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the-travelling-witch · 6 months

Text

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

summary: every artist knows, inspiration can be found anywhere; so why not in the sheets as well?

pairing: piercer & tattoo artist! scara (from my genshin modern au) x fem! reader

warnings: nsfw/ minors dni, somewhat mean! scara, name calling (slut), slight degradation mixed with praise, pet names (doll, pretty), mirror sex, oral (f! receiveing), unsafe sex (rings probably shouldn’t go there, take ‘em off before you get nasty), unprotected sex (just remember you could get pregnant and if the thoughts of children doesn’t scare you… then the thought of an std should), porn without plot (what’s plot), talk about piercings and tattoos, pierced/ tattooed! scara

this is a repost because i'm moving my nsfw works onto this blog!!

genshin impact masterlist || modern au masterlist

His iron grip on your waist and your arms slung around his neck kept you up as his tongue, pierced with a metal ball, grazed yours with every other motion, the difference in texture keeping you on your toes and making every kiss feel new and exciting.

The next moments were hazy but, soon thereafter, ringed hands travelled your body and slowly pulled your top off, exposing more and more skin to the indigo eyes studying every sliver of it. Lifting yourself from the mattress, you helped him get the article of clothing out of the way before sinking back into the soft pillows, stripped completely bare from the hips upwards, and Scara wasted no time getting to work.

Ever the artist, he dedicated the first few minutes to adding more reddish hues to the canvas that was your skin, already eager to run his fingers over the purplish bruises they’d leave around your shoulders and collarbones in the morning. You couldn’t help the shiver which overtook you as you felt him shift his weight lower on your body, his tongue travelling down your sternum, making goosebumps rise in the wake of the smooth metal on your heated skin.

Mischievous eyes drunk in how dishevelled you already looked, planning how to have you writhing in his sheets in no time. Before you could question the spark in his eyes, painted nails had already closed around one of your pebbled nipples, twisting the poor bud and pulling a surprised gasp from you which transitioned into a breathy moan as his lips wrapped around its twin. Watching for your reaction, he lightly pressed your nipple towards the roof of his mouth, rolling the sensitive skin between his lips and flicking his piercing against it.

“Ah-! Scara!” The sensation had you arching your back into his touch, your hands flying up to root your fingers in his midnight blue hair, as heat shot down to your core. You could feel his smirk against your body before he pulled off with a pop.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” He grinned, eyes darkened in the dimly lit room. Sitting up to straddle where your hips met your thighs, he pushed his flat palm down onto the valley of your breasts before slowly -teasingly- dragging it downwards, causing you to shiver at the temperature difference between his fingers and the rings littering them. “I wonder, is this all it takes to rile you up? I might as well check, right?”

After stopping his movements right at the waistband of your bottoms, he made a show of dipping his fingers under the material first before working them off completely with your help. When the garment landed in the pile forming on the floor next to the bed, he repositioned himself between your spread legs, calloused hands tantalisingly gliding up the plush of your thighs. A beat of silence passed in which you both drank in the sight of each other; you, undressed and with glazed over eyes spread out on his bed, and Scara, framed by the light highlighting the piercings on his cheek as he towered over your form.

“Let’s see then, shall we?” He whispered, not being able to resist the temptation of snapping the elastic of your underwear and making you jump at the slight sting. Trailing his fingers down at an excruciating, leisurely pace, his nails merely grazed the delicate skin around your core, just to hear you whine his name in frustration. Switching up his tune, he dragged the digit over the soaked material of your last remaining piece of clothing. An amused chuckle slipped past his lips, not hiding his glee even a little. “As I thought, you really are getting off on just this. When were you going to tell me I’m dating a little slut huh?”

“I’m not-” The sudden pressure on your clit combined with the mean nickname had you cutting yourself off with a high-pitched whine. Opening your eyes again, you found yourself staring up at your boyfriend’s expression curled into a smirk. “That’s not fair!”

“Oh but we both know you like it when I’m being unfair.” Leaning down next to your ear, you could feel his breath fanning its shell, his voice low as if he was sharing a secret. “You get off on being my little plaything, letting me do whatever I want with you. And the best part? You enjoy it. You enjoy it so much I can feel your thighs twitch just from talking to you like this, no doubt ruining those flimsy panties of yours even more when I haven’t even put my hands on you in earnest.”

The worst -or best– part was he was right and you were both well aware. Nothing wound you up faster than hearing the honey-dipped venom drip from his lips as he toyed with you and your release, cruelly denying it or giving you so much of it your senses were flooded with only him and the pleasure he brought upon you.

After continuing to dart his touch from one place to the other without ever staying in one place long enough to scratch that itch building in your core, he finally decided to show you some mercy and strip you completely bare. With all of you on display for him, Scara took the liberty of studying how your arousal shone in the bedroom light as your glistening cunt clenched around nothing from the anticipation.

“Stop staring and get on with it already!” Even to your own ears the plea sounded a little too desperate considering how little had happened thus far. And your boyfriend was quick to remind you, too.

“Listen to you, so eager to let me fuck you,” he laughed. “Fine, fine, guess I’ll give you what you want.”

That was all the warning you got before he thrust a finger inside to the last knuckle, embarrassingly little resistance stopping him. On the contrary, it was more as if your walls kept sucking him back in, clinging to skin and metal, when he pulled the digit back out.

The difference in texture and temperature made for a combination that kept you on your toes, never quite able to anticipate how the next stroke would feel or which his jewellery would catch next. Adding a second finger, Scara distracted you from how he shifted his weight further down the bed and used one hand to push your legs further apart, slotting his shoulders between your thighs.

You squirmed in his hold as he lifted your legs over his shoulders, his mouth level with your core as he let his breath fan your slick-covered folds, which were still being abused by his cruel fingers. Tightening his hold on your thigh, he brought you closer to his kiss-swollen lips, only to stop when he was hovering right over your twitching clit.

“Eyes on me, doll,” he breathed, mouth almost brushing against you with the ghost of a touch. When you looked down, piercing indigo eyes were already focused on you, half of your boyfriend’s face already obscured by your own body. Something about the intimacy of the position and the intensity of his attention on you made you heat up as you fought to hold the eye contact.

Satisfied, Scara lowered his mouth all the way down to close the small gap and now you were burning up. Feeling his lips close around your clit tore an obscene moan from you, especially when he flicked his tongue with the silver ball against it, much like he did earlier, with the sole intent of getting you to arch into his touch. Simultaneously, he curled his fingers upwards and curled them as if he beckoned you closer to him despite already enjoying the most intimate proximity, brushing the spot he knew you liked but purposely missing it, laughing at your whine.

When you were twisting and panting enough for his liking, clearly starting to unravel at the seams, he switched it up by increasing the pressure on the little bud and angling his fingers to hit that spot dead on. Tangling your fingers in his hair and the fabric of the sheets, you tried grounding yourself as your mind flew into overdrive and stars danced across your vision. It wasn’t the first time he’d eaten you out and that knowledge fuelled the fire in your belly, convinced he did it just as much for his pleasure as for yours. Something he proved with the groan escaping him as you clenched around the digits stroking your velvety walls. You couldn't help the involuntary jerk of your hips as you felt a sheen of sweat building all over.

“Hold still,” he mumbled, barely pulling far enough away to properly mouth the words. “I’m trying to work here.”

With that, he dove straight back in, tongue dragging over your clit, sucking it into his mouth as his fingers kept working you open. The sounds coming from between your legs were downright obscene, a lewd mixture of your obvious arousal and Scara’s enthusiastic movements, like it was the filthiest make-out session you’d ever seen (and heard). A certain degree of embarrassment climbed up your spine just to be drowned out by the pleasure of the prolonged stimulation you were experiencing.

Subconsciously, you pulled on his roots, to which your boyfriend answered with a guttural groan sending vibrations right through you. With another high-pitched moan, your feet flexed against his back as your toes curled and your thighs clamped shut around his head, the metal of his nostril and dermal piercing cool against your heated skin. Desperate to snap the coil in your stomach, you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth and called out for your boyfriend, less to signal your building orgasm and more because it was the only thing you could think of.

“I’m so close— Scara, please!”

“Begging already? Go ahead, doll, and make a mess on my hand. I know you want to cum all over my fingers,” he purred against your burning up skin. His voice drifted off into a soft whisper, wafting through the fog of your orgasm to bring your attention back to the man between your legs. At this point you were barely coherent, only babbling moans intermixed with your boyfriend’s name.

“Keep saying my name, pretty,” he moaned against your folds. “Let me hear who’s making you cum like this.“

You complied with his request easy enough, not that you really needed the incentive. And then you let go, letting wave after wave of pleasure rush over you, giving in to the sensation spreading through your body. Meanwhile, Scara, who had slowly pulled his fingers out of you, was busy lapping up your release, guiding you back down from your high not letting a single drop go to waste. Only when he was sure there was nothing left did he carefully slip your legs from his shoulders, sitting up between them as your gaze remained stuck on him

And you were glad it did, because you didn’t want to miss the way Scara’s tongue flicked between his fingers to clean your essence off of them, his jewellery shinier than ever from your arousal clinging to it. The sight had you holding your breath rather than catching it. Cleaning his lips from the slick clinging to them, he leant down, so he could lean down and press a kiss to your temple. “That’s it, ‘did so well for me, pretty. How are you feeling? Doing good?”

“Mhm,” you replied, still a little drunk on the pleasure he just delivered to you. “Felt amazing.”

“Good,” he mused against your skin, unoccupied hands massaging your sore thighs, one of them smearing your release mixed with his spit onto the muscle. Pulling back to look into your eyes and check your reaction, he asked “Do you want to keep going?”

“Yeah, I want to,” you affirmed. Showing him a small smile and trailing your hand down his chest to the front of his pants, strained by a prominent bulge, you added, “Can’t make this all about me, can I? I want you to feel good too.”

“My, aren’t I lucky to have such a considerate partner?” While the statement came out sarcastic, you knew he actually meant it. If you had told him you were too exhausted to continue, you knew he would have respected that. But frankly, you needed him to fuck you stupid. “Or perhaps it’s less about me and you’re an insatiable little minx who wants to be stuffed even after already cumming? Well, not that I mind either way.”

“A little bit of both maybe,” you chuckled, brushing some of his bangs out of his face. With some of your clarity returning to you, bantering came easy again. “I’d probably feel a lot more motivated if you lost some of your clothes as well.”

“So honest too,” your boyfriend laughed along, pressing another kiss to your forehead before granting your wish. Revealing his lean build and toned stomach by discarding his baggy shirt was always a sight to behold, especially with all the ink covering the skin and flexing alongside his muscles. But as much as you appreciated the view of your boyfriend shirtless, your heart leapt into your throat every time he undressed fully. You knew some of his friends made fun of Scara for his height but damn if they knew where all those inches went…

“Careful, you’re starting to drool,” he teased. Helping you up, he manoeuvred you to sit in his lap at the edge of the bed, your back pressed firmly against his chest. In this position you could clearly feel his hard dick against your backside, smearing precum along your skin and furthering his promise. “You know, if you wanted to get fucked dumb, you could’ve just said so. I’m more than happy to help you out.”

“Noted,” you said. But before you could add a quip of your own, you were cut off by your own strangled yelp when you felt him bite down at the base of your neck. Not hard enough to cause any serious irritation but enough to get your attention back on him.

“You know I love that smart mouth you have on you but right now all I want to hear you moan is my name and how good I’m filling you.” And with just this shift in his tone, you were already nodding along, clearly establishing who was holding the reins here. Lifting you by your hips, Scara aligned your pulsing core with the mushroom tip of his cock, groaning at the slick heat. “So pliant and obedient for me… Now be good and watch as you take me.”

For a second you were confused before your eyes met your own in the floor-length mirror across from you. The surprised arch of your brows only lasted for a second though before you felt Scara push the head past the muscles of your entrance, the initial sting eased by your previous release but still a delicious stretch. You shut your eyes and turned your head at witnessing the round ‘o’ shape your mouth parted into and, immediately, your boyfriend held you still, not allowing you to sink further down on his length.

“Didn’t I make myself clear?” He asked, one hand leaving your hips and grasping your jaw instead, angling your face to look forward again. “I told you to watch yourself. Don’t make me say it again. You wouldn’t want me to.”

Your weak ‘Y-Yes’ sounded pathetic even in your own ears but you craved nothing more than to stretch yourself further on his dick and you’d do whatever to get there. So you complied and cracked your eyes open again to take in the compromising position you were in, knees spread and hovering over your boyfriend's lap.

“There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He cooed right next to your ear, the low timbre of his voice grazing your ear as he rewarded you by inching you down his dick at an excruciatingly slow pace. As you stared into the mirror you had a first row ticket to seeing the coherent thoughts slip from your mind as Scara mouthed down your neck, pierced tongue flicking over particularly nasty marks he left.

Despite all the previous preparations made, it was still a tight fit as you struggled to take all of him. So when you neared his base and your walls clamped down hard on him, one hand slid up to play with nipples some more as the other traced circles into your hip and provided something for you to hold on. Your second palm found the back of his head again as you arched your back and a string of moans intersected with curses spilt past your lips.

“You’re doing so well, almost there, pretty. See?” Pressing down on his length through your skin had you positively mewling from the stimulation as well as the image you saw in the mirror. Relief washed over you when you finally sank all the way down and could rest your strained thighs against his. As he pressed a fleeting kiss to your cheek, the two smooth piercings on his own traced the turn of his head. “I knew you could do it, you always do. You were basically made to take me. Nobody else could stuff you this well anyway.”

“Fuck! Only you, Scara,” you whined as you accommodated his length and waited for the pain to give way to pleasure. “Please fuck me, I need you so badly.”

“Since you asked so nicely…” On the first drag out, he made sure you could feel each and every vein against your sensitive walls before slamming back in with a single thrust. His deep strokes never failed to knock the air from your lungs and soon enough you were gasping at your own reflection, pleasure intensified by watching how his dick glistened from your arousal more every time he pulled back out before pushing in with a wet squelching sound.

When your gaze drifted towards an indigo one, you were hardly surprised to find your boyfriend already watching you. Whether it was the furrow of your brows, your parted lips, the sweat rolling down your neck or the bounce of your chest, to him it was all incredibly alluring, especially because he was the one who got you into this blissed out state in the first place.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” he mused into the crook of your neck, voice betraying just a bit of the strain he must be feeling. “But I have some improvement ideas.”

“Ye-ah?”

Catching your bouncing breasts in his palms, his fingers trapped the skin of your areolas and rolled it around, applying just the right amount of pleasure. “Don't get me wrong, these are cute as they are but I bet they’d look even hotter with piercings in them. What do you think, doll? Would you let me pierce those gorgeous nipples of yours?”

There was no need to actually nod your head, the way you squeezed his cock at the imagination was a dead give away of how much you enjoyed the fantasy of letting your boyfriend do just that. Just envisioning the exciting sting when he’d pull on the delicate jewellery while in a position similar to this had your hips buck down of their own accord.

“Yeah? You like that?” You could hear the self-satisfied smirk in his voice without having to tear your eyes away from the fingers playing with your chest, thighs trembling as the second high of the night creeped up on you, further amplified by the idea of shiny jewellery decorating your body. “Getting close again? I can feel you clamping down on me, no need to deny it.”

By now, there was no thought running through your head aside from your boyfriend and how deep he was hitting every sensitive spot inside of you. You were giving it your all to follow his command of watching yourself but at one point it became too much and your head rolled back into his shoulder, baring your neck and throat to him completely.

But you weren’t the only one nearing your orgasm. Although better at hiding it, there was no concealing the laboured groans next to your ear or the heated throbbing of Scara’s cock inside you, his hips snapping up into yours more erratically. Snaking one hand down your front once more, deft fingers drawing figure eights on your aching clit.

