you need to lock your phone better

↳ y/nusername or you could leave it alone?

arthur_leclerc yeah but that's not fun ☺

thurthur stop bullying your brothers girlfriend 😭

➽────────────────────────❥

y/nusername posted to their story

➽────────────────────────❥

Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05 @minkyungseokie @pretty-little-bunny382728 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @severewobblerlightfdragon

Desire taglist; @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @writingworlds @chezmardybum @lewisvinga @xjval @fanficweasley @rockyhayzkid @aundercover @thecubanator2 @minchedchilli @crimeshowjunkie @alisoncasey21 @eeviepepi08 @shamelesspotatos @sleepybrokenmelle @leireggsworld @janeholt3 @iamahalucinationn @dessxoxsworld @kapsylia @22yuki @dark-night-sky-99 @sheslikeacurse @nerdreader @champagneproblems17 @norwayxo @sunny44 @honeymoonelvis47 @forevertcaffeinated-lee @amalialeclerc

Lando taglist: @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10 @bored-brunette2

#charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #lando norris #charles leclerc fanfic #lando norris fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando x reader #charles x reader

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lis-likes-fics · 14 days ago

Text

Strung Up

Pairing(s): Eddie Munson x Reader Word Count: 32.8k words Warnings: NSFW, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (violence), graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of death, murder, blood, gore, anxiety, panic attack, implications of stalking, frequent swearing, drug use, alcohol use, manipulation, degradation (not always in the sexy way), dubious consent, light praise kink, fingering, groping, oral sex, multiple orgasms, spanking, titty fucking, masturbation, vaguely masochistic tendencies… A/N: IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: Not all of the warnings are listed above, but the full list of warnings is provided here. The only reason they're not all here is to avoid spoilers throughout the story, but none of the warnings unlisted here should be trigger warnings. If you're still unsure, please feel free to check the list. But if you want to go into this blind, go right ahead! A/N II: Okay so...I did finish the last two scenes at 3 o'clock in the morning last night, but hey! We finished! This is the last upload for my Kinktober 2024 event. I'm glad I was able to finish just in time, and I hope you all enjoy this just as much as I did (even though I almost gave up five different times but that's not important.) Thank you so much and Happy Halloween! A/N III: The story is too long so Tumblr won't let me post this. Because of this, I will ahve to split it into two parts (which is annoying bc it will really damage notes and stuff and it's harder to manage >:( )

"Sonova bitch!”

You resist the urge to kick your tire. It's midnight, you're practically in the middle of the woods, and you're alone. Your car broke down along the way home, and now you're worried you'll have to walk for God-only-knows how long just to get help.

You look around, trying to figure out what to do without a car or any telephone nearby. You curse under your breath, bracing your hands on the side of the car as you lean against it.

You hear tires in the distance, and perk your head up at the chance of some luck coming your way.

But the only thing coming your way is a large, almost creaky van. Upon seeing you, it begins to slow down to a creeping pace, and you wonder if you should just make a break for it.

Just your luck, too. You're stuff on the side of the road in the middle of the night with no way to communicate with a single living soul, and now there's a creepy van inching toward you like you're about to meet your end.

Your back is stiff, and your nerves are frayed. “Just a van driving toward you,”you mutter to yourself. “Nothing scary about that at all.”

As the blinding lights shine across you, you raise a hand and squint your eyes against the strain. It pulls into the side of the road, parking behind you as the lights continue to blare.

“Hey,” a guy says as he swings the door open and steps out. You give a wary smile at first, waving timidly back at him. “Something wrong?”

It's hard to see him. All you see is the outline of his figure against the lights. He's taller than you, with big bushy hair and wide shoulders. You try not to shrink away from this dark, shadowy thing of a man.

You bump the toe of your shoe against the tire, crossing your arms as your hand pulls nervously at the collar of your work shirt. “Stupid engine died on me.”

He gestures to the car, his voice is actually kind of nice, and a bit familiar… “A beauty like this?” He pats the back of it, wild hair shifting as he looks down at it. “That's surprising.”

You shrug. “Yeah, everyone thinks it's such a great car. It's actually a piece of shit.” You chuckle lightly, and he joins you. “Do you think you could help?”

He steps to the side, and some light finally shines on one side of his face. You start to piece together his features, squinting your eyes and realizing why his voice is so familiar. You're put at some ease now that you recognize him. Your shoulders fall, and the features of your face calm.

“Wait, you're that Eddie guy. At my school?”

He looks up at you, a smile tugging at his lips as he nods. “That's me. The Eddie guy.” He holds out his ringed-up hand. “Eddie Munson.”

You take it, the cold of his rings a slight surprise against the warmth of your palm. “I'm–”

“I'm well aware, sweetheart.”

You purse your lips, chuckling lightly at the way he says it. It's not mean in any way, but there's an undertone that you find slightly unsettling.

He squints the corners of his dark eyes, making a cringing face as he nods slowly. “Sorry, that sounds bad. Uhh–”

“No, all good,” you say quickly. You shuffle on your feet, chuckling lightly to try and ease the tension between you. “You're not gonna, like, kill me and stuff my corpse in the back of your van, right?”

He smiles, laughing as he shakes his head. “No, all good.” He raises his fingers in the air, one hand over his heart as he bows a little. “Scout's honor.”

You nod. “Cool.” You glance back at your car and pat the hood. “You think you could help me out, Eddie Munson? Maybe a hot wire?”

He cringes slightly, running a hand through his messy hair. His muscle tee rides up a little from the movement, revealing a slip of his tummy shone gently in his headlights. “Unfortunately, my old girl can't handle a hot wire. I love her, but she's a bit of a piece of shit, too.”

You hum, your shoulders falling slightly. “Oh, that sucks.”

“But…” He steps over to your open door, leaning inside to pop the hood before he walks past you to look at the engine. “I'll tell you what, I can tow it and get it fixed for you.” He seems pleased with this answer. He smiles like a dork. “I help out at an auto shop, they know me. And,” he rubs his hand over the side of the car, admiring the make, “I think they'd be thrilled to work on a nice thing like this.”

Sparks of hope shoot like fireworks in your eyes when you look at him. “”Really?” Then you backpedal as you second guess yourself. “I wouldn’t wanna bother.”

“Psh, no bother, at all.” He says it so casually, like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. The amount of work, money, time—it doesn’t seem to mean anything to him. “I’ll hook her up and take you home.”

You clasp your hands together, a wide smile falling on your face. “Thank you so much.” You start walking toward his van with him, watching as he opens your door for you like a true gentleman. “I’m so glad you’re not some sort of creep.”

As you sit down, his smile widens with his joke. “You never know.” He winks at you, and it makes you laugh. If he were some middle-aged man, you’d truly be worried. But he’s really just some really nice (and kind of hot) weirdo who goes to your school. He’s not threatening, at all.

Once Eddie’s got your car properly fastened to the back of his van, he’s driving down the lightened road with the radio gently underscoring the otherwise silent air. He taps the wheel gently, glancing over at you every now and then when you’re looking out of the window at your side.

“So,” he mutters, “why are you out here so late?”

You chuckle lightly, scratching your neck absent-mindedly. “Leaving work.” You purse your lips. “My hours are kinda ridiculous.”

His brows raise. “Damn. Sounds like you need a new job.”

You shrug a shoulder lazily. “Eh. Pays well, good boss, one shitty coworker.” You look at him and smile. “It’s nothing.”

“At least it’s not a shitty boss.”

You nod eagerly, laughing lightly in agreement. “Got that right. I got lucky.”

His eyes keep switching between you and the road. He leans his elbow on his arm rest, still steering with one hand on the wheel. “So where do you work?” he wonders curiously.

“Retail.” There’s a crack on the passenger’s side mirror, and you briefly wonder how it got there. “This semi-expensive place, like twenty minutes from my house.”

He tilts his head to the side with a hum, as if the distance is another reason to quit. “Good pay.”

Another involuntary chuckle rises from your chest. “Good pay,” you echo. “What about you?” You turn to him, your head tilted. Then your eyes close and you purse your lips, raising a hand to brush down your face. “You totally said you help out at an auto shop, didn’t you?”

He laughs heartily. “I did, but I actually work at Radio Shack.” You nod like working at Radio Shack is this super interesting thing. “Pays kinda meh, shitty boss, couple good coworkers but the others kinda hate me.”

You lean back against the seat, sighing like it's happening to you. “That sucks. I'm sorry.”

Eddie shrugs. “S’fine, I'm used to it.” He grins a little. “That's what happens when you listen to this.”

He turns the station, turning it up a little as the rambunctious sounds of metal music almost blast through the speakers.

You've never been a fan of metal, but the popular rhetoric of it being music from the devil was annoying. Music is music.

“And when you play RPGs.” He turns the music back down.

You smirk, raising a brow at him. “So you're a nerd?”

An almost startled laugh rises from his throat, it almost sounds like a snort. “Maybe a little,” he says. His smile is so big, you wonder if his cheeks hurt. Then you wonder if he's this nice to everyone.

“That’s okay. I like a good nerd.”

He glances over his shoulder teasingly. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod, chuckling to yourself with a gentle giddy. “Mhm.”

The rest of the ride is as calm and as pleasant. Eddie's good company, and you find yourself genuinely hoping that you continue to be friends after this.

Soon enough, he's pulling into your posh neighborhood. The street lamps have been on for a long time, illuminating your relatively expensive house and the large tree in front of it in a gentle golden light. The porch lights are on, so your parents must be (obviously) asleep.

Eddie jogs across the front of his van to open the door for you. “Tada!” he exclaims quietly as he gestures dramatically toward your home. As you step out, still looking at your house with a furrowed brow, your skin prickles and the back of your neck goes cold as you begin to realize something.

“I…never gave you my address.”

You turn to look at Eddie, who's smiling really widely. His dark fringe kisses his lashes, his lips are pulled taut by the stretch of his smile, which is lingering strangely on his face. A tiny huff of breath passes from his mouth.

There's a strange silence as he stares at you, looking like someone's pressed pause on him. It's just short enough that it's easy to miss.

“I've been to one of your parties before.”

Oh.

“You have?” You think quickly, trying to remember seeing his face and falling short. “I've never seen you at one.”

“Yeah…” he says. “Not really my crowd.” Eddie closes your door after you've grabbed your things. “A friend invited me, but I left quick.” He shrugs a shoulder, “Besides, atmosphere wasn't super welcoming.”

Right. He's a social outcast.

“Oh,” you mumble. It doesn't sit well with you. You wished you would have noticed him. At least then you could have tried to make it better for him. He's a really sweet guy…

“Who’s your friend? I think I heard Steve Harrington mention you before,” you wonder. Steve is a friend of yours, and he’s been to nearly all of your parties.

“Yeah, he invited me.” He shrugs. “But I went with Jonathan Byers.” You know the name, another social outcast. He and his brother are very kindly looked upon, especially after the incident where his little brother was lost in the woods. That’s the only time you ever spoke to him, to offer your sympathies. If you’re thinking correctly, he’s a pothead now.

You give him a smile. “Well, I'd like to formally invite you to my next one—whenever that is, then I can properly welcome you and your friend.”

He laughs lightly, doing a grand flourish with his hand as he bows to you. “Well, thank you very much.”

You gesture toward the back of his van. “And my car?”

He nods dutifully. “I'll get that fixed up for you in no time.” Then he thinks for a moment. “Well, a little bit of time, but not too long.”

“Oh.” You nod, smiling still. You glance off down the street like you're looking for something. “I’ll just have to figure out a ride to school then… My boyfriend kind of lives out of the way and both my parents work.”

You miss the way his shoulders sink, his smile easing just a bit. He brings a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Well…” he speaks slowly, slower than he means to. “I can come pick you up.”

You clasp your hand again in a slightly pleading manner, but there's so much kindness in your eyes. “You're already helping out so much.”

A small sense of pride swells in his chest. “It's not a problem, really. I'm happy to.”

You set a hand on his shoulder, and you feel it tense a little through the thickness of his leather jacket. “I'd really appreciate it.” It's sincere, and you hope he knows. “Thank you.”

He puts his hand over yours. “No problem.” Then he clears his throat and lets go of your hand so you can have it back.

You start walking backwards. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

He raises an open palm, doesn't wave it or anything. “Night…”

You turn around and head inside. He watches you put the key in your door and walk inside.

Eddie stands there still, sighing gently as he wonders what he's going to do with himself. You're just so sweet and so pretty. You're perfect.

You're everything he was hoping for.

You've been trying to speak to him for the past ten minutes.

The lunch table isn't as full today. A couple buddies from the team are gone, their girlfriends included—which also means Brynn isn't here to resort to either.

You sigh, rolling your eyes as Jake's lips suck on your neck still. He hasn't moved from this spot unless it's to go to the other side of your neck in ten minutes. His hands are all over your waist, and when he nips at you, you huff.

“Hey, can you chill?”

He hums, not letting up as he continues to suck on you like a goddamn vampire. “What's wrong, baby?” he mumbles against your neck.

You push him off of you so that he'll look at your face. His lips are a little swollen from the attention, and his eyes are hooded like you've just been going down on him or something.

“I'm trying to talk to you, and you’re trying to fuck me in the middle of the cafeteria.

“I'm sorry,” he says, kissing your lips gently. He sighs lightly and smiles. “What were you saying?”

So he wasn't paying attention? You thought as much.

You turn to him. “I was saying that I might get fired.”

He furrows his brows. “Why?”

You brush a hand down your face to calm yourself before you yell at him for being so inattentive. You lick your lips, centering yourself with a sigh as you pull a sarcastic grin over your face.

“Because Cassidy found us making out in the storage closet during my lunch break—which you suggested after I said it was a bad idea.” There's a small grin on his face, and you have a feeling he isn't listening again.

He shrugs, “Cassidy’s a bitch who's been trying to get you fired for months. She's not doing it now.”

Your stress is getting to you now. You reach out to grab his face in the hopes that it'll make him pay a little more attention. “Except this time, she's got me for indecency in the workplace. Which could be filed under sexual harassment. That can get me fired.”

He furrows his brows a little in confusion. He grabs your wrists and pulls them off his face, down to his lap. “I think you're being ridiculous,” he shrugs a shoulder like what he's said isn't a ridiculous statement. “Aren't you training to be like…a crew lead or something?”

His hands fall to your waist, and you ignore him as he leans in again to keep sucking on your neck. He tilts your head up, holding your chin still as he has at it.

You let out a frustrated sigh. “Which is why I'm stressed out. She's going to tell my boss, and she's going to fire me.”

He pulls away from your neck. You watch his face twist in more confusion. He stares at you for a second, then glances away, and then looks back at you. “Why would you get fired?”

You stare at him with an astonished glare in your eyes. “You don't…” you huff unbelievingly and swat his hands away from you, “...fucking listen.”

You stand up and start gathering your things, wiping absent-mindedly at your neck as you throw your bag over your shoulder. He watches you, ever-confused as you storm away from him. “Where are you going?”

When you plop down next to Eddie, he seems unsurprised. He looks over at you and smiles. The rest of his table isn't fazed by your entrance—you come over a lot and you're nice, so they don't care.

“Hey! How's it goin’?” Eddie's happy to see you, and it's already making you feel better. He notices the way your face is screwed up, and he's come to know the look well by now. His face falls a little, concern lining his forehead as it does. “What's wrong?”

His warm hand comes to rest at your face, rubbing lightly between your shoulder blades. It's a soothing thing that actually helps to calm you down a bit. “Jake's pissing me off.”

“How?” He sounds almost as exasperated as you.

You sigh gently, getting ready to recount the story for a listening ear. “A couple days ago, I was on my lunch break at work and he convinced me to…” it's a little awkward telling Eddie about your semi-sexual habits, but you know he won't judge you, “...to make out with him in the storage closet, and my goddamn coworker saw us and is going to tattle.” You drop your face into your hands. “I could get fired for this.”

Eddie thinks for a moment. “This is…Cassidy, right? Cassidy Franklin?”

“Yeah.” You sit up again, probably looking as hopeless as you feel.

He brings his foot up to prop against his chair, tilting his head to one side to let his hair fall off his shoulder. “Isn't she that same girl who started the rumor about Betty Carter and Richard Vance making porn tapes for money?” He raises a brow, “And that one about Steve being in a relationship with Jonathan?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

“Huh?” Jonathan asks, looking up from his food at the mention of his name. Eddie waves him off, rolling his eyes before he looks back over to you. He smiles, opening his hands. “She's a rumormonger. No one's gonna believe her. Especially not your manager. Your manager loves you and everyone hates Cassidy Franklin.”

You think about that, and it's making you feel better. You nod again. “You might be right.”

He wraps a hand around his knee, smiling to himself like he's so pleased to hear that he's right. “Besides, it'll probably end up coming back to her anyway.” He tilts his head, leaning in fondly as he flutters his lashes at you. ”People like that don't always get away with being assholes.”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, nodding. “Okay. You're right, yeah. She's a bitch.”

“Who’s a bitch?” Robin’s head pops up. She looks between the two of you, curiosity all over her face.

You shrug. “My coworker.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and nodding. “Yeah, my coworker’s a bitch, too.”

You chuckle lightly, glancing at Eddie. “Don’t you work with Steve?” You’ve checked out movies at Family Video from them before. They seemed to mostly be getting along.

“Yeah, why?” She smirks slyly, returning to her conversation with Argyle. You don’t know what they’re talking about, but you’re not sure it’s going to make a lot of sense with the way his eyes look right now.

Eddie’s smiling when you look back at him. “Anyway, don't sweat it. Everything's gonna be fine…’kay?” He holds out his pinky, squeezing with a funny kind of harshness when you wrap yours around it.

You nod. “Okay.” You sigh, and this time it actually feels like you're letting go of the stress. Eddie always knows how to make you feel better. “Thanks. My boyfriend's an idiot, and it feels like you're the only person who listens to me sometimes.”

He furrows his brow curiously, turning toward his bag of pretzels sitting almost forgotten on the table. He pulls a couple from the bag, picking them individually from his palm. “What about your friend? What's her name—Brooklyn?”

“Brittany.” Your smile sours. “And, yeah, Brynn spends a lot more time with her boyfriend now than she does with me, so I might have to remind her that I exist first.”

He scoffs, shaking his hand as he looks down at his pretzels. “Shitty friend,” he mumbles under his breath. He seems genuinely and deeply upset. His brow furrows maybe a little more than it should.

You look over his expression, briefly wondering why he cares so much. “Just a bit,” you mutter absent-mindedly. You look at the time. Lunch is almost over. “Anyway, thanks, Eddie.”

He seems to snap out of it then, a large grin returning to his face. “No problem.”

You set a hand on his arm, smiling hopefully. “Hey, are you free tonight?” Something glints in his eyes. “Jake's hanging out with his boys and, like I said, Brynn's with her boy. I wanted to watch that new movie.”

It's a horror movie, Annihilator. You know Eddie likes horror movies, and you don't want to watch it alone. Or, rather, you'd prefer to watch it with him.

Eddie does this weird thing sometimes where he pauses. It's like his brain suddenly freezes and he just stops moving. He stares at you. His smile intact and his face just as Eddie-ish as usual, but just a little…off.

It only ever lasts a moment though.

“Raincheck?” he asks regrettably. “I'm hanging with my uncle tonight. We've been planning it for a while now.”

“Oh, sure,” you chirp. You know how much his uncle means to him. They don't usually get time together since he always works so late. “No problem. Tomorrow night?”

He smiles that proud grin again. He does it a lot. You think it's sweet.

“Absolutely.”

“See you then.” You steal a pretzel as you move to stand.

He waves you off with wiggling fingers and a cheeky grin. “See you.” He winks on your way out.

Dragging yourself out of the bed the next morning was hard. You don’t know why. You just woke up and felt like maybe tonight was the type of day not to go to school.

And, technically, you could if you wanted to. Both your parents are gone on a business trip—they left before you even woke up that morning. They won’t be back for at least a week. You could ditch and the worst that would happen is a phone call that you could delete if it was really necessary enough to do so in the first place.

But anyway, you don’t. You drag yourself out of bed, get ready for school, and head downstairs for breakfast. You're stirring sugar into your tea when you turn on the TV, switching through the channels to find the cartoons.

Something catches your eyes when a news channel flashes on the screen. You flip back to it quickly, and you stop mid-stir at what you find.

“–about a gruesome murder is tearing through Hawkins like a wildfire.” You drop the spoon in your mug, turning the volume up loud. “The life of a student at Hawkins High School, known as the basketball captain Jason Carver, was taken last night by a suspect police have yet to identify. Hawkins PD is still–”

You rush to the phone, dialing Brynn’s number faster than you ever have before. It rings only a couple times before the dial tone ends. You give her no time to speak.

“Are you watching the news right now?”

“Yeah. Jason fucking Carver? Who the fuck would do this?” She sounds distraught, as distraught as you feel.

You swallow thickly, pacing as much as you can with the short cord keeping you tethered to the phone. You start to worry. What if this isn’t a one time thing? What if people are actually in danger—your boyfriend, your friends. “Don’t ask me.” You start to feel sick.

“This is insane.” She sighs heavily through the line.

“You’re telling me.”

“How’s your car?” she asks, your words running a mile a minute. “Do I need to take you to school?”

It takes you a moment to respond. Your eyes had gotten stuck to the screen. There are police lights and caution tape and people everywhere. It feels so unreal. “Uh—It’s fine.” You clear your throat, wiping a hand over your face. “Especially after Eddie worked on it.”

You can almost hear the scowl in her voice. “You still hang out with him?”

Here we go. “You don’t hang out with me.”

“He’s probably the one who killed Jason.”

Her comment is a slap in the face. You can’t describe the anger and disgust that rises in your throat at what she’d just said. It’s corrosive, and you wish you could show her how upset it actually makes you, but you can’t. So instead, you say, “Why the fuck would you say that?”

Your tone makes her back off. Not by a lot, but enough for her to second guess. “He’s like…a satanist or something.”

“Or something.” You shake your head. “He’s just a nerd, and he’s kind.” You mean it in a nice way. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

She scoffs. “Whatever.” She takes a moment, calms down, and then says with more sincerity than annoyance. “Don’t get fucking killed.”

“You, too.”

“I’ll see you in class.”

“Bye.” You hang up. You stare at the screen again, staring for a while as you try to process this. You knew Jason. He was your friend—or, he was relatively your friend. You were dating one of the members on his team, so you’ve known him for a while. Now that he’s gone… It’s just such a bizarre concept to digest.

You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You dial Jake’s house phone, waiting and waiting for it to pick up, only for it to flatline. With a huff, you try again. When it still doesn’t go through, you start to go for a third time when you catch the time. You’re gonna be late. You’ll see him there anyway.

You try to ignore the gnawing feeling that you might not.

You lean against your locker next to Eddie, holding onto your bag as your hands worry away at the strap. “I just can’t believe this happened.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” Eddie says. He shrugs a shoulder, “I mean, this place has been kinda cursed for a while but something like this?”

You shake your head, imagining the scenes you’ve been told by the amount of people you’ve walked past or talked to since you left the house. “It was so brutal. They said he was gutted and then hung from a fucking tree.” Your gut twists with the image. “I keep looking over my shoulder like this killer’s gonna be there.”

Eddie's hand comes to cup your elbow. He rubs it soothingly with a reassuring glint in his eyes. “Hey, don’t worry about that kinda stuff. Everything’s gonna be fine, okay?” His thumb strokes the meat of your arm. He offers you a smile.

You nod. “I hope so.” You glance behind Eddie, catching sight of Chrissy. It’s a wonder she even showed up today. She’s walking through the halls with her eyes down at the floor, moving so sluggishly that you wonder briefly if she’s really just some zombie roaming the halls. You speak quietly. “I can’t imagine how Chrissy must be feeling. She’s such a sweet person, she doesn’t deserve this kinda thing.”

Eddie’s eyes linger on her as she continues walking down the hall. He swallows thickly. “Yeah…”

His brows suddenly furrow. A crease wedges itself between them as he sees something, and he lets out a sigh as he glances away, straightening his posture as he goes. His thumb rubs your elbow one more time before letting you go. “Hey, I’ll see you later, okay?” You nod. “Stay safe.” He says it with an intensity that honestly warms your heart.

“You, too.” He gives you a quick smile and then leaves. You turn around to watch him go just as you see Jake walking toward you. That makes sense. The two eye each other as they pass, and Jake looks at you like he’s annoyed by something.