“Bet you’d even let me pierce you down here, yeah? Making this little thing even more reactive, just so I can rile you up more? You’re such a slut, I bet you’d even beg me to do it,” he panted breathlessly, pinching the area in question to underline his point.

“Scara, please—!”

“Fuck, yeah just like that.” His laugh came out stuttered. “Let me mark what’s mine, yeah? Make sure nobody gets any funny ideas—“

Both of your voices trailed off into whines and groans as you gripped him like a vice, having him doubling his effort to pull back out as you sucked him back in. Then, your thighs locked up and you let out the sweetest yet most sinful moan of the night, trembling through your high as you milked your boyfriend for all his worth. With stuttering hips, he slammed in one more time as deep as he could and bit down on your shoulder as thick, hot spurts of cum filled you up.

Catching your breath, you slumped back bonelessly against his chest as he rode out his orgasm before you pushed the hand that was still meanly tracing your clit away with a weak whine. You felt his chuckle as much as you heard it while he pressed a kiss to the mark he left with his teeth. Despite his cock still plugging you up, you could feel some of his load dribbling from your spent hole.

Slowly, you loosened the death grip you had on his hair, flexing your fingers to regain some of the feeling in them. Finding your voice again, you inquired “So, about those piercings… Did you mean it?“

“Oh, definitely.” Eyeing the darkening skin of your shoulders and collarbones mischievously, he met your gaze through the mirror, bucking his hips up just enough to feel you clench around him again. “Perhaps you could give me some more inspiration for a new tattoo as well~”

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heavyhitterheaux · 7 months

Text

Garden

Based off the song by Dua Lipa

Synopsis: You want to spend more time with your boyfriend, but find that the two of you are drifting apart. It isn't until he almost loses you that he realizes what he has in front of him

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Reader

Requested by: an amazing anon 💕

Jack Harlow Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

It was dark outside when you had woken up from being startled because of Jack moving around your shared bedroom. You had been waiting for him to come home since he had been gone all day, but your eyes began to get heavy around midnight and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand to look to see what the time it was and it was 3:36 in the morning when Jack had promised you that he would be home no later than 8 PM.

"Babe? Are you just now getting home?" You softly asked as he began to take off his sweatshirt.

"Shit. I didn't mean to wake you up. Things just ran over a little bit." He threw it across the room and it landed in the hamper perfectly while you sat up to plug your phone into the charger.

"A little bit? You were supposed to be back at 8 PM LAST NIGHT. It is now 3 in the morning. Did you eat anything? How much water did you drink today? I don't want you getting headaches like you were before."

"Y/N, I'm not doing this with you right now. I need to go to sleep because I need to leave by 9."

"I… I'm just worried about you. I need you to slow down and take a break once in a while. I planned for us to do something around 5. Do you think you'll be done by then?" You asked as Jack has gotten in the bed to lay down next to you and pulled the comforter over himself.

"What are you worried about me for? I'm fine. Don't I need to keep a roof over your head? So let me do what I need to do since you're always asking me for expensive ass shit."

"Really? I'm worried because my boyfriend is a workaholic and a people pleaser that doesn't know how to say no sometimes and his girlfriend would like to spend more time with him."

"When things slow down, I will. I promise, but I can't let up now."

"What about meeting up with me at 5? Just us for a date."

"I'm not about to tell you yes and then I get busy and not show up because that will cause a whole new issue."

"I just don't get why you’re being so defensive about me wanting to spend time with you. Don't blame it on you being busy because when your second album came out you still made me a priority despite everything going on around you."

All Jack did was sigh and roll his eyes which you quickly caught on to.

"Y/N, I'm only going to get five hours of sleep and arguing with you is cutting into that. Can we just let it go and continue it later?"

"Seriously? And when is later because I never see you."

All Jack did was throw the comforter away from him and hop up out of the bed.

"Baby, where are you going?"

"To the guest room to get some fucking sleep since I'm clearly not going to get it in here."

"I… come on don't be like that. I just…."

"I'll probably be gone by the time you wake up." Jack muttered before making his way out of the bedroom and leaving you upset.

You waited about an hour or so before going to peek in on Jack who was sound asleep. All you wanted at the very least was for him to sleep next to you and at least hold you, but it seems like nowadays that was asking for too much. You softly walked to the left side of the bed and crawled in next to him and he was startled by the movement.

"Y/N..." Jack started to say but you immediately cut him off.

"Can you at least hold me so I'll sleep better. I didn't come in here to argue. I just want you close to me."

All he did was raise his left arm and you cuddled closer to him as he wrapped it around you and it almost seemed forced like he didn't want to do it.

"I love you, Jack." You whispered to him, but all you got were his soft snores in response letting you know that he had fallen back asleep.

You felt your eyes watering and the tears slowly ran down your face and you did your best to even your breathing so that you wouldn't wake him up again.

You just simply wanted your loving boyfriend back who would always spend time with you and never made you feel as if you were a burden.

When you woke up, just as he told you Jack was long gone and you simply let out a sigh. When he left early like that he would usually send you a text message that said good morning and how much he loved you, but you didn't know the last time he did that. You would usually send them and now they went unanswered.

You had some work to do yourself and had been working from home for the past few days. You couldn't quite put your finger on what it was that was bothering you besides the obvious with Jack, but you didn't feel 100%.

Hoping that a hot shower would help, you hung eucalyptus at the top of it to open you up so that you could breathe better and lost track of time of how long you had been in there.

Once finished, you got dressed and decided to bring your laptop to the living room in order to watch some movies for some background noise and order some food since you hadn't felt like cooking.

You nibbled at your food all day while you worked and when 5 PM came around of course Jack was nowhere to be found. You had sent a few texts throughout the day to ask how things were going and all he was doing was reading them and not responding, making you grow frustrated.

Around 10 PM, since you still didn't feel well, you made yourself a cup of ginger tea in hopes that would help and made your way upstairs to your room not even bothering to wait for Jack. It was clear that he didn't want to talk to you so you weren't about to force him.

When you woke up it was around 7 in the morning and you had felt worse than you did the night before. Jack wasn't next to you and you heard the shower running so you assumed that he was getting ready to go out and leave you by yourself…. Again.

Once he came out the shower, you couldn't help but to blurt it out.

"Baby, can you please stay home with me today?" You couldn't put your finger on as to why, but you didn't want to be by yourself.

"Y/N…. What is it now? Didn't we already talk about this?" He answered and had an immediate attitude.

"I just don't feel that well and want you to keep me company. It's just for a day. You can miss one day."

"What don't you get when I say that I have to provide for us? You saying that you don't feel good is just another excuse to try and get me to stay home and start an argument. You look fine to me and I can't believe you would pretend to be sick for me to stay."

"Just say you hate me and go." You muttered and stormed into the bathroom while locking the door behind you.

"Why would you even say that?! I don't hate you!"

You didn't bother responding and simply brushed your teeth and washed your face. You could hear him moving around the bedroom and once you heard his keys, you knew he was getting ready to leave despite your protests. All you could do was sigh and attempt to go on about your day.

By noon, you couldn't focus and no amount of medicine was helping you feel any better so you decided to get dressed and head to the grocery store in the hopes of getting ingredients to make some soup and hopefully you would be able to keep it down. You had gotten to the couch downstairs and were putting on your shoes when you suddenly felt lightheaded. You gave it a few minutes to let it pass before standing up. And once you did, your head immediately hit the floor.

Jack was in the studio and cursed to himself. Nothing had been going right that morning and be felt that it was low key his Karma for blowing you off.

"What's wrong?" Urban asked while seeing his frustration.

"Could you do me a favor and go to my condo to get a sample hard drive that I forgot? I don't want to see Y/N."

"Wait, what? Why? Are you two fighting again? You've been fighting a lot more than usual."

"I just don't want to deal with her right now."

All Urban did was sigh because he hated seeing the two of you at odds. He didn't want to get in the middle of it, so he didn't bother saying anything.

"Be right back."

When Urban walked through the door, he called out to you but when you didn't answer he was confused. Your car was still in the driveway and he could hear the television playing so he wasn't quite sure what was going on.

He walked further into the condo into the living room to discover you on the floor and not moving.

"SHIT! Y/N!" Urban said while rushing over towards you and trying to tap you to wake up.

"Come on, wake up!"

Nothing he was doing was working and he quickly pulled out his phone to dial 911.

"Hello 911, what is the address of your emergency?"

Jack was growing increasingly inpatient and was wondering where Urban was since it had been at least two hours since he left. His condo wasn't that far from the studio and he figures that you had coerced Urban into staying with you and gave him the same sorry excuse of not feeling well that you told him earlier.

It was another 45 minutes before Urban stormed into the studio pissed off and red in the face.

"Do you not know how to answer your fucking phone anymore?!"

"What? You were coming right back anyway. It's been on DND all day. What took you so long?"

"Your girlfriend is what took me so long." Jack immediately rolled his eyes.

"Oh, did she give you that same bullshit ass excuse of her not feeling well?"

"You are such a fucking dumbass. When I got there she was on the floor, passed out! So when she told you that she didn't feel well, she wasn't lying! The paramedics were asking me all these questions that I didn't know the answer to since I didn't even know how long she had been on the floor or if she hit her head!"

"Wait, what?"

"You fucking heard me, your girl is in the hospital and hadn't even woken up when I left because I had to rush to get to your dumbass to tell you since your phone is on DND. The hospital had been trying to call you ever since she got there!"

All Jack did was mutter fuck under his breath and immediately started to feel guilty.

You had been telling the truth the entire time and all you wanted to do for the past few weeks is spend time with him and all he did was ignore you.

"I…."

"Just come on, I'll drive." Urban said and all Jack did was nod his head as a million thoughts were running through his mind.

Urban sped through traffic and made it back to the hospital in record time. Jack barely gave him a chance to stop the car at the entrance before jumping out and trying to get to you as soon as possible.

He immediately ran to the desk to ask the secretary where you were before she gave him directions to your room down the hallway.

Once he reached your room, he saw you sitting up with your head resting in your hand while the other was flipping through channels on television that was in the front of the room.

"Baby?" Jack said as he entered the room and all you did was look at him.

"Um, what happened?" He asked again and all you did was sigh.

"Don't you have somewhere else more important to be?" You asked while turning away from him to look at the TV.

"What? You're important to me, you're my priority."

"You can save the bullshit because I don't want to hear it. You know this is the first day that you called me baby and not by my first name in almost three weeks?"

"I… I'm sorry I was busy, but I'm here now." Jack tried to take your hand, but you quickly pulled it away.

"And you can leave. I don't need you here or want you here, you have to keep a roof over our heads, remember?"

"I know you’re mad at me, pissed is more like it for good reason but I just want you to talk to me."

"Oh, so now you want to talk? When you thought something might have happened to me? You have been acting like I bother you with everything that I say and you wondered why I said that you hated me this morning. I'm being admitted for the night so you'll be able to get your rest without me bothering you. I'll get Urban to pick me up tomorrow so that you can continue to provide for us. Now, you can leave so you can go and do that."

"You haven't even told me what's going on with you! I'm not leaving!"

"Why? So you can pretend to act like you care? I have started not to be able to recognize you anymore and I don't like the person that you're becoming so do me a favor and get out of my sight."

You had been home for a few days and Jack actually ended up staying the night with you in the hospital despite your protests.

Long story short, you fainted because you were dehydrated and the stress that you had been under didn't help either.

Jack had been walking on eggshells around you since that day and was staying with you at home to make sure you had everything that you needed without having to lift a finger. However, now he was getting on your nerves because he wouldn't let you out of his sight. It sh

"Babe, when's the last time you drank water?"

"2006."

"Y/N! I'm trying to make sure you stay hydrated. I don't want you fainting again."

"I'm fine for the millionth time so you can leave. It's amazing how much free time you have now." You fired back and all he did was sigh.

"I never properly apologized to you and I'm sorry for making you feel like I didn't care about you and you should have never had to beg for me to spend time with you. I just get so wrapped up in my head with work that it's all that I focus on. I promise to do better moving forward and never make you feel that way ever again. I want this and I want us for the long haul."

“I don’t want you to promise me anything, instead show me by your actions.”

“Can I have a kiss to help me get started?” Jack asked while pouting and you immediately rolled your eyes before leaning over to kiss him since he sat next to you.

“Uhhh I need one more for strength and maybe two more for good luck.”

“I… look now.”

“Please?!”

You obliged while leaning over to kiss him and he quickly pulled you onto his lap.

“I love you and I should never go that long without telling you again.” Jack whispered against your lips.

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

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the-travelling-bitch · 10 months

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𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

summary: every artist knows, inspiration can be found anywhere; so why not in the sheets as well?

pairing: piercer & tattoo artist! scara (from my genshin modern au) x fem bodied! reader

warnings: somewhat mean! scara, name calling (slut), slight degradation mixed with praise, pet names (doll, pretty), mirror sex, oral (f! receiveing), unsafe sex (rings probably shouldn’t go there, take ‘em before you get nasty), unprotected sex (just remember you could get pregnant and if the thoughts of children doesn’t scare you… then the thought of an std should), porn without plot (what’s plot), talk about piercings and tattoos, pierced/ tattooed! scara

genshin impact masterlist

You recalled stumbling into your boyfriend’s dark apartment, your feet catching the edges of various furniture as the two of you tugged on each other’s clothes, mouths not parting from each other on your way to the bedroom. It took all your strength to stay upright on wobbly knees, Scara’s tongue caressing your own and greedily swallowing all the noises that escaped you. His iron grip on your waist and your arms slung around his neck kept you up as his tongue, pierced with a metal ball, grazed yours with every other motion, the difference in texture keeping you on your toes and making every kiss feel new and exciting.

“Listen to you, so eager to let me fuck you,” he laughed. “Fine, fine, guess I’ll give you what you want.”

“Hold still,” he mumbled, barely pulling far enough away to properly mouth the words. “I’m trying to work here.”

“I’m so close— Scara, please!”

“Keep saying my name, pretty,” he moaned against your folds. “Let me hear who’s making you cum like this.“

“Mhm,” you replied, still a little drunk on the pleasure he just delivered to you. “Felt amazing.”

“Fuck! Only you, Scara,” you whined as you accommodated his length and waited for the pain to give way to pleasure. “Please fuck me, I need you so badly.”

“You’re gorgeous like this,” he mused into the crook of your neck, voice betraying just a bit of the strain he must be feeling. “But I have some improvement ideas.”

“Ye-ah?”

“Scara, please—!”

“Fuck, yeah just like that.” His laugh came out stuttered. “Let me mark what’s mine, yeah? Make sure nobody gets any funny ideas—“

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

#┊ elogia cinerosa ‧͙*̩̩͙❆彡 #┊holly’s modern au ✩彡 #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #scara x reader #scara smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #wanderer x reader #wanderer smut #genshin impact scaramouche #minors dni #genshin modern au

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octuscle · 5 months

Note

I am a poor and stressed office worker in a gray building, my boss demands a lot of me, and on top of that sometimes because of this stress I have problems of total sexual impotence. I would like to be a fearless and sexually powerful muscular racing driver, an undisputed super champion on the tracks. with arrogant attitude, a masculine symbol of power and virility

Dude, you're closer to retirement than your college degree. And like any good New Yorker, you don't even have a driver's license. That makes your wish a little original, doesn't it? And I also don't understand why you always turn to support for problems like this. Why don't you take your life into your own hands?

Friday night. Almost 8pm already. Finally off work. All your colleagues have long since left for the weekend. But your sadistic boss has dumped one task after another on you. You hate him, you hate your job … You hate your life. But your life can change. "Driver's license in just one week! Live your dream now!" Damn, has the driving school always been here between the office and the subway station? Maybe that's a sign. You just go in. It doesn't cost anything to ask.

The guy at reception is hot. Tight body. Leather pants. Dazzling smile. Greets you like an old friend, tells you that you're the first customer today and that you'll get a special price if you start your theory lesson today. You feel a little taken by surprise. But it brings you closer to your dream. So you sign up. And just fifteen minutes later, you're learning all about the rules of the road. But your eyes are more focused on your driving instructor's bulge.

As you take your leather jacket and backpack from the checkroom after the lesson, your driving instructor tells you that you've handed in your sheets with 0 faults. So you're almost ready for the theory test. But first you have your first driving lesson tomorrow at 08:00. You can hardly wait. And yet you have to go to bed now. It's been a tough week and now it's almost midnight…

Shit, you misjudged the time on your morning jog. Only an hour to go until your driving lesson starts. No time left to shower or change at the driving school. You get into your new motorcycle suit, grab your helmet and head for the subway. You look a bit funny in full gear… But thank God it's still early on a Saturday morning and there's not much going on yet…

Your teacher thinks you're a natural. Your bike and you form a unit from the very first second. Sure, you've always been interested in engines, you have a feel for the 130 hp that lies dormant in the beast. And you love speed. And you love the bulge in your instructor's pants. Shit, that guy is so hot. But you can't say goodbye to your driving instructor with a French kiss. You try to stay cool and say goodbye with a fist bump. He slaps your ass and tells you to come to theory class a little earlier tonight.

Until then, you still have a bit of time to go to the gym. The leather suit doesn't forgive an ounce of fat. To look anywhere near as hot as your driving instructor in your leather trousers, you need one or two hours of gym a day. In addition to running, in addition to your second passion, taekwondo. When you arrive at the driving school an hour before the start of training, your driving instructor is already waiting for you with a naked upper body and a painful-looking bump. He asks you if you would like to be ridden instead of riding your motorcycle for a change. You grin and reply that you thought he'd never ask.

It's convenient that you wake up on a Sunday morning right next to your driving instructor. Damn, why driving instructor? He's your mate and your coach. No one needs to teach you how to ride a motorcycle. Today you're going to the racetrack again before the big race. Find the ideal line. Exploring the limits of technology. You are a perfectionist. Motorcycle racing and martial arts form the perfect unit for you. In both cases, an opponent is unforgiving of mistakes. And in both cases, you have to be in full control of your body every second.

But you will never make a mistake. You are young, talented and in the shape of your life. Your friend thinks it's time for you to relax. Race to the lake, the loser has to blow the winner. Hehehe, you're already ready for your victory bonus when your friend rolls into the parking lot. He's a very good loser!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #inked man #age reduction #leather tf #biker tf

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javisjeanjacket · 1 year

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Hard to Find - ( joel miller x reader)

A/N: I didn’t wanna do it to ya, but something about a dirty sweaty emotionally scarred dilf man...I JUST CANT STAY AWAY!! Anyway this is a lot of build-up and backstory laying and in part two there will be less of that, more action and ~drama~. But for now, enjoy :)

also!! I’ve not played the game, i’m only watching the show as it comes out so no spoilers pls!!

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: descriptions of the night of the outbreak (a lady gets bitten, puke is mentioned briefly, blood is mentioned briefly), canon-esque action, feelings of being overwhelmed and anxious are described but not heavily focused on, the relationship with Joel is ~complex~

He remembers you from before. He remembers how easily smiles used to come to you and how kind you always were to Sarah.

You are not like that now.

He’s not like he used to be either.

You were with him when he lost her; you saw the unyielding nothingness infect him and the hopelessness settle into the cracks in his skin. Joel changed after he lost Sarah; he was no longer the hot handy neighbor who helped you hang up your Christmas lights every year. He was barely a functioning human at all.

The past ten years, you had tried to be there for Joel when he needed you. He would spill his guts to you, trembling and crying until he fell asleep with his head in your lap, and then wake up the next morning, make you coffee and pretend like nothing happened. Other nights he would call you, take your hand as soon as you walked in his door, and look at you with big, brown, helpless eyes. You would stroke his cheek or rub your thumb over his and he would lean in for a gentle kiss that lead to the two of you in his bed, his hands worshiping every dip and curve of your body, that then lead to him making you coffee and eventually moving in with him. You knew Sarah, and you had known him, and you were the only part of his old self that he could remember anymore. He refused to call you his partner, but keeping you safe was more important to him than his own life.

You didn't really know why you were doing what you were doing. Picking up ingredients to cook a dinner for a man you adored, who you suspected adored you too, but refused to acknowledge it. Often, you thought of just up and leaving the QZ and Joel behind, heading for anywhere else that people might be, in an effort to stifle how you felt about Joel and to garner enough self respect to stop yourself from letting him use you.

‘But I couldn’t leave him.’ you thought to yourself. ‘Why not?’ You argued. ‘If a better opportunity came along wouldn’t Joel just leave you?’ You bit your lip and tried to focus on the rations you were putting in your pack. ‘It’s not worth thinking about. Not anymore.’

“Get down!” A voice rang out suddenly over the market square.

“Shit!” You cursed and bent down to shield yourself using the vegetable pasta stall.

The sounds of a grenade detonating reverberated off the brick and you braced yourself for impact. Debris violently flew through the square, crashing and bouncing all around you. Brick shot through the pasta stall and broke into smaller pieces when it crashed to the ground before you. You whimpered and closed your eyes. A flash from that night, Joel’s birthday, September 26th 2003, played in your mind.

The movie theater.

Midnight Madness was playing.

Your co-worker came stumbling out of the building, covered in blood.

Your first instinct was to grab Joel’s shoulder and point them out to him, ask him to stop.

Joel didn’t stop for the family with a baby, he wouldn’t stop for a grown adult covered in blood.

Your coworker grabbed a woman fleeing nearby and latched onto the screaming woman’s neck. Her mouth filled with blood and it spilled down her turquoise top. The turquoise was so pretty, you recalled. Accented even more by the crimson of her blood. You rolled down your window and puked out of the side of Tommy’s truck.

You opened your eyes. Dust had settled in your hair and over your skin. The market was in shambles around you and the stall behind you was blown to smithereens. The robot FEDRA installed to run the market booths looked to be beat to hell, which put a smirk on your face. Swallowing against your dry throat, you looked to find a way out of the square and back to Joel’s apartment. You found one and started to move towards the street when you heard the clatter of boots upon pavement, working as one unit. You heard the shift of guns in hands and cursed to yourself.

“Fuck me.”

Your only chance to escape was to wait until the firefight started and then run for it while they’re all focused on each other. You turned instead, to the destroyed robot. You hunkered down behind it and pulled your body as close to yourself as you could, making as small of a target as possible. Moments passed in silence, then some angered shouts of ‘Free Boston now!’, and then the exchanging of shots started. You jumped when the first shot was fired and took that as your cue to make a run for it. Your chest pounded as you ran towards the sidewalk, your pack shook from side to side and your heart felt like it was in your ears. You turned the corner away from the market and a spray of bullets marked where your feet had just been. Your breath stuck in your throat and chills ran over your body. Turning from the fight, you fled towards Joel’s apartment. The streets were abandoned already, people safe in their homes, helpless but to watch the chaos unfold in the city below them.

You came to Joel’s building and twisted your pack around to grab your key from the bag. You hand trembled as you tried to fit it in the lock and you almost left it in the door after you unlocked it. Hurrying up the steps towards the second floor, your lungs seemed to be shrinking. Air couldn’t reach them quick enough and your vision was becoming blurry. You turned the corner on the second floor and almost ran to Joel’s apartment. Pressing your hand to the dingy door, you unlocked the apartment and hurried inside, shutting it tightly behind you. You closed your eyes and let yourself sag against the door. You covered your mouth with your hand as a wild sob climbed up and out of you. Clenching your eyes shut, you sank to your knees and tried to catch your breath, but your chest was heaving too quickly. The world seemed to be spinning around you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Joel’s voice cut through the chaos in your mind.

You felt his big hand, warm and tender on your knee, and sensed him close to you. You opened your eyes to find him bent down next to you, his dark eyes intense and focused solely on yours. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and wrapped your arms around him, tucking your face into his neck and letting your tears fall onto his shirt.

He was tense a moment, then allowed himself to soften for you, his hand snaking under your pack to rub up and down your back. “Tell me what happened.” He whispered.

You tried to force yourself to catch your breath, breathing when Joel breathed and closing your eyes, but the trembling wouldn’t stop. “I’m sorry.” You replied.

He pressed a soft kiss to your hair and then pulled you closer. “It’s okay, just breathe.” He shifted you so that he could lift you up, then carried you both to bed. He laid you down softly and then took your pack for you and hung it on the hook by the door.

You felt emotion well in your eyes so you distracted yourself with taking off your boots. A tear fell onto your laces just as Joel re-appeared in front of you.

“Lay down.” He said, and motioned with his head towards the bed.

You looked up at him, all of you tender and vulnerable and raw, and did as he said.

He reached down and took your boots off for you, placing them one after the other beside the front door as well. You watched him and bit the inside of your lip; did he know he was your whole world? Did he feel how beloved he was?

He took his boots off as well and sat them beside yours, then stripped down to his boxers before climbing into bed next to you.

You both turned to face each other once you were safe under the covers and Joel reached for your hand under the sheets. “You okay?”

“I-” You let out a deep breath and tried to keep your breathing steady, “I wanted to make you dinner.”

“You don’t need to do that, darlin’.”

“I know, but I wanted to get us special food to make and-”

“You weren’t there when the square was attacked, were you?!” Joel’s head lifted from the pillow and his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He had heard the commotion from the apartment and didn’t think anything of it, you had said you had to work late.

You looked at him with big, watery eyes and nodded yes.

Joel frowned and grumbled deep in his chest. He scooted closer to you and wrapped his arm around your torso. “I don’t need to tell you that was stupid.”

You slotted your face in just below his chin and pressed your body against his. Breathing was coming easier to you now. “I wasn’t being stupid, it was just a random attack.”

Joel grumbled again and ran his hand up and down over your back. “Still.”

You smiled gently and took in a shuddering breath. “Next time a secret organization launches a random attack, I’ll make sure I know in advance.”

Joel huffed and pressed you closer. “Good.”

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bizaar · 1 year

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Cruel Summer - Part 7

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 11k (you guys i'm sorry i tried)

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence/death (get Vecna'd), some angst, some fluff

A.N.: Babysitter!reader part seven! The shit has officially hit the fan ...

You silt bolt up in bed from a dead sleep, screaming and shattering the quiet calm of the morning.

“Eddie!” you cry out, but there is no one is there to hear you.

The sound of your own voice bounces off the walls of your apartment and echoes back to you, and you sit trembling with residual fear as you do all you can to come back to yourself … It was only a dream. A terrible, terrible dream.

You had only managed a few hours of sleep in the first place, caught in the quagmire of the dreaded closing shift made that much worse by the Hawkins Intramural Boys Basketball team — now apparent state champions — descending upon the diner to celebrate their victory.

They’d trashed the place, and it had taken you the better part of two hours to get the diner anywhere clean enough to call it a day. To his credit, Lucas Sinclair (ever the sweetheart) had begged you to let him stay and help you clean, but considering the fact that he could barely stand for how drunk he was, you’d sent him away with the rest of the Tigers and promised not to tell his mother.

It was well past midnight by the time you got home. You hadn’t managed to do more than get out of your shoes before you’d slipped into the vice of Morpheus’s grasp, and you were dreaming by the time your head hit the pillow.

And then your mind swam with visions of Eddie.

You still dream about him most nights in one way or another, and you imagine you will more than likely continue to do so for years to come if not for the rest of your life, but this had been a nightmare, and it had felt so real.

Something terrible had happened, not to him, but with enough proximity to put him in danger, and there was nothing you could do to save him.

I can’t save him.

Of course, as you eventually come back down, you try to rationalize the feeling by telling yourself that it’s not your job to save him, considering how he’d broken your heart, but it is an intrinsic instinct that has proven very hard to unlearn, putting yourself between Eddie and any sort of threat.

It’s only natural to want to protect the ones you love, and you do still love him, as much as you hate to admit.

It only sends you into a downward spiral of guilt and anger and all the other nasty little emotions you don’t have the presence of mind to dredge up on some random morning in April, running on maybe three hours of sleep and already late for your next shift.

Spring Break, your mind informs you rather unhelpfully. It’s Spring Break.

Adrenaline has made you dreadfully nauseous, and you breathe a shaky sigh as you press your hands into your eyes until you see colors.

You suddenly have to work very hard to ignore the terrible sensation it dredges up as your dream fights to make its way to the front of your mind again.

Lights winking on and off with enough gusto to be seizure-inducing, illuminating the scene of eyes wrenching back from their sockets and limbs twisting up unnaturally, snapping out of place…

You’re fine, it’s fine, everything is fine… just breathe.

Somehow you can’t quite convince yourself it’s true.

It is hard to feel anywhere even remotely in the realm of fine when you wake with the sudden and desperate screaming notion to run!

The feeling only persists as you rise from your bed and try to go about your morning, jumping at every slightest sound.

Run! Your brain tells you, and you have no idea where it is you ought to be running to, except maybe the Forest Hills trailer park, as your irrational mind tells you that you won’t be fine until you know Eddie is fine, and you’re not about to go banging down the door of the Munson trailer just because you had a bad dream.

That would be wildly embarrassing, even for you.

It takes you the better part of an hour to banish the residual fear of your dream, showering away the sweat that has dried tacky on your skin, wolfing down a quick breakfast, getting dressed and ready for the day in your scratchy grease-stained work uniform, all the while trying to deafen yourself to the ubiquitous echoes of cracking bones, silently willing yourself to calm down, calm down, calm down.

It isn’t working.

Even outside the realm of your dreams, you can’t stop thinking about Eddie. Though perhaps more importantly you can’t stop thinking about the fact that it’s spring break, which means it’s been nearly a year since you’d last seen him.

You’re having a very hard time trying to suppress the nagging feeling that wherever he is, Eddie needs you and you’re borderline obsessing over the thought that if you don’t find him, something very bad is going to happen.

Of course, that line of thinking puts you in a rather awkward position, because you’re still not quite sure you’re physically capable of handling the concept of seeing Eddie again. This is made all the more evident considering the way you’d thrown your telephone across the room like it had jumped up and tried to bite you after having inadvertently found yourself on the phone with him last month.

It leaves you feeling hopelessly stuck, so to try and distract yourself from the crushing sense of impending doom, you indulge yourself in a little self-harm, recalling how last year you had planned to spend Spring Break road-tripping...

It took the two of you weeks to plan the trip, mapping out the route, everywhere you would camp, all the roadside attractions you would hit, budgeting your pooled money down to the penny. You would be flat broke by the time you got home, but you had convinced yourselves it would be worth it.

It was never meant to be.

Beyond the fact that the heavens had decided to open up and dump what you assumed must have been all the rain for the rest of the entire year in one weeklong downpour, the van’s transmission went out the day before you were meant to leave, stranding Eddie and the band on the highway halfway between Hawkins and the next town over, as is always the way.

So you drove an hour and a half through the torrential downpour to go and rescue him at the random interstate pay phone he'd called you from. He slid into your passenger seat, soaking wet and positively fuming, ranting and raving about the piece of shit van and his stupid friends and the whole goddamn situation as you went and collected the rest of the band, left to sit huddled in the relative warm but most importantly dry van.

Then, with Gareth, Jeff, and Adam crammed like Sardines into the back of your little Toyota, the heater cranked up and the stereo turned down, you’d all sat shivering in relative silence as you followed the tow truck back to Hawkins, taking with it the van and all the money you’d saved for your trip.