The sight of him had initially brought you some relief. You were worried that something happened to him when he didn’t answer the phone this morning. The more you look at him though, the more that feeling sours and becomes something more exasperated than anything else.

You turn around with a sigh, leaning against the locker again on your other elbow. He comes up to you, a partial scowl set upon his face. “Was that Eddie Munson?”

You hate the way he says his name. It pisses you off every time you hear it. “Yeah.”

“Why are you hanging out with him?” He looks genuinely pissed out. You roll your eyes, ready to leave this conversation because it’s such a petty thing to be arguing about right now. Someone just fucking died—one of Jake’s closest friends just fucking died—and he’s upset that you’re hanging out with some guy who plays DND? You were worried he was dead, and this is how he greets you.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that question?” You seethe the question, trying not to bring any attention to yourself as you lean in to talk to him, your own scowl set to combat his own. He huffs and shakes his head, but decides it’s probably just best to drop it.

“You didn’t call me this morning.” Your quiet anger is biting at your fingertips. You try to remind him of the situation because it doesn’t seem to be registering for him. “A student at Hawkins High was killed, and you didn’t call me this morning.”

Jake sighs, running a hand down his face as he thinks about it. You finally start to see the grief threatening to peek through as he looks away from you. “I was on the team with Jason. My parents were bitching about being safe.” His voice is quieter now, not as firm.

You start to feel bad now. You’ve been bitching about him lately about his bad behavior. You’re doing it right now, when what he really needs is your support. You sigh, looking down at your feet as you offer a truce in the way of cradling his arm in your palm. He looks at you, his eyes softening with your own. You just look at him for a moment and take a breath.

“I just don’t understand.” Your voice would be a whisper if there weren’t so many people crowding the halls. You have no doubt that every single one of them is talking about Jason Carver, former captain of the basketball team. “It’s all so surreal. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life.”

He lifts his hand to your cheek, offering his comfort. “Hey,” he says gently, “everything’s gonna be fine. I’ll make sure you’re good. You can stay at my place until this all clears up.” Sometimes you wonder why you’re even with him. But then he does stuff like this, and you start to feel a little better about the struggle. “We can also have Brynn and Andrew over to make it fun. How does that sound?”

Better than you thought it would. You haven’t been around them in a while. You feel like maybe you shouldn’t delay that any longer.

“Yeah.” You nod, hyping yourself up a bit as you offer a little smile. “Yeah, that’ll be nice. Thanks.”

His smile widens a bit. He leans in. “Anything for my girl.” He kisses you. It’s a gentle kiss, and it makes you feel better because it feels like he means it. His thumb strokes your cheek, and you can’t help but to smile against his lips.

You take a nap as soon as you get home. The whole day has been so exhausting, weighed down by all the grief and confusion. There’s a team meeting after school, so you have to wait for that to finish before Jake comes to get you.

When you wake up, it’s almost eight o’clock. It’s weird. The meeting should’ve been over by now.

It’s too quiet. The silence is making your skin crawl, and you reach for the remote in a desperate need to fix it. When it’s on, you immediately regret making that so.

“A second murder shakes the grounds of Hawkins as another student by the name of Cassidy Franklin is killed only an hour ago at–”

Your shock is interrupted by a tiny clattering sound. You nearly jump out of your skin as your gaze is immediately drawn upstairs. You feel yourself begin to shake, and you don’t think you can move after you’ve turned off the TV just as quickly as you turned it on.

Everything is so still now. Even the air refuses to move as you wait for anything—another sound, more silence. Anything.

You will yourself to move as you go to the kitchen, pulling the biggest knife from its sheath and ignoring the way it trembles with your fear. The tension is the air so palpable, you genuinely believe you could cut it with the knife you have clenched in your tight fists.

You feel dumb walking upstairs, toward the noise you just heard. You feel like you might die if you go any further, but you also feel like if the killer is actually in your house, then you’ll probably die if you stay downstairs, too.

You turn every knob like it’s searing hot. Every time a door opens, you feel like your heart has jumped out of your throat and then forced its way back down once you’ve confirmed there’s no one there (or rather, once you don’t see anyone because you refuse to investigate any further).

When you reach your bedroom, you think you might die. Maybe not from the killer, but from the heart attack you feel creeping up your chest.

On your bed is a single letter and a strange doll thing. You don’t feel like your heart is beating when you walk into the room. You almost slip multiple times over your own feet just trying to get to your bed. When you’re standing there, you’re frightened by something moving beside you, and you genuinely do jump this time.

Your window is open. The curtains swayed gently with a light gust of wind coming through.

Yes. You think you might die.

You swallow thickly, trying to keep your tears choked down as you pick up the doll. It looks handmade. The arms are thin and pillowy, so are the legs. Neither of them have hands or feet, and it has a stitch mouth and buttons for eyes. In a weird, abstract way, you think it sort of looks like you. The skin tone is the same and the buttons match your eye color, at least.

It falls from your hands more than you set it down. They’re shaking so badly, you don’t think you’d have been capable of putting it down yourself.

When you look at the letter, the paper also looks like it’s been folded and glued by hand. Your name is written across the front in handwriting you’ve never seen before. You force yourself to open it to see what’s inside.

When you pull out the note, you cover your mouth as you throw it back down, stumbling away. Tears spring to your eyes, despite your best effort to keep them away. There’s a smudge of blood on the paper. It doesn’t look old.

You squeeze your eyes shut, holding your breath like it’ll wake you up from some terrible dream. But when you open your eyes again and find yourself in the same room, you try not to choke on your tears.

As your entire body trembles, you find your way back to the bed. You pick up the note and do your best to keep your hands still (miserably) so you can read it.

I’ll pull all the loose strings for you, my little puppet. And once they’re all gone, we will be together.

A startled cry rips its way from your throat. You collapse to the floor as your chest heaves uncontrollably. This is too much stress. You can’t take all of this.

You don’t know how long you spend on the floor like this—sobbing and losing a lot of water—but once you’ve wracked up the strength, you crumple the letter into a ball and grab the doll by its torso, squeezing with all the fear and anger in your chest. You open your closet door, throwing them both at the wall with all your strength and forcing the door shut.

You calm your breath enough to stop your tears and wipe at your face, rushing down the stairs with the bag you’d already packed. You’re out of the door in barely any time, getting in the car as quickly as possible and you tear a path straight to Jake’s house.

Once you’re there, you don’t see his father’s car, so you assume he’s working overtime at the department to catch this killer. The way your fists pound on the front door is insistent. You almost sock Jake right in the face as soon as it’s open.

“Fuck,” he says quickly, his words rushing from his mouth. “I’m so sorry, babe. I lost track of time and–”

You don’t listen to him. You throw your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. He smells vaguely of your perfume. You try not to cry again. It’s not too hard, seeing as you already cried a ton of tears earlier onto your bedroom floor.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You sound pathetic, but you don’t care enough to try to fix it.

“Yeah. Come on.” He opens the door wider, pulling his arm tightly around you as he tucks the both of you into the house. He closes the door behind you, still holding onto you as you pull him tight. He eases your face back into his chest. “What’s got you so freaked out?”

You don’t know what to tell him. You tell him the truth, he might believe you, he might not. If he does, he might decide to go on a killing spree to deal with whoever he thinks could have done it (you have a suspicious feeling that Eddie will be at the top of the list, simply because he doesn’t like him). There are just too many variables, and you’re too tired and too scared to deal with any of them.

“I…” you sigh shakily, “I’m just surprised by…Cassidy’s death.” Cassidy’s fucking dead. You almost forgot about that with all the insanity swarming through your head.

As his hand strokes down the back of your head, you feel his chest rumble against your cheek as he speaks. “You worked with her, didn’t you?” He sounds genuinely curious. He really wasn’t listening…

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head. “That’s crazy.” He sets his chin on top of your head and keeps rubbing your back.

“Jake.” You pull away from him just enough to look at his face. His hands cradle your elbows as your own clutch desperately at his sides. You need to know. “Do you love me?”

He stares at you and nods, bringing a hand to your cheek. His thumb strokes it, just like before. His hand is hot. “Yeah.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, searching his eyes for something to hold onto it. “Would you…” You try to steady your breath, swallowing thickly. “Would you let anything bad happen to me?”

You don’t expect him to say yes, but you need to hear it all the same. “‘Course not,” he says. “You’re my girl.”

You lift yourself onto your toes to kiss him. He cranes his neck down to meet you, and his hands fall down to your waist. You bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders, trying to bring him down further. You need to forget about all of this. Just for a moment. You want to forget.

“Make me feel better,” you mutter against his lips.

He smiles a little, bringing his hands down further to pick you up, wrapping your legs around his wait. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Welcome, students.”

The gym is packed full of students. All the students and faculty are sitting in the bleachers or standing around the gym floor, watching the principal and the police officers giving an announcement front and center. You sit so close to Jake that your hips are practically glued together. Brynn’s on your other side with Andrew next to her. You keep wanting to glance over your shoulder where Eddie is sitting with his group, but you decide it’s probably best not to for the sake of not dealing with your friends and boyfriend’s bad attitudes.

“I know we are all aware of the recent losses in our community. Many of us are grieving the beloved memory of these fallen students. In an effort to avoid losing any more of them, our chief of police is going to set a few rules in place to keep our community safe from this unidentified individual.”

Principal Higgins steps back to offer Chief Hopper the floor. He steps forward, already looking tired as he directs his attention to the giant crowd staring at him.

He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. He gets straight to business. “From now on and until the killer is found, a town-wide curfew will be implemented.” People start murmuring in protest. “No one is to be out of their homes past nine o’clock. All doors will be locked and-”

Everyone is talking now. There are murmurs and shouts and boo’s and all kinds of protest as they respond frustratedly to these new rules. You personally don’t oppose them too much…

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Jake groans.

“This fucking sucks!” “What the hell, man?” “Seriously?” “We didn’t do anything!”

Chief Hopper isn’t having it. He cares little for the commotion, and it’s really just pissing him off.

“Hey!”

Everyone is immediately silenced. His voice is even harder now as he yells over the silence. He makes sure to enunciate every word. “All doors and windows will be locked. You are advised to come to school and then go straight home to reduce the risk of being hurt. Police will be patrolling the streets to ensure these rules are being followed. We advise you to stay in groups and be vigilant of your surroundings. Anyone caught breaking curfew will be brought in for questioning, which could lead to a possible arrest.” There’s more silence. No one wants to interrupt him again. “Am I understood?”

Everyone murmurs their reluctant agreement.

“Thank you.”

He stands back again. Principal Higgins steps forward. “Thank you, Chief Hopper.” He clasps his hands together. “Now let us all close our eyes and bow our heads for…”

You’ve tuned him out by now. You don’t have the strength to listen to him right now. You keep replaying that note in your head over and over again.

Once they’re all gone, we will be together…

“They’re calling him Ghostface,” Jake mumbles, keeping his voice low to avoid being called out. “‘Cause of the mask they found at Cassidy’s crime scene.”

You try not to flinch. “Why are we calling him anything but a murderer?”

He shrugs. “I mean, there are a lot of murderers.”

You glance at him, but you ultimately keep your gaze fixated on your hands as you rub at your palms. “I don’t think we should be villainizing him. I mean, people actually like villains.” I’ll pull all the loose strings for you, my little puppet…

He sighs lightly. “I think it’s a pretty sick name.”

“Jake.”

“Just saying.”

There’s a weird feeling burning into your back, like someone’s watching you. It spreads like a wave, and you fight the urge to shudder as you glance behind you to see what it is.

You see Eddie, and your worries are set aside. He offers a tiny grin and a thumbs up. He wants to know if you’re okay. You return the smile as best you can and give him your own thumb. You turn back around, feeling a little better about everything.

As soon as the assembly is dismissed, everyone is making their way back to class or wherever they intend to go. Jake kisses your temple and runs off with his buddies. Brynn and Andrew go with him.

Walking by yourself, you rub a hand over your arm to self-soothe. You’re at school. Nothing is going to happen while you’re at school. You go to your locker just to be there. You don’t want to go to class yet, and you don’t want to stand in the middle of the gym or the hall like some loser.

You’re there for barely a minute before someone’s standing next to you. You flinch when you realize it, quickly calming when you recognize Eddie and his sweet face. He gives you an apologetic look. “You okay? Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You nod, grabbing his arm and sighing with a small smile. “All good.” You grab your stuff and start down the hall with him at your side. You assume he’s walking you to class because his is at the other side of the school.

“How are you…?”

Both of you pause at the sound of Eddie’s name, pausing by the hall as you hear the familiar voices of some of Jake’s team members.

“Your girlfriend hangs out with that Munson guy?”

“I keep telling her.” Jake seems as displeased as Tommy H.

“Your girl’s a fucking freak for that, man.” That’s Andrew, Brynn’s boyfriend. You’ve learned to tune him out at this point.

“Hey, cut it out, Andy.” Chance is probably the most sane of the group, but he’s still an asshole. “That’s his fucking girlfriend.”

“Keep talking shit about her, and I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

Tommy’s voice is obnoxious. “Shouldn’t say that, or they’ll arrest you.” A round of laughter sparks among them. Jake’s is the loudest.

“Maybe they should.”

“They should just arrest Munson,” Chance deadpans. Your grasp tightens around a textbook. You’re getting sick of hearing it. “We all know it’s him.”

“Since your girl’s suckin’ face with him, maybe she’s in on it, too… But that’d make her a slut.”

Everyone laughs, even as you hear the scuffle of shoes and ruffle of clothes as some weird play fight breaks out between them. You assume it’s between Jake and Tommy.

Eddie’s hand gently grabs your arm, crowding your space to put a barrier between you and them. His gaze is schooled on your face. He seems really upset, but he hides it well so he can comfort you. You scoff, shaking your head as you stare blankly at the floor, your face set in passionate displeasure.

“I fucking hate jocks.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” he mutters, stroking your arm. Goosebumps erupt over your skin, your entire arm gets covered in them. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

You nod, looking up at him and letting the concern in his eyes ease you. “Yeah.” You readjust your grip on your book, turning the other to walk to his class instead. He lets you, because he knows you’re trying to self-soothe and he doesn’t want to interrupt that. “I’m more upset about everyone always assuming it’s you. Like they know you or something.” You mumble the last part more to yourself, but he hears it loud and clear. It’s heartwarming, your support of him.

“That’s sweet,” he says, “but I don’t really care that much.” Like he’s said before, he’s used to it. You still don’t like it, and he loves that about you. “I don’t know too many girls who take kindly to being called a slut.” He stops you so that he can properly look at you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod, giving him your best smile in an attempt to convince him. He’s so sweet. You don’t want him to worry. “I’m good,” you shrug nonchalantly. “His friends are just assholes. It’s whatever.”

He doesn’t fully believe you, but he doesn’t want to press and stress you out. So he just nods and says, “Hey, you can sit with me during lunch so you don’t have to sit with them.”

You smile, and this time he believes it. “That sounds great.”

You’ve rustled through your bag maybe seven times now, and you still can’t find it. The amount of distress it’s causing you is a little unnerving. One thing. You just want one thing to be simple.

“Shit.” Eddie looks over at you, watches you put your head against the lunch table with a force that concerns him. He reaches a hand out and rubs circles along your back unprompted. “I left my notebook for my next class in my car.”

He raises a brow. “Are they really important?”

You turn your head to look at him. “If I miss any of these notes, I’m not passing this test.” And your teacher is a true asshole who refuses to delay the test even a single day to give you all a break.

Eddie’s already moving to stand, offering his hand to you. “I’ll go with you. You know, to keep you safe.”

You glance over at the table where Jake sits. He keeps looking over at you. When you slip your hand into Eddie’s, you know he’s pissed. You don’t mind it too much. “Thanks, Eddie.” He gives you one of those big smiles.

You walk with Eddie out of the cafeteria. There’s a cop posted at the door who checks the both of you out before letting you leave. The sun is really bright, despite the depression inside. It’s actually a bit glaring as you shield your vision from it. Eddie’s not having much luck with it either.

Eddie walks closely by you, and you appreciate the sentiment. You don’t feel as unsafe as you should—maybe it’s because it’s daytime and there are people around you. Nothing is going to happen in broad daylight.

You should really learn not to think things like that, though.

Eddie practically jumps in front of you as the loud screeching of tires alarms everyone around you. You startle, immediately looking towards the car that’s speeding through the parking lot. It’s loud and explosive. It hurts your ears, and you look away because you don’t know if you can take all this shock. You’re going to have a heart attack in your teens.

You cover your ears when it just barely crashes against the back of a car, bouncing off of it just to catapult into a giant pole.

The front is entirely caved in. There’s steam billowing from the hood as the back tires roll. One of the doors has flung open, and you stare in shock at what’s just happened. It takes you a moment to process Eddie’s protective arm over your front. You set a hand on his shoulder, and he immediately turns to examine you. “Are you okay?” he asks quickly, frantic as he looks over every part of you like you were the thing the car hit.

You start to nod when a blood curdling scream fills the air. Your head shoots to the scene of the crash, and you’re running toward it before you can even register Eddie’s protests. He chases after you.

You don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

It’s gruesome and graphic. Your hands fly to your mouth as you fight the urge to scream at the sight of two bloodied bodies lying cold in the back seat. They’ve been completely mutilated with the amount of times they’ve been stabbed all over. If you hadn’t known them so well, you probably wouldn’t have been able to make them out with all the blood and tears spread over their faces.

Telling flesh from organs (or even clothes) proved difficult. It was a mess of fabric and tissue. Some places were so abused that you could see bone sticking out of wounds, surrounded by flesh and meat. Your gut churned and churned. You wanted to look away, you’re almost begging to look away but you can’t.

That’s two jocks now, four dead bodies. First Jason, then Cassidy…and now Tommy H and Carol Perkins.

Their wide eyes are unblinking…

You can hear your breath in your ears. Everything else is so loud and muffled—the screams, the shouts, the chatter—but the heavy gasps of your lungs is a pound in your head that you can’t tune out. Everything seems to slow as you stare at the two, their bodies unmoving and broken by glinting blades. All you do is stare.

You don’t realize Eddie’s arm wrapped around your waist until he turns your head from the scene. You try to look back, but he’s shielding your gaze with his hand so that you can only look at him. “Hey, hey, hey.” His voice, though thick with breath and something you can’t place with the way your brain rushes, is grounding. “You’re okay. Let’s go. Come on.”

You just follow him because he’s the only steady thing you can focus on. He crowds you with his body, and you let him before it gives you something to focus on. The sight of them is still in your head, stuck to your brain like a dart in a dartboard. You don’t understand. You want to understand.

You don’t notice more people bursting through the doors. You don’t notice the cops following after with their guns drawn as they scream at everyone to get out of the way. You don’t notice more screams filling the air and police sirens from the cars already in the parking lot. You focus on Eddie’s warm palm against your palm as the other holds your hand tight.

You don’t know how much time has passed before you come to. Eddie’s rubbing your back and letting you rest your head on his shoulder. Everything seems calm enough to feel real. You lift your head heavily and look at him. His gaze is distant, and you take it as shock.

You tuck your arm under his to wrap it around his back. He looks down at you, blinking a couple times before continuing to just sit next to you. Everything is fine.

It takes longer than it should for you to remember Jake. When you think you can stand, you place a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and tell him insistently, “I…I’m going to find Jake. He’s probably freaking out, and…just please be safe. Please don’t get hurt. Be safe, please.”

Eddie nods, squeezing your hand gently before letting you go. “You, too. I’ll see you later, right?”

It takes a moment to process. “Yes. Yeah, I’ll try to call you.” He nods, squeezes your hand again, and then lets you go. As you turn away toward the thick crowd, you see Jonathan Byers joining Eddie. Argyle and Robin find them a moment later. At least he’s got company.

Everyone is in the cafeteria now. There’s police at every door keeping anyone from leaving. It’s very crowded, and for a moment, you think you can’t breathe, but you need to find your boyfriend.

It takes you a long time to find him. When you do, it looks like he's just now being told what's happened by his teammates. Brynn is at his side with Andrew holding her hands, speaking slowly. You finally get to them and drop to your knees to look up at him. He sits down heavily, dropping his face in his hands. He looks really tired.

“Jake?” you whisper, brushing his hair back from his face and gently holding his face to lift it up. He sees you, and his eyes dart between your own. His expression is so far away, and you begin to worry yourself sick. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you wait for anyone to tell you anything about what’s going on.

They send you home in groups, canceling school for the rest of the week while they’re at it. You worry about Jake driving, but he’s assured you that you’re okay enough and traffic is slow already. He drives in front of you, and you busy yourself with reading and rereading his plate numbers a million times just to try to avoid thinking about the corpses in Tommy H’s car.

You go to your house first. You hate the thought of walking in there right now, but you need clothes and things if you’re staying at Jake’s house for the next couple of days. You reach through the window of his truck on the way in, sliding a hand down his face. “You okay?”

He nods. He looks like he’s coming back to himself, but he’s still (obviously) deeply upset. “I’m good.”

You kiss his forehead before you’re headed inside with hesitant steps. Once the door is unlocked and open, you move quickly in an effort to grab all the things you need. As you’re passing the kitchen, you notice something sitting on the table. There wasn’t anything there when you were last here.

You swallow thickly, closing your eyes and slowly turning on your heel. When you open your eyes again to see, you swallow the insistent lump in your throat and set your bag on the counter. You walk slowly into the kitchen, and your hands begin to tremble all over again.

The note is the same handmade paper as before. This time, the smudge is on the outside over your name. Your heart is pounding so fast, you can’t even fathom focusing on it right now. You reach a hand out to grab it.

You hear Jake’s shoes as he steps through the front door. You swipe up the note and hide it behind your back as his gaze finds you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his tone sort of lazy.

You shake your head. “Nothing. I’m just gonna get my stuff.” You start walking toward the stairs.

“I’ll come with you.”

“No,” you sound more desperate than you mean to. But he wouldn’t understand. “No, it’s fine. Please don’t.”

He stares at you for a moment before deciding it’s not that big a deal. He steps back, nodding to himself. “Okay.” He turns on his heel and walks back to his truck to wait for you.

You rush upstairs, shoving open your bedroom door and locking it behind you. You almost yelp when you turn and see a black rose sitting on your bed. You slap a hand over your mouth and close your eyes to center yourself, breathing like that will make the rose disappear—and the letter, too, for that matter.

You lean against the door, your breath shaky as you look at the envelope. You tear it open slower than you had the first, pulling out the letter inside like it will explode if you’re not careful enough.

When all our enemies are dead and buried, we will be the ones laughing together. Soon, my perfect little puppet.

Your breath shudders as memories of just earlier that day pulse in your ears, Tommy and the team laughing at you for “being a slut”. Without wasting a second, Tommy haunts you with the sight of his open eyes, wide and bloodshot—as if he’d just seen a ghost.

This letter goes with the last one. You throw it into the closet and turn to your dresser for some clothes to stuff in a bag. But the top drawer is already open. A pair of underwear is missing. The only reason you know that is because it's the only red pair you have, and it’s not glaring you down.

You shake your head, grabbing the first sets of clothes you see and stuffing them in the bag. You lock all your windows, you lock your bedroom door behind you, you run down the stairs and ignore the fact that you could trip and fall at any moment (effectively breaking your neck and ridding you of the exhaustion of the mess that is your life right now).

You keep (re-locking) every lockable door and window in your house before you finally reach the front door. Once you’re sure it’s locked tight, you rush to Jake’s car with your bag thrown over your shoulder. You toss it in the back, and Jake pulls away as soon as your seatbelt is on. You’re glad he doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, because you know you’re not subtle.

The night is a little better once you get to Jake’s place (at least, it is for him once he's had a few beers). Brynn is over—Andrew had to stay home, his parents were too worried to let him leave the house.

But you've got the house all to yourselves. Jake's father is working all night at the precinct. There's no way he's coming home with a killer on the loose—a killer who's already claimed two jocks so far. He's not very keen on a third, especially with such a personal risk.

There's a movie on, and it's a nice distraction for them. Your mind is a little too preoccupied with the events of today (the events of the past few days).

As you glance over at Jake, you set a hand on his knee. There was a flash of something sad in his eyes for a moment. His mood, although it has improved, is still a little sour. It isn't so low that he looks like he isn't there—no, the beer has helped with that—but there's a faintness there that concerns you.