The guys pooled their money to cover the tow, as they came to figure was only fair (with a little prompting from you). The repairs themselves came out to cost a whopping twelve hundred and sixty-seven dollars and thirty-nine cents, quite conveniently the exact amount of money you and Eddie had saved between the two of you, though that price only came to be after the mechanic overheard your hushed conversation about what you could afford — don’t you hate it when that happens?

So, road-tripping dreams dashed to oblivion, you’d spent Spring Break sitting on Eddie’s couch. You’d assigned yourself the role of his sick nurse, making sure the cold he’d caught while waiting for you in the rain didn’t develop into pneumonia, all the while tirelessly assuring him it was fine that you didn’t get to go, that there was nothing to be sorry about, the road and all its attractions would still be there next year, and no he absolutely was not allowed to pay you back.

“Consider it back-pay for all the gas money I owe you.” You’d told him, brushing his hair back from his clammy forehead as he lay pressed into your side, coughing and sneezing miserably.

All things considered, it hadn’t been too terrible a way to spend a week off from your last year of school, building a massive blanket fort in the living room in which to marathon movies, play board games, eat your weight in snacks, and fool around once Eddie felt a little better.

(Funny how he always seemed to be miraculously healed of whatever ailment held him in its clutches at death’s door when sex was on the table.)

It was one last hurrah of adolescent fun, stretching the Endless Summer just a little further before having to face graduation and the impending threshold of adulthood… well, at least for one of you.

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since all that. One quick turn around the sun and suddenly it’s Spring Break, and Eddie needs rescuing again – or so insists your subconscious.

You should go see him, a tiny nagging voice inside of you presses, You should go check on him.

“No, thank you,” you tell the stupid little voice as you snatch up your keys and head out the door of your apartment.

You’ve got to go to work, and somehow getting verbally abused by the patrons of your shitty waitress job is so much more appealing than the thought of trying to make awkward small talk with Eddie after eight months of nothing.

You can’t imagine he’d be pleased to see you, considering it all.

You can only just picture yourself standing at the bottom of the steps, trying your best not to look at him while wringing your hands and struggling to explain that you’re standing on his doorstep because of a feeling.

Boy howdy, doesn’t that just sound like the best time a girl could possibly have?

Still, it feels a little too much like denial, deluding yourself into assuming he’s fine just because you don’t want to go see him. It does nothing to settle your nerves, and by the time you get to work, you’re just about ready to puke for how your insides have twisted themselves into a Gordian knot.

You bid an absent hello to your co-worker and skirt around the back of the counter to stash your things, ignoring the way she berates you for how she had to finish cleaning up what you had left undone the night before.

She doesn’t like you much anymore since you’d had to tell her you wouldn’t be watching her demonic children, and she is not shy about making it known.

Normally you would have said something to try and defend yourself, told her to blame the Hawkins Tigers, but you are understandably too preoccupied to consider doing so.

Maybe Wayne can check on Eddie for you…

“Stop it.” You hiss at no one in particular, biting the inside of your cheek and reminding yourself for the hundredth time in the last half hour that Eddie is still a jerk and that you and Wayne have made a silent agreement not to talk about him.

It was a very complicated way of simplifying the weird patchwork friendship you’d built up with the elder Munson in the ashes of your relationship with his nephew, but that is how you preferred it remains.

You are not going to ruin your streak of very successfully avoiding the topic of Eddie by asking Wayne about him just because you had a bad dream.

A really, really, really bad dream.

Of course, it’s a highly plausible scenario considering Wayne is due in today for your weekly session of catch-up. You could very easily get an indirect report on Eddie’s wellbeing if you really wanted to, but you banish the thought before it can fully form.

You know if you ask, Wayne is just going to tell you to go see him, and you are not going to go see him.

You tie your apron tight enough to dig uncomfortably into your sides and clock in and try every mental exercise you can think of to try to stop the constant loop of Eddie Eddie Eddie passing through your brain like a weather report scrolling along the bottom of the television screen during the morning news.

It is unbearably slow at the diner, just like it is every day, though today there is a patent strangeness to how particularly empty the dining room is. Benny’s has never gotten much traffic to begin with, not even when Benny himself was around, but even the morning regulars seem to be missing today.

It’s wholly bizarre and does nothing to quash your nervous feeling, particularly as the first hour of your shift comes and goes without a single customer.

“Kinda slow, huh?” You hum, hoping a little conversation might aid in distracting you.

Your coworker stands leaning against the counter, filing her lacquered nails. She gives you an uninterested look.

“There’s some kinda commotion going on at the trailer park.” She says flatly, “Folks probably all went down to see what’s what. They’ll be here soon enough, don't you worry your pretty little head.”

You ignore the biting sarcasm dripping from her tone and swallow hard to banish the spike of anxiety that grips your stomach and forces a knot up into your throat.

Trouble at the trailer park.

Oh no.

You struggle to keep your voice steady as you speak, almost too afraid to ask yet unable to keep your mouth shut.

“What kind of commotion?”

Your coworker shrugs, not bothering to look up from her filing as she answers you.

“Who knows.” She huffs, and before she can elaborate, the cook, who also happens to be your boss, pipes up from the kitchen.

“Some girl got killed or somethin’,” he calls, and you feel the blood drain from your face.

You dig your nails into your palms to try and ground yourself as you are struck with the hideous feeling of deja-vu.

Your coworker is apparently less affected by the information. She heaves an angry sigh and throws her hands down, chunky plastic bracelets clacking loudly and sounding much too similar to snapping bones for your liking as she does.

“Now, how in the hell could you possibly know that, Earl?”

“I got my sources, anyways, I seen them cop cars go roarin’ down the street. They only haul ass like that when there’s a body. Like when they found that Byers kid down in the quarry.”

You suppress a shudder as once again your dream rushes to the front of your mind. You retreat from it, electing instead to hide in the memory of the night they’d thought they found Will —

—you’d been with Eddie. It was one of the first times you’d really hung out together, not a date, just one on one time in the earliest stages of whatever it was going on between you. More than a friendship, not quite a relationship, back when all you knew was that he was so strangely different than all your friends had warned you, and you had a ridiculous crush on him that you’d hoped beyond hope was mutual.

You’d seen that exact procession of cop cars go whipping past you on the road, and Eddie – who had just been very glad he wasn’t being pulled over – made a flippant comment along the lines of “guess they found that missing kid,”

He hadn’t meant anything by it, and he’d been very chagrined when you called him up later that night after learning they had in fact found Will. You couldn’t have expressly explained why you called Eddie that night, except that your parents weren’t home, it didn’t feel appropriate to be at the Henderson’s right then, and in the mire of your reeling mind, your empty house was suddenly terribly frightening.

You suppose you called Eddie because he made you feel safe.

“Do you want me to come over?” He’d asked, quickly and quietly, and when you sheepishly asked if you could go over to his place instead, he’d agreed to come and get you without a moment's hesitation — you could hear his keys in hand before he even hung up, promising to be there in five minutes.

That was how you’d found yourself sitting on your front steps, shivering in your pajamas while you waited for him, making the excuse that it would be easier to lie about where you’d been rather than try to explain what a random boy was doing in your house if your parents happened to come home.

Of course, that line of thinking suggested that anyone could have stepped in to comfort you that night, and that was just patently untrue.

Even then, you only wanted Eddie, pulling up to your house and driving you back across town to spend the night glued to his side, lying in his bed, whispering back and forth conspiratorially like kids having a sleepover, like you’d known each other for years and were privy to the deepest secrets of each other’s hearts.

You were barely even friends, and yet somehow you knew, from flipping through the yellow pages to find his number to drifting off to the hushed sounds of his voice while he read aloud the first few chapters of some fantasy novel, you would never want anyone else but him.

You are vaguely aware of how you’ve been subtly pinching yourself to try not to think about how, if you were really honest with yourself, that had been the night you’d fallen in love with Eddie — it only makes your chest ache with anxiety as you remember the crushing sense of danger from your dream like suddenly the whole world is bearing down on him.

I have to find him…

It is an intrusive thought, new and terrifying as the notion of needing to find Eddie indicates that somehow he is missing. It is enough to move you to panic.

Behind you, your coworkers continue to bicker, but you don’t hear them. You’ve moved to stare out the window, at your car sitting lonely in the lot, watching for any kind of traffic, any sign of things to come … any sign of Eddie…

The trailer park is not far from here, maybe half a mile at the most, and you rationalize that you could feasibly make the distance in less than five minutes if you ran.

You aren’t sure why your brain decided to deliver that information to you, only that if you were the religious type, you would have been praying to whoever might be listening that whatever trouble is happening down at the trailer park has nothing to do with Eddie.

I have to find Eddie. Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie—

And then, like a part of your brain has clicked off, suddenly all you know is action.

Somewhere in the very far distance, you think you can hear your boss calling your name, but you don’t hear him, not really. You don’t hear anything but the skipping record of your mind moving you.

You don’t think, you just go.

Out the door and practically sprinting, the hoarse shouting voice of your boss falls on deaf ears as you skirt right past your car and disappear into the woods.

You don’t care about your pride or your hurt feelings, or whether or not Eddie will be happy to see you, all of that nonsense is the furthest thing from your mind as you run. You’ve got to see him, you’ve got to find him, no matter what.

If there are cops at the trailer park, they’re going to be blocking the road, so you convince yourself that you can avoid them by going through the woods, exiting the treeline and making a break for Eddie’s bedroom window.

Twigs snag the skirt of your dress as you move through the thicket at a pace, the crunching of leaves and detritus is thunderous under your sneakers as you go.

It is only a matter of minutes before you emerge from the first line of trees, flying across the backroad without a second thought for traffic and pushing through the last stretch of the woods until finally, the trailer park opens up before you.

You pause a moment to catch your breath, doubled over resting on your knees and listening for a hint at whatever lies ahead.

It’s eerily still, despite how beneath the gentle flapping of laundry on the line and the hum of generators, you can hear the buzz of movement, voices speaking, and crackling radios much closer than you’d accounted for.

You’d never been much for trouble before you met Eddie. Your experience with the Hawkins police begins and ends with distracting them so that he could slip away undetected, and it occurs to you perhaps too late that this could very easily end with you being arrested, which would be at best very inconvenient and at worst?

Your parents don't live in Hawkins anymore, so who would be there to bail you out if that happened? Claudia Henderson? Wayne? How would you make sure Eddie is okay if you’re sitting in a jail cell?

Still, you can’t let your wariness of trouble stop you now, not after you’ve already come most of the way.

You would always rather come running to Eddie’s rescue when he doesn’t need you than risk not being there when he does, and it is enough to refill the well of your courage.

You bite back the same urge to run you’d felt that morning when you woke up and stay low.

Despite having not set foot on these grounds for the better part of a year, you retrace the path through the park with patent expertise, like no time has passed at all. Then again, nothing ever changes down here, and you are sure you could find your way to the Munson trailer in the dark with your eyes closed if you had to, and suddenly there you are.

The police are there as well, much to your dismay, right on the other side of the trailer, milling about the circular drive at the center of the park, talking amongst themselves and into their radios.

You know you’ve only got a very brief window of opportunity to slip inside unnoticed, and your heart is hammering in your chest as you rap your knuckles on the glass as sharply as you dare.

The only person you need to hear you is Eddie, though of course that would only be possible if he happens to be in his room, which you’re willing to wager he isn’t, especially with a heavy police presence right on his front step.

If he isn’t the cause of the trouble, you can be damn sure he’s standing on the porch, watching the trouble unfold.

He’s nosy like that.

Disappointingly, your knocking garners no response.

You swallow hard and push up on your toes to grip the windowpane, tugging on it. It takes a few tries before it finally slides open with more than a little resistance.

You bite your lip against its harsh sound, metal scraping on metal, and quickly brace yourself on the pane to hoist yourself up and over before anyone can investigate and find you there.

Your world briefly goes topsy-turvy as you tumble forward into the room and land with a hard grunt and muffled utterance of “ow – fuck”, sending tapes and other knickknacks tumbling to the ground around you.

In days past when you’d done this exact thing, you would have had the benefit of the bed to break your fall, but of course, in those days you were just as likely to land on top of Eddie as an empty mattress.

As much as he liked it when you snuck over like that, he was not partial to being kicked in the head, and you’d both decided that it was better to knock over a side table and make a mess than it was to risk giving him a concussion, so you’d made the executive decision to move the bed into the position where it rests today, sans Eddie.

You have to sit for a moment to catch your breath, because beyond the sprinting and the acrobatics you’d just engaged in, it’s been eight months of nothing but memories, and suddenly you’re in his room.

You hadn’t accounted for how that was going to affect you — strangely it’s like no time has passed. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust against the relative dark, but it’s easy to see that the room remains unchanged since last you were here, all metal posters and discarded clothes and papers, the two guitars, the amps, the unmade bed.

It smells like weed and tobacco and dirty laundry and the pervasive undertone of something that is so wholly Eddie that you suddenly forget why you are here, sitting where you landed beneath the window.

You look around the room, surveying the familiar mess, and, unable to help yourself, you reach out and pull a t-shirt from the overstuffed dresser drawer, sitting ajar where it had been forced unsuccessfully back into place.

You hug it to your chest and repeat one of Eddie’s five stupid jokes to yourself.

“When is a drawer not a drawer?” He would have said, grinning ear to ear like he was about to blow your mind with the oldest joke in the book.

“When it’s ajar…”

You can’t help the disappointment that lances through your midsection not to have found him there, because as much as you try to convince yourself that it doesn’t expressly mean something terrible has happened to him, part of you had hoped it would be that easy.

You turn the shirt over in your hands and trace the faded script spelling out the name of the band you can barely make out – you think at one point in time it must have said “Misfits” – and without really thinking, you bury your face in the fabric, breathing deep and flooding your senses with him.

Once again, all you can think is Eddie Eddie Eddie, and before you know it you’re drunk on his smell, familiar as childhood and tugging at your heart. Like being wrapped in a security blanket, you feel a strange sense of calm wash over you, not daring to promise that anything will be okay so much as assuring you that you are on the right track.

You heave a sigh and slump back against the wall, kicking your leg out – your foot collides with something.

There is the corner of a box peeking out from beneath the bed.

Were you in your right mind, you might have thought twice about investigating, considering you know all too well what kinds of things teen boys keep stashed under their beds, what Eddie has had under his bed in days past, but you recognize your own handwriting scribbled across the side of the box and very suddenly you’ve surged forward to pull the box free before you even realize you’d moved.

It’s all pictures, posters, polaroids, band-tees, memories, and other things you don’t expressly remember packing into that box back in late August.

It’s everything that had been Eddie in your life with the addition of everything that had been you in his, carefully tucked away, miraculously still here — not trashed or burned or even remotely destroyed.

Preserved.

You marvel as you pluck at a long polaroid strip of photos with the Starcourt Mall logo splashed across the top and fail to stifle the water laugh that bubbles up from somewhere inside you.

You turn it over in your trembling hands and see the two ticket stubs for Teen Wolf stapled to the top.

You don’t remember a moment of the movie, but you vividly remember the day, sliding into the booth to take photos, laughing and playing, and pulling at each other while the camera flashed away.

It’s Eddie giving you bunny ears and you sticking your tongue out, followed by Eddie pretending to bite your face while you laughed, followed by Eddie kissing you, and you kissing Eddie, and Eddie kissing you…

It’s just a little bit too much, suddenly having photographic evidence of the things you had almost convinced yourself had never actually happened after almost a year of wallowing in self-pity and denial and anger and everything in between.

It makes you feel a little crazy.

You’re just about ready to come apart at the seams when you hear sounds coming from the front room, the screen door swinging open, heavy footsteps thumping across the floor.

And of course, because you aren’t in your right mind, you make a leap in logic and ignore your better judgment as you decide who you think it is that just walked through the door.

“Eddie—” you gasp.

You shove the box haphazardly back beneath the bed and scramble to your feet, absently stuffing the photo reel into your apron pocket as you crawl over the bed and throw open the door.