“You okay?” It's a dumb question, but it's the only one you've got. Brynn looks over.

Jake glances at you, nodding. “Yeah,” he says. “Just can't believe he got Tommy.” He shakes his head. “It's not fucking cool, he was a good dude.”

You can admit that you never really liked him. But that wasn't a reason for him to die.

He stands, swirling his empty beer can in his hand and going to grab another. You're still sipping—you never really liked the taste of beer, and Brynn seems to be almost through with hers.

He rustles through the fridge and cracks open another can. “I don't even know why anyone would do this.” He takes a generous swig, running a hand through his hair and shutting the fridge door.

“A fucking psycho, that's who,” Brynn mutters. She drapes a hand over her face. “Who knows what else he'll do?”

Jake scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I try not to think about it.”

You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands as you twirl your thumbs around the other. Brynn glances at you when you say nothing. You're doing that thing where the crease between your brows folds and unfolds. Something’s off.

“What's wrong?” she mutters. Jake looks at you.

You don't know how to tell them. You don't even know if they'll understand. Besides, with everything going on, your problems aren't nearly as important.

You go to dismiss it, but as you glance up and see them both watching you, you realize that you cannot sit here and pretend that nothing is bothering you this time. You look away, trying to find the words and feeling like you’re grasping at straws in a simple attempt at voicing your concerns.

“I…” You take a steadying breath, remembering the notes written to you on letters stained with blood. Fear circles your throat and makes it difficult to speak. You look up at Jake and Brynn. What if saying something about this meant they would both die? What if this thing, this sick, twisted thing going on between you and the killer means that everyone you love will end up dead?

Once again, you go to deny them the truth, the ugly truth of your peril…but you’ve already made that impossible. You swallow thickly, clearing your throat and hoping it will give you some courage.

“I’ve been getting these…these letters.” You clasp your hands together in an effort to stop their trembling. Your voice is soft, so soft that you don’t think they can hear you. “I think it’s from…him.”

Jake’s hand flexes, and you think for a moment that he’ll spill beer all over the place from crushing the can in his fist. “Who?” You think it’s possession over protection.

“The killer,” you say. Then your voice gets weaker. “Ghostface.”

Brynn makes a face. One that tells you that she doesn’t quite believe you. “Why would you be getting letters from this psycho?”

They’re not understanding. They don’t hear the fear in your voice.

“I don’t know. They’re these twisted love letters. I swear to God, there was blood on one of them.” You bring your knees up to your chest, trying to find warmth where fear has made your blood cold. You don’t look at them as you shake your head. It’s an absurd thing to say, but all of what’s happening is absurd. “I think this guy is killing for me.”

Brynn shakes her head, finding logic where you’re too emotional to look. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Jake agrees, coming back to the living room to lean on the couch beside you. “It’s probably just some fuckin’ creep playing with you.” He drinks from his can.

As reasonable as they sound—at least, it’s more reasonable than the theory you have—you can’t believe it. Too much has happened, and this is all too fucked up to try to rationalize. You shake your head, turning your body to face him.

“You don’t understand. He got into my house.” Jake’s eyes aren’t clear, and he looks generally unfazed. You reach a hand out to grasp his own, squeezing it to try to get him to listen to you. “He was there today.”

He tilts his head down. The way he looks at you is nothing if not condescending, but you try not to see it that way. “Maybe you left your door unlocked.” You think, as the son of a police officer, he should be more upset about something breaking into your house. Hell, as your boyfriend, he should be more upset about a guy breaking into your house. “Ie,” he continues, “someone’s playing a trick on you.”

You tilt your head, your anxious frustration turning to something more angry. “I always lock the door. Especially when my parents aren’t home—especially when there’s a psycho killer on the loose.” He shakes his head. You take his face in your hands, making him look at you again. “Jake, Cassidy tried to get me fired. I heard Tommy talking about me today.”

“And Jason?” he nearly snaps. He steps away from you completely. “How’s he connected, huh?”

You swallow. He’s the only one who sticks out. Jason was never unkind to you—though you know he can be unkind. He was, to those that counted to him, as gentlemanly as a jock can get.

You look down. “I…” You clear your throat lightly. “I don’t know, but I know something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, four people are dead.” He almost slams his beer on the counter. His voice cracks slightly, and he runs a hand through his messy hair. He speaks quietly, though not lacking the hurt in his voice. “That’s what’s wrong.”

You know he, Jason, and Tommy were friends, you know how much they mean to him. But—damn it—you should mean just as much! He’s supposed to have your back through this, just like you’ve had his. You’ve tried to be good to him this whole time, and then when you try to tell him how afraid you are, he throws it in your face.

It’s getting to be too much. You have grown used to the flimsy support of those close to you. You parents are almost always gone, your boyfriend has his team, your best friend has her boyfriend. Things used to be so good, and they’ve just been getting so stressful. You never ask for anything from any of them, and the one time you do, you’ve served with a steaming bowl of hot shit. It’s too much.

“I feel like I’m going crazy here, and neither of you are listening to me.” You run your hands down your face, covering your eyes and trying to steady your breath, trying to ease the heat in your chest from all the anger gathering there. “I feel like-like I’m being watched all the time.”

Brynn speaks up. “You’re just paranoid.”

“He was in my house!

You couldn’t stop it once it was out. Your shout was louder than you’d anticipated, and you feel like it’s the first time your words have ever been forced straight from your chest. There’s so much there that you feel like you have to catch your breath as the silence sits thick in the space between the three of you.

You look at Brynn. She stares down at her lap, timidly picking her nails. You look at Jake. He’s got his face in his hand as he leans against the counter.

They don’t believe you.

You can’t make them.

You stand up quickly, pushing yourself off the couch so hard that you almost fall forward. “I don’t need this.” You shove past Jake on your way to the hall, “You guys are supposed to have my fucking back.” Brynn turns to Jake, her eyes unblinking. You climb the stairs and barge into his room, grabbing your bags and repacking the things you’ve set out.

Jake has followed you up the stairs. “Come on, babe. Don’t act like this.”

It makes you seethe. “I’m going home.”

“How? You live too far, and you don’t have a ride.” You glare at him. That’s his concern. “Besides, you shouldn’t be out by yourself.” He adds it on like an afterthought.

You shake your head, closing your eyes and taking a steadying breath. “Then I’ll call someone to get me.” You slam your bag shut, forcing the zipper closed with far too much strength. “I just can’t fucking look at you right now.”

Jake grabs you, stopping you from what you’re doing to make you look at him. “Hey, babe, look, I’m sorry. Okay?” He makes you face him, his hands on your elbows as he cages you in. You turn your face away. “I’m being a huge dick… I believe you, okay?”

You huff, glancing at him out of the corner of your eyes. You take in the sight of him, trying to determine if he’s lying to you. He seems upset, genuinely. It’s foolish hope, but it’s hope, and that’s all you really want right now. “Do you?” It’s more accusing than it is anything else.

His voice is low, and he cradles your face in his hand. You let yourself, reluctantly, lean into his palm. “If that’s what you want.” You don’t like his response, but you push it away. He’s never had a way with words. “I’m sorry.” He pulls you close, bringing his other hand to wrap around your waist. “Let me make it up to you.”

You sigh, allowing yourself for just a moment to think maybe…maybe he means it. His thumb brushes over your cheek, the corner of his lips curves up. He leans in.

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

You shove him hard. You clench your fists at your side and feel yourself reaching a level of anger that is generally foreign to you. You're used to pushing it away.

Jake's shock quickly turns to annoyance, which forms a deep frustration as he huffs. “I'm so fucking sorry,” he mocks. He crowds your space, his face merely inches from his own as he speaks in a low voice that feels like he's shouting. “Two of my friends are dead, and you're making it all about you.”

You want to feel bad, but you can't. You're tired of feeling bad, you're tired of letting yourself be overlooked. What kills you is that he can't even realize that you're not okay—that you're hardly ever okay.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” You stare in shock and partially in pain, though you try to keep that hidden. It claws at your throat, and you feel like you can't speak; you push through it, despite the burning coals stuck in your throat. “I'm genuinely terrified that someone is trying to hurt me, and you're acting like this?”

He looks like he's about to rip his hair out—which is the point you're reaching as well. “Nobody is trying to hurt you! You're fucking delusional. Jesus Christ, why do you have to be such a whiny little bitch?”

A mix of emotions run through you, but all you do is stand there. You stand and you stare at him, eyes wide and welling, lips parted as your brows dip low.

It's one thing to have a stray thought that your boyfriend finds you annoying—even, perhaps, that he hates you. It's another thing entirely to have those theories confirmed, and in such a way! You look at the features of his face, all the rage and frustration peeling back into fatigue and a hint of regret. You stare even longer, longer than you were meant to, just wanting to see more regret than what he's giving.

You want him to fall to his knees and cry, to beg your forgiveness. But you know he would never beg. You know he would never fall. He never did. It was always you.

After all this time, you were always the one falling.

Ideally, you know you both need to take a step back, get some space. You need to clear your head and think about this so you can come back and figure this out. Especially with everything going on, feelings running high. You should be rational.

But you can't.

The only thing you want to do right now is slam the door in his face, leave him standing there looking stupid. Because if you come back, if you make up and go back to normal…

You don't know how much more you can take.

Jake takes a step forward. “Babe–”

“Get the fuck away from me.”

“Babe, I'm sorry. I'm just–”

You hit his hand away when he reaches for you. “Don't fucking touch me.” You stare at him for a second longer, shaking your head before turning sharply to grab your bags. You make for the door.

“Babe–”

“Rot in Hell.”

You slam the door in his face, rushing down the stairs as quickly as you can. Brynn spots you, walking up to you quickly as she looks down at your bags. “Where are you going?”

“Fuck off.”

“You don't have your car–!” You slam the front door shut. You make sure Jake can hear it from upstairs.

No one follows you. You trek down the sidewalk, your feet heavy and your grip on your bags tight. Your heart is beating so hard, it comes with the sound of thunder in your ears. You know you're about to cry, you can feel it in the heaviness of your chest, the tightness in your throat, the hoarseness of every breath you take. You think briefly that you may die.

But the longer you walk, the longer you realize that you are outside. It's past curfew, late at night. You are alone.

And there's a killer on the loose.

It's the most inconvenient time for tears to fall. You can't see well, and you're breathing so heavily that you can't hear what's going on around you.

The streets are bare. There's no one around. The sky is drenched in darkness. Everyone is inside hiding from the killer, where they should be.

Where do you go?

You have no car. You live too far to walk. You refuse to go back and ask for a ride. You refuse to go back.

You swallow thickly, picking up the pace as you rush to the nearest payphone. There's one close by, you’ve passed by it a million times.

Once you're inside, you close the door quickly. But as soon as your hand is reaching for loose quarters in your bag, you realize they're shaking. You watch them, like leaves rattling in the window. As you bring them slowly to your face, you can't help it when your knees buckle.

You let yourself be carried to the ground, unable to hold it together long enough to find safety. It's all coming down so quickly, and you don't have the sense to allot time to cry after you've found it.

You'd hoped you were wrong, that your friends actually loved you. What a fool you were to believe such a thing. You'd grown so used to such a skewed perception of love that you don't think you'd be able to distinguish that from your twisted need to please every goddamn person you meet.

You like to believe that, at one point, it was real. It had to have been, right? It's been almost a year since you and Jake met. And Brynn has been your best friend since the beginning of high school. But that kind of distrust, those kinds of insults don't come from a place of love.

No, you don't think Jake ever truly loved you. It was simple attraction—attraction that wore off, that he probably got sick of but felt too obligated to preserve because you need someone. And there was a time for you and Brynn, but it has since passed.

You held on too tight.

It's nighttime and the sun has long since set. By the time you clear your face, you feel stupid for crying before finding safety. There are more important things than this.

You take a steadying breath. You need to be rational again.

You stuff a quarter in the slot and clear your throat as you bring the phone to your ear. It rings a few times, and you're scared he won't pick up.

“Hello?”

You recognize the voice, but it's not the one you're looking for. “Hey…” You clear your throat again. “I'm looking for Eddie? I'm one of his friends, we've actually met before.”

Eddie's Uncle Wayne pauses to think. You can imagine him scratching his head and rubbing his neck. He says your name in his low, gravelly voice.

You nod as if he can see you. “Yes, that's me.”

“Ah. Well,” he clears his own throat, “Eddie's at one of his friend's houses right now. That Harrington boy, should be. Staying in groups and all that.”

“Okay.” You hadn't anticipated that. You chew on your lip thoughtfully, trying to decide your best course of action. You know Steve, so maybe you'll be welcome. “Do you think you could give me his number?”

He makes this grunting sound, which is just the sound of him thinking. “Let's see,” he mumbles. “Should be in here somewhere.”

You've only interacted with Wayne a few times. He's very mellow, but he's kind and welcoming. And Eddie adores him.

“Harrington residence. What's up?”

“Hey. Steve? Is Eddie there?”

He says your name, double checking. It's been a little while since you've spoken, with him graduating and all.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, he's here.”

You let out a quiet breath of relief. “Could I speak to him?”

“Yeah, hang on.”

There's a shift. Then you hear Steve shout his name.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He already sounds concerned. “What's the matter?”

You rub your face. “Got into it with…” you take a deep breath and hope you don't sound as dreadful as you felt, “with Jake and Brynn. I don't wanna be home by myself. I know it’s past curfew but…” You glance around you in the dark. “Do you think you could come get me?”

There's a pause, and you wonder if you've said something wrong. Eddie is all enthusiasm. He's loud and excited, and he's quick to respond because he's happy to respond.

The silence makes you nervous.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah!” he recovers. “Yeah, of course. Where are you right now?”

You're glad he doesn't ask how you are. “I'm on Jake's street still.”

You hear a jingle. “Stay there. I'll be there in a few minutes.” You're surprised he doesn't ask why you're outside so late, but you're grateful nonetheless.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you smile.

You can hear his own smile through the phone. He's sticky with affection, and it makes you feel safe. “No worries, sweetheart.”

Continued....

Stranger Things taglist: @activebliss @queermaxwooo @life-on-needs @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @emmalee-01 @sw34ter-w34ther @gublur @allofmaris @redwineandnicotine @the-cryptid @katsukis1wife @chaoticcancer @papichulo120627 @emistrash @jjmaybankswifes-blog @thegr8estpuff @lover-of-books-and-tea @xxhanililoxx @quickslvxrr Eddie the Banished taglist: @iiiiluvhobie @eddiiiieeee @hb8301 @queermaxwooo @lovemegood @munsaniac @digital-charlie @eiriancrow @littleblondesoprano @alexxavicry @samz31 @sparkletash @fandomgirl17 @marjoriea13 @akiratoro420 @mewchiili @mischieftom @hiscrimsonangel

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #ghostface #ghostface au #ghostface x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader smut #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanficiton #reader insert #female reader #kinktober 2024 #ghostface eddie munson

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ellecdc · 7 months ago

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All's Fair in Love & Chaos (II)

2nd instalment (I - II - III - IV)

a short blurb style mini-series in collaboration with @unstablereader no real plot, just vibes and comedy.

Synopsis: soulmate au, everyone's soulmate's initials become visible on their wrist when the last person in the bond 'comes of age' (I've left the age ambiguous because their may be mature insinuations later on in the story). As luck would have it, and much to everyone's horror; it appeared that you, Barty Crouch Junior, and Sirius Black were soulmates

poly!DeathStar x fem!reader

Though this soulmate thing had caused Sirius a bit of grief so far, he was feeling rather chuffed about it today. He was currently sitting with you in the library; you were currently doing research for your Herbology project, and he was pretending to work on his Transfiguration essay.

It was an odd sight, he was sure; Sirius Black found in the library working quietly without being involved in some sort of mischief. It was no secret he didn’t exactly take his school work seriously, but that was only because he didn’t have to; classes came easily to him and getting good grades didn’t require any extra work on his part.

But…

But, he had a pretty little thing sitting across from him, that was certifiably his, and she was spending time in the library, which meant he was, too.

It was a precarious arrangement, but Sirius found he didn’t much mind when the unpleasantness wasn’t around.

Unfortunately, the unpleasantness was insistent on following him around.

“Junior.” He growled lowly as a figure sidled up behind you and cast a shadow over your shared table.

“Black.” Barty sneered before turning a saccharine smile in your direction. “Hello, sweet darling angel.” He cooed, earning him a scoff from Sirius.

“Hello, Barty… what are you doing here?”

Barty laughed as if you’d made a particularly funny joke. “I’m here to spend time with my best girl, of course!”

“Like hell you are!” Sirius barked, earning him indignant shushes from the other students around him.

“Barty… you agreed to this.” You tried placating.

“Agreed to share you with Black?” Barty squawked. “I’d sooner start wearing red and gold unironically.”

“Junior, this schedule was your idea. I get the library study time on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. You get the library study time on Sundays, Mondays, and Wednesdays. It’s Tuesday; get lost.” Sirius lamented.

“But I don’t want to!” Barty pouted particularly petulantly, even stomping his foot for good measure.

“Well, you can take it up with management.” Sirius taunted.

“You just sodding said yourself that this was my plan; I am the management!” Barty countered.

Sirius mustered his most Noble and Ancient menacing glare from countless Black ancestors. The Slytherin boy had no problem reciprocating it, and it wasn’t until you intervened that the boys broke the silent war being waged between them.

“Barty, I…I think you should go see what Pandora is up to? And…maybe we can sit together at dinner?” You offered hopefully. Sirius was simultaneously grateful you were trying to rid them of the unpleasantness and also terribly jealous that Barty was going to share a meal with you.

“Yes! Okay, I’ll go get Pandora to help me organize a romantic meal for us tonight.” Barty beamed excitedly.

“Please. How romantic can a meal in the Great Hall be?” Sirius sneered, albeit slightly worried that Barty may in fact succeed.

“You mind your fuckin’ business, Black. Salazar’s balls you’re a pest.”

“I’m the pest!?” Sirius exclaimed, but you were quick to place a conciliatory hand on Barty’s forearm.

“Please, Barty?”

Barty looked down at you with a pained expression that Sirius could understand all too well.

You were impossible to say no to.

Barty looked between you and Sirius a few times before groaning exasperatedly.

“Fine.” He relented, pressing a smacking kiss to your cheek and stalking off.

Sirius let out a sigh of relief as you turned back towards the table with an embarrassed smile.

“Oh!” Sirius heard, causing him to let his head fall with a thump to the table before him. “I almost forgot.”

And Sirius lifted his head from the table to watch as Barty pulled at the collar of your uniform shirt to expose part of your neck and began sucking a bruise into your skin.

Sirius spit out a shocked guffaw as he watched Barty pull back, admire his work, press a chaste kiss to it and replace your collar to its proper place before leaving the library for good.

“What…” Sirius started as he turned his attention from the door he’d been keeping an eye on to ensure that menace didn’t return to continue tormenting him back to you, just as you were embarrassedly rubbing at your neck. “...in the buggering fuck was that?”

“That’s just Barty.” You replied timidly.

Sirius let out another scoff, eyes still glued to your neck. “Are you okay?”

You chuckled at that and offered Sirius a smile that was equal parts apologetic and equal parts teasing. “I’m pretty sure that’s his way of showing…affection? Or possibly marking his territory; he’s done it before when Diggory spent a, quote, ‘unreasonable amount of time complimenting my potion’.”

Sirius relaxed a little at that. He supposed if you were comfortable with it, he wouldn’t push it. And though Sirius clearly had better impulse control than your other soulmate, he couldn’t deny how much he was tempted to do the same.

“Alright then.” Sirius relented, allowing you to return to your research.

“I hope you know you’ve just opened up the need to schedule meals now though.”

“For fuck’s sake.” You groaned, plopping your head down into your textbook.

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moonlinos · 9 months ago

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Invisible string (pt. III)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: After so many years of being closed off from the idea of love, you finally allow yourself to feel it freely with Minho.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, swearing

♡ Word count: 16.4k

♡ A/N: A part of this chapter was almost shamelessly inspired by the song that inspired the plot in the first place, Invisible String by Taylor Swift. Also really inspired by my favorite Minho vlog, Lee Know Log 4 🩷

To those who have asked to be tagged in this story: would any of you be interested in being tagged in any new work I post later? Let me know! And thank you for reading and giving me such a great experience posting my writing here for the first time 🩷

← part II ♡ ⟳ part I

You spend the entire flight home processing everything that had happened during the trip; from Minho’s words, to your kisses and touches, to you ultimately acknowledging your own romantic feelings for him. Although it all felt sudden, it had been a long time coming.

As his car stops at the front of your house, Minho steps out and walks with you, your backpack in hand.

“I know you’re scared. I understand that even more now that I know about your past relationships,” he speaks softly as the two of you stop at the front door, “And I want you to know that I’m gonna be patient.”

You nod slowly, although the desire to answer him is still so prevalent in your mind, the words lodged in your throat and yearning to spill out. But you’ve made the mistake of jumping into relationships far too often, always driven by your emotions, and every time, the outcome has been disastrous. You don’t want that to happen with Minho.

So, you settle on a question that has been eating away at you.

“Why do you like me, Minho?”

His face twists into a deep frown before ultimately softening. Carefully placing your backpack on the step leading to the front door, he sighs.

“You shouldn’t have to ask me that,” he assures you, his rough hands touching your shoulders before moving down your arms to entwine with your own. “You don’t even realize how fucking amazing you are, do you? I’d move mountains, fight anyone and do anything if it meant I’d have the privilege to see you smile.”

And, just like that, you feel your lips stretch out into a small smile at his words. He grins at you.

“Just like that. I’d do anything to see that,” he says. “And you take care of your friends simply because you love them, never asking for anything in return. You collect plushies like me, you appreciate the criminally underrated flavor of lemon cake, and you worked at the same convenience store as me, and spilled coffee all over my notebook on the day we met. That’s why I like you; because you’re you.”

Tears threaten to well up in your eyes, so you quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your shoes. With a nod, you wrap your arms around Minho, taking in his scent and reveling in the comforting warmth of his body. Little did he know, you were just as willing to do whatever it took to keep him near you. He plants a chaste kiss on your forehead as you break away from his embrace.

“I’ll call you later, okay? Thank you for the trip.”

As soon as you step inside your house, Eunha is quick to come running towards you, her hands dirty with flour as she abandons her unbaked cookies on the counter and pulls you into a hug.

“I missed you so much,” she whines, “How will I survive living without you next year?”

You chuckle, watching as her lips turn into a pout.

“I’m sure we’ll suffer equally, if that makes you feel better.”

She fakes a sob, turning on her heels and heading toward the kitchen.

“Oh, Hyunjin is in a crisis, apparently,” she tells you, wiping her hands on her apron. “He called me three times just today to ask if you were back already.”

You let out a sigh. Hyunjin was more often than not either glum or vexed due to his trials and mishaps in finding love. He once joked that you two would end up having to marry each other with how things were going. You dreaded his reaction to the news of Minho soon entering your life in a new way.

“The hotel’s Wi-Fi was a joke, but I honestly didn’t even think to check my phone,” you tell Eunha, who giggles as she cuts her cookies into heart shapes. “What? Why are you giggling like that?” You ask her with a grin, approaching the counter.

She shrugs. “Nothing. I didn’t even think to check my phone,” she playfully mimics your voice, looking up at you, “I’m guessing you had fun, then?”

“I did,” you beam, “It was everything I thought it would be and even more.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “Even more?”

“Even more,” you reiterate. “I had so much fun with Minho. I forgot how good it feels to just let go and allow myself to feel what I want to feel.”

Eunha’s lips curl into a small smile. She hums, lowering her head in a feeble attempt at pretending to focus on the cookies in front of her. “And what did you want to feel this weekend?”

“Like maybe I can finally fall in love again.”

Your friend lifts her head, her eyes wide. “Love?” she exclaims, “You, the girl who has spent every day since I met you talking about how love isn’t important, is wanting to fall in love?”

You chuckle at her reaction, shrugging dismissively. “In my defense, I had my reasons. Plus, some things made me change my mind.”

“More like someone,” Eunha teases, and you roll your eyes at her, but a smile spreads on your lips unwittingly. “I’m happy for you,” she beams, “and I think you should definitely fall in love again — not maybe.”

You sprint across the small kitchen space, circling around the counter to wrap your arms around Eunha and squeezing her as she lightly pushes you away, warning you about flour getting all over your clothes, but you don’t mind.