You fly into the living room without a second thought about who or what you are going to find there.

You are woefully unprepared.

Eddie is not there, only a handful of police officers who you have just given what might have perhaps been the worst scare of their lives had it not been for the mutilated, twisted body of what you think must have very recently been a girl, lying on the floor in front of the open door.

You stagger and stop and freeze, unable to tear your eyes away as you immediately come to recognize her, despite her ruined state.

Red blonde ponytail tied with a green scrunchie, half wrenched out of place, heavy blue eyeshadow stained and shadowed where her lids droop down into empty eye sockets, ever so slightly crooked front teeth on display where her mouth hangs open in a silent scream.

It's Chrissy Cunningham.

The police react to you with appropriate alarm, considering the way you’d come hurdling out of the back room and the blood-curdling scream that wrenches itself from the depths of your core, like you were some kind of banshee.

The sound tears itself from your lungs without your consent, but you don’t think you could have stopped yourself from screaming at that moment if your life depended on it.

Suddenly you can see it so clearly — the flashing lights illuminating Chrissy’s body as it rises from the ground, trancelike and trembling, her limbs twisting themselves unnaturally, snapping and cracking before her eyes wrenched themselves back into the depths of her skull.

This is what you’d dreamt — your nightmare.

Chrissy is dead and Eddie is missing.

+++

Dustin sits perched on the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the television. He barely hears what the reporter is saying for how loudly the blood is pounding in his ears.

There is a cold lump in his stomach.

Beside him, his mother sniffles as the anchorwoman drones on about another dead girl, and he knows what she’s going to say — it’s too much for her poor nerves, she can’t take it.

He can’t help the way his mind strays to the terrible possibilities of the moment, what could have happened, who it could be laying dead in the Forest Hills trailer park.

Dustin fights the urge to look out the front window, to the house across the street where you don’t live anymore. In days past he would have run across the street and pounded on your door, just to make sure you were home safe and not dead on the other end of town, but he tells himself that he’s just being paranoid.

He can almost hear you telling him not to worry about you, but how can he not worry about you when he’s made it his full-time job?

Dustin sits and silently works out the logistics of what going to check on you would look like and very quickly decides there is no cool or casual way to go about doing that.

He’d have to haul ass all the way into town to your apartment, and even if he did there was no guarantee he’d even find you there.

He tells himself there’s no way he’s going to go check on you just because he saw something on the news.

You're probably at work anyway — he glances reflexively at the clock on the wall — ten-thirty on a Saturday morning? Yeah, you're definitely at work.

Still, he can’t help but imagine the scenario in which he did, how touched you would be if he came riding in like a knight in shining armor.

He imagines you smiling big and broad, brows turned up with emotion, and clasping your hands together.

“Oh, Dustin,” you would say, “You came all this way for me? You didn't have to do that, you could have just called—”

He should just call you.

Dustin leaps up from his seat, thoroughly startling his mother as he runs for the phone.

“Dusty what on earth?!” She cries, twisting around to try and see what has put a fire under his ass, “Where are you going?”

He’s already punching in the last digits of your number as he answers.

“I gotta make a call!”

The phone rings and rings and rings. He stands and listens to the droning sound with mounting anxiety, holding his breath as he waits to see if you will answer.

He hopes beyond hope that you’re just at work, that nothing has gone terribly wrong – they said it was a high school student, but nobody ever accused the Hawkins local news of being accurate when it came to the facts.

Disappointingly, the phone clicks over to play the message on your answering machine. Your sweet voice rings through the receiver to vibrate against Dustin’s ear, telling him to leave a message after the tone, and he heaves a dejected sigh, when…

BANG BANG BANG

Dustin’s head snaps around as suddenly there is a thunderous pounding at his front door. He slams the phone into the box hard enough to make it chime and flies across the room.

“I’ll get it I'll get it I'll get it!” He says in a rush, fingers closing on the doorknob before his mother can even think to get up.

He wrenches the door open, half expecting to find you there, and can’t deny how summarily disappointed he is to see Max standing there, looking particularly out of breath.

Her face is flushed, eyes wide, chest and shoulders heaving as she openly pants like she’d just run a great distance.

Rode her bike was more likely the case, Dustin surmises as he glances over her shoulder to see where her bike lays on the lawn, wheels still spinning, clearly having just been thrown down.

He hardly has the opportunity to wonder what’s got her so excited before she's pushing past him to force herself inside

“I need to talk to you,” she says, stalking down the hall toward Dustin's bedroom at a pace.

He follows her, having to jog to keep up, then shuts the door, and listens as Max tells him everything — about Chrissy, about Eddie, about what she’d seen and heard last night and this morning.

It paints a terrible picture, and it horrifies Dustin to hear what Max is suggesting, but he can’t help the wave of relief that floods his body to hear the dead girl isn’t you.

He knows he ought to feel bad about it, but all he can think is Thank God it’s not you – that’s when the confusion sets in.

“Chrissy?”

“Yes.”

“Chrissy Cunningham...”

“Yes.”

He folds his arms over his chest and tries to make sense of it, because Chrissy and Eddie?

“...Are you sure?”

Max furrows her brow and gives him a much more intense version of the same look you would have given him when you thought he was condescending or being sexist or a male chauvinist or whatever you would have called it.

On you it would have been mere admonishment, on Max, it warns him that he is very close to getting punched, so Dustin backs off.

Still though, the arguable Princess of Hawkins High and the Freak? It doesn’t make sense outside of some kind of cliche Hollywood romance, not in real life though.

He can’t get his head around it. Dustin doesn’t think he’s ever even seen them in the same room – then he remembers.

He has seen them together. Thursday afternoon. Fifth period.

He’d been on his way back from the bathroom and stopped to get a drink at the water fountain to kill a little bit more time when hushed voices drew his attention.

That’s when Dustin saw them standing together at the far end of the hall.

Eddie and Chrissy.

He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see Chrissy smiling shyly, and he’d been very confused not to see Eddie’s typical manic energy – it’s like he was calm, for once in his life.

If he had to describe it, Dustin would almost say that he thought they were flirting, but that can't be right... because Chrissy Cunningham? And Eddie Munson? How does that math add up?

It had been one of the stranger things Dustin had witnessed in the past few weeks, and he’d fully meant to ask Eddie about it, but with how vicious he’d been over the potentiality of postponing the Cult of Vecna, Dustin had completely forgotten it.

And now Chrissy is dead.

And Eddie is missing.

His stomach is in knots at the thought. Like the weight of the world is suddenly bearing down on his shoulders, he sinks onto his bed.

He thinks back to the news report, to the trailer sitting in the distance behind the anchorwoman – was that Eddie’s place?

Dustin can’t remember, he’s only been there a handful of times, always in the dark, and he’d never thought to pay much attention to what the facade of the trailer looked like… it could have been Eddie’s place, but it could also have been any number of nearly identical trailers in the park.

Still, he can't shake the sick feeling that is settling in his abdomen.

Christ. Was it Eddie’s though?

Dustin shakes his head to stop that line of thinking before it can really get going. He can’t go there, he can’t afford to let that seed of doubt plant itself in his mind.

Everyone is going to blame him, because of course they are – there’s a dead girl in the trailer park and he’s Eddie Munson, the town Freak.

Dustin can suddenly hear Eddie’s words in his mind, see the persecuted look he’d had on his face that day at the campus phone – I guess that’s enough in this town, huh?

He has to do something, he has to try and help him.

“He didn’t do it,” Dustin says immediately.

Max scoffs.

“We don’t know that…”

It leaves him reeling and suddenly Dustin cannot believe the words coming out of his friend’s mouth. Sure, he supposes Max doesn’t know Eddie like he does, all she has to go on is the facade he puts up, that first day he’d approached them in the lunchroom way back in November.

Even so, he’d never in a million years think she’d just assume he was guilty along with everyone else.

Max should have known better than that.

"Don't say that!" Dustin gasps.

"Well — we don't."

He’s fully aware of how he is gawping at her, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. It makes her uncomfortable and suddenly Max is fidgeting.

She makes a show of throwing up her hands, shrugging her shoulders.

“Dustin… come on,” She says, “I saw him–”

It’s his turn to cut her off then.

“No, you come on. Come on! You don’t know what you saw!” Dustin surprises himself by snapping.

Max’s eyes widen and she recoils, and he immediately begins to backpedal

“...Look, I know you don’t think much of him, but Eddie is –” He sighs, “When we got to school? He was the only one who was nice to us. He’s the only one who gives a shit about losers like me and Mike. Now he’s in trouble and you want to just let that go because you think you saw something? No way. We can’t just sit back and let this happen. They’re gonna tear him apart, we have to do something.”

For a long moment, nobody says anything.

Max rolls her eyes, but to her credit, she is clearly chagrined enough to hang her head in a way that could almost be construed as sheepish.

Regardless of what she decides to do, Dustin knows he has to save Eddie, find a way to clear his name, he just doesn’t precisely know how to do that — and then something tiny in the back of his mind pipes up with your name.

Maybe you will know what to do.

It’s like a lightbulb clicking on, and Dustin leaps up from his bed.

“Holy shit.” He says.

"What?"

He's beaming at Max when he answers.

"Lady Midnight!"

The reference goes right over her head and she stares back at him, uncomprehending. She doesn't play D&D with them, she doesn't know, but Dustin does, and more importantly, you would know.

“What – hey!” Max has to jump out of the way to avoid being trampled as Dustin goes tearing down the hall to the phone.

“Holy shit holy shit!”

Of course, you'll know what to do, you're the purveyor of secrets and forbidden knowledge. You always had creative solutions to seemingly impossible problems.

You'll help them find Eddie, or at least help them approach the situation from a new angle with a fresh set of eyes.

"Dustin, where are you going?" Max calls, her voice lilting with annoyance as she follows him back down the hall.

He doesn’t answer. He’s already halfway through dialing your number again before he remembers that you aren’t home, and he hangs up with an aggravated growl.

More frustrating, he doesn’t know the number for Benny’s off the top of his head.

Adrenaline surges through his body.

“Mom, where are the yellow pages?” He shouts.

His mother, still glued to the television, twists around and gives him a funny look, then her face brightens as she regards Max, like she hadn’t even realized she was there.

“What– oh, hello Max.” She says wetly.

Max shuffles on her feet and gives an awkward wave, and Dustin makes a harsh sound of annoyance.

They don’t have time for this.

“Mom! The yellow pages!”

His mother furrows her brow and immediately gets huffy with him.

“Don’t shout, Dusty! They’re right there in the kitchen drawer, for goodness sake!”

Dustin rounds the corner of the kitchen island and rips the drawer open with enough force to tear it off its slide.

Pens, paperclips, rubber bands, and other pieces of clutter go scattering across the linoleum along with the yellow tome listing every registered number in Roane county.

Dustin drops to his knees and begins flipping through the pages like a man possessed while Max stands looking on in a mix of horror and confusion like she is witnessing him have a complete and total breakdown.

“Who could you possibly be calling?” She demands.

Dustin looks up at her and says your name incredulously like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

It does nothing but deepen the confusion spread across Max’s face, so Dustin goes on to explain.

“She’s probably already at work, so I need to number for Benny’s–”

Max shakes her head.

“She's not there.”

“Well I already tried her at home, and she didn’t answer–”

“No, Dustin, you don’t understand.” Max insists, “I just saw her, she’s at Eddie’s.”

The gravity of her tone is jarring and Dustin immediately forgets the phonebook as he looks up at Max. Suddenly his mind is spinning at Mach-five trying to process all the information that has been fed into it in the last two minutes.

“...What?” He splutters.

First Eddie and Chrissy, somehow together, now you, apparently at the trailer park, at Eddie's place where by all accounts he should be and you should not? Where Chrissy is dead? He can't make heads or tails of it.

“What’s she doing there?”

Max hesitates and bites her lip like she’s not entirely sure she ought to say – Dustin has to prompt her to get her to finally spit it out, and when she does, he feels like he’s going to faint.

“Honestly? I’m pretty sure she was getting arrested.”

+++

You’re dragged out of the trailer by your elbow, like a naughty child who needs to be disciplined.

It’s then that you finally see Wayne, standing off to the side being interviewed by a number of officers.

You’re half frantic as you call out to him – for help or just relief that he’s there, you can’t quite be sure, but it does nothing to help the crazed energy of the moment.

“Wayne!”

His eyes widen in alarm to see you, and he makes like he means to move forward, do something to help you, but the officers stop him before he can start.

“Hey– hey leave her be!” He shouts.

It’s startling. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never once heard Wayne raise his voice.

Chief Powell follows you out, positively fuming as he crosses the small strip of grass that serves as the front lawn. He thrusts an accusatory finger at you as he addresses Wayne.

“Mr. Munson, I do believe you previously told us that nobody was in the house.”

Wayne nods.

“Yessir, that’s correct,”

“Explain to me, then, why this girl just came running out of the back bedroom like a bat out of hell?”

All eyes are on you then. You struggle against the hands that hold you and feel your heart palpitate – it’s a very good question, you hate to admit, one you don’t have a great answer for.

Somehow, it seemed like a good idea at the time, just doesn’t seem like it’s going to cut it.

The Chief is waiting for an answer, and Wayne finally has to just shake his head, because of course, he doesn’t know why you were in Eddie’s room either.

Powell reels on you then, and your stomach bottoms out. He gives the officers restraining you a harsh look and they release you.

You stagger, struggling to stay upright on your feet and tug on your dress to straighten it. You brush your knuckles across your nose and avert your eyes, shrinking under the Police Chief’s hard gaze.

After what feels like an excruciatingly long time, he finally speaks.

“How long have you been hiding in there?” He demands.

You shrug your shoulders in a way that is perhaps too flippant for the gravity of the situation you have found yourself in.

“Like two minutes.” You sniff, “And I wasn’t hiding, I just came in through the window.”

He gives you an incredulous look.

“Why?”

“I was looking for…” you trail off and glance over at Wayne, staring at you with his features screwed up in patent confusion.

You begin to fidget with your fingers, twisting at the cheap silver ring you’ve since started wearing to make up for the one you’d packed up with the box of everything else sitting under Eddie's bed.

You clear your throat to try and sound a little less like a whiney child.

“I was looking for Eddie…”

“Eddie Munson?”

You nod.

Powell stares at you a little longer before he sighs and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he rocks back on his heels.

“So you don’t know what happened in there?”

You shake your head and try not to glance at the crumpled figure of Chrissy you can still see lying in the doorway.

Powell sighs again, rests his hands on his hips, casting his gaze down to his feet before looking back up at you.

"And I don't suppose you would know where Eddie is?"

Again you shake your head.

The police chief levels you with another hard stare, like he’s working something over in his head, trying to decide or understand, you can’t be sure. For a long moment, it is all you can do but focus on trying to remember how to breathe as you wait to see if he’s going to put cuffs on you.

He doesn’t.

Instead he turns and stalks back across the grass towards Wayne.

“Do you know this girl?” Powell asks.

“Yessir,” Wayne says quickly, then proceeds to rattle off basic information about you, including but not limited to your name and an explanation about how you’re a friend of his nephew’s who he sort of looks after you since your folks moved away.

For some odd reason, your stomach goes tight and fluttery to hear Wayne refer to you as Eddie’s friend.

That’s how he’d addressed you when you’d first met.

“So, you’re a friend of Ed’s, huh?” He’d said.

You’re suddenly wracked with guilt – this is not how you imagined this scenario going at all.

You’d imagined you were going to be this big hero, swooping in to pull Eddie out of a trouble you’d only known about through some kind of bizarre clairvoyance.

Instead, turns out you’re a stupid fucking idiot who should have taken a moment to think before you went climbing in through windows.

You force yourself not to look away this time when Powell looks back at you – he stares, you fidget, and then he returns his attention to Wayne.