Because you love her, as you’ve learned this past weekend, and you don’t mind the mess when it comes to someone you love.

It’s only as you enter your room that you check your phone, which is filled with notifications from Hyunjin, much like Eunha had said. After ten missed calls, it seems he resorted to simply texting you.

Hyune: hey I know you’re in japan but can you answer the phone? Hyune: I promise I’ll be quick. just wanna talk to you Hyune: hear your voice idk I feel really alone rn and really bad idk lol Hyune: mingyu has his girlfriend over. can you believe they’re still together? Hyune: can you believe he has a girlfriend and I can’t even find someone to give me the time of day lol Hyune: can you believe every date I go to ends with me crying lol Hyune: sorry I’m being annoying and the messages aren’t even being delivered, you’re clearly having fun sorry Hyune: sorry Hyune: guess that’s why nobody can endure me for more than two dates Hyune: have fun 🤍 I love you

You feel your heart ache as you read his messages, answering with an apology. But before you can hit send on your second message, Hyunjin has already replied.

Hyune: it’s okay. I’m sorry I even sent those in the first place

Me: Stop apologizing Me: You know I love you and I’ll always be here for you Me: Where are you?

Hyune: at my dorm Hyune: staring at the ceiling

Me: I’m coming over

True to his words, Hyunjin is lying on the floor of his dorm’s cramped living room once you open the door. There’s a small canvas propped up against the wall, a myriad of shades of blue forming the shape of a face. Your best friend’s talent never ceases to amaze you, and you have to fight the urge to stand still by the front door for a few seconds simply admiring his new painting.

“Look at this sulking Pisces,” you click your tongue as you approach Hyunjin, who only opens one eye to shoot you a glance.

“I’m in a fragile state and this is how you greet me,” he all but pouts before sitting up as you sit cross-legged beside him on the floor. “How was the trip?”

You shrug. “It was fun. We only had one day to explore the city, so we didn’t do much,” you say simply, tapping your fingers on your thigh.

You don’t want to sit and talk about how much fun you had during a trip when Hyunjin’s puffy, bloodshot eyes are staring directly at you. He was sad, and his sadness was palpable throughout the entire living room — his bitten lips, his painting, his hands covered in dried-up blue paint; everything was dripping in sadness. This was a constant with Hyunjin, but lately it had become even worse. He has an overwhelming desire to love and be loved, but his every attempt at fulfilling this desire is futile for reasons you cannot wrap your head around.

“I like the new painting,” you smile, focusing on the saddened blue face. Hyunjin scoffs beside you.

“It’s fucking terrible,” His hand shoves the canvas face down on the floor. You bite your lip. “Can’t even paint shit I like anymore. Every time I try, it always turns out muddy and sad.”

“What happened?”

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Well I’m pathetic, so it’s still the same old reason. I had a date with this girl on Saturday, but she canceled at the last minute. Texted me something about me being too clingy after she agreed to go out with me, about how she knows she would feel suffocated if we dated.”

You furrow your brows together, anger bubbling up inside your chest. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, but don’t worry!” Hyunjin gave you a forced smile. “She made sure to remind me that it was her, not me, and that lots of women out there like guys like me. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, turning his attention toward his hands before scratching some of the dried paint off. You sigh.

“Hyunjin, she isn’t wrong about that. You know that, right? You’re not the one at fault.”

He scoffs. “Sure seems like it when every date I’ve gone to since starting university has ended up with me being rejected for the same fucking reasons. It’s always me. Too clingy, too sentimental, too emotional,” his voice is almost a whisper as he speaks. He turns to face you again. “Remember how I would stop sleeping with you whenever I liked someone? Wanna know why I stopped doing that? ‘Cause I know it’s not gonna go anywhere anyway, so what’s the point? It never goes anywhere, and then I’m left alone again. Maybe I should just accept it, y’know? Some people are just meant to be alone, and clearly I’m one of them.”

Your anger has now morphed into sadness. You hate the way Hyunjin talks about himself, hate it even more how it seems nobody can appreciate the amazing person he is. Being caring and sentimental is not a flaw, and you pray that he never allows other people’s opinions to sway him into thinking that way. You pray he finds someone who can appreciate these qualities in him the same way you do.

“You’re not alone, Hyune,” you assure him, taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re surrounded by friends who love you so much, and while I know that’s not the type of love you yearn for, it’s still love.”

Hyunjin smiles softly at you before pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours. It’s sudden but not entirely unexpected; the way you and Hyunjin dealt with shitty things in life and unpleasant feelings together had always been through sex, and you knew it always made him feel at least a little better afterward. And so you let him, returning the kiss even as part of you felt wrong doing it when your entire being was consumed with thoughts of only Minho.

As soon as he kisses you, he swiftly pushes you down onto the hardwood floor and hovers over you. Hyunjin’s fingers undo the buttons of your cardigan before slipping under your shirt, caressing your skin as his lips trail kisses down your neck. Soon enough, his body is pressed up against your spread thighs, and you know where this is going — but as much as you want to make your best friend feel better, you cannot bring yourself to do it.

“Hyune,” you softly call out, and he hums against your throat. “We can’t do this.”

He chuckles, squeezing your waist. “Mingyu always comes home late when he goes out with his girlfriend. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that, Hyunjin. I just—”

“Do you not wanna fuck on the floor?” He asks, coming up to look at you. He cocks his head to the side. “We can just do it on the couch then, I really don’t wanna have sex with all those pictures of Mingyu and his friends staring at us in our room.”

“Hyunjin, no—”

“It’s not like we never did it on a couch before, stop being dramatic—”

“I’m in love with Minho.”

It comes out before you can fully comprehend what you’re saying, the word love slipping past your lips effortlessly. Hyunjin stills on top of you, his body rigid and tense.

“Oh,” is all he offers you. You nod slowly, fingers picking at a drop of paint that stained the collar of his shirt.

You whisper, “I really am just as surprised as you are, believe me.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I’m not surprised. I just— now you’re leaving me, too.”

You shake your head. It’s ludicrous to you that Hyunjin could imagine that you would ever even entertain the thought of leaving him. Running a hand through his messy hair, you pull him in and press a kiss to his nose. Hyunjin hides his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

“Sorry, that was pathetic. I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologizes. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I just love you so much. I thought we would…”

You furrow your brows as he trails off his words. You thread your fingers through his long hair. “We would…?”

“End up together somehow,” he speaks slowly, his voice muffled, and your heart drops.

Hyunjin harboring these feelings about you was something you would never have imagined. You were certain he was content being your friend and having sex with you only until he found the right person. He went on several dates, after all. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million tiny pieces upon learning about his hidden desire for the future he used to so often joke about: you two ending up together simply because you were each other’s only choices.

“Hyunjin,” you start carefully, “I love you, too. So much. You’re my best friend, and that’s never going to change. We don’t have to be together romantically for us to be in love, y’know? I realized that just recently.”

You feel him nod his head, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers.

“I’m just sad I won’t have you anymore. I’m gonna miss us so much,” he places a small kiss on your collarbone. “Whenever I felt like I was in a dark pit with no way out, every single time you were there to bring me out of it and make me feel okay again. I love you so much for that.”

And you can only softly smile at his words before your heart shatters all over again as you hear him quietly begin to sob in your skin.

“Hyunjin,” you call out, although you know he won’t reply. “You’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. My love for you goes beyond us having sex — that wasn’t even important to me in our relationship. It was just something good on top of something already amazing.” With a slow nod, he lifts his head and gazes at you with red, teary eyes, causing your heart to ache even more. “I’ll never leave you. Ever. I’ll still answer your four hundred three a.m. texts, still let you hide away in my house, still happily listen to you complain about your days, and still hold you when you cry.”

Hyunjin pouts like a child, and your heart swells with fondness.

“Really?” He asks, and you chuckle with a nod.

“Really,” you assure him. “Me being with someone will never change our friendship, or my love for you. I mean, we won’t have sex anymore, of course, but I’ll still talk shit about your roommate with you so I’m sure you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s tearful expression vanishes, replaced by a small teasing grin. “I am gonna have to jerk off significantly more, so I don’t know about forgiveness,” he jokes.

You push him off you with a chuckle, sitting up as he tries to regain his balance.

“When did this whole thing with Minho even happen?” Hyunjin asks, setting his painting back against the wall. You shrug, buttoning up your cardigan. He hums. “So, are you already together?”

“Not yet,” you say, “but I’m gonna answer him after our class this week. If he fucking lets me, that is. He says he wants to be patient, but I don’t want to be patient. The only thing I wanna be is with him.”

Hyunjin’s whole body contorts as he groans. “Ew, what the fuck? When did you become such a sap?”

As you shove him back once more, you both burst into laughter while Hyunjin stumbles back and spills a mug filled with dirty paint water all over his floor.

The rest of the day goes by with you and Hyunjin painting together, a much broader array of colors and a much happier end result on the canvas: beautiful flowers painted by him standing alongside clumsily drawn hearts, stars, and other doodles painted by you. After signing your name above his elegant signature, you inform him the painting is leaving with you — it’s hanging up on your wall as soon as you arrive home.

Hyunjin is your best friend; it’s been this way for the last two years, and it’s indisputable to you that this fact will remain no matter what happens. As you watch him hunched over your painting, insisting that his flowers could be more detailed — even after you assured him a thousand times that they were perfect — you curse yourself for not realizing how beautiful this love between you two is. You hope he cherishes this love as well, in spite of his desire for the two of you to be together in the future. You know deep down this idea stemmed from his fear of solitude.

You’re not worried about him at all, though. He’s a precious soul, and anyone who fails to recognize that doesn’t deserve him. He’s simply getting rid of the wrong people in order to find the right person, someone who sees him as you do.

The love you feel for Hyunjin is unchanging, and if you had any say in it, it would be everlasting.

Your next Japanese class with Minho comes too soon, and you find yourself unprepared. Every trace of resolve you had after returning from your trip dissipated bit by bit every time you saw or talked to him. As soon as you saw his figure step into the coffee shop on Monday to pick up his usual order, you realized that every single scenario your mind had conjured up fell flat. Minho was beautiful, amazing, breathtaking — he deserved something grand and earth-shattering, not a simple answer from a girl who wasn’t even half as good as he was.

It certainly did not help that he, always true to his words, respected your time. Not once during his coffee trips or your never-ending talks through the phone did he mention the topic. And it was slowly but surely driving you insane.

You bite your lips so much on your way to university you’re sure your lipstick is gone by the time you enter the building, and you’re surprised your poor bag isn’t riddled with holes in the cloth from your insistent picking. You shouldn’t feel this nervous — Minho is the one waiting for an answer, after all. For all he knows, you could be simply building up the courage to let him down gently. But you are nervous. You’re terrified he will listen to your clumsy words and decide he deserves someone better. Or, worse yet, will only realize how undeserving of his love you are once you’re in a relationship.

And you don’t think you can face another heartbreak where you’re left to mend your gashes all alone.

You enter the building with shaky hands, fiddling with the strap of your bag and walking toward your classroom on autopilot as your mind is too busy running over all the ways in which this could go wrong.

All faded, however, once you saw Minho waiting for you in front of your classroom. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his phone, his body wrapped in a cozy-looking black sweater and sweatpants, a keychain of a cat plushie hanging from his backpack matching his phone case. You stop a few feet away from him. He deserves the world, and that terrifies you. Still, his presence alone melts away every ugly word of doubt and every piece of worry inside your body until the only thing you can feel is the swirling of that familiar pinwheel spinning inside your chest.

You greet him with a long hug, hoping he can’t feel your heart beating through your own sweater.

After class, he walks you to work, enthusiastically telling you about the progress he, Chan and Seungmin have made on their game. You nod and hum along to his words, but you can’t, for the life of you, focus on a word he’s saying. All you want to do is tell him you like him — god, you like him so much — but every time you’re close to doing it, the ugly words return and scream that he deserves more than an underwhelming confession on a gloomy, empty street.

You stop walking as you two reach the bench located just far away enough from the hustle and bustle of students on campus, the one where no one bothered you when you sat here by yourself for three years, the one that had oddly become your favorite bench among all the other identical ones scattered throughout your university.

Because it was here that you and Minho had your first real conversation, it was here where you two laughed and gasped at all the little coincidences between your lives, and it was here where you began to build a friendship with this wonderful guy who would unknowingly change you for the better.

It was the perfect place, and you berated yourself for not realizing that sooner.

Minho’s voice calling out your name pulls you away from your thoughts, his hand wrapping around yours and pulling you gently toward his body. You hum before colliding against his chest as he chuckles.

“You just stopped walking,” he says, a lilt of confusion in his voice. “I know you hate work, but I didn’t think it was this serious.”

And when you properly turn to look at him, Minho is smiling so beautifully under the somber sky of winter, as if he is the embodiment of sunshine — always glistening and radiating such a comforting warmth no matter how glum the world around him is. And, at the sight of him, you just can’t stop your words. Never mind how gloomy this campus seems or how lackluster your words are — Minho’s presence alone makes everything become golden.

“I like you because you’re you,” you mirror his words at you, “Because you laughed in my face for spilling coffee all over your notebook when I didn’t even know you, because you love coffee just as much as I hate it, and because you believe in silly myths about riding paddle boats together,” You blurt out, words completely unbidden by your brain. Minho’s eyes widened for a beat before slowly turning into crescent moons as a smile spread across his lips. You take a deep breath before continuing, the words flowing out of you so quickly you’re worried he won’t be able to understand you, “And you opened my eyes to the love I feel for my friends, which I was so fucking stupid and blinded to. But, most importantly, you taught me that love isn’t bad. It can never be bad because you’re love, Minho. You’re full of love, and there’s not an ounce of anything bad in you. And you make me feel deserving of this love, even though I still don’t understand how I can be deserving of something so beautiful.”

Minho’s arms are pulling you into an embrace before you can process everything you said, and by the time you seem to come to your senses, you realize tears have welled up in your eyes. He holds you close to him silently for a while, his left hand delicately massaging your scalp as you clutch onto the fabric of his sweater as if he might be taken away from you if you let go.

“I like you, too,” he whispers against your hair, and you feel your lips contort into a pout.

“You already told me that,” you grumble. “I just word-vomited my feelings to you and this is all you have to say?”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. “What else is there to say? I like you so much I don’t think I can put it into words. I might just say something stupid if I talk about it too much.”

You furrow your brows, pulling away from his embrace to face him. “Something stupid like what?”

“Like saying I love you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. Yet again, Minho has rendered you speechless. He shakes his head dismissively, a smile still etched onto his lips.

“No need to say anything. I told you it was stupid,” his eyes drift over to the bench beside you two, and his smile grows. “Guess this has to become my favorite bench too.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s cut short by your tears spilling out again. Minho quickly turns to look at you again, his expression shifting into a mixture of happiness and worry for you as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs.

And as the sun begins to set, the street lights flicker on, casting a warm, yellow glow over everything around you. You cup Minho’s face and press a chaste kiss to his lips, then to his nose, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into an embrace once again.

“I don’t think I’m ready to love you yet. I’m sorry,” you apologize, both to him and yourself.

Minho simply hums, kissing your cheek. “I told you I’m patient, because love is patient. I would wait an eternity for the privilege of hearing you say you love me.”

You and Minho have officially been together for almost two months by the time winter break arrives. You’ve done everything couples do, except for two things: say I love you and go all the way. You’ve done every other possible thing — well, Minho has done every other possible thing to you, with you discovering that Minho particularly loves eating you out, often laying on your lap on your couch after work and rubbing his head against your thighs like a cat, humming and sighing until he has your attention before all but begging you to let him go down on you. Whenever you offer to do the same to him, in any way, he immediately turns the offer down, saying he’s satisfied just pleasuring you. It always leaves you with a million questions, as you notice him have to adjust himself in his pants or coincidently go to the bathroom, but you don’t question it.

The two of you also found ways to get around the whole L-word situation. I missed you becoming your go-to phrase for when you want to scream out that you love him, but are still unable to, while he usually just makes you swallow both your words and his own that are lingering inside your mouth with a kiss.

You had fallen into a routine quickly, with you visiting Minho most evenings after your shift to just lay on Chan’s stiff leather couch and watch him work. You two always hang out with his co-workers slash friends for a while before leaving for the night — Seungmin becoming like the pestering but loveable little brother you never had — and you head to your house in Minho’s car before you sneak him into your home so Mrs. Choi remains none the wiser.

Her ‘no boyfriends spending over two days at the house’ rule can’t possibly apply if she doesn’t even know Minho is there in the first place.

And so, he’s been basically living alongside you and your housemates. This outcome was almost inevitable since Minho hates his roommates while you love each other’s company.

You’re now packing your things with Hyunjin, who’s been sitting on your bed for the last half-hour rather than helping you as he’d promised. In the past month, he’s been able to come to terms with the fact that his ideal future with you was nothing but a coping mechanism after a month of sulking every time Minho was around. He deleted every shitty dating app on his phone and now focuses on finding love naturally, recently going out with a girl he met in one of his classes. The first time they met was the epitome of a meet-cute, with her accidentally bumping into him and spilling black paint all over his shirt. It brought back memories of when you first met Minho, and you had high hopes that this time things would work out differently for him. But, judging by the scowl on Hyunjin’s face and his nonstop complaining, you were wrong.

“But, be for real, why did it take her six dates to realize she doesn’t think we’ll work out?” He grumbles, spinning one of your necklaces around his finger like it’s a toy. “I paid for every meal, made sure she got at least two orgasms every time we went out, and she just suddenly decides we won’t work out? Fuck off.’’

You chuckle, closing your suitcase after triple-checking that you packed Minho’s Christmas present and walking over to where Hyunjin is sitting, snatching your necklace from his hand.

“Maybe she liked the free food and orgasms too much to let them go.”

Hyunjin scowls. “You’re saying that’s the only reason she went out with me?” He feigns offense, shaking his head. “I hope Minho’s parents hate your guts.”

“Hyunjin!” You exclaim, watching as he bursts out laughing. “Don’t even joke about that. You know how nervous I am.”

“There’s no way they won’t like you,” He assures you, “You’re fucking amazing, not to mention their son loves you. That’s more than enough reason to love you too.”

You clutch the necklace in your hand, humming before turning on your heels to check your drawers for anything you might have missed. Hyunjin using the word love makes you a bit anxious, an unwelcome reminder that you still haven’t been able to overcome this stupid emotional blockage preventing you from telling Minho you love him. The first and only time you’d ever said you loved Minho was that evening at Hyunjin’s dorm, and it hadn’t even been directed at him. Without saying a word, you both understand the love that exists between you — it’s unspoken, but deeply felt — and you’re aware of that, but the fear that one day he’ll grow tired of waiting is painfully tangible inside your mind.

When Minho invited you to spend Christmas with his family, you hesitated at first. Meeting your ex-boyfriends’ families had never been so significant. You were a teenager at the time, the implications were different and the stakes didn’t seem as high. This time, it feels as if getting Minho’s parents to like you is indispensable. How will he go on dating a woman his parents deem unfit for him? Especially with how highly he speaks of his mother, you’re sure her opinion of you will weigh on his mind.

You can only hope they love you half as much as you love their son.

The car ride to Minho’s parents’ house was around half an hour.

Half an hour you spent picking at a loose thread on your skirt and overthinking so much your head ached by the time he parked the car. You hated how nervous you were, but Minho’s parents liking you was a non-negotiable.

After insisting on carrying your own suitcase — just in case his parents might think you’re an overbearing girlfriend if they see Minho carrying your bag for you — the two of you walk up the stairs and into his home. The first thing you notice is how cozy-looking everything is; from the family pictures neatly placed on coffee tables and on the walls, cat furniture and toys mixed in with their actual furniture, down to the fuzzy blankets thrown over the couches.

The second thing that catches your attention is the quietude permeating throughout the house, as well as the fact that the first family member to greet you two is an orange cat.

“Oh, did you miss me this much?” Minho asks in a sweet, singsong voice, similar to how you would speak to a baby. He crouches down to pet the cat, who is now entangling himself between his legs. He introduces you by your name, because Soonie is truly just another family member to him. You chuckle, kneeling next to him and carefully extending your hand toward the orange ball of fur.

“Hello, Soonie,” you speak quietly, afraid you’ll spook him. He eyes you carefully before sniffing your fingers and, ultimately, rubbing his head on your hand. You sigh in relief, petting his fur with a smile.

Minho’s cats liking you was also a non-negotiable.

You place your suitcases in Minho’s childhood bedroom, his parents letting him know they will arrive a little late after going Christmas shopping. Looking around his small room, you smile at all the small things that scream Lee Minho. The pictures of him and his friends back in high school are the first thing you notice, glued to the wall in front of his door lopsided. His thick-rimmed glasses and bowl cut make you smile as you analyze one of the pictures, where he and four other boys hug and smile widely in a karaoke room. Then, of course, his extensive plushie collection sat against a wall to your left — all stacked on top of each other like a mountain — which he proudly shows off to you.

“Y’know, I had to basically fight a little girl at the Sanrio store for this one,” he says, a bit too smugly, while holding a plush of Kuromi dressed in a ladybug costume. “I was sixteen, though, so I think that excuses my behavior. I would never do that nowadays.”

You narrow your eyes, humming skeptically. “Sure you wouldn’t.”

Minho just chuckles, meticulously placing the doll back in its place beside the cherry on top of a rather large Pusheen pudding plushie.

“Oh! You have to see my books.” He takes your hand in his, dragging you toward the wall facing his bed. A bookshelf expanding from the floor to the ceiling makes your mouth drop. You hadn’t noticed it before, with it being hidden away in the corner of the room. The bookshelf is decorated with fairy lights — which Minho promptly switches on — and filled with beautiful books, from intricately designed hard covers to intricate sprayed edges, every single book in his collection has something special about it.

He uses a small metal ladder to reach the top of the shelves before handing you a book so thick your wrist almost bends upon grabbing it. It’s a collection of seven Jane Austen novels, all in a gorgeous blue and golden hardcover. You eye the book like it’s a precious jewel, carefully running your fingers over the details engraved on the cover. Beside you, Minho lets out a breathy laugh, stepping down from the ladder and bumping your shoulder lightly.

“You can open it,” he tells you, but you’re still too mesmerized by the book to look at him. “It’s what books are for, whether they’re pretty or not. You have to open it and read it, otherwise they lose their purpose.”

You nod slowly, but remain unmoving. Minho’s hand suddenly rests on top of yours, and he opens the book for you. The page is entirely annotated, with highlighters and thoughts jotted down on pencil in messy handwriting. Looking up at him, you are met by his smile.

“See? The book is fine, the world didn’t end. I have these special editions because I enjoy collecting pretty things, but I always read them,” he explains, “I like when books reflect the emotions I felt while reading them. I annotate, scribble, highlight — I once threw a special edition Stephen King book across the living room and into a wall. There’s an indentation on it till this day.”

You gasp. “Minho, what the fuck?”

He shrugs dismissively. “I know, I know. All book sins in the eyes of many people. But, like I said, that just reflects the emotions I felt while reading that book. I look through any of these pages and I know exactly what I felt at that time of my life.”

You nod, your lips absentmindedly curling into a smile. Minho truly is something else. You skim the page opened before you, reading some of his annotations and laughing quietly to yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

As you close the book, he speaks again, “They’re a bit like people, aren’t they? Pretty and put-together on the outside, but once you really dig in, it’s all a mess and cluster of feelings and passion.”

You and Minho spend an hour lounging around the living room, with you meeting his other two cats during that time. Soonie and Doongie’s adoration toward Minho is clear, with both orange cats always rubbing against his leg or tangling themselves in his sneakers by the door as you two cuddle on the couch. Dori, however, remains laid on his cat tree, barely sparing the two of you a glance. Minho jokes that Dori hates him after he left his first mom, even showing you further proof in the form of a video where the gray cat bites his nose while he sleeps.

Upon hearing the key turn on the front door, your heart is quick to jump. Minho’s parents have arrived.

Sitting up on the couch, you gently push Minho away from you. He shoots you a questioning look.

“What? I don’t want them to think we were doing something indecent.”

“Indecent?” Minho repeats with a chuckle. “We were cuddling, not consummating a marriage on this couch.”

You grumble incoherent words under your breath, shrugging. “I know. I just want them to like me.”

“They were more than okay with seeing me cuddle my ex when I was a teen. We’re both adults, I’m pretty sure they won’t think you’re a filthy harlot.”