You don’t hear what he says, as he’s dropped his voice to a low tenor and you can’t see his face to try and read his lips.

You watch as Wayne puts up his hands defensively.

“Listen to me,” He says quietly, “She’s a good girl. I promise you she didn’t have nothin’ to do with this.” and the guilt you feel becomes all-encompassing.

Stupid girl, more like.

It’s another few excruciating minutes of back and forth before the tension finally breaks. You are, however, not turned loose, much like you'd expected to be.

After it’s established that you’re not an immediate threat, standing there in your torn up sneakers and waitress uniform, you’re set to lean against one of the various cop cars parked on the lawn.

You know Eddie, so they’ve got to interview you, much to your chagrin.

This is exactly what you’d been trying to avoid by climbing in through the window.

Great job.

It’s Officer Callahan, in all his insipid glory, who comes sauntering up to you shortly after, hands resting on his gun belt in a way you suppose is meant to be intimidating.

It doesn’t come across.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” He starts, fishing his pad of paper from his belt and making a point to loudly click his pen. He uses it to point at you, “You know, you’re in a lot of trouble, Missy.”

You stare back at him and hope he feels every bit of disdain you hold for him.

Callahan sucks his teeth. “So, what were you doing hiding in the bedroom like that?”

You heave a frustrated sigh.

“I already told you, I wasn’t hiding. I climbed in through the window to find Eddie.”

“Right, so you said.” He huffs, glancing up at you from his pad briefly before doing a halfway comical doubletake.

Something like recognition flashes across his face and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes because of course this dingus wouldn't recognize you.

You'd always wondered how Clark Kent could get away with disguising himself with a change of clothes, turns out most people are just patently stupid, Officer Callahan included.

“Oh, wait a minute, I know you – you’re Munson’s little girlfriend.”

Bingo.

Bizarrely, it sets your teeth on edge and your mouth is moving before your brain can catch up.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” You say perhaps too quickly.

It draws the attention of everyone within earshot, Chief Powell and Wayne included.

You shrink under their gaze and kick yourself for how you realize too late that it sounded like a renouncement of Eddie. It was only a knee-jerk reaction, an intrusive thought built up to defend yourself from the random waves of grief that still hit you now and then. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Officer Callahan side-eyes you and snorts with humorless laughter.

“Coulda fooled me,” he scoffs.

You would argue, except suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you’ve been with Eddie when he’s been pulled over and hassled by the Hawkins police. By Officer Callahan and then still Officer Powell specifically.

He’s technically right – just not regarding the current state of affairs – because you had been Eddie’s girlfriend during all those previous incidents.

Still, you cross your arms over your chest and avert your gaze.

“Not that it’s any of your business…” You start, confident at first before you second guess yourself and a misplaced sheepishness creeps into your voice, “...but we broke up,”

Officer Callahan scoffs and the reaction leaves you indignant.

Rude.

“Okay, so I get it now. You break his heart, and he’s pissed but won’t take it out on you, so he takes it out on poor Chrissy in there, huh?”

Callahan gestures to the open trailer door with his pen, and you can’t help but get a little stuck staring at the body still laying there – you start to wonder why they haven’t covered her up yet, but then he snaps to draw your attention back.

“That sound about right?”

You furrow your brow.

“…It sounds like you’ve been watching a lot of true crime documentaries.”

He glares at you.

“It’s motive.”

“It’s bullshit.”

Officer Callahan’s eyebrows jump up from where they’d been previously hidden beneath the thick rim of his glasses.

The brusque nature of your answer seems to stagger him a bit. You’ve never had so much bite behind you in all the times you’ve interacted, electing instead to try and kill them with kindness so as not to get Eddie into any more trouble.

It leaves him stammering for a response.

“Hey now—” He begins, thrusting an accusatory finger at you like he means to lecture you.

“No.” You insist, and when he puts his hands on his hips and glares, you hug your arms tighter around your midsection and double down, “No – he broke up with me, okay? So no motive. Eddie didn’t do this,”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know him,”

Callahan rolls his eyes, missing the hateful look you throw his way as he does.

Somehow you know nothing you say is going to matter when it comes to Eddie. They’ve already decided his guilt.

“Oh, you know him?” Callahan huffs sarcastically, “Okay, fine … since you know him, when’s the last time you saw him?”

Shit.

You bite the inside of your lip and fidget under his condescending gaze, knowing well enough that your answer is going to do nothing to help your case.

“… August.” You mumble.

He chokes a little and shakes his head, blinking rapidly like you’d said something outrageous… and honestly, it was a little outrageous, but you didn’t appreciate the attitude he had about it.

“Aug- August?” He splutters, “August.”

You breathe out slowly and nod.

“Yeah…”

“You’re telling me you haven’t seen him in eight months and you’re trying to — you’ve been broken up … for eight. Months. And you just come running at the first sign of trouble? You expect me to believe that?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

You stick him to the spot with a dour look.

“You don’t know much about the human heart do you, Officer Callahan?”

Behind him, you see Chief Powell cough to try and cover the laughter threatening to burst out of him.

He clears his throat when Callahan twists around to glare at him, and you take the opportunity to steal a glance at Wayne.

He’s like a caged animal, fidgeting, pacing – you assume he must have been the one to put in the 911 call. You can’t even imagine what he must have thought coming home and finding Chrissy like that in his living room, and now he’s got to worry about vouching for you?

Your heart thumps in your chest when your eyes meet and for lack of anything better to do, you offer him a subtle wave.

He shakes his head – not the time.

“So, how do I know you’re not just covering for Munson again?” Callahan says, bringing you back to the annoying moment you have found yourself in.

Your eyebrows jump and you feign innocence, gesturing to yourself like you could never imagine doing that two years ago at a party after they’d busted Eddie for possession and you’d made a scene to draw their attention so he could run away. You would never.

Officer Callahan narrows his eyes and crosses his arms,

“How do I know you’re not involved?”

In spite of yourself, your heart leaps into your throat. It’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard, but suddenly your brain is screaming – this is it, this is how we get arrested.

Luckily, Wayne immediately jumps up from the porch and tries to come to your rescue.

“Hey, no. She’s not—” He begins, but Officer Callahan cuts him off with a wave of his hand and a roll of his eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Munson, if we have any further questions for you we will let you know.” He sighs when what he really means is “go away”.

You clench your fist and resist the urge to knock that smug look off his face when he turns back to face you, looking very much like he’s caught you red-handed and is so pleased to have figured it out.

“So, here’s what I think happened.” Callahan begins,

This should be good.

“You said that Munson kid broke up with you? Okay, fine. So maybe he does, and he gets a new little girlfriend. And you’re jealous. You come to confront him, find her here, things go a little too far, bada-bing-bada-boom, poor Chrissy ends up dead."

You're fully aware of how you're gawping at him.

"I'm sorry, what?"

He continues.

"And since you’re apparently such a good little girl you don’t want to ruin your reputation, so you take steps to make it look like he did it–”

You have to suppress the shudder that threatens to tear through your body at the concept of Officer Callahan referring to you as a “good girl”, even if it is done so under the guise of mocking Wayne.

Luckily your disgust is overwhelmed by the patent hilarity of what he is suggesting: you killed Chrissy and are trying to frame Eddie… yep… way too much true crime in Officer Callahan’s diet.

“Did you even see her?” You ask, “Look at me. How the hell do you suppose I did that?”

Callahan opens his mouth to respond and comes up short.

“...Forensics will get back to us on the cause of death after the autopsy…”

“Okay, fine. Riddle me this, Dick Tracy, if I was trying to frame Eddie, why would I be sitting here telling you he didn’t do it?”

Officer Callahan pulls a face.

“How do you know who Dick Tracy is?”

Then it’s your turn to pull a face. You’ve never missed Jim Hopper more than you do at this moment.

“Can you do me a favor and try to be a little less condescending while you’re accusing me of murder?”

Another cough from the chief of police to cover another laugh, it turns the tips of Officer Callahan’s pink.

“Alright, smart ass, you got an alibi? Because things aren’t looking so great for you right now. You’ve. Got. Motive,”

Each word is punctuated by his sharp prodding fingers poking you in the shoulder. You breathe out hard through your nose and swallow the rage boiling up from the pit of your stomach.

Trespassing is one thing, mouthing off is another, but you don’t need to be charged with assaulting an officer.

What follows is a rapid-fire back-and-forth volley of questions and answers, each one more charged than the last as you count the seconds ticking past, time wasted when you could be out there looking for Eddie.

“Where were you last night?”

“Benny’s.”

“Why?”

“I work there.” You huff, tugging at the skirt of your uniform.

Officer Callahan gives you a dismissive look, like he wants to argue but expressly cannot because you’re still wearing your nametag and your goddamn apron. He clears his throat and shifts on his feet.

“Can anyone confirm your presence there?”

It feels incredibly stupid to say, but only because of your crazy stupid luck – yes, there are in fact many people who can confirm your presence at the diner last night.

“The Hawkins Tigers.”

He gives you an incredulous look.

“The Basketball team?”

You nod, and very quickly you can feel him losing steam. Every single one of your answers thus far seems to have flummoxed Officer Callahan beyond his ability to comprehend.

He turns from you and crosses the grass to hold a hushed conference with Chief Powell. You watch them, struggling to try and read their lips as you stuff your hands in your apron pocket – you brush the sharp edge of the forgotten polaroid strip stashed there and curl your fingers around it.

You have to find Eddie.

They make you sit and wait another twenty minutes finally – finally – you hear the words that set you free.

“She’s just a dumb kid, send her home,”

You would protest the notion if you weren’t feeling so summarily stupid for this whole endeavor, but you’re just happy that the interrogation is finally ending.

With Powell’s prompting, another officer steps up to escort you out of the trailer park, much to Callahan’s chagrin. You can hear him begin to argue against it.

“Chief, I don’t think it’s such a good idea turning her loose.” He says, “I mean look at her. She probably knows exactly where Munson is hiding.”

“...No,” Powell says after considering it for a moment, “I don’t think so.”

Callahan shakes his head,

“I just think–”

Then the chief cuts him off.

“Maybe don’t think about it so much. She’s not going anywhere, right?” He says it loud enough for you to hear.

It’s not a question so much as an order, and he makes a point to stare at you, clearly waiting for your answer. You glance at Wayne, who at this point has moved to sit atop the nearby picnic table, chain-smoking to try and calm his nerves – he glances at you, then looks away.

You don't blame him.

Somehow, this suddenly feels like it’s all your fault, like it all traces back to that terrible night in August. You should have fought a little harder for Eddie, you shouldn’t have stayed away.

You turn your attention back to the officers, then finally you take one last parting glance at what you can see of poor Chrissy, still lying uncovered in the doorway.

There is a cold lump forming in the pit of your stomach, under the hard gaze of so many people, that same sense of impending doom slowly crushing down on you.

Somehow you manage to shrug.

“Of course not.” You say, “Where am I gonna go?“

To find Eddie, before anyone else can.

The officer escorts you off of the trailer park grounds and sends you on your way down the road and around the bend.

You scuff your feet in the dirt as you walk, the sounds from the trailer park steadily fading into the distance. You run your thumb over the sharp edge of the polaroid strip in your pocket until it hurts, using the unpleasant sensation to keep you grounded as your brain spins.

Where in the hell are you meant to start looking? Who might even know where he is? You don't know where Hellfire meets these days, or where the band practices, you don't know even who his friends are anymore. Adam and Gareth maybe? Jeff was always borderline with Eddie, you wouldn't be surprised to hear if they'd had a falling out. Maybe Dustin knows something, he's in Hellfire now, along with Mike and Lucas... but you can't imagine Lucas is even going to know his own name after last night so that rules him out...

It's an insurmountable task, finding Eddie, like trying to find a needle in a haystack that is gunning for said needle, but you don't have the option not to try.

Who else is going to do it if not you? You have to find him first.

A shrill whistle draws your attention and your head snaps up to the person jogging up the path to meet you.

Wayne.

You slow to a stop to let him catch up with you, half wondering how the cops ever let him follow you – surely that is a conflict of interest, letting witnesses speak to each other, but you barely have the time to give him a proper greeting.

“You haven't seen him, then?” Wayne asks quickly, his voice is hushed and tight. “You don't know where he is?”

The way he says it makes your chest hurt, like he'd spent a great deal of time and energy hanging all his hopes on the possibility that you might know where Eddie was, that he might even be with you.

Hadn't you been doing the same?

You shake your head, and it breaks your heart a little to have to disappoint him like that.

“No... but I’ll find him.” You say, your insides are knotted and squirming with anxiety — you don’t know how you’re going to find him, you just know that it’s going to be you who does.

It has to be you.

Relief passes over Wayne in a tangible wave as his shoulders drop and he stands a little taller.

You can’t imagine what he must be going through, what it must have been like to come home and discover that waiting for you in your doorway. You suddenly feel very stupid for how precious you’d been all day about having a nightmare while Wayne was living one.

You know perhaps better than anyone that Eddie is all he has – he can’t afford to lose him any more than you can.

Wayne sniffs and clears his throat, casting a wary look over his shoulder like he’s worried someone might be listening.

“Good — good.” He hums, like he’s trying to convince himself that it’s going to be alright, then he leans into you and drops his voice, “When you do, I want you two to go. Just… go. Take him and get out of town.”

It startles you. You don’t know what you’d expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. You know you must be frowning for the way he doubles down.

He fishes his wallet from his back pocket and flips it open, pulling a stack of bills from the fold and closing it in your hand. He squeezes your fingers tightly around the money.

“I don’t care where you go,” He says, shaking his head, “California, Timbuktu — it doesn’t matter, send me a postcard when you get there — you just find him and get him as far away from here as possible, you hear?”

It is too much to ask, you know he must know this – he’s asking you to leave your life behind, your apartment, your job, everyone you know.

For all the time you’ve known him, everything he’s ever done for you, Wayne has never asked you for anything, but he’s asking you now — that much you understand – he’s asking you to choose Eddie, in spite of everything.

It’s an easy decision to make.

You close your fingers over the money and nod, gritting your teeth to keep yourself steady as you watch Wayne’s eyes shine with tears.

“I will.”

He breathes a shaky sigh and blinks back the emotion, banishing it as quickly as it arrives.

You’ve never seen him like this — he is so afraid, and whether it is in response to the horror of what has already happened, in his home, to his family, or the uncertainty of what is going to happen, you cannot be sure.

The Munsons have already lost so much.

You have to find Eddie, if only so that you never have to see this look on Wayne’s face again.

His hand comes up to grip you by the shoulder then, and your spine stiffens under the directness of his gaze.

“Don’t leave him.” he says quietly. “Promise me you won’t leave him.”

You shake your head in defiance of the thought.

Never, you want to say, you would never leave him.

Why else would you still be here after everything that happened? But of course, he knows this, so you push forward and throw your arms around Wayne’s neck, startling him with the act of hugging him.

“I promise.” You say against his shoulder.

He hesitates, tensing ever so slightly. After a moment he pats you awkwardly on the back, and you take it as your signal to let the moment end.

Eddie always said the Munsons weren’t huggers.

Wayne sniffs and wipes his knuckles beneath his nose — he coughs.

“Okay,” he says gruffly, “Get going.”

Wayne nods towards the road and you follow his gaze. You know what he means; find Eddie, get out of town, don’t come back, and you can’t decide if the feeling welling up too big in your chest is fear or determination.

Your mind begins to work on its own, drawing a map of all the possible places you might find Eddie.

You can do this, you’re fine, it’s going to be fine.

When you turn, Wayne has already started back down the road, and you’re hit with the sudden and overwhelming urge to call out, to say something to somehow make things okay.

You wonder briefly if you're ever going to see him again.