You gasp, hitting his chest and hissing through your teeth. “A harlot?”

Minho lets out a long, hearty laugh just as his parents walk through the door.

“Oh, there you are!” You hear his mother’s voice call out as soon as she steps inside the living room. You turn to face her and you’re greeted by the same smile you see on Minho’s face every day — they look so similar you have to hold back a gasp. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stand up from the couch and smooth down your long skirt, smiling while she walks toward you. You’re caught off guard when she pulls you into a hug as soon as she’s in front of you, her arms squeezing you as she sighs happily into your hair.

“Mom,” Minho calls out, “You’re scaring her.”

His mom pulls away with a chuckle, her left hand pinching her son’s cheek before resting on your shoulder again. “He’s the one who’s scared I’ll embarrass him,” she refutes. “And, god, you’re so pretty! Minho told me you were beautiful, but I just assumed it was the infatuation speaking.”

You feel your cheeks flush at her words, biting back a smile. Minho had talked to his mother about you — had said you were beautiful. You swear if you died tonight, you would die a happy woman.

As his mother steps away from you and into the kitchen, rambling on about how crowded the shopping mall had been, a man comes into your field of vision. He nods courtly before extending his hand, which you shake a bit awkwardly.

“I’m Minho’s dad,” he simply says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Minho has been very happy on the phone since meeting you.”

And with that, he’s off into the kitchen, following his wife. You’re left a bit dazed. Minho truly was a perfect blend of his mother’s appearance and his father’s calm personality.

Beside you, Minho pulls you into a side hug, his chilly hands caressing your arms. “See? It’s impossible not to love you.”

You freeze for a moment, before relaxing as you realize he’s talking about his parents loving you. You curse yourself inwardly for being so damn emotionally constipated, but let out a sigh of relief nonetheless.

You were worried for so many different reasons — that you wouldn’t measure up to Minho’s first girlfriend, that your personality would be scrutinized until your flaws finally emerged, and that this would be the catalyst for Minho to realize you’re not worth it. Not worth waiting until you can tell him you love him, not worth waiting until you feel like sex isn’t going to just ruin everything between you, not worth the hassle and the chore that is loving someone like you.

But as he walks into the kitchen with you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, like he’s proud to show you off to his parents, the level of reliability he radiates is enough to melt away all the annoying little worries you had inside your head.

Christmas eve comes two days later, and you’re rudely woken up in the morning by the sound of Minho’s voice cursing under his breath as he drops something on the floor by his bed. You groan, rubbing your eyes, and he turns to face you with an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry,” he whispers, kneeling down next to the bed and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight, I think.” His fingers brush your hair away from your face. “I didn’t set an alarm ‘cause I didn’t wanna wake you up, but guess my inability to be quiet did that anyway.”

You chuckle lightly, scrunching up your nose. “Why are you up so early?”

“Gotta start cooking dinner soon,” he explains.

“Already?” You ask, perplexed. You knew he cooked Christmas dinner all by himself every year for his family, but you never conceived just how much work that would be for a single person.

Minho is unyielding despite your best efforts at persuading him to stay and cuddle you for a few more hours, and watching him cook is always oddly attractive to you, so you find yourself joining him in the kitchen, wrapped up in one of his many cat print sweaters.

At first, you simply sit up at one of the counters and watch him, mesmerized and all but drooling at the way he rolls up his sleeves, the prominent veins making his arms look so sexy while doing such a mundane thing like chopping fucking vegetables. Not to mention his hands, so beautiful and big as he rubs the seasoning on something you don’t even care to identify because you’re just too busy thinking about those hands all over your body. Only now do you notice how no real sex for almost two months has really taken a toll on you, what with the way you have to cross your legs just to try and relieve some tension because your mind won’t stop thinking about Minho’s veiny arms caging you against this counter and his big hands—

Minho calls out your name, and you snap out of your fantasies, humming as you reluctantly turn your attention toward his face with a dazed expression. He seems to find it funny, as he chuckles before repeating himself, “I asked if you would like to help. I can teach you some of the easy stuff. Must be boring just sitting there and watching.”

Oh, but it isn’t boring at all.

But you’d never tell him that, so you nod before hopping off the counter and awaiting further instructions. Turns out you’re worse at cooking than you had thought, so you’re relegated to chopping duty, which you hate for two reasons — firstly, chopping vegetables is boring, and secondly, you’re now deprived of your view of Minho as you stand with your back turned to him while he cooks.

It’s around five p.m. when Minho’s mom joins you two in the kitchen, and by that time you’ve done all you could, so you’re back to your spot on the counter. She smiles at you before ruffling Minho’s hair as he closes the oven.

“My baby is such a wonderful cook, isn’t he?” she praises, and he shrugs with a smirk.

“I am very boyfriend material, aren’t I?”

You chuckle as you watch his mom carefully fixing his hair which she had messed up, Minho scrunching up his face as she then fixes his wire-frame glasses on his nose.

“I’m so glad you’re wearing your glasses again,” she comments, cupping his cheeks and squeezing before letting go. “You look so handsome.”

“You should thank her,” Minho smiles, turning to look at you, and you shoot him a puzzling look. “Remember on your birthday, when you told me I looked good wearing glasses?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “That’s why I stopped wearing contacts.”

Your mouth opens, but you can’t find the words to answer him. You can feel your cheeks dusting pink as his mom coos at the two of you, saying something about young love that has you gnawing on your lips to hold back the silly smile you want to let out.

Minho’s mom leaves the kitchen shortly after, his father calling her from the living room. He takes this as his chance to approach where you’re sitting, hands resting on your thighs before he presses his lips against yours.

“I wanted to look handsome for you. It’s kinda pathetic, isn’t it?” He chuckles against your lips, and you simply shake your head, tangling your fingers in his black hair that has now grown past his eyes.

“It’s actually fucking adorable,” you assure him, pulling him into another kiss, one much deeper than the last.

He quickly uses his hands to spread your thighs apart, pressing his body into yours as you wrap your legs around his waist. The effect this man has on you is mindboggling; the mere slide of his tongue against your lips has you shivering. It certainly doesn’t help that you are now in the exact position from your imagination earlier today.

Minho always tasted like your own personal favorite flavor, always deliciously swirling on your tongue whenever you kissed him. He always renders your mind fuzzy and silly as bliss consumes the entirety of your being. You can only imagine how sex with him will feel like, and you don’t think you can wait any longer. Your worries be damned. You needed him more than you could handle.

But just as Minho pulls you closer to his body — your core dangerously close to his crotch, and sucking on your tongue in a way that has you mewling against his lips — his mother calls out your names, and you two quickly separate, startled as if you were burned. She informs you his grandmother has arrived and you two walk to the living room to greet her. You silently thank the universe for her not walking into the kitchen; the last thing you want is for Minho’s poor grandmother to catch you two making out on the counter like two teenagers.

She is a sweet lady, certainly not as old as you expected her to be, and she always has a smile etched onto her lips stained with red lipstick. You don’t even have to ask to know she is his mother’s mom, as the three of them share the exact same smile you grew to love so much.

You find yourself even more comfortable today, as you help both women set up the table for dinner — his grandma meticulously placing a beautiful lace cloth over the table while telling you about how this was one of her late husband’s first gifts to her when they first moved in together.

It felt as if you were part of the family.

And as you turn on your heels to grab the fancy silverware from a cabinet, your eyes meet Minho’s gaze. With a smile on his face, he stands by the kitchen door, watching you, and your heart swells with joy.

This was everything you never thought love could be.

Christmas dinner was amazing — as you knew it would be. Minho’s cooking is always fantastic, and pure happiness is written all over his face whenever he was complimented. The way he offers to serve everyone, watching intently as each of you took the first bite before he finally allowed himself to eat as well, his lips upturned into a grin and his ears red as you all hummed and gasped at how tasty everything was. It’s his love language; from the way he carefully and methodically prepares the food, to the way he enjoys watching other people eat more than eating himself. He shows his love through his cooking, you realize, and you smile as you think back to numerous times you woke up in the morning with a beautiful table set with breakfast for you after he spent the night at your house.

You haven’t put it into words yet, but he has unquestionably been showing his love for you through his little actions.

And that’s what you want to do tonight as well.

After watching a cliche Christmas movie with his family, you two are now the only ones awake with you drying off the dishes Minho’s washing. He looks beautiful even now, with his hands clad in neon green dishwashing gloves.

“Minho,” you call out, poking his rib with the plate he just handed you. He squirms with a giggle, warning you to not tickle him. You simply hum, continuing as nonchalantly as you can. “Do you wanna have sex tonight?”

His hand stills, dropping a knife on the sink as his head turns abruptly to look at you, eyes bewildered. “What? What, and you ask me this now? While we’re doing the dishes?” He sputters, and you grin with a shrug.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, placing the plate on top of the counter. “I just… really wanna do it. Really want you.”

Minho turns off the tap — at least five knives left ignored at the bottom of the sink — removes his gloves and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, not what I expected to happen on Christmas night, but I’ll take it.”

You both stare at each other for a beat, before inexplicably bursting out laughing. Maybe it’s the sheer suddenness of your request, or the absurdity of the situation you were in when it happened, but you can’t help it.

As you both calm down, Minho pulls you into his arms and informs you that he will have to go out and buy condoms, since he truly wasn’t expecting anything to happen. You don’t fault him, the two months you’ve been together were filled with you all but running away from sex. You couldn’t help it, your brain always dragging you back to that night in Japan, and the way he avoided your gaze in the morning. Although you knew it was irrational, and that he was simply shy, your self-sabotaging skills were too great, and your mind insisted that if you had sex with Minho too soon he would think you were nothing but a slut. That’s what you were told most of your life, anyway, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your brain was almost conditioned into assuming the same.

But Minho had proved time and time again that he was not like the awful guys before him, and that all your worrying was unwarranted and foolish. You were depriving yourself of something you wanted badly out of sheer insecurity and attachment to experiences so far in the past it was almost masochistic at this point.

You insist on joining him on his impromptu trip to the convenience store, only throwing one of his sweaters over the dress and tights you wore for Christmas dinner.

Minho holds your hand as you two walk down the empty street, Christmas lights from the houses and stores making everything seem almost like a movie. You spot the familiar logo from across the street, and Minho bumps his shoulder with you while you head toward the convenience store chain where you both once worked.

“This is actually the exact one I used to work at,” He tells you as you look through a fridge hidden away in the back of the store. “I loved working the graveyard shift. I rang up so many couples awkwardly buying condoms like they were buying hard drugs.”

You chuckle, settling for some pudding you two could share later. “Will that be us tonight?”

He shrugs. “We’re adults, it’s normal to buy these things. Unless you want me to act like I’m buying crack cocaine, then I’d be happy to indulge you.”

You stick your tongue out at him with a light shove, turning to look through the rather lacking options on the condom shelf.

“Grape flavor?” Minho makes a face as he eyes one of the boxes. “Who the fuck would want the artificial taste of grapes when fucking?”

You shrug. “Could be worse, imagine banana-flavored condoms. I think I’d throw up all over your dick.”

“That’s sexy,” He jokes, and you let out a loud chuckle, earning you a look from the only other person at the store this time of night on Christmas eve.

Among your other options are a green glow-in-the-dark condom — which would only make you think of Shrek while Minho fucks you — and a strawberry-flavored one. You decide to play it safe, grabbing a box of plain, thin condoms and placing them in the basket Minho’s carrying.

“Let’s just go for the safest option,” you tell him, “We’ll have plenty of time to play around later if you want, though I’ll go on birth control once we’re back home so we won’t even need them anyway.”

You watch as Minho’s eyes widen for a second, his eyebrows shooting up almost comically.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Don’t short-circuit now. I need you functioning to fuck me.”

“Keep saying shit like that and I’ll be broken before we even make it back to my house,” he states matter-of-factly, and you chuckle, shaking your head at his words. But Minho’s expression remains unchanged. “I mean it. It’s been over a year since I’ve had proper sex. I’m surprised I didn’t combust the second you said those words to me in the kitchen.”

With a chuckle, you pull him to your side and walk toward the cashier. It’s a poor teenage boy, no older than eighteen, clearly bored out of his mind and wishing to be anywhere but here. As he rings up your items, Minho points to his phone that’s resting on the counter.

“That’s Ahri from League of Legends, right?” He asks, and the boy looks up, his eyes sparking with interest. He nods. “I don’t play, but I’m a game programmer, so I know a little bit about it. What’s your rank?”

“Grandmaster,” the boy answers proudly, his face lighting up with a hint of joy, probably for the first time since his shift started.

“Oohh,” Minho gasps loudly, basically hyping up this random boy at the convenience store. You watch the interaction with a silly smile on your face. “And you’re still young, wouldn’t be surprised to see you at World’s someday.”

The boy shakes his head dismissively as Minho hands him his card, but smiles nonetheless. Once he hands you your things, he speaks again, “Are you from around here, hyung? Let me know when you have a game out, I’d love to try it. See if you’re any good.”

Minho raises his brows at the obvious teasing lilt in his voice, lips upturning into a grin. “How about this? I’ll give you the beta code and you can start your career of testing games for money.”

“You’ll pay me?” The cashier marvels at the words, and Minho simply nods. He jots down a code from his phone into a scrap piece of paper on the counter, the boy’s face now a complete shift from the expression he wore when you first walked in, all because of Minho and his ability to be kind and sweet no matter the person or circumstance.

As you head back to his house, only the two of walk along the shy streets as the clock hands turn past midnight. Among all the bad people in this world, you’re indescribably happy that a man as good as him is the one walking beside you down this street, firmly holding your hand.

You arrive home and quietly head straight into Minho’s room. You thank any higher power that might exist for the fact that his room is the only one on the first floor, as you would have to endure your desperate need and desire for him until you got home if it wasn’t. Any of Minho’s family members walking in or hearing you two have sex would make you want to flee the country and change your name.

He joins you after storing your puddings in the fridge, making you jump with his arms wrapped around your waist while you were blankly staring at the pictures on his wall. You sigh, the realization of what was going to happen only really dawning on you now that you stand in Minho’s bedroom, and your mind starts to wander and doubt everything all over again.

“I kind of ruined the mood by asking to have sex, didn’t I?” You ask as Minho places a chaste kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“There was really no mood in the first place,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “We were washing the dishes.”

You roll your eyes, once again more annoyed at yourself than at him. You could only hope that your awful propensity of bringing up these irritating thoughts of yours at the worst possible moments didn’t drive Minho away from you. Could only hope you were worth it in the end.

“I know, it’s just…” You trail off with another heavy sigh. “This guy I dated hated that. Said I should just initiate it instead of asking like it was a business transaction.”

You feel Minho shake his head. “That’s stupid. Why would I think that?” He sounds incredulous, and hearing him say it makes you realize just how asinine that thought really was. “We had to buy condoms, anyway. It’s also good that you’re comfortable asking me that. It’s as it should be.”

And you can only smile, biting back a giggle because of course he thinks that. It’s as if Jane Austen came back from the dead simply to write Lee Minho.

His arms tighten around your waist, and you turn your head to look at him. “You should really stop thinking about… them,” He hesitates, “Your exes, I mean. Stop comparing, assuming everything will be the same and have the same sad ending. You need to let go of that in order to truly heal. I hate how every time I’m good to you, or do the bare fucking minimum, your mind spins it into something being your fault. I hate what they did to you so much.”

You feel your breath get caught in your throat, tears threatening to spill much like they do every time you are faced with this topic. But you hold them in. You don’t want to cry, not right now, not when everything is so perfect with Minho. So, instead, you take in his words. He’s undoubtedly right, and you must force yourself to face this uncomfortable truth.

Slowly, you promise yourself. You smile at him, a silent promise to him, and you know he understands you when he smiles back, his lips pressing a kiss to your lips.

He lets go of you and rummages through his drawers, and you look around once more. His plushie mountain, the pictures of his childhood and high school days. You scrunch up your nose.

“Will it be too weird to have sex in your childhood bedroom?”

From where you’re standing, his back turned to you, you can faintly make out the tip of his ears turning red as he runs a finger through his hair.

“Well, not really…” He trails off, “I had sex with my ex-girlfriend here all the time when we skipped school together.”

You let out a gasp. “Lee Minho skipped school?”

He chuckles, closing his drawers and immediately wrapping his arms around you. He’s a lot more touchy since you brought this whole topic up, you notice.

“My parents were always at work, though, so this is my first time doing it while they’re right upstairs,” He explains, bringing his finger up to your lips and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “So we’ll have to be quiet.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, nodding. You know all too well you’ll probably be too quiet. Once again your trauma playing a part in this, the words an old boyfriend harshly spilled about you being too loud and vocal have always been present in your head. Now that you think about it, all these moments and words are like post-it notes stuck to your mind, and you skim through like a student cramming for an exam every day in search of one that applies to your current situation. It was excruciating.

Hyunjin tried his best to change this about you, always assuring you he liked to hear you during sex when he noticed your pursed and bitten lips, and that you should be vocal about what you want and like. But you always settled for nods and quiet hums instead.

Minho presses a quick kiss on your forehead then. “I’m gonna shower ‘cause my hands still smell like onions and garlic after washing them a thousand times,” he tells you. “I’ll be right back.”

As you’re busying yourself looking through Minho’s extensive collection of books, a meow pulls your attention toward the door. It’s Dori, the gray cat you’ve decided is your favorite since it’s the only one you can easily recognize. He stares for a beat before approaching you, and you kneel carefully to stroke his soft fur. You soon find yourself sitting down by the bed with Dori on your lap, purring away as your mind travels to a future in which you and Minho adopt cats of your own, all while living together and making plans for the rest of your lives. It terrifies you slightly to allow yourself to have these thoughts because if things were to go wrong with Minho, this would only be another ‘what if’ that would haunt you.

Another post-it note to your already cluttered-up mind.

But his words from earlier come back to you just as you begin to panic. You have to let go of the past and stop assuming only the worst outcomes are attainable. And so you simply smile at the imagination, letting your mind run wild while Dori falls asleep on your lap, his gray fur all over your red dress.

You and Dori both jump as Minho all but slams the door when he returns, a towel in his hand drying his damp hair. He cringes at the sound, cursing under his breath. Dori leaves your lap, and you stand up with a pout. He definitely is your favorite cat among the three.

“Sorry,” Minho whispers, as if that will compensate for the loud noise. You take in his appearance; a green Christmas sweater and bright red sweatpants. You bite back a smile, because that’s so him.

“Your outfit is doing a great job of seducing me,” you jest, and he shrugs with a cocky grin.

“I know no woman can resist a Christmas sweater.”

He pulls you into him with a hand around your waist, his lips crashing into yours in a deep kiss. You notice he’s more frantic, less careful than he usually is, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as his hands slide up your back. He pulls away, breathless and flushed, and just looks at you for a moment. You can see the shift in his eyes, yearning swimming all over his brown orbs.

Clumsily, he shuts off the lights behind him then switches on the fairy lights adorning his bookshelf, his left hand still firmly clutching your body. Until it suddenly loosens, and you cock your head to the side.

“Okay, you gotta leave,” he says, and you follow his gaze, landing on Dori, who stares up at him almost defiantly. Minho lets out a sigh, opening his door before walking toward the cat and motioning toward the exit as if he will understand him. “Come on, I’ll give you treats later, hm? But you need to leave now, Dori.”

You fail to hold back a chuckle. “Why does the poor baby have to leave? He looks so comfortable snuggled up on the floor.”

“I can’t have sex while Dori watches,” he deadpans as if it were an obvious answer. “It’ll be weird.”

“Minho, it’s a cat. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s still weird! And I…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. He’s still facing the door when he blurts out, “I told you, I’m already really fucking nervous ‘cause it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. I might not be the best.”

You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms over your chest. “Minho, that’s not possible.”

“Yes, it is!” He finally turns to face you. “Remember back in Japan? I came too fast, it was embarrassing. That’s why I never let you touch me.”

You jokingly pout at him. “Thought you just liked eating me out.”

“I fucking love eating you out, but I’m not exactly refusing that you do the same because I want to,” he explains, “I’m just scared I’ll be bad at it.”

You furrow your brows. “Bad at… getting a blowjob?”

Minho’s ears are dusted a light pink, and he throws his hands up. “Well, yes! Back in Japan I didn’t even know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what you like, and I haven’t been with anyone else to know what most people like so…” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck, I was so nervous that night, you have no idea.”

“You were nervous?” You let out a huff, recalling Minho’s clear shift in demeanor that night. “Looking into my eyes the entire time and pinning me down to the bed, that’s you being nervous?”

His entire face now flushes red, and he returns his gaze toward the door, where Dori paddles out of the room graciously. He promptly shuts the door, locking it this time.

“I was nervous,” He tells you, taking a step toward you. “I kept looking at you ‘cause I couldn’t believe that was actually happening. Felt like you were gonna disappear if I looked away,” His hands cup your face gently, and your lips unknowingly curl into a smile. “And when you looked at me in the morning, all I could think about was how awful I was the night before.”

You have to fight the strong urge to laugh because god, that’s why he was acting shy and avoiding your gaze. You berate yourself for even thinking otherwise, for ever assuming Minho could be like your ex-boyfriends. His words ring even more true than before.

You let out a groan, realizing you two have been putting off having sex for such mindless reasons. When he shoots you a questioning gaze, you simply say, “Minho, we’re both fucking idiots, d’you know that?”

And before he can say anything else or even entertain the idea of overthinking any more, you pull him into a kiss. With a surprised hum, Minho gently pushes you back, and your knees meet the softness of the mattress causing you to fall back into his bed. He climbs on top of you, pulling away from the kiss.

“You still gotta tell me what you like,” he repeats, his lips all but pouting at you. You smile up at him.

“No,” you say simply, pushing his hair back with your fingers as it fell into his eyes. “It’s better if we figure that out together, isn’t it?”

Minho chuckles, promptly pressing his lips to yours, your hand tugging at his hair gently as his tongue glides across your lips, causing a soft whine to slip from your throat before you can stop it.

“I like that,” he says between kisses, “When you make these pretty noises.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and take that as your chance to take the first small step in healing, adding a post-it to your mind, reminding you not to suppress any noise that Minho coaxes out of you tonight.

The atmosphere in his room feels perfect — like heaven, as he would say. The soft yellow glow emanating from his bookshelf made everything seem dreamy; his honey skin looked stunning, and his eyes gleamed like the stars in the sky every time they met yours.

It was undoubtedly so much more intimate and passionate than any other time you had sex before, and you were both still fully clothed.

It was just like what Minho had told you many months ago.

His hands travel through your body until they rest on your back, finding the buttons of your dress, slowly opening each one as his lips trail down your neck, softly sucking on the skin. As he gingerly slides your dress down your torso, you realize that this will be the first time you two see each other naked. Yet, you don’t feel nervous. You want nothing more than to be close to him, with no barriers between you, to finally be tangled with him like the roots on the ground.

Minho unclasps your bra, his gaze unmoving from your chest as he slips the garment off of your skin and drops it on the floor. It’s almost as if you can feel his gaze burning you, your chest tightening and your breath hitching in your throat. He licks his lips, leaning down to wrap them around your nipple, his hand promptly finding your other breast and softly massaging it. You let out a choked gasp, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips stretch into a smile before he softly bites the bud.

“So you like this,” He mumbles, pressing a wet kiss to your nipple. “Duly noted.”

You giggle at his words, your hands tangling in his hair once more. His kisses travel up again, from your chest to your neck, until he’s back to kissing your lips. Both of his hands now massage your breasts, alternating between rolling your nipples between his rough fingers and pinching them lightly, causing a rush to spread across your entire body. You feel your arousal trickle down your slit as you grow more desperate.

“Minho,” you call out between kisses, and he hums against your lips. “Do something,” you all but beg him, yearning for some release as you feel the small, unrelenting pulse between your thighs grow stronger with each stroke of his finger across your chest. Your hands now grasp at his sweater, tugging it over his head, the fabric also discarded somewhere on the floor of his room.

Your hands travel over the expanse of his chest, fingertips taking in every inch of his soft skin. Breaking away from his lips, you push him back softly so you can revel in the sight of him; his delicate collar bones, his strong arms, and soft stomach. He’s beautiful, breathtakingly so, and you don’t know what you did to be deserving of him.

“Enjoying the view?” He jokes, and you breathe out a laugh, your gaze flying up toward his face — his lips swollen, and his cheeks flushed a pretty red.