“Wayne —” you call, he turns and glances back at you with big, watery eyes, “…I’m gonna find him.”

“I know, Sweetheart.” He huffs, “I'm counting on it.”

So, no pressure, right?

Taglist: @harrys-tittie @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @itsrainingbisexualfrogs @thicksexxualtensionaltension @ganseysgff @scoopsr0binn @peanutbutter-y-jams @audhd-dragonautagonaut @clilxlxx @alexandriaemily20 @averagestudent03 @but-vanessa @cosmictime45 @timelordfreya @forever-war @munsonzzgf @chervbs @irisabrams

#cruel summer #cruel summer fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x female reader #hilarious how i said i was going to cut this down and only ended up cutting 6000 words #oh well #all this is doing is getting me really excited to get to the fluff #because i'm fully planning a second sister fic to this one that is all the sweetness

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loopspoop · 1 month

Text

Thought it would be a longer wait? Think again! It’s Chapter 17 and I’m putting Lupin through hell! >:3c how will the gang make up for an error in judgement about Lupin’s condition?

TW: hallucinations, panic

Lupin slowly opened his eyes, tiredly regarding the ceiling of his pitch black room. It was definitely past midnight…what the hell woke him up? Sitting up slightly to change his position between Jigen and Goemon to a more comfortable one, something caught his eye. Turning slowly, Lupin felt his blood run cold, heart skipping a beat as he grew pale. He was here-

Dr. Mad was in the room.

Lupin stared at the smirking figure, his face barely illuminated by the light of the moon from the window. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t even blink. This wasn’t one of his flashbacks…he was here. He had to do something before the doctor got him or one of the others. Keeping his eyes on the figure, he slowly edged his hand over and gripped Jigen’s tightly. The gunman’s eyes slowly opened, glancing around before his gaze found the thief. Frowning, he followed Lupin’s stare to the wall as he sat up slightly.

“Jigen…” Lupin spoke so softly it almost made no sound. “H-He’s back- he’s in here-“

Jigen frowned, glancing around as he grabbed his Magnum from under his pillow. “Where’s he at?” He breathed, as his eyes searched the darkness.

“By the door…Ji, can’t you see him-?” Lupin gripped his hand tighter, more anxiety settling in. It wasn’t a flashback…it couldn’t be a flashback.

Jigen frowned, following his gaze quietly for a moment before lowering his gun. “Lu…nobody’s there..”

“No- no he’s right-“ Lupin glanced at him for a millisecond before looking back, hesitating when the figure had vanished. “..there…”

“Mm..what are you two doing awake..?” Goemon turned over, looking them both over curiously.

“I..” Lupin bit his lip, cautiously climbing out of bed as he looked around the room quietly.

“Lupin?” Goemon sat up, frowning. “Another flashback?” He glanced at Jigen, frowning more.

“Mm..I’m thinkin’ this is different. He woke me up on his own this time…” Jigen climbed out of bed, turning on the bedside light. Usually Lupin would wake them up screaming or fighting in flashbacks…never like this.

Lupin crouched down, checking under the bed before looking in the closet. Huffing, he walked to the window and checked the locks. What the hell? He saw him…but there was no trace of anyone being here but them..this just wasn’t adding up…the window was locked and there wasn’t anywhere else for him to hide…

“Lu, come back to bed, alright? It was prolly just a dream or somethin’.” Jigen put a hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him.

Lupin frowned, shaking his head. “…sure…” he mumbled, getting back into bed as he turned onto his side.

Goemon frowned, glancing from Lupin to Jigen as the two locked eyes. Something wasn’t right but..they wouldn’t push it tonight. Maybe it had just been some sort of night terror and Lupin would forget it in the morning? The gunman shrugged, sighing as he got back into bed and turned the lamp off. They could sort it out tomorrow…but he would make sure to sleep light until then.

~~~~~

“And it wasn’t a flashback-?” Zenigata frowned, looking at Jigen and Goemon across the table the next morning.

“I don’t think it was.” Jigen shook his head. “He was too present for it to be one.”

Goemon nodded, frowning down into his cup tea. “He was very concerned…he seemed almost certain that the doctor was there.”

“But he wasn’t.” Jigen frowned. “No trace of anyone but us.”

Zenigata hummed, drinking his coffee as he thought quietly. He glanced through the bay window to the back porch, watching Fujiko help Lupin with some special effects silicone skin. It was something she had thought up to help boost his confidence or something. He wondered if things had taken some sort of turn and he had moved from flashbacks to hallucinations?

“I mean…the guy did break his skull. Who knows what type of damage that did to him physically…” Zenigata frowned. “If it isn’t some form of emotional trauma making him hallucinate the doctor, it might be something physical?”

“Fuck..” Jigen frowned, glaring to the side as he lit a cigarette angrily.

“Like….Brain damage-?” Goemon asked anxiously, glancing toward Lupin and Fujiko outside.

“Maybe? I’m not a doctor so don’t get worked up about me spitballing.” Zenigata frowned, holding his hands up placatingly. “All I’m saying is that he’s still healing. Hallucinations might just be a way his brain is trying to cope. We just have to remind him that we’re here and that son of a bitch is dead.”

Outside, Lupin frowned as he pulled some fake skin over his hand and moved it around. “I’m telling you, Fujiko, I couldn’t have imagined it…I saw him there..”

“I know, sweetheart, but Jigen and Goemon checked and you did too. There’s no way he got inside. And Goemon killed him, remember? There’s no way he’s alive.” Fujiko frowned, rubbing his shoulder gently as she helped him right the skin on his hand. “That looks good!“

“Yeah…nearly identical actually, just need to add fine details.” Lupin hummed, looking through his disguise supplies. “…do you think I imagined it…?”

Fujiko frowned, cupping his face as she brought his gaze to meet hers. “I don’t know. But I do know that you’re safe and that this might just be part of the healing process.”

“Psh, I’m all healed and you guys know it.” Lupin pouted a bit, crossing his arms.

“Mentally, dummy.” Fujiko frowned, pinching his cheeks somewhat firmly before grabbing a contact case. “Try this and then let me see.”

“Alright, alright.” Lupin sighed, carefully taking out a contact before popping it in his cybernetic eye. “How’s it look?”

“Just like the other one! Perfect.” Fujiko smiled, nodding as she grabbed some more fake skin.

“Good.” Lupin nodded, resting back against the deck chair he was sitting in. “I’m alright. Mentally, I mean, you guys do know that, right?”

Fujiko glanced at him, frowning as she sighed. She had known Lupin long enough to know the man denied having problems like a man on trial denied committing murder. Even when they were there for everyone to see, she knew he wouldn’t say anything to anyone until he eventually snapped. Given how badly things had been for him this time around, she was worried about what Lupin snapping would look like…

“How’s the fake skin workin’?” Jigen stepped out into the porch, Zenigata and Goemon following behind.

“Pretty good. The contact works good too.” Fujiko smiled. “You could never tell anything happened.”

Jigen nodded, popping two mugs of coffee down on the table for the pair of them. “Sounds good.”

Zenigata looked it over curiously, frowning a bit. “I will never get over how realistic you four manage to get your special effects to be…”

Lupin laughed a bit, smirking. “I have a Zenigata mask in here somewhere~”

“Ew, don’t use my face for your crimes!” Zenigata huffed, looking through the bag as Fujiko laughed.

Goemon rolled his eyes fondly, looking up at the sky for a moment before frowning. “A storms coming in soon.”

“Damn, seriously?” Jigen frowned, glancing over. “It just started gettin’ nice out.”

“Why do you think it’s going to storm?” Zenigata glanced over, raising an eyebrow.

“Trust us, Pops, when Goemon says something about the weather, he’s spot on. If he wasn’t working with us he would be a hell of a weather man.” Lupin smiled softly, stretching. “Guess we better get ready for a storm, then.”

~~~~~~

Hours later, thunder rolled in the distance as Lupin sat in his bed, reading and listening to soft French music from a sleepy radio station. As much as he loved his partners, it was nice to have time to relax and he was glad they could all do something together, even if it was watching shitty scary movies from the 1950s on the TV downstairs.

Lupin sighed, setting his book down as he watched the lighting moving steadily closer and the wind pick up. Sometimes the flashes or the cracks from the thunder would make him jump…obviously a side effect from his time held captive, not that he would ever acknowledge it. He was Lupin the Third and he was NOT going to be scared by a storm of all things. Grabbing his book, the thief sat back and started to read again.

‘Lupin.’

Lupin hesitated, looking toward the door before he frowned more. He thought he heard someone calling for him..?

‘I know you hear me, Lupin.’ A cold, slow voice crackled from the radio.

“Fuck- no. No, I am not hearing this right now-“ Lupin paled, backing away from the radio slightly. He wasn’t going to sit and play into hallucinations!

‘But you are. I’m watching you right now, thief, and this is as real as it gets. You thought you could really escape what the doctor wanted for you?’ The voice let out a laugh that made Lupin’s blood run cold.

“No…no, this isn’t real. He’s dead!” Lupin bit his lip hard, looking around anxiously.

‘He is, unfortunately. A regrettable miscalculation. But he has an organization happy to take up where he left off.’ Another round of laughter sounded as lightning flashed outside the window. ‘You’ll never escape what the doctor wanted for you, Lupin. We’ll follow you to the ends of the Earth. And none of your pathetic friends will be able to get you back once we have you again.’

Lupin’s eyes widened, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as he quickly scrambled from the bed and looked around wildly. No, no, no- where the hell was he?!

“C-Come out and face me like a man!” Lupin cringed at the crack in his voice, eyes frantically searching for whoever was watching him.

‘Now, now, Lupin, where’s the fun in that when I can take you out one by one?’ The voice dissolved into a cackle as the power to the house flickered before cutting out completely.

Lupin choked out a cry, heart pounding as he quickly ran out of the room. Stumbling into the wall of the landing and tripping halfway down the stairs, he called out in the darkness for his partners. He couldn’t let whoever this was get to them! He needed to make sure they were safe!

“Christ, Lupin, calm the hell down!” Jigen called, shining a flashlight over to the thief at the bottom of the stairs. “The storm knocked the power out is all.”

“No, someone’s here! They’re coming for us!” Lupin looked around frantically, standing as he quickly went to Jigen. “Give me your gun-“

“Whoa! No way!” Jigen frowned. “Lu, it’s just the storm, nobody’s comin’.”

“No! I heard them through the radio, they’re watching us!” Lupin snapped, trying to grab at Jigen’s Magnum.

“Lupin.” Goemon took his hands firmly, frowning. “Nobody is watching us. Nobody knows where we are. We are safe, I promise you.”

“You guys aren’t getting it! They’re coming and- and they’re going to take us all out-!” Lupin pulled his hands away, backing away as he frowned. “Why won’t you listen to me?!”

“It’s just a hallucination, okay? Fujiko, come downstairs and help me check the fuse box so we can get the lights back on.” Jigen sighed, waving for her as he walked to the basement door.

“It’ll be alright, sweetie. The storm will pass.” Fujiko kissed his cheek, following behind Jigen.

“Guys-!” Lupin bit his lip, hands shaking as he looked after them anxiously.

“They will be alright. I’ll get you some water, just sit and relax.” Goemon assured, going to the kitchen.

Lupin groaned, flinching when the wind knocked branches against the windows. Zenigata frowned, placing a hand on his shoulder gently. He could understand the stress Lupin was trying to handle, even if there was no threat. Lupin bit his lip, clenching his fists before snatching Zenigata’s gun from the side of his hip. Before the stunned Inspector could react, Lupin was already out the door and halfway across the yard. If he couldn’t convince them, he would take the danger away from the house and handle it himself.

“YOU WANT ME SO BADLY?! COME AND FUCKING GET ME THEN!” The thief shouted, making a dead sprint for the woods beyond the house.

“Lupin-! Shit, LUPIN-!” Zenigata shouted, running out into the rain as the others dashed back into the living room.

Despite how quickly they tried, the thief had vanished through the haze of pouring rain and the dark of the woods.

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 2 years

Note

Hello my friend! I have a new request!! I have an angst to fluff Steddie x fem reader for you! Y/n has to work late and hasn’t hand any time with her boyfriends. She comes home to find both her boyfriends passed out on the bed and she gets all depressed and decided to sleep in the guest room and don’t even look at her boyfriends in the morning. They get really worried and scared that she doesn’t love them anymore and they confront her about it and she just burst into tears and tells them that it’s the opposite. She does love them but she has been working so much that she just feared that the two would leave her. It ends with all three of them cuddles on the couch watching a movie.

Warnings; Angst to fluff, just a lil drabble

💞 hope you like this @wonderland-wanderers 💞

💞

Once again she was getting in late from work, she was tired and sore as she trudged upstairs.

She knew that this wouldn't be forever as it was only because one of her co-workers was off on holiday but it had been two weeks now and all she wanted was time with her boys.

Hopefully, they were still awake and they could spend time together now. It was after midnight though so she wasn't hopeful they would be.

When she heads into their bedroom she finds them both fast asleep cuddled into each other. Her heart sinks and she closes the door quietly.

It's beginning to worry her that Eddie and Steve might get sick of her always being in late, always having to work.

What if they left her? The ache in her chest grows and she heads into the second bedroom cuddling on the bed.

The sheets are freezing and she shivers trying to get warm, guilt churning in her stomach as she falls into an uneasy sleep.

❤

Eddie and Steve wake up without their princess cuddling up with them. Shouldn't she be back from work now?

They quickly dress and head downstairs relieved that she is there making breakfast.

"Hi princess". Eddie grins and Steve approaches her concerned.

"You weren't in bed sweetheart?". She shrugs and doesn't meet his or Eddie's eyes.

"I didn't want to wake you two up so I slept in the second bedroom". He exchanges an alarmed look with Eddie.

Eddie begins to feel a sick feeling in his gut, he can tell Steve is thinking similar to him. Did y/n not love them both anymore?

Steve was having the same thoughts as Eddie and anxiety was making him nervous.

As the day went on and she was still the same he and Eddie agreed to talk to her about why she was acting so off.

Eddie cut to the chase before Steve could even gently begin to broach the subject.

"Do you not love us anymore princess? You've been acting off all day, even some other days?".

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head.

"No, no no I've been worrying that you would leave me because I've been working so much, it's just a few more days though I told my boss at work it was all too much".

Eddie gapes and crouches down beside her as she begins to cry. Steve holds her hand on her other side.

"Sweetheart. We aren't going to leave you, we love you so so much". Steve murmurs and Eddie softens.

"Princess next time just time you feel like this just tell us, we are so in love with you and we aren't going anywhere".

The tenseness in her body melts away and while Eddie has her settled on his knee, Steve sets up a movie and then joins his loves on the sofa.

❤

#steddie x reader #steddie x y/n #eddie x steve x reader #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x you

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neo-shitty · 2 years

Text

under streetlights — s.cb

description. when his own light dims, changbin wades the darkness of both the night and his mind alone. he needs someone tonight but that isn’t something the local convenience store across the street can offer. or can it?

pairings. seo changbin x female reader

genre. hurt/comfort, fluff, platonic(?), student council!au, high school!au

warnings. mentions of passing out, a nosebleed and a lot of overthinking.

word count. 5k

notes. a very much needed backstory for my favorite checkmate duo, iykyk :’D happy changbin day!!

Changbin wakes to a brightness that burns, the type that forces your lids back shut when a sliver of it slips in. The tears sting as they spring from the glands in his eyes, blurring his vision but cushioning the blinding beam. It takes a few blinks for him to open his eyes wide enough and a few more for his vision to refocus. There’s a white ceiling above him, adjacent to an off-white wall with peeling paint. He makes a mental note, request for repaint, until he realizes that the council office’s walls were never white nor did the office have a bed.