“Minho, you’re so beautiful,” you whisper absentmindedly, and he smiles at you, softly pressing his lips to yours.

“You should see how you look,” he whispers.

His left hand soon slips underneath your dress skirt, fingertips grazing your skin over your tights. You feel goosebumps trickle along your thighs following his every touch, so eager to feel his hands on your skin you’re sure you’ll rip your tights in half yourself if Minho doesn’t get rid of them soon.

He seems to grow as impatient as you, lifting your hips with a strong grip to slide down your dress, tights, and panties off of you all in one go. In no time, you are now laid bare before him, and Minho is swift to trail kisses down your stomach, sloppy and messy, painting your skin with his saliva as his mouth waters at the mere prospect of tasting you.

With a heavy sigh, he stares at your glistening wetness before promptly wrapping his lips around your clit without a warning and sucking, ardently, vulgar sounds filling his small room much like they do every time he eats you out. Always messy, always eager, humming against your pussy and sighing as his eyes glaze over with pure want.

You squirm like lighting has shocked through your entire body. No matter how often you experience the satisfaction of Minho’s lips on you, it always leaves you trembling like it’s the first time. His right hand slides up the expanse of your stomach until it reaches your breast again, his thumb lazily circling your nipple. You purse your lips as his fingers tentatively trail across your folds, spreading your wetness up to your clit before lapping at it slowly, the small bud swollen and aching.

You’re quick to remember to open your mouth, letting out the heavy sigh that had stuck to your throat as his finger enters you, Minho still licking and sucking your sensitive clit, nipping harshly and making your sigh fade into a whine. Hand tangling in his hair and tugging, you elicit a low groan from his throat, which you feel reverberate through your slick folds.

Your thighs shake as he adds a second finger, and soon a third, thrusting them inside of you and stroking your walls more vigorously than he usually does, as if he somehow also feels your pleasure and needs to lead you to your high as quickly as possible.

Minho’s hand leaves your chest, and you bite back a pout, his fingers now gripping your hips before pushing them up so he can reach deeper. It isn’t long before his fingers drag across the spot inside of you that has your muscles tensing up, a strangled moan falling from your lips at the sensations coupled with the unrelenting feeling of his tongue on your clit. You come undone around his fingers and lips with a harsh tug of his black hair, rutting your hips against his face desperately, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you do.

He laps up your juices as you slowly come down from your high, tongue flicking inside of you and sucking hard before he presses a long kiss to your cunt. Your entire body jerks in response to the overstimulation.

His kisses travel toward your inner thigh, your lower stomach and breasts until he reaches your neck, where his teeth nip at the soft skin, sucking harshly before his tongue soothingly licks at the spot. As Minho positions himself between your thighs again, you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind goes hazy for a beat as you feel the thick outline of his cock press against your bare core.

“Minho,” you call out again, your voice significantly more whiny this time around, shaky and breathless, “Wanna taste you.”

He groans against your skin, pressing small kisses up your neck until he ultimately stops against your open lips. He breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Really want that, too,” he rasps out, voice hoarse as his dark eyes travel across your face. “But I really wanna fuck you. Shit, I need to fuck you so badly you have no idea,” He groans. You feel his length jump at his words as he presses your foreheads together and locks his gaze with you. “That’ll be hard to do if your pretty lips go anywhere near my cock.”

You breathe out a chuckle, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “Then get to it,�� you simply say.

Minho’s lips curl into a grin. “Will you remember to be quiet for me this time? My baby sounded so pretty coming around my fingers.”

Your cheeks flush, just how loud you were before only now dawning on you. Fuck. Your words get stuck to your throat, your mouth opening but making no sound, so you settle for a nod.

He chuckles. “Good,” he replies with a kiss to your agape lips.

Minho sits up, detangling himself from your body briefly. He reaches for the box on his bedside table, scrambling with the cardboard before clumsily tearing it open and retrieving a condom. It’s only then you notice how his hands are trembling, from nervousness or pure lust. Either way, you find yourself smiling at the sight.

You reach out to run a hand along his arm soothingly, watching with hungry eyes as he tugs at his drawstrings before freeing his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. Minho hisses as he rolls the rubber over his length, shaky hands stroking himself one, two, three times, all while you eye him, watching greedily as if you were his own personal captive audience.

He lowers himself once again, hand now sliding across the length of your thigh before gripping the flesh, nails digging into your skin as he eyes you with an almost pleading gaze.

“Can I—”

“Please do,” you answer, almost frantically, before he even has the time to assume you might say no. You inch your thighs apart even more so Minho can slot himself perfectly between them.

Your mouth waters as you catch sight of him gripping his cock once more, tapping it against your swollen clit and eliciting a whine from your lips as your hands scramble to find purchase in his strong arms. Minho’s eyes then find yours much like they did back in Japan, and you know you are done for. His dark gaze once again felt all-consuming — desire and adoration swimming along his brown eyes, looking at you as if he were in a daze. Your grip on his arms tightens as he lazily slides his cock up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your arousal. Minho’s lips fall open as he continues his movements, the blunt head of his cock gliding along your folds almost painfully slow.

He leans in to close the small gap between your lips, before whispering something you can’t quite understand against them.

“I fucking love you,” he repeats himself more clearly, and finally pushes forward, his girth pushing into you as you gasp, feeling as if all the air has been stolen from you.

You aren’t sure if your reaction is due to his words, or the way his cock is working you open so good, or maybe it was a delicious blend of the two. All you know at the moment is Minho, Minho, Minho, your mind foggy as his name rings inside your head like a mantra.

“Don’t gotta say anything back,” he tells you in a breathy voice, “Just want you to know I love— Fuck,” he groans as he is now fully sheathed inside of you, and you clench at both the feeling and the words spilling from his lips. Of course he would choose now to tell you he loved you. “Love you so much, so much I’d do anything for you. Would wage a war with the world if you asked me to…” He babbles, words slipping past his lips like they were the easiest thing for him to say. Like he meant it so deeply, he didn’t have to put any thought into it. His words only die as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

Minho pulls his hips back in one swift motion, hands lifting your thighs around his body as he thrusts into you, evoking a rather loud noise from the back of your throat which is smothered by his kiss.

“You take me so well,” he growls against your lips, “We fit perfectly.” He breaks the kiss to look down at where your two bodies are connected. It felt as if you were one, melting into each other little by little the more Minho thrust his cock inside of you. You simply nod, mind even more dizzy with the way he’s already pulling out again before slamming back into you, his pace quickening as he presses you into the mattress.

Your nails dig into his skin, crescent moon shapes blooming over the expanse of his honey skin. His eyes still bore into you, hips now thrusting at an unrelenting pace, his small room filled with a cacophony of wet sounds, whines tumbling from your parted lips and curses that almost silently fell from his.

“Gonna come soon,” Minho chokes out, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’m sorry, I—”

You silence him with a press of your lips, hands now tangling in his messy hair.

“You’re always so good to me,” you tell him, feeling his cock pulse inside of your walls. “Wanna be good to you too, make you feel good.”

And he simply leans down before kissing you reverently. The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the creaking of his bed likely much too loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At least not at the moment. Not with the way his hand snakes along your hips, rough fingers now rolling delicious circles around your clit while his other palm presses down onto your abdomen, and his cock continuously hits a spot inside of you that has you all but crumbling apart underneath him.

Your mouth falls open, breaking the kiss, his cock twitching inside of you as his body stills on top of you. With furrowed brows and agape lips, Minho comes mere seconds before you reach your high as well, toes curling against his back as you melt onto his cock.

You stay that way for a while — a few seconds, maybe minutes — simply looking at each other as your labored breaths intertwine.

You finally reach up, brushing his dampened hair away from his beautiful eyes that now look at you as if you were the sole reason why the stars sparkle. Minho’s fingers soon find yours, tangling together as he brings your hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

You smile.

You love him.

It’s not a realization but rather a confirmation of something you’ve already known all too well and for far too long. You still can’t put it into words, but somehow, you are certain that he knows just as well.

Minho accidentally awoke you in the morning with his habit of slamming his door shut, apologizing as you grumbled at him and insisted you would only accept his apology if he let you give him a blowjob. He laughed, simply pulling you closer to him on the bed as he sat up and you finally gave the most beautiful man you had ever met the head he deserved.

Minho’s parents and grandmother had left to eat at a fancy restaurant, and after lying through his teeth and telling his very distraught mother that you were feeling too sick to leave the bed, you two stayed behind. They didn’t have to know the real reason you couldn’t leave the bed — Minho and his apparent insatiable hunger for you. It was as if something had been awoken inside him now that he had a taste of you, and he had to make up for all the lost time.

You two only leave his room late in the afternoon, the sun setting on the pale winter sky outside his bedroom window. His family would arrive soon, and you needed to get ready for their tradition of opening Christmas presents while watching bad holiday movies.

When Minho followed you when you headed toward the bathroom, you thought little of it. It was only when he began undressing alongside you that panic truly set in.

“We literally had sex, why do you sound so horrified?” Was all he offered you when you asked what he was doing before entering the steamy shower with you.

It was your first time showering with someone, and the fact that it made you so nervous felt almost pathetic. Minho was right; you had sex, and you saw each other naked and sweaty and vulnerable. This shouldn’t be any different.

Except it was.

You found yourself too awkward to wash yourself, doing a terrible job at pretending to scrub at your arms as you watched Minho shower like a normal person. He let out a chuckle after rinsing his hair, shaking his head.

“Are you seriously shy? Seriously?” He asked, turning your body around so your back faced him. “The girl who begged to suck my cock just this morning is too shy to shower in front of me?”

You opened your lips to refute him, but your words died in your mouth as you felt Minho’s hand spread shampoo all over your hair. His fingers gently massaged your scalp before placing his hand over your eyes to shield them from the foam as he rinsed your hair. He repeated the process with conditioner, then moved on to wash your body with his almost sickly sweet watermelon body wash. He did it all while humming, making you so relaxed and comfortable that all your silly insecurities dissipated in the air along with the steam from the hot water.

Suffice to say, showering without Minho would now be a sad affair.

You are now sitting on the floor before the television, his family exchanging gifts. Dori purred on your lap, and Soonie bit Minho’s socks, trying his best to remove the fabric from his feet. It’s finally time for you two to exchange gifts, and you’re a bit glad his family seemed to be so immersed in the movie because you know you would combust if you had to explain your gift to them.

“Here,” you hand him an orange box with a black bow. “It’s stupid. Now that I think about it, it’s probably such a fucking dumb gift. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and Eunha even made one for her sister. I almost stole hers ‘cause it turned out much better than mine—”

“My god,” Minho interrupts you with a hearty laugh, taking the box in his hands and inspecting it. “It’s been a while since you word vomited so much. What the hell did you get me that made you so nervous?”

He pulls on the bow, unraveling it before taking the black fabric in his hands and tying it around your head. He laughs once more, and you roll your eyes.

“Minho, just get to it before I snatch this box from you.”

With one last chuckle, he finally opens the box. He stills as he takes in the notebook, sitting on top of far too much wrapping tissue paper. The cat print cardstock paper was a pain to find, but it’s worth it now as you watch Minho’s lips curl into a smile as his fingers gingerly travel through the cover. It was crooked, a bit too small, and still reeked of bookbinding glue, but it reminds you of the day you met Minho, and that was all you thought about when you decided on this gift.

“You fucking bound me a notebook,” he says, still bewildered.

“Took me a while, but I did say I was gonna do it. I’m a woman of my word.”

Minho looks up at you, his smile reaching his eyes and turning them into the pretty crescent moons you love so much. “I love it,” he beams, hands now squeezing your cheeks as he pulls you into a small kiss. “This and that coffee stained notebook are going on my bookshelf back in my dorm, displayed in all their glory.”

Minho pulls away and reaches toward two small boxes on the coffee table. He clears his throat, handing you one box as he settles the other on his lap.

“I thought of you when I saw this on my Instagram feed,” he simply says, fingers toying with the misshaped bow on top of the box — one very similar to the one on your birthday gift many months ago. “Thought about what we talked about in Japan, y’know, about soulmates.”

You raise a brow at him, quickly undoing the bow on your box as curiosity washes over you. You pick up a bracelet made only of red thread, eyeing it curiously.

Minho retrieves the same bracelet from his own box, putting it on before asking, “Have you heard of the red string of fate?”

“That myth that a thread connects two people meant to be together?” You question.

He nods. “Exactly. I feel like that was us,” He explains, taking the red bracelet from your hands and slipping it around your wrist before gently tightening the thread. “Feel like all our little coincidences were little threads tying us together until we met.”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes, but you don’t bother trying to hide or stop them this time. Grabbing Minho’s hand that stilled around your wrist, you lace your fingers together, admiring your matching bracelets. It could only be fate. Every small detail that aligned and every road you two crossed to reach the place where you are now could only have come to be because fate wanted it to be that way.

Out of every city you could have lived in, every different university you could have chosen to attend, down to every other seat that could have been empty on the day you met Minho — everything fell into place like a puzzle piece, exactly as if a long, invisible string tied you to him and finally decided it was time to pull you together.

Minho’s gentle touch brushes against your cheek as he silently wipes your tears — no words are needed between you two at that moment as he smiles softly at you while you feel your eyes burn from the cry you had held back for so long. And, as if you’re his mirror, you feel yourself smile as his lips upturn into a grin when his gaze shifts to the open window.

“It’s snowing,” he beams. “It’s the first snow of the year, and our first snow together.”

You stand in front of Minho’s house, the light snow falling softly and covering your heads in white as he kisses you, only stopping to grumble against your lips.

“Your phone’s going crazy in my pocket,” He pouts, and you furrow your brows. You had already sent your family holiday messages, and your friends were all busy with their own Christmas celebrations, so you were clueless about who it could be.

“Can you check it for me?”

Minho nods, untangling himself from your embrace just enough to reach into his pocket and grab your phone to unlock it.

“There’s like fifty new messages from a group chat. Best Fucking Five?” He chuckles lightly at the name, his chilly breath tickling your cheek.

You, on the other hand, immediately frowned as you heard the name. It’s a long-forgotten group chat with your old friend group from high school. You had all stopped talking a little before graduation, with you especially distancing yourself from them upon realizing their toxic words and reactions to your relationships only served to make you feel worse about yourself. No one bothered to leave or delete the group since it quietly died and had stayed that way for over three years now.

Minho hands you the phone, and you click another notification that pops up as soon as you unlock the device.

The conversation began with your former friend sending a screenshot of one of your ex-boyfriend’s newest Instagram post. You skim through the caption and blanch at the words accompanied by a sonogram picture. His girlfriend is pregnant, and he’s over the moon about it.

And you, for some reason, find yourself laughing so much you have to clutch onto Minho’s shoulder as your stomach starts to hurt.

He shoots you an understandably puzzled look, but you can’t stop the giggles that spill from your lips, so you settle on showing him the screenshot.

“I got the best Christmas gift tonight,” Minho reads from the screen. “I'm going to be a dad, and the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known is the mother,” he trails off with a questioning lilt, brows furrowing as that had only confused him more.

“It’s one of my exes,” you manage to tell him after catching your breath.

Minho hums, taking your hands and shoving them in his overcoat pocket along with your phone.

“And why did that make you lose your mind laughing?” He asks with a small smile.

“I guess it was the shock, really. It also made me realize just how little I care about him now. All of them, actually. Every time I was broken up with or had my heart broken in some way, it honestly felt like the end of the world,” you explain, “Like my heart would never recover and like I would hate them for the rest of my life. For years I had such a strong ax to grind with them, and that hatred and grudge only caused me harm. It made me hate love, and it made me blame myself.”

Minho nods, pressing his forehead to yours. Around you two, the snow got thicker, and only the distant sounds of children laughing from neighboring houses could be heard throughout the quiet street.

“But it’s different now?”

You smile up at him. “It’s different now, and I only just realized that. These people are no longer people I hate. They’re simply their words and their actions toward me, but they, as people, mean nothing to me.”

Minho smiles and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. This realization makes you feel lighter, like a small part of the weight of healing has been removed from the equation. It’s only you and yourself now; none of them has any power over your emotions anymore.

“Maybe we should send the baby a present,” you joke, and Minho buries his head in the crook of your neck with a chuckle, and you jump as his cold nose brushes against your skin.

“Maybe we should.”

At that moment, in the arms of this amazing man who has helped you more than he will ever know, you realize that love truly isn’t bad. People can be bad, circumstances can be catastrophic, and wrong timing can destroy nearly everything. But love is, at the core of it all, good.

“Minho,” you call out, feeling him hum against your skin before lifting his head to look at you. “I love you,” you say simply.

His smile rivals every pretty thing around you. The first snow, the gleaming Christmas decorations, and even the moon herself pale in comparison to the smile that Minho gives you.

“I love you, too,” he replies, a tangible sense of bliss in his voice, as if he has yearned for a lifetime to finally be able to say those words to you.

You wrap your arms tighter around Minho, and your fingers brush against the red thread that adorns your wrist. It truly feels as if fate had led you to Minho, leaving little clues along the way to make sure you both knew when you finally met. His journey to you had been relatively easy, while yours had been heart-wrenching, but in the end, it had brought you heaven.

If soulmates really are a thing, there is not an ounce of doubt in your being that Minho is yours. More than anything, he taught you that love is present in everything around you. Love is being kind to others like Minho is kind to his family and strangers in convenience stores at midnight. Love is staying up with your best friend while she cries on the couch, not expecting anything in return. Love is the laughter of little kids on Christmas night echoing throughout a neighborhood. Love is also going out on your own, doing something simply because it will make you happy, and being kind to yourself. All this time, you held onto the belief that love is destructive and only leads to sadness, oblivious to the fact that it has surrounded you every step of the way.

Love is everywhere and in everything.

In the end, Minho had always been right.

Love is the most amazing thing in life.

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1, @malunar28replies, @jazziwritesthings, @finchyyy, @bloom-ings, @linocz, @minhochaos, @lastgreatamericandynasty1, @missminhoe, @jungkookies1002, @meanergreener

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synchodai · 4 months ago

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When I say Tyland Lannister is my favorite character...

I am being 100% dead serious. Here is why I prefer this seemingly average nobleman over the many many many fan favorites in Fire and Blood.

Tyland Lannister is a second son in a story about second sons. Whether his feelings on this are as strong as Aemond's or Daemon's, we never know for sure in the books, but it's obvious that he's subservient to a mirror image of himself who only has more authority because of a few seconds separation between twins. It's a great display of both the arbitrariness and rigidity of succession.

His initial role in the Dance is as the master of coin for the greens. He's depicted as a typical Lannister: charming, comely, and cunning. He did what any savvy accountant would do and divided the crown's treasury amongst different allied regions for safe-keeping, ensuring that if King's Landing were sacked, their enemies wouldn't loot their coffers dry and they'd still have plenty of gold for their war efforts.

And of course, King's Landing gets sacked. Tyland is put in the black cells and ordered to be tortured by Rhaenyra to extract the gold's whereabouts. Winter is coming, people are starving and rioting, her army is dwindling, so she desperately needs that gold. Tyland is gelded, maimed, disfigured, and blinded but the torturers get nothing out of him.

Mind you, this man has been a rich, pampered bureaucrat all his life and he endured all that without breaking. When Aegon II releases Tyland from those cells, he has no fingernails, his eyes have been gouged out and/or sewn shut, this man who was once known for his good looks doesn't look human anymore — but he still manages to maintain his wits so much so that he plays an important role after the Dance.

Even with Rhaenyra dead, there are still armies raising their banners for her eldest surviving son, Aegon Trois. Tyland tells Adult Aegon to kill Child Aegon because obviously, the latter threatens the former's claim and Tyland's understandably angry over what his mom did. Aegon Dos is like, nah, I'll keep the boy hostage instead — that'll keep the armies at bay more than outright killing him.

So Tyland volunteers to go to Myr to hire sellswords for Aegon 2 since their armies are pretty much kaput after six years of this civil war. Tyland is blind at this point I remind you — there is a huge chance this man will never get to go home again. But he does it anyway, because even after years of fighting, he keeps his unwavering loyalty to the monarch he declared for.

Aegon II dies while Tyland is in Myr, and Tyland goes back to Westeros just in time to see Cregan Stark use his powers as the new Hand to marry Aegon III and Princess Jaehaera to unite the green and black sides. Cregan dusts off his hands, says my work here is done, warns the boy king not to trust anyone, then leaves for the North for everyone else to sort this mess out.

Now comes the part where Tyland shines as a character. He becomes the Hand of Aegon III and when you see his policies detailed in the book, it's clear that his goal is focused on repairs and renumerations. After what happened to him, he has every right to be spiteful and bitter against the blacks, but instead he "claimed a curious failure of memory, insisting that he could not recall who had been black and who had been green." He abolished the heavy taxes imposed on the smallfolk, sent out gold to lords whose holdings had been devastated during war, and set out to rebuild the Realm's granaries and fleet. Cleaning up is a tedious, unglamorous job — and because of his monstrous appearance and former allegiances, Tyland was looked upon with distrust.

And yet, while other regents grasped for power and tried taking advantage of the 13-year-old King Aegon III, Tyland seemed to be different. If he wanted power he could have married his twin brother's widow and convinced the boy-king to route more resources towards Casterly Rock and the Westerlands. But he didn't.

Instead, he genuinely seemed to be a father figure to Aegon III.

Tyland Lannister, blind and crippled, had always treated the king with deference, speaking to him gently, seeking to guide rather than command.

And for that, many lords saw him as a weak Hand. But Aegon, who cared for very little and never laughed and was always sullen, seemed to care for Tyland.

When the plague ravaged King's Landing, Tyland dutifully prioritized it over quashing the Ironborn raids at Lannisport. He was the last person to become afflicted with the Winter Fever, and the king sat by his Hand's side during his final hours. When the council starts discussing who should be the new Hand, Aegon (the boy who rarely ever speaks) says:

I would have Lord Rowan as my Hand. Ser Tyland thought well enough of him to offer him my sister’s hand in marriage, so I know he can be trusted.

This boy trusted Tyland, the man who only years ago wanted him dead.

So it's easy to imagine that this man saw Aegon III as the boy he was responsible for, as the son he could never have because of what the war had done to him. Tyland Lannister was a broken man who despite losing everything, his king and his brother and himself, kept a broken Realm and broken boy together when everyone else swarmed like vultures just trying to pick at carcasses.

What motivated this man's loyalty for a boy whose mother mutilated him? Did he regret pushing for the death of an innocent child and this was his penance? Did this man who gave everything for his cause think that this boy was something that could still give all that sacrifice and tragedy meaning? Was the mercy and kindness he afforded an apology for the horrifying trauma that scarred this boy — did he feel responsible for his mother's downfall and the failure to save his uncle? Did his disfigurement and blindness allow him to let go of the man he once was and become someone capable of seeing the folly of pride and power?

Here is his obituary in Fire and Blood:

Ser Tyland Lannister had never been beloved. After the death of Queen Rhaenyra, he had urged Aegon II to put her son Aegon to death as well, and certain blacks hated him for that. Yet after the death of Aegon II, he had remained to serve Aegon III, and certain greens hated him for that. Coming second from his mother’s womb, a few heartbeats after his twin brother, Jason, had denied him the glory of lordship and the gold of Casterly Rock, leaving him to make his own place in the world. Ser Tyland never married nor fathered children, so there were few to mourn him when he was carried off. The veil he wore to conceal his disfigured face gave rise to the tale that the visage underneath was monstrous and evil. Some called him craven for keeping Westeros out of the Daughters’ War and doing so little to curb the Greyjoys in the west. By moving three-quarters of the Crown’s gold from King’s Landing whilst Aegon II’s master of coin, Tyland Lannister had sown the seeds of Queen Rhaenyra’s downfall, a stroke of cunning that would in the end cost him his eyes, ears, and health, and cost the queen her throne and her very life. Yet it must be said that he served Rhaenyra’s son well and faithfully as Hand.

Tyland wasn't extraordinarily badass, noble, or even skilled. He was an excellent politician but no way the best. But I think that's what makes him compelling to me — that he's this down-to-earth depiction of a POW, a war veteran by all accounts, trying to pick up the pieces and slowly glue what remains of the Realm and himself back into something vaguely human.

We tell so many stories about the glory, the tragedy, and the losses of war. But I think it's important and beautiful to tell stories of those bravely and optimistically choosing to keep living in the aftermath as well.

#house of the dragon #hotd #a song of ice and fire #long post #hotd spoilers #hotd meta #I'm a sucker for redemption/second chance stories #your life has been reduced to ashes and you are the shell of the man you once were #but goddamn you will try to do something good with all that remains of you #you can still make good #tyland lannister #there's an argument to be made that rhaenyra could have won the war if it weren't for tyland #I wish Tyland was a popular character but that won't happen unless he becomes part of a popular ship #Cregan is also interesting handsome and nuanced but he gets more love because he has multiple ship options #Tyland could possibly have romantic chemistry with Aegon II or Rhaenyra that would be cool

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katstarry · 3 months ago

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no one noticed | call me

eddie munson x reader

part iii

masterlist ☆

part i part ii

summary: eddie finally asks you on a date!

warnings: fluff, reader tends to overthink a little, a bit of self-doubt, but overall this is happy!!! she/her for reader, not much of robin in this one :(

a/n: this is probably the last part and it’s kinda long!! i sort of winged this whole small series :D but i enjoyed writing it sm it’s the first time i’ve written multiple parts for a story, thank you for all the love!!! 💝 i think this is my favorite part.

feedback + reblogs are appreciated! ☆

a few weeks had gone by and your friendship with eddie had only gotten stronger. the project for history had gone great, and it’s only a matter of time until the grades are passed out.

though eddie and you have spent lots of time together after school at various locations, such as your house or his, diners, local shops, or visiting robin at family video—there’s one thing that neither of you have gotten the courage to ask for.

each others number.

many days spent seeing each other, the thought of continuing to keep conversations going after you both go your separate ways, has been something you’ve wanted to do since the start.

it’s a simple thing really, but for some reason you don’t find the perfect time to ask for his number, or bring it up. feeling as though that would be too awkward. he hasn’t brought it up either, which only fuels your reluctance.

which brings you to now.

it’s a friday and you’re both spending the evening at a local diner, waiting for your food to arrive, well, specifically eddie's.

"are you sure that you don't want anything else?" he looks at you as he drinks from his cup, he had ordered a burger along with some fries. while you had only gotten a vanilla milkshake with fries.

"yup, i ate some lunch at school earlier. remember?"

he nods his head, "right. just don't steal my food when it gets here." narrowing his eyes at you.

"pfft, what? i would never do that." you say, grabbing one of your fries and taking a bite.

eddie rolls his eyes and smiles, "uh huh, just like you didn't steal my chicken nugget during lunch, or yesterday at the movies and i got some m&m's , or the other time when you said you didn't want anything but then asked for my chi-"

"alriiight! okay! i have no idea what you're talking about. that wasn't me." hiding your smile by taking a sip from your milkshake, he leans onto the table crossing his arms in front of him. "sure it wasn't, she looked a lot like you though. weird."

he steals one of your fries.

"hey! now who's the thief?" smacking his hand away, but you were too late, he had already grabbed it and ate it, smiling innocently back at you.

he shrugs, "don't know what you're talking about."

"i hate you." you say shaking your head and laughing.

he laughs, "oh please, you love me, sweetheart."

you blush. because first of all yes, you do, and second of all because of the nickname he's gotten used to calling you.

"you wish." you roll your eyes, acting as if his words didn't cause your heart to race and cheeks to burn. you hope he doesn't notice. but of course, he does, though he doesn't bring it up.

"i'm wounded, you don't love me." he puts his face in his hands as if he's crying. that's when the waitress comes over with his food.

"okay, here's your burger and your fries, sir," she smiles and puts the food down in front of him, causing eddie to look up and rub his hands together at the sight of food, "enjoy your meal! you both make a lovely couple." she smiles as she looks at you both.

you both freeze and look at each other, you see eddie smile. oh no.

"thank you so much, she doesn't love me." he deadpans with a fake sad smile as he looks at her.

an awkward look appears on her face. "oh! i'm, uh, sorry about that." she looks over at you.

"that's- no! i never said that, he's just kidding. ha ha." you look at eddie who's trying not to laugh at the look on your face. you kick him under the table.

he yelps and the waitress leaves after awkwardly laughing.

"uh, ouch?!" he rubs his leg under the table.

"oh c'mon it wasn't that hard!" you laugh. your face feels warm once again, "what'd you have to say that for? the poor lady, she was just doing her job." you shake your head with a fake disappointed sigh.

"just having some fun, sweety pie."

"ugh, don't ever say that again."

"we gotta keep up the act now! right, sweetums?" he bats his eyelashes at you and takes a bite of his burger.

"stop!" you laugh.

"why, sweetcheeks? apple of my eye? buttercheeks?"

"buttercheeks?" you ask, still laughing.

"i don't know where that came from, kinda started pulling some outta my ass." he laughs, taking another bite.

"it's okay, honey, you're trying your best." deciding to play along, patting his free hand that lays atop the table.

though, unbeknownst to you, his brain kind of short circuited for a moment once he heard you. you called him honey and you don't even realize the effect you have on him. usually, he's the one calling you pet names, loving the way you react to them, it's sweet. though he only thinks it's because you're a naturally shy person, but he's questioned in his mind if there was another reason as to why.

and he hopes he's the reason why you get all flustered when he says them.

taking another bite to keep himself occupied, nearly finished with the burger, he smiles at you once he finishes.

"i really am, you cutie patootie." he wipes his hands on a napkin before, leaning over and booping you on the nose.

"seriously? cute patootie? out of all the options?" you finish your milkshake, putting the rest of your fries to the middle of the table in between eddie and you so you can share.

"it suits you! but all right then, uh.." he looks up in thought, eating one of your fries, "...snookums."

"i really do hate you." you take the final fry.

"hey, we're supposed to be keeping up an act here, boo boo bear." he points an accusatory finger at you, you stare at each other for a moment before you both end up bursting out laughing.

"we should head home, love bug." you say, getting out your wallet.

"uh uh uh! no. i'll pay." he stops you.

"eddie you paid last time. i'll pay."

he sighs, knowing he won't be able to stop you. he hasn't been able to stop you all the other times before.

you smile, knowing that you won.

now you're both in his van and he's driving you home.

it's become a routine for you both, he started picking you up for school and driving you home. if he kept this up you'll end up not remembering how to drive.

he turns up the radio, one of his metallica cassettes is playing. looking over at him, you smile at the sight. he's looking straight ahead, hands drumming on the steering wheel to the music, head moving to the beat. you believe he does it subconsciously, as if he doesn't realize he's doing it unless someone points it out.

you look away once he glances at you.

"staring it rude, sweetheart." he says sternly, though you can hear his smile.

"wasn't staring."

"sure you weren't."

"just was admiring the view."

"you flatter me, y/n." he twirls one of the strands of his hair playfully with his free hand, while the other is on the wheel with his elbow resting on the window that's down.

you shove him gently, "don't let it get to your head. it's big enough as it is."

he laughs, "who knew you'd be so mean, what happened to the shy girl from a few months ago?"

"i wasn't that shy."

he looks over at you with his eyebrows raised.

"okay maybe i was."

he laughs, "couldn't even keep eye contact with me."

"i was just nervous!"

"i make you nervous, sweetheart?"

"no."

"sure." he smiles.

the rest of the drive was comfortable, music playing in the background, you like that about being with eddie. it doesn't feel awkward having periods of silence, he makes you feel safe, welcome, you can just be you.

he lowers the volume of the radio once he stops in front of your house, putting the van on park.

"well, home sweet home." he says, turning to look at you.

"home sweet home." you repeat, unbuckling your seatbelt. "thanks for the ride, eds."

"of course. you know i don't mind." he smiles.

you smile at him and get out, waving back at him once your in your house as he waits for you to get in safely, and shut the door.

once you're safely inside, eddie glances down at where you were sat, and finds napkin with scribbles on it.

he grabs it and looks at it properly, about to throw it to the back to throw away later (he always forgets), but stops once he reads what's on it.

it's a telephone number, it's your number. and beside it is written 'call me!' with a smiley face and a messy heart.

you had called robin as soon as you got home, gushing once again about your time with eddie, while she talked to you about her encounters with vickie.

and now here you were a few hours later, anxiously laying on your bed and flipping through magazines, waiting for eddie's call. will he even call?

did he even see the napkin? oh no, what if he threw it away? or what if he doesn't care?

that's when a ring begins to sound.

you jump up from the bed, fixing your hair, but then realizing he won't even be able to see you.

you pick up the phone, "hello?"

"well hellooo, y/n. i can't believe this is our first time calling each other."

you immediatley begin to smile, "i know right! we're so stupid."

"i didn't know how to bring it up."

"neither did i."

you both laugh.

"we really are so stupid." he says.

you picture him by the phone, is he standing? or is he sitting? is he smiling as much as you are?

"so..."

"so... what'd you do today?" he asks, and you know now that he's definitely smiling, and you can picture it so easily. maybe he's even toying with the phone cord, maybe not.

"hm... well i went to school obviously," "obviously." he interrupts, sounding as if he's holding back laughter.

"okay. and then just hung out with this guy after school."

"aah.. a guy you say? should i be worried?"

IS HE FLIRTING? you swear your heart skips a beat. breathe!

you laugh, "oh no, no. nothing to worry about."

"you sure?"

"totally, he wouldn't even hurt a fly."

"sounds like a pussy." he laughs.

"definitely."

"heeey! you weren't supposed to agree." he pouts, though you can't see him.

"you're the one who said it!"

"well, i don't know the guy, so i can say it."

"eddie you literally are the guy."

"i am?"

"idiot."

your laughs quiet down and you hear quiet breaths over the receiver, something about it makes it feel so intimate, it makes you blush. it's like he's so close, but he's so far away. only a couple of minute's drive away, but still, too far for your liking.

"still awake over there?" you whisper.

you hear a loud exaggerated snore in return, causing you to pull the phone away for a moment.

"well you must be in very deep slumber, i guess i'll hang up.."

"no! i'm awake. sorry, must've fallen asleep a bit there. oops. my bad, i'm up. don't hang up."

"nearly ruptured my eardrum." you laugh.

"myyy bad." he snickers.

"i am getting a bit tired though," a yawn escapes you in the middle of your sentence.

you hear him sigh, "guess we gotta sleep then."

"guess so."

a moment of quiet.

"you doing anything tomorrow?" he asks.

"um, no i don't think so. you?"

"nope."

"cool." you smile, knowing he'll ask to hang out.

"can i ask you something?" he sounds nervous.

"of course."

"we should hang out tomorrow."

"...okay, i'm down. was that the question?" you laugh softly, opting to lay down on your bed again.

"sorry- no that's not the question," you hear him move around, "uh, i was thinking."

"oh no." "shut up," he laughs, "i was uh, wondering, if you- do you want to go on a date with me?"

quiet.

WHAT. oh. oh this is real.

"uh it's okay if not, can just forget i ever said that-" "i'd love to."

he swears he stops breathing for a moment, "yeah?" he smiles once he hears your answer.

"yeah." you giggle.

"cool.. nice. i'll pick you up, uh is like 3pm cool?" "yeah, that's cool."

"awesome. well... i'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart." he whispers.

"see you tomorrow eds. goodnight."

"don't let the bed bugs bite." he says, did he really just say that? he rubs his face, but he feels calmer once he hears it made you laugh.

"alright, bye eddie."

he can't wait for tomorrow.

excitedly going to sleep, the next day comes quick.

calling robin and immediately telling her you have a date with eddie.

you wake up, have some breakfast and tell your mom, take a shower, and spend time looking for an outfit.

he didn’t tell you what the plans were, so you decide on something a bit casual but also a bit dressy. you put on a nice babydoll shirt and some jeans along with your docs.

sitting at your desk, where you have a small mirror and your make-up products, you get started on getting ready. you take your time getting your hair to look nice and not going too over the top with the make-up just some simple concealer, mascara, and lip gloss.

by the time you finish it’s about 2:30pm. okay, 30 minutes left. cool. now it’s really sinking in that you’re about to go on a date.

you get up and put on some jewelry, some earrings and a necklace, and just a few bracelets.

okay, now you’re ready.

wait! some perfume too. can’t forget that.

looking at the mirror you fix a few things—and you hear a knock at the door.

your mom went out to do some groceries—so you rush to the door and take a breath, not wanting to seem too eager. but you are.

you open the door and see eddie, he looks good. really good, which you’ve always thought but you can see he put effort in for this. his hair seems softer somehow? he’s wearing a black button down that fits loosely and some jeans, he’s still wearing his rings, you take notice that one his arms is hidden behind his back.

“you look great.” you both say at the same time.

“uh thanks.” you feel your face heat. “you look nice.”

“thank you, swetheart.” he pulls his arm from behind his back and he gives you flowers. you almost sigh dreamily, almost. you take it, unable to stop the smile that comes to your face.

“you remembered my favorite flowers?” you say as you look down at them.

“i remember everything you tell me, beautiful.”

his pet names aren’t new, but knowing this is a date makes hearing them a lot more difficult to not love the way it sounds.

“thank you, eds. i’ll just go put them in some water and i’ll be right out.” he nods and waits for you.

you’re out really quickly, excited.

he opens the door for you as he always does, but this time he even buckled the seatbelt for you, before going to the drivers seat. gentleman.

“so, where are you taking us today eddie?” you look over at him seeing him smile and starting the van.

“guess you’ll have to wait to find out.”

he hums along to the music that’s playing, opting to turn on the radio and put on one of his favorite stations. you hum along to the songs you do know, the ones you’ve listened together with him and some you’re just now hearing.

the trees on the side of the road pass you by, shades of green and brown since it’s almost fall, but still warm enough to be outside.

“i think i know where we’re headed.” you say, your gaze still outside the window.

“sh! sh! i still want it to be a surprise. even if you know where we’re going.” he chuckles.

you smile lazily over at him, your head resting on the headrest. “alright.”

the drive to the location is peaceful, as it always is. it’s filled with silly banter, teasing, and causal conversation.

once he parks the van, he rushes out and opens your door before you even get the chance to reach for the handle.

you hop out, “thank you.” you pat his chest.

“of course, your majesty.” he puts out his hand and your grab it.

he leads you to the back of the van and he opens it with his free hand, grabbing a blanket and a basket.

“a picnic?”

“a picnic.” he blushes and looks away, feeling a bit flustered by the way you look at him in adoration.

he leads you a bit further into the trees until you reach a good place; with a beautiful view of lovers lake.

letting go of your hand with a soft squeeze, he opens up the blanket and places it on the ground, putting the basket on it and sitting down. he look up at you and reaches for your hand.

“you gonna join me? or are you just gonna stand there and look pretty? i wouldn’t mind either one.”

you sit down across from him. “oh shut up.” you mumble.

he nudges your foot with his own, “don’t get shy on me now, sweetheart. let’s dig in.”

“alright, let’s see what you brought.”

opening up the basket he pulls out sandwiches, drinks, a container with cupcakes, and some fruit.

he looks up at you once he finished laying everything out. “i know it’s not much.. but i hope you enjoy it. i know you’ve mentioned before how badly you wanted to go on a picnic before.” he looks back down and counties setting everything.

you grab his hand and squeeze it. “it’s perfect, eddie. thank you. anything we would’ve done today i would enjoy regardless, you make things fun ed’s.”

letting go of his hand, he sits up and smiles.

“likewise, cutie patootie.”

“ooookay. well then, this has been fun—” you move to stand.

“no! alright, alright. i’ll behave.” he laughs, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“thanks, buttercheeks.” this causes you both laugh.

he hands you a sandwich, you take it and eat. the time is spent eating the snacks he had brought, goofing around, and shy glances when the other thought they weren’t looking.

the food was eaten and now you were snacking on some grapes, now sitting side by side, looking out at the lake, the sunset making the trees surrounding it to have more color and the water to glimmer.

“it’s so beautiful.” you say, looking at the scenery.

“yeah. it is.” he says softly, but he’s looking at you. he’s leaning on his elbows, his legs stretched out and crossed.

looking over at him, you lock eyes. only this time neither of you look away. you move to mirror his position, now at eye level.

“hey.” he says in a low voice.

“hey.” you say.

you eat another grape.

“can i have one?” he glances down at the fruit in the container.

“if you can catch it.” you smirk, sitting up as he remains how he is. he furrows his eyebrows in confusion, but understands once he sees you raises your arm, about to throw the grape.

he opens his mouth in attempt to catch it, but it hits his eye, causing you to burst out laughing.

“laughing at my pain, i see how it is.” he picks up the grape that fell onto the blanket and throws it back at you, which hits your shoulder.

“you missed.”

“you hit my eye!”

“it was close!”

“that was not close.”

you throw another one, catching him off guard. it hits his nose.

“now that was close.” you say, eating one yourself.

he shakes his head and sits up, reaching for the container. you pull it away playfully.

“oh? is that what we’re doing now?” he says.

you shrug.

he moves to grab it again, you pull it away.

neither of you move, until you stand and run with the container. he gets up and tries to reach you, but unfortunately you trip on a tree root and fall onto the grass, eddie falls as well by trying to reach for you.

he falls atop you, the container of fruit now forgotten.

“y’know if you wanted to be on top of me, i think that could’ve been after a couple more dates, eddie.” you joke.

eddie leans over you, not wanting to put his full weight on you. “ha ha.” he rolls his eyes.

“so what i’m hearing is.. you’ll go on more dates with me?” he brushes a loose strand of hair that fell in front of your face.

“mmm… maybe.” you smile.

“cool.”

he glances down at your lips, looking back to find you doing the same. “can i kiss you, sweetheart?” he whispers.

you nod, and that’s all he needs before leaning down to connect your lips. he feels your soft lips and he can’t help but sigh against the kiss. this is real. he’s kissing you. moving your hands to wrap around his neck, you feel his lips love against yours, tasting the cupcakes from earlier and a hint of mint. smiling against his lips, he pulls back for breath.

smiling down at you, he looks at you, a gleeful look on your face.

he moves to move off you, but you pull him back down for one last kiss.

he laughs against your kiss, helping you up.

“can’t get enough of me already?”

you shove his shoulder gently, “what, don’t want me to kiss you then?”

“now, now let’s not get crazy. i didn’t say that.” he pulls you closer, both of you now standing. he leans down and pecks your lips, pulling away and humming contently.

“nice?” you say.

“more than nice. amazing. awesome. beautiful. spectacular. though i think i know what would make it even better.”

“yeah? and what’s that?” you play with the ends of his hair.

“if you would be my girlfriend.” he says, blushing.

you hide your smile by hiding your face in his neck.

“i’d love to be your girlfriend, eddie.” you kiss his cheek.

he embraces you. “thank you.”

“for what?” you laugh, feeling him shrug.

“being you.” he kissed the top of your head, “…i’m your boyfriend now.” he smiles, pulling away and holding your hand.

and that next monday, in history class, where it all first started, he looks at his grade, an A written at the top.

he looks over at you, leaning over to give his girlfriend a dramatic sloppy kiss on the cheek.

#fanfiction #katstarry #fluff #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fluff

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crappymixtape · 4 months ago

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because of you • epilogue

PART I • PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • EPILOGUE ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 1k – a little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • E P I L O G U E 🎶 believer – piano version, SYML

❝ WE’VE BECOME ECHOES, BUT ECHOES ARE FADING AWAY, SO LET’S DANCE LIKE TWO SHADOWS, BURNING OUT A GLORY DAY ❞

Walking across the parking lot of Hawkins High with Steve Harrington’s hand in the back pocket of your jeans was a surreal feeling. Never in a million years did you think you’d be on speaking terms with him let alone dating him. You also didn’t think the world would end, so maybe being wrong was something to get used to.

Steve had a bag of clothes under one arm while you pulled a wagon of canned food and blankets behind you. It seemed like everyone was in need of something – shirts, coats, shoes, bread, cheese, shelter – and despite the way everyone had rallied against Eddie, they changed their tune quick after the news broke. Came together as a community to support each other through these unprecedented events.

The story came out that it had been a serial killer who’d murdered those poor kids, not Eddie, and it was all forgotten anyway the minute your little town suddenly turned into a war zone. Helicopters and tanks and soldiers, scientists and news crews from all over the nation. The ash hadn’t stopped falling since the Creel House and in the daylight the damage was so much worse than any of you had expected.

When Steve drove you home, it just simply wasn’t there. Swallowed up in one of four deep gashes splitting the earth at the seams. Your parents had survived, came back to see if maybe you’d go home to find them and tried to salvage whatever they could.

They’d sought shelter with your aunt on the other side of town, but Steve insisted you stay with him. Told you you’d have your own room and space and whatever you needed and when you expected a no, your parents surprised you with a yes, with relief. It was tight enough over at your aunt’s as it was and maybe it was better that way. With a friend – friend.

“Donations?” a volunteer asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

“What?” you started, but Steve held up his bag.

“Yeah, yeah. Clothes, food, some blankets.”

“Great, that’s perfect. Clothes are on the tables at the far end of the cafeteria, food is being collected here in the quad and blankets go to the library,” the volunteer said and Steve thanked her with a small smile.

Even though you were bringing things to donate, it was a weird feeling knowing you’d likely be looking for things for you too. You wondered about everyone else. Wondered if they had lost everything too and hoped they hadn’t. Hoped they were all safe. The Wheelers, the Sinclairs, Max and Robin and Eddie–

“Holy shit–no way! Sweetheart, who’s that in your back pocket??”

As if summoned by your very thoughts, Eddie materialized at the bottom of the parking lot turning your cheeks cherry red, Steve’s hand still tucked into your jeans.

He gave Eddie a big grin and dipped down to press a kiss to your temple, “Shut up, Munson.”

“It’s Steve you idiot,” you snarked, lips tugged up in a little smile, no heat behind it and as soon as you passed the wagon off to a volunteer, your best friend was pulling you into a hug.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured into your hair, holding you tight to his chest. His voice wobbled a little and it made your throat squeeze. He’d brushed with death last night, just the same as you, and feeling him here – really here – was like a big sigh of relief.

“Wayne okay?” you asked quietly and he nodded, curls tangling with yours.

“Yeah, thank fuck,” he exhaled, finally letting you go to rub at the back of his neck. “Trailer’s totaled though.”

“My place too,” you commiserated and Steve’s grin faded as his realized just how much had been at stake outside of the party, outside of Vecna.

“Listen,” he started, clearing his throat, “My parents checked in this morning to make sure I was alright, but aren’t coming home anytime soon. If you need a place to stay there’s plenty of room…” Steve jammed his hands in his pockets, unsure if he’d crossed a line or was breaking some unsaid rule, but Eddie grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into a hug too.

“Thanks, man! God, that’d be great. Promise Wayne and I aren’t messy, we’ll clean up and help with dinner and the trash and–”

“Eddie,” Steve laughed, giving the other boy’s shoulder a squeeze, “It’s okay, I’m sure you’re fine.”

You were positive your heart was going to burst, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in the last 24 hours – mostly because of these two idiots – and both boys noticed at the same moment.

Eddie frowned, worried, “Hey, hey, what’s up?”

“Oh–shit–you okay, Princess?” Steve asked, his words blending together with Eddie’s.

“No, I’m okay–” you sniffled, pressing your palms to your eyes, half-laughing at how stupid you felt, “–you two just suck.”

Both boys laughed, we love you, and Steve pulled you under his arm, “Hate to say it, but I think you’re stuck with us.” He shot Eddie a look and the other boy grinned.

“Yep. Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie gave you one of his too-charming winks, “can’t get out of this one.”

You huffed a laugh and buried your face into Steve’s chest. Warm like summer and the sun, like safe and home, and when you pulled away to push up onto your toes and catch his lips between yours a voice echoed across the quad.

“OH MY GOD–WHAT?? STEVE, WHAT THE HELL?? WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME YOU’RE DATING–”

“Oh, Christ–Robin! I’m right here, you don’t have to yell!”

[ I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF, THIS SCENE WAS SCREAMING AT ME LIKE ROBIN – YOU'RE WELCOME ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

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askinkiskarma · 2 years ago

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Ao3 link

Pairings: Neteyam x (f) Human/Avatar!Reader

Synopsis: You and Neteyam have been bound to the hip ever since you were born until your 17th birthday, when Neteyam leaves you without saying goodbye. Everything changes as soon as you get a gift that will bring you back together, for better or for worse.

Word Count: 210k words (completed April 3rd, 2023)

Warnings/notes: Neteyam and Reader are aged up; angst; mentions of death, violence, disease, mental illness, injury, blood, swearing, smut (18+ , minors DNI), spoilers for Avatar The Way Of Water (The Archer)

A/N: I wanted to create a masterlist for this story so it's easier to find, but the individual posts for each part are still up, if that's easier to navigate. I hope you enjoy this story as much I am enjoying writing it, and I appreciate you all so much for all the love and support xoxoxo

'*•.¸♡ Cardigan Series Spotify Playlist ♡¸.•*'

Cause I knew you, stepping on the last train, marked me like a bloodstain, I knew you, leaving like a father, running like water And when you are young, they assume you know nothing But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss, I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs And I knew you'd come back to me

｡･:*˚:✧｡Part I: Illicit Affairs ｡･:*˚:✧｡

CHAPTER I: Willow

CHAPTER II: Right Where You Left Me

CHAPTER III: Exile

CHAPTER IV: Evermore

CHAPTER V: All Too Well

CHAPTER VI: Death By a Thousand Cuts

CHAPTER VII: Hoax

CHAPTER VIII: My Tears Ricochet

CHAPTER IX: Seven

CHAPTER X: Invisible String

｡･:*˚:✧｡Part II: The Archer ｡･:*˚:✧｡

CHAPTER I: Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

CHAPTER II: Out of the Woods

CHAPTER III: I Know Places

CHAPTER IV: Peace

CHAPTER V: This Is Me Trying

CHAPTER VI: The Great War

CHAPTER VII: Epiphany

CHAPTER VIII: Bigger Than The Whole Sky

CHAPTER IX: Safe and Sound (All is Found)

CHAPTER X: Daylight

｡･:*˚:✧｡ Oneshots ｡･:*˚:✧｡

I: The Moment I Knew

II: If This Was a Movie

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knifeforkspooncup · 9 months ago

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Displays of affection I think would Aziraphale and Crowley's canon relationship and characterization (Part IV):

Part I here

Part II here

Part III here

Aziraphale taking Crowley to the observatory to look at the stars. Aziraphale doesn't look at the stars so much as Crowley's awestruck face as he jabbers away ("oh hey, I created that one!")

Aziraphale asking about the plot of James Bond movies just to watch Crowley explain the action scenes like he explains stars being formed.

Aziraphale leaving James Bond novels in conspicuous places around the book shop to try to tempt Crowley into reading them.

Crowley having already read all the James Bond novels when they originally were published and lovingly shelving them back in their rightful place whenever he finds them left out (ofc hes not gonna yeet James Bond novels).

(I rightfully find it hilarious that Crowley is such a dork about James Bond ok, sue me)

Both of them sitting at a Cafe people watching, and Crowley suggesting they make up stories about people. Aziraphale objects of course (it's rude to speculate) but then he ends up getting WAY too into it, making up like entire back stories for them in great detail and Crowley's just like "no - that's not - nevermind, angel" (someone please just write me a fic of this already.)

Aziraphale going to the shop for groceries and Crowley trailing behind him just to watch as Aziraphale runs into various people he knows. Crowley wordlessly putting a box of sugary cereal in the cart because the box says there's a toy prize within.

These are turning more into scenarios oops. If you use these in fics (please do!) I'd love to read them, send them to me!

#aziracrow #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #love sick that is #why do i do this to myself #they deserve this and more

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rollingsins · 2 years ago

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all hers, part i

summary: “I’d kill everybody in this town before they’d take you away from me.” Tara says, eyes wild. “I’d kill everybody in the world. You belong to me.” ghostface!tara

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, possessive behavior, vaginal sex, murder of an OC character), smut.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: for anon, who requested some smutty, possessive ghostface!tara. very, very fun to write, let me know if you want me to write some more ;)

Four murders in seven days.

It was a nightmare. You’d heard the stories, sure. Seen the movies. But you’d never thought it would actually happen to you.

That’s what you got for transferring to Woodsboro of all places.

Your phone buzzes as you finish locking the remaining doors. It’s Tara. You smile instinctively as her name flashes across your screen.

where are you? still coming over?

You look outside. It’s dark already, and the thought of leaving the house when there’s a lunatic running around scares the shit out of you.

not tonight sorry, baby. lost track of time. don’t want to leave Chase here by himself.

You contemplate asking her over. Her sister is in town, and you’d been trying to give them some space to reconnect. Sam was with her, you assured yourself. Besides, the last thing you wanted was her leaving the safety of her home and getting attacked.

“YN! Popcorn ready?”

You drop your phone to the counter, check on the popcorn in the microwave.

Chase had been your first friend at Woodsboro High, before you’d met anyone else, even Tara. Since you’d started dating her, you hadn’t seen him much. He’d asked you over tonight - your parents were out and he didn’t want you on your own. He’d had a hankering, in somewhat bad taste, to marathon the Stab movies.

It was nice being with Chase again, even under such terrifying circumstances.

You tell him so.

“You know why that is, right?” He laughs, shoveling a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Your girlfriend hates me.”

You roll your eyes.

“She does not.”

“Does too. Every time I see her she gives me these eyes.”

He squints, twists his face into an angry glare.

“Like she wants to kill me.”

“You’re imagining it.” You tell him.

Throw a kernel of popcorn at him.

“Uh huh.” He says, turning his gaze back to the movie, “Sure.”

Talking about Tara had always been weird with him. He’d had a thing for you, back in the day, when you’d first met. He’d even asked you out once. But you already had your sights set on Tara and nothing could deter you. He’d taken it well-ish. So you’d thought.

“How are things going with her, anyway?” His voice casual. You look over.

“Good.” You say. “Great. Why do you ask?”

He doesn’t look away from the TV. Shrugs, but it’s tense. Like he’s trying to appear more non-committal. You suddenly feel uncomfortable.

“Just wondering.”

The movie plays a little, you let awkward silence wash over the room. Peer down at your phone. No response from Tara. Maybe you should have gone to her house after all.

“I-” He says suddenly, then stops. Purses his lips.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” He says. “Nevermind.”

You stare.

“What, Chase?”

“I just get a weird vibe from her sometimes. That’s all.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“You don’t know her.” You say, instantly defensive. “There’s no vibe. She’s perfect. She’s the perfect girlfriend.”

And she was. She picked you up everyday at 8am on the dot to drive you to school. She walked you to class, held your books for you. Showered you with affection.

“She’s possessive.” Chase says. He’s looking at you now. Words spilling out of him like they’ve been pent up for a while. “You just don’t see it because you’re all moon-eyed for her. It’s not normal. It’s like you're her special toy and nobody else can play with you.”

“Stop.” You say.

“She’s isolated you from all your friends.” He continues. “You used to play soccer, remember? What happened to that? What about dance? All the things you used to love. You don’t do them anymore. Your whole world revolves around her.”

You stand up. A lump rises in the back of your throat. You’d come here to watch movies with an old friend, not have him berate you about your relationship.

“That isn’t true.” You say, “With school, I just don’t have time for those things anymore-”

“Because when you’re not in school, you’re with her.” He presses. “And she wants you with her all the time. Like I said, possessive.”

“Great to know how you really feel.” You say. Grab your phone.

“Sorry, YN. The truth hurts.” He slumps back into his seat, stares at the TV again. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom.” You mumble.

You open your phone when you reach the bathroom, go straight to Tara’s contact.

She’s opened your message, but hasn’t replied.

“Great.” You say aloud. Your perfect girlfriend has left you on read.

You contemplate calling her, asking her to come get you. No. You chew on your bottom lip. You could just leave, chance an encounter with ghost-face. You decide against it. You’re annoyed with Chase, but not that annoyed.

You wash your hands. Head back downstairs. Flick Tara another message.

You’re not mad, are you? Love you. Wish I was with you instead. xx

Chase hasn’t moved. He looks up when you enter, looking a little sheepish.

“YN-”

“Don’t worry about it.” You say. Sink into the sofa, as far from him as possible. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

And you do. Forty minutes of cheesy dialogue and bad acting and not a word from Chase. You like it that way. You keep glancing at your phone, waiting for your girlfriend’s response. But nothing.

The movie’s over. You can hear the credits rolling, but your eyes are drooping. Half gone. Your phone long abandoned, Tara’s reply nowhere to be found. You’re dreaming of Hawaii in the summer. Pina colada in hand. Tara dressed in a bikini, waist deep in the water. Kissing her in the sand, not a care in the world.

Then you hear the crash.

Your eyes jerk open. You sit up. Startled. You look around the room. The TV has shut itself off. Chase is nowhere to be found. There are noises coming from the foyer. Your heart beats, fast. You look wildly around the room. You want something to defend yourself with.

You settle on a small wooden zebra. Some useless ornament only Chase’s mom would decorate with. It’ll do.

You hear scuffling. More crashing. Then, Chase’s voice, shrill - scared.

“Please! Stop!”

Your ears ring. Terror rips through you as you make your way into the hallway, quietly as you can.

Chase is on the floor, writhing, both his hands wrapped around a curved, silver dagger.

Your stomach drops.

It’s Ghostface.

Your bottom lip trembles. You want to run. Scream. Hide. All at once. But you can’t. You’re rooted to the spot, transfixed.

Ghostface raises his arm, steady. Then slams his dagger straight down and through Chase’s chest. Chase cries out. Blood gurgles from his lips. Ghostface stabs him, twice, then three times. Crazed. Possessed.

Your body gives way. You let out a scream. Topple backwards into the hallway cabinet.

Glass smashes around you. Ghostface looks straight at you.

Your back hurts from the fall. You writhe desperately on the floor, trying to get up. The Zebra has slipped from your fingers. Tears tumble down your face.

In your peripheral, you see Ghostface abandon Chase. Head straight for you.

You cry out as he makes a grab at you.

“Stop.” His voice is contorted, unnatural. He’s using a voice-changer. That same awful voice from that dumb movie you’d just watched. You sob as his hands tighten around you.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t struggle.”

You flop out of his grip, kick up just in time to take the Zebra in your hands.

“I’m not here for you, stop-”

Your fingers tighten around the Zebra. You use all your force to smack it hard against Ghostface’s head. You hear him cry out. Fall back.

You’ve hit him hard. He clutches at his head as he falls back.

There’s a clang as his mask hits the ground.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your chest seizes painfully. The Zebra in your hand slips out of your grasp and hits the floor.

“Tara?”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide, like a deer in headlights. Tears prick at the sides of your eyes. You blink.

She swallows. Stands upright.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” She says. The voice changer is gone. The sound of her voice makes you want to weep, “Don’t be scared.”

She edges towards you, slowly. As if you’re a baby rabbit that might startle at any moment. You see the gleam of her dagger in her hand. Still wet with blood.

“Tara.” You say again, voice trembling. You take a step back. Panic floods through you. How can this be happening?

“It’s me.” She assures. “You don’t have to be afraid. Look.” She holds out her hand, drops the dagger to the floor. It careens over the carpet. Stains it with blood.

She inches closer. You don’t realize just how close she is before she’s reaching out, tugging you into her open arms. Your body locks up. The shock, the panic, the lump at the back of your throat. Everything spills over. You blubber into her chest as she holds you tight.

“Shhh. It’s okay baby.” She comforts you, hands rubbing tight circles across your back. You want to push her off. You want to run. But you can't, you're frozen, all you can do is bawl. She tilts your head up to her. Rubs her nose against yours. She smells metallic. Like blood. She’s covered in it, you realize with a start.

You tremble.

“Don’t be scared.” She repeats. Strokes her fingers along your cheeks. “My pretty girl. I would never hurt you.”

Her eyes are wild. Pupils blown. No trace of your sweet, loving girlfriend. You don’t recognize the person in front of you. You want her off you. But you don’t dare push her away. She presses you into her. Over her shoulder, you see Chase’s lifeless body. His glassy eyes stare up at you.

“He’s dead.” You say. Tears leak like acid from your eyes. Tara holds you tighter.

“I know.” You feel her lips graze the side of your head. She presses a lingering kiss there. “I’m sorry you had to see, darling. I thought you were asleep.”

A whimper emerges from your lips. Tears fall hot and fast down your cheeks, your hands limp at your side as she holds you. Cradles you.

“Why?”

She pauses. You feel her tense.

“Because they wanted you. All of them. They wanted you, but I’d never let them have you. Because you’re mine.”

And it clicks. There had been four victims so far. The first was Dan and his brother Sam, both boys you’d known since elementary school. Both who’d had crushes on you.

Then there was Aaron, your first kiss. Then Sadie, your first girlfriend.

Your bottom lip trembles. They were all dead because of you.

Tears roll down your face. Your body starts to shake.

Tara shushes you, pulls back only slightly to wipe away your tears. She’s so tender, gentle, you almost forget the bloodied body you’d just watch her maim lying in the corner of the room.

“Don’t cry, sweet girl.” She presses her lips to your forehead. “Here. Look.”

She steps back momentarily. Shimmies out of her black robes. She’s wearing your old varsity soccer t-shirt underneath. Your sweatpants. The necklace you’d got her for your one year anniversary. She looks like herself again. Your Tara.

Your bottom lip trembles.

“See. It’s just me.”

It makes you cry even harder. How could this be real? You’d just watched as your sweet, gentle, loving girlfriend had driven a knife into someone.

Tara. How could it be Tara?

“I know, I know, baby. It’s okay.” Her arms are around you again. She holds you as you sob. Every instinct in you screams to run. To get away from this deranged psycho who just killed your best friend in front of you. But you can’t. She’s the only one you want to run to.

You press yourself into her, tears soaking through her shirt. She cradles you, you feel her lips ghost your forehead.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.” She says, “I’m sorry, baby girl. I know it’s a shock.”

She holds you a while longer. Until your eyes are red and dry, nothing left to cry. Your heartbeat still hammering against your chest.

What do I do?, You think. Where do I go?

She was calm now, much calmer than you. But that could change in a heartbeat. If you ran, she’d chase you. Maybe even kill you too. That look in her eyes, black, terrifying. You hiccup against her.

What the fuck do I do?

She rubs your back. Draws away from you just enough to wipe the rest of your tears from your face. Lets her fingers linger on your cheeks.

“Come here.” She dips down before you can protest. Presses her lips to yours. You don’t resist. Electricity flows through your body. Your stomach flutters the way it always does when she kisses you. Your body wants her just as it always does. Guilt flushes through you. You draw back, hold her at arms length.

“I can’t.” You pull back, a fresh wave of tears rising. Your stomach turns. “I think I’m going to be sick”

Her hands grip your shoulders.

“It’s okay. It’s alright. Hey. Look at me.” She’s firm, suddenly. You look up at her through glistening eyes. She softens her voice again, brushes your hair out of your eyes.

“I’m going to clean this up.” Her head jerks to the body near the corner of the room. “Then I’m going to clean you up.” She strokes the side of your face. Scratches on your cheeks from the glass.

“And then I’m going to take you to bed and make love to you. Show you just how much I adore you. Alright? Will that make everything better, sweetheart?”

Revulsion rises in your stomach suddenly. Her hands on you feel heavy. Suffocating. Your cheeks flush hot with emotion.

“No. Don’t you dare touch me.” You say. You shake off her hands, take a step back.

The words startle you as much as they startle her. Hurt clouds her features for a moment. She tries to smooth it over, tilting her head.

“Baby. You don’t mean that.”

“Yes I do. I don’t want you near me. Not after what you’ve done.” You back up, pressing yourself against the wall. Part of you wants to make a grab for the dagger but she’s too close. Besides, what would you do with it anyway? You weren’t like her. You weren’t a killer.

Tara blinks. Her eyes fill with something you don’t recognize.

“You’re just confused.” Tara says, voice hollow. “I know it’s hard to get your head around-“

“Please. Go. Just go.”

You’re shaking. Tara stares. Her bottom lip twitches. You recognize what’s behind her eyes this time. Anger. Irritation.

“You want me to go? After all this. After everything I’ve done for you?” For the first time, her voice is trembling. She looks angry. Hurt. Confused.

“For me?” You ask. Your voice rises. “You killed my best friend for me?”

“For us.” She urges. “Don’t you see - there’s no distractions anymore. No one else. No one is going to take you from me.”

She’s moving closer again. You don’t want her near you. You eye the door, move before she can stop you.

“YN!”

You run. Blood rushing in your ears.

She calls your name again, but you don’t look back. The front door is locked, so you sprint for the back. You can’t think straight, can’t trust your own emotions. So you trust your instincts.

Run. Run. Run.

You reach the door, fumble with the handle. Your heart in your throat. You twist it madly, but it doesn’t budge.

“Come on!” You cry out. You twist again, but it’s too late.

You feel her hands on your waist as she grabs you.

You struggle against her, screaming. The sheer force knocks you both over. You scramble up, trying to stand but she’s too quick. Her hands wrap tight around your waist, pulling you back down to her. She grabs your wrists, holds them tight over your head as she climbs on top of you.

“Get off me!” You cry, but she doesn’t. Squeezes you down tighter.

Wild eyes stare down at you. Her eyes, usually the softest brown, are wide, saucer like. Her eyebrows knit together as she pleads.

“Please, baby, stop.” She begs. “It’s me. It’s just me.”

She’s smaller than you, but she’s so much stronger. She’s always been stronger than you. It used to be hot, the way she could hold you down with such little effort. Now, it terrifies you.

You try with all your might to push her off but she only grips tighter. A frustrated sob emerges from your lips. She presses you against the floor. You feel her lips on your forehead as she shushes you.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” She says, voice so tender you almost forget she has you trapped in a vice grip. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Then let me go.” You wail. Your body goes limp. There’s no point in struggling. She’s too strong. “Please, Tara, just let me go.”

“I can’t do that, baby.” She says. Her voice soft, almost apologetic, “I love you.”

You whimper, pathetically. Your mind whirls, going a mile a minute. There’s no way out, you realize. She’s stronger than you. She’s faster than you. And she’s hopelessly and desperately in love with you. She’ll never let you go.

Your breathing evens out.

“I love you.” She says again, voice barely above a whisper.

Her breath is hot, against your mouth. You shudder. She presses her lips to your cheek. Nuzzles her nose into your neck.

“I love you.”

Her lips press into your neck. A hot jolt of energy sparks between your legs. Even now, after everything she’s done you can’t help but want her. You start to cry again.

She tilts herself up. Looks at you, really looks at you.

Gone is the manic, crazy killer who just chased you down a hallway and stuck a knife in your best friend. Her eyes are wide, that soft, sweet brown they always are.

There she is. Your first love. Your high school sweetheart. The girl who had taken your virginity. Tara. Your sweet girlfriend, Tara.

“I love you.” She whispers, a final time. Your heartbeat slows, steady. Your eyes flicker down to her lips. She notices.

She lingers above you only a moment, before she leans down and captures your lips.

Heat flushes to your cheeks. Butterflies erupt in your chest.

Warm, warm, warm.

Is all you feel.

You groan into her mouth. Confusion flashes through you once again.

“Stop.” You murmur against her lips. Soft. Half-hearted, like you don’t mean it. She pulls back.

“Stop?” She asks. Voice low. Like she knows what you’re going to say.

Your breath hitches. Her hands loosen their grip on your wrists. Her weight on top of you suddenly feels erotic.

“Don’t stop.” You whisper, and she claims your lips once again.

Your kisses build, feverish. Desperate. A mesh of lips and teeth and tongue. You loop your hands through her hair, pull her tight against you.

Her hands loop under your shirt, tug at your jeans. You pull hers off first, wanting her hot and naked against you, groaning at the heat of her skin against your own.

All thoughts of Chase are gone as you slip your hands into her underwear. She’s wet already, gasps as you circle her clit. You press warm kisses to her jaw.

She presses you back onto the floor. Tugs your underwear down your legs. Her fingers dip down to your heat.

“Tara.” You gasp. She nuzzles herself into your neck. Presses, wet, sloppy kisses down your jawline. Her fingers brush your clit before she sinks her fingers inside you.

She groans. Kisses you deep.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight. So wet.”

“Tara.” You gasp. Her fingers curl inside you, her thumb rubbing gently over your clit. She kisses you again. Works her fingers deeper into you.

“Does that feel good, baby?” She asks. Her voice is graveled, thick with want. You moan out as she hits just the right spot.

“You like that? You like my fingers inside you?”

You nod, madly, clawing at her back, trying to pull her closer.

“I like it too, baby. It’s my favorite thing in the world. I’d do anything to be inside you.”

Her eyes are black, hazy, lust filled. You kiss her deeply.

“I’d kill everybody in this town before they’d take you away from me.” She says, eyes wild. “I’d kill everybody in the world. You belong to me.”

You moan.

“Tell me.” She says, “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, baby.” You gasp.

“That's right. All mine. Every inch of you.” She growls. Her hand movements are steady. Angry. Pounding into you. Your hips jerk with each thrust, your cheeks red.

“Nobody else is going to touch you. Not ever. I’m the only one who gets to do this.” She says. Her eyes are starting to blacken again, jealous at the thought of somebody else sinking inside you.

“No one else.” You pant. “I promise.”

She growls, takes a nipple in her mouth. Bites down hard. Her fingers drive into your pussy.

You moan her name. It relaxes her a little. She slows her pace, dipping down to kiss down your stomach. She nuzzles against your thigh, lovingly.

“Who can blame them?” She says. She reaches up to touch your face, presses a gentle kiss to your belly. Her fingers pump in and out at a steady pace. Her fingers coated in your wetness. “My perfect girl. Always so beautiful. Who wouldn’t want you? I want you all the time.”

She dips down, presses kisses to the tops of your thighs, rhythm steady as she fucks you. A low moan escapes from your mouth as she licks a long stripe down your center, stopping momentarily to wrap her lips around your clit.

Your thighs clench around her head but she keeps your legs pried open. She sucks you only a moment before she’s grinning up at you, debauched, slipping a third finger inside your dripping cunt.

“I wish I could spend every waking moment inside this gorgeous pussy. Always so pretty and tight and wet for me. Always throbbing around my fingers. Squeezing. Trying to keep me in you, isn’t that right?”

Her eyes gleam. Her pretty red lips sticky with your arousal.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, baby? You’d like me to be in you all the time.”

“Yes.” You groan.

“Dirty girl.” She chides. Her head dips down again, and you throw your head back as she sucks on your clit, hard.

She releases you after a moment. Lips back on your thighs, fingers pummeling up into your g-spot.

Your stomach coils. She sucks on your thigh leisurely, her fingers slamming into you with no mercy.

“Mine.” She says. “Say it.”

“Yours. All yours.”

Her arms grip tight around your waist. She licks her way up your length, not stopping the force of her fingers.

You throb around her, so close. She presses kisses to your thighs as she works you to the edge.

“You going to come for me, baby?” She murmurs, lips on your clit, “Good girl. That’s it, sweetheart. Come in my mouth.”

She sucks your clit, hard, and you topple over the edge.

Your back arches. You let out a low groan as your orgasm washes over you. She works you though it, lovingly sucking, her fingers curled.

You slump back onto the floor as she presses kisses to your belly. She keeps her fingers in you as she leans up, kisses you so tenderly.

“Good girl.” She murmurs. You sigh into her mouth. You can taste yourself on her lips. It’s intoxicating. She presses a kiss to your neck.

Draws her fingers out of you. You whine. She smiles, sucks you off her fingertips.

“Don’t worry baby.” She murmurs. Brushes a lock of hair off your sweaty forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart beat slows. She shuffles herself off you.

Wraps herself tight around your waist, drawing you into her.

Your eyes draw to the robes of the floor. The mask. The dagger. Chase is here somewhere, dead in another room. And you just fucked his killer.

Shame floods through you. Your body tenses. She can sense it. She turns you in her arms, pulls you into her bare chest.

“Shh. Don’t look, baby.” She coos. “I’ll clean it up.”

“He’s dead.” You say. More monotone than anything. In the last thirty minutes you’ve felt every possible emotion you could ever feel. You’ve cried every last tear. You’ve fought and struggled and lost against your own desires. You’re exhausted.

“It’s alright, babe.” She senses your resignation. Presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now it’s just you and me. The way it should be.”

She tilts your face up to hers. You let her press a kiss to your lips. Close your eyes.

“I’m all yours, baby.” She says. “And you’re mine. Forever.”

You nod, slowly.

She is, there’s no point in denying it.

Next part

#scream #jenna ortega #fanfiction #mine #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #ghostface!tara #wednesday #wednesday x reader #ah

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