He’s not in his office at all, he’s in the school clinic. The fresh linen beneath him is stiff and unused, the air around him smelling of diluted isopropyl alcohol. Now that he knew where he was, it was only a matter of how he ended up there.

The memories come in a haze, a movie screen with too many cuts to black. His senses were dull, half-aware of happenings and never completely certain which moments were real and which weren’t. He remembers having his arm draped over someone’s shoulder, hearing their mutters but never making out what they’re saying. Most of his view consisted of the endless pattern of white tiles mazing around the buildings, the floor becoming his sole focus because looking up made the world spin. Next thing he knew, he was on the clinic bed, watching shadows crowd around him. Faces and voices didn’t match anymore, and he thinks it was the effort of trying to discern the figures apart that finally knocked him out.

Then, he ends up here, on the other side of a familiar situation.

It didn’t feel like it had been a year since he got a call from the school nurse about a friend passing out in the middle of the day. He rushed from the fourth floor to first where the clinic was, causing a roadblock in the middle of the hallway with their other friends in mid-panic. He was the only one allowed in on the grounds of being Chan’s emergency contact. In the infirmary, Chan lay still on the bed, eyes shut with his breathing slow but steady. A sense of relief washed over the younger boy, his worries calmed at the thought that the older boy hadn’t been anywhere dangerous when he passed out. Beside him, a hunched Taehee rested on the free space on the bed, head tucked in her own arm pillow.

“You two. What did I say about overworking?” The thoughts come aloud but it’s not enough to disrupt the quiet of the room. The urge to rub it into their faces that he was right takes the under current, his concern for their health bobbing up to the surface. Earlier the same day he remembered greeting the duo in the hallway, recalling that they headed home past midnight the night before but were already on campus before first light.

“If you’re going to scold us about it, can you do it later? My head’s throbbing.”

The girl stirs, blinking at the other person in the room before she pushes herself off the bed. Her cheek is red, marks of a good nap imprinted on her skin. Her eyes were bloodshot, veins clear, and rimmed with a dark shadow from the lack of sleep.

“What happened?” Changbin asks, walking over to be closer to the pair.

Taehee turns to the sleeping figure, her answer delayed. “He complained about his nose bleeding at first then he brushed it off for the rest of the morning. Then he passed out before we got to leave to buy materials.”

Across the room, Changbin couldn’t help but feel relieved that he hadn’t fainted elsewhere. A dozen scenarios raced in his mind, each one a far worse end than the other. What if he fainted while driving? The thought scared him but the reassurance of seeing Chan there was enough to settle his mind.

“Is it 1 already? I need to head back to the office. Are you here to take my place?” The girl stood up from her seat, walking over to a mirror hanging on the wall to fix herself up before turning to the doorway.

“What do you mean you’re heading back? Look at yourself. Do you want to end up like Chan?”

“There’s still a lot to do. And besides, I got to sleep.”

“Barely.” Changbin spat, stepping past the girl to block her way out. She stares, the turmoil of her internal tug of war showing in the way she doesn’t fight back. He shakes his head at her, “Leave it. Go home or head to the dorms or stay at Saeyeon’s place since it’s closer. Get some rest, you clearly need it.”

The girl hesitates and Changbin knows it’s because of the proximity of the event. They had more or less a day left to ensure everything went smoothly. There was a lot to fix, a lot to settle. But they’ve been at it for days now, classes disregarded with their time dedicated to nothing but preparations. He is adamant to make them sit this one out, seeing no other solution convenient for their own bodies besides this one.

“If you’re worried about what you still need to do, we can help. Everyone’s waiting outside and I think we’re free for the rest of the afternoon with the teachers busy.”

What Changbin had in mind was a shaky plan but it was something they could execute. Lia already had the council’s permission beforehand, taking over obligations meant for the pair. It would be easier to carry out with more hands helping in. They had the resources to move around the city, the energy to find what they needed, and the motivation which was to get off campus without skirting around school authorities.

Taehee sighs and he takes it as a sign of surrender. “You know, you’d make a better president. Imagine getting mad at someone for passing out? I can’t wait for this school year to be over with.” She moves towards the bed, picking up a backpack from the bedside. “Thanks, Bin. You should try running for office next year. The council needs someone like you.”

Changbin clicks his tongue as he watches her leave, “The only thing I’ll get out of it is stress.”

But here he is, in the same place he scolded Chan for being in the year before, except there’s no one by his side when he wakes up. No one hunched by his side, no one on the next bed waiting for him to open his eyes. He’s met with a lonely silence with nothing but the faint hum of the fluorescent lights lined on the ceiling to keep him company.

He sits up, leaning over the bed to reach his things. His bag sat on the floor beside his bed, his things in the unorganized manageable mess he left it. Sifting through his things, he checks for anything that could’ve been tampered with. He finds his phone easily as the screen blinks bright with a new notification, then his car keys, then his wallet. There is a vacancy he couldn’t quite put his finger on until he realized the bag lacked the sole thing that kept it heavy. Papers, a binder full of it.

It throws his mind into a mini-panic, all rationality thrown out the window as his mind splits to figure where he might’ve misplaced it. Did he manage to pass every letter he needed to before he passed out in the clinic? Was it never in his bag at all?

“You’re finally awake.” His things nearly slip out of his fingers when someone speaks from behind him. Turning to the doorway, he finds the school nurse by the door frame, waving as she walks in. “Did you rest well?”

Changbin nodded as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, packing his things up to leave. “Sorry for making you wait up.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. It’s part of the job.” The older woman reassures him, reading his mind in the natural way that mothers always did. “Someone dropped by to take a file out of your bag. She said you’d know why so I didn’t bother asking much.”

“Who did?”

“The girl you’re with a lot,” the nurse answers, her hands moving as she details the features.

Only one face comes to mind and all his worries melt in a stream, reassurance replacing anxiousness at the thought that the binder was in good hands, better hands. He thanks the nurse a final time before he walks out, waiting for the nurse to finish closing up before he leaves her to walk the opposite way.

When he’s out the door, the school is quiet as he might’ve expected this late into a school day. The festivities haven’t started yet. It’s strange seeing the same halls with no people, half-decorated for the upcoming event but with no one there to celebrate it. The colored streamers web the halls, criss-crossing across opposite walls and putting a touch of life in the otherwise empty corridor. It looks different under a different light, or under the lack of it. It felt as if the school held its breath in the night, almost in the same way that he had been holding his for the past few nights leading up to the event.

It was the first of the many school activities he needed to spearhead as student council president. Everything about it was shaky, the foundation not sturdy enough to withstand what might come. The past administration set the standards high and all the pressure came crashing down on him and everyone who now stood in their place. But the weight was heavier on him as the leader in the course of action. There was an unspoken agenda for every meeting everyone in the room felt, the need to reach or out-do what the prior years had set up.

So for every plan, he went all out. It helped being a son of someone known to the area, the web of connections reached places he never imagined. There were a lot of people he could invite with the snap of his finger, people he could hire with one call and a sure-yes answer, people willing to sponsor expenses. But the sheer number was overwhelming to manage, the number of approvals making him question if every single choice was the right one to make. He felt like he needed to please everyone, taking it roughly the first time he had to fold his hand to give way to another person’s idea. It was rough to rule with an iron fist and impossible to satisfy every single person no matter how hard he tried. He’d been told straight that past presidents were better, and that he only won because of the last name he carried. Those words stung most, but to give way to them would only mean proving them right.

Still there were nights like these that convinced him that maybe they had been right. The school year had only just started, this was the first of many chances he could use to prove to everyone that he was so much more than his last name. His confidence isn’t sturdy even when his facade says otherwise, and everything about him is unsure at best. How could he prove he is strong when he barely makes it past the first hurdle?

Changbin felt like he’d fallen back too many steps in the single afternoon. So when he regained his composure, he went straight ahead with the obligations he left for the few hours of rest he got for the afternoon. In seconds he was dialing phone numbers he should’ve rang hours ago, gearing himself up for displeased responses and coming up with back up plans in worst case scenarios. He rings the lights and sounds rental, then the person hired for decor, then one of the sponsors for the food stalls. But, to his surprise, everyone he called talked to him calmly, sharing the same response; everything has already been settled.

It takes him the third call to check up on the council’s calendar agenda, booting up the app to check if everything on the afternoon to-do list had been ticked off. He’s surprised to find each one crossed out, the boxes faded and their text struck out with a single dash across.

The council group chat is noisy when he opens it, active with an exchange of what to do next until they notice that he’d seen the messages. Then it was a grand welcome, as grand as a bunch of exhausted students could manage anyway. He types in an apology that feels half-assed, half of his honesty too clouded by his pride. But he tries his best to lay out how his afternoon went, the reasons why he passed out in the middle of a busy day. As he expected there was a mix of emotions in its reception, others warm and others cold—unforgiving. He couldn’t blame them, if he were in their place he’d be disappointed in him too.

In the middle of the overwhelming heaviness, there are small reassurances that they got everything done today. There were little setbacks, those that required his presence but they were nothing major. He hates the show of weakness, the shake on the podium he already never felt deserving to stand behind. It’s an unnecessary comparison to make, an insecurity he couldn’t quite shake off, but he hates the realization that he’d never seen the previous president let his team carry weight the way he did today.

The second he steps outside of the campus feels like his first breath of fresh air after a long dive, his lungs finally filling with oxygen after so long. But he isn’t completely free of its shackles, his shortcomings dragging along and scraping on the pavement as he crossed the street to the convenience store. The weight is heavier today than most days because the half-day he spent out of it was a tedious chunk of time that went to waste. There were still deadlines to meet and he’s not sure how to make sure everything still fits before the events starts.

But for now, he’s starving and he momentarily reassures himself that he’ll settle everything once his head clears.

He pushes the door open, greets the staff before heading to the ramen aisle as if his feet were on auto-pilot. There is no choosing to do when his favorite is available, he picks it out with a packet of cheese and a side-dish before he spins back to the counter.

Then the door swings open, the silence of the early night in the convenience store shattered when someone walks in, screaming into the phone in their hand.

“I said ‘okay’, okay?! I’ll be home as soon as I’m done. I couldn’t answer your calls because, as I told you, we were busy. I’m at the 7/11 by the school and I’m heading home after I eat. Goodbye!” Changbin didn’t need to eavesdrop too close to know that whoever was on the other end of the line didn’t have a chance to rebut before the line went dead.

His ears ring with the familiarity of the voice, the thin rise of pitch as it gets more and more frustrated. It’s the same one he heard during meetings when opposing parties started disagreeing, the one that tries to quiet the room in a calmer way than he did. He doesn’t think that you saw him and by the time he finished paying, you had already disappeared down the aisle to the back of the store. When he reached you, your pockets were full with your hands, your phone nowhere to be seen now. You stared down the chillers as you tried to pick out from the wide variety of drinks the store had to offer.

He watches as you pick up a can of soda, your nimble fingers peeking out of your sweater sleeves to clutch the aluminum can.

“You’re scary to talk to on the phone. You sure you didn’t get them deaf?”

Your hands curl around the door, pushing it back shut to reveal who stood behind the frosted glass. Changbin stood with one hand waving at you, the other hooked around the plastic bag filled with the things he bought. “You’re here!” you beam at him, nudging his shoulder as you pass him on your way to the counter. “Are you okay now?”

Was he okay now? Changbin wasn’t sure why he dwells on the question far longer than he needs to. It was a standard question to ask for someone who passed out and spent the afternoon knocked out in the school clinic. But for him, it was overwhelming, a subtle culture shock. Has it been that long since he wanted someone to check up on him that when someone finally did, he’s stumped?

“Binnie?”

The nickname lures his mind out of the space it had wandered into, his head snapping up to meet your gaze as you glanced at him over your shoulder. He follows you blindly, weaving through the convenience store to pick up a bag of chips before heading to the counter. “I woke up so I’m fine, I guess?” he says. “The nurse mentioned that you took something from my bag?”

“Oh, yeah!” You set the items on the counter before you shrug off your bag strap, ripping the zipper open to hand the binder—now, lighter—back to him. “There were letters we needed to submit today. I remembered they were with you but I didn’t get to ask for them back before what happened. I didn’t take anything else, I promise.”

“It’s fine.” He takes the file back, holding it between fingers.

The man behind the counter scans both items through, announcing the total in a grumble afterwards. Before you could fish out the bills from your wallet, Changbin slides over a few bills.

You spin around to him to find him looking away, avoiding your gaze. “Really?”

“It’s nothing. A little thank you for taking over earlier. I couldn’t function well anymore.”

You mutter a thank you to him then at the cashier then proceed to swipe your items up before they could bag them up in plastic. “Normal. No sleep and no food? Anyone wouldn’t function right that way.”

The room falls quiet as they split, you heading for the tables and him rounding back to prepare his meal. Your sudden appearance clears a patch in the clouds and allows a stream of light through the overcast. Somehow Changbin forgets what he’d been worried about, his mind set back into the present instead of worrying of what could go wrong in the upcoming days. He makes his way back to the front, finding your table and sitting across you.

Before he even asks you, you give him a run down of everything you got done—reading through the notes you’ve typed in your phone. He listens, nodding as you went, one task after the other as was listed on his own list. You’ve been to places today, all of which he would’ve gone to if he managed to pull through. But you did fine on your own, only having one incident set back the schedule a bit.

“They didn’t believe me when I told them I was calling for the SSA reservation,” you say, looking up to him. You startle when you find him looking down at you from across the table. The smile you give him is shy, small and sheepish, then you bow your head again. “I can’t believe you needed to do all that on your own. We were moving in teams and it was still a lot to handle.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t.” This time, you’re the one to meet his gaze, your brows in a thin knitted line over the bridge of your nose. “We’re a council of people and you’re doing everything on your own?”

With a single question, Changbin feels seen, the conversation heading somewhere he’d been avoiding for a while now. “It’s nothing I can’t do.”

“And look where that got you.” When he looks at you, he knows that you’re oblivious of the echo you’ve started in his mind. He never thought he’d hear it from you, his own words thrown back at him as if to call out that he’d lost sight of the principles he lived by, like he couldn’t bring himself to practice what he used to preach.

“I never thought I’d hear you scold me,” he says, shoving noodles into his mouth to avoid the way you were looking at him—the way you saw right through every wall he’d put up.

“All I’m saying is don’t do everything when there are other people willing to help. We feel helpless and useless with you doing everything.” You’re talking to the table now, fingers playing with the chip’s wrapper now that you’ve eaten everything. “It’s almost like you look down on us, like you don’t trust us. We’re elected officers too, you know. The responsibilities that come with the titles are things we’re willing to do.”

Your eyes wander over to his and where he searches for resentment, he finds none. “I’m sorry. I never thought that you guys would feel that way. It feels like I’m putting too much burden on you.”

“Please, you’re doing enough, Changbin. Wish I heard that apology from someone else though,” you backtrack and it cracks a smile on his face and yours. “Next time, split the work with everyone equally. If you want to do a bit more, feel free, but don’t leave us with nothing entirely.”

He nods his head.

“Promise?”

In the space between you, you held out your hand. You had three fingers folded, pinky jutting out his way. Pinky promises were a thing of the past, something he hadn’t used in keeping promises since he was in middle school. Promises had long lost their meaning, the power of locked pinkies no longer strong enough to keep what had been agreed upon.

But tonight, he makes an exception, especially with him being on the keeping end. It was something for the better after all. What reason did he have not to keep it?

“Promise,” he agrees, offering his pinky for yours to curl around.

You lock your fingers together, grinning as you pull his hand up to seal them with a thumb to thumb touch. “Make sure of it or that finger comes off the next time you try to shoulder everything.”

The moment shatters when your phone’s vibrations ripple across the table, seconds before it begins to ring. Your hand hurries up to lock it, the phone going silent before too many heads turn in your direction but you leave the call unanswered. “I gotta go,” you tell him.

“I can drive you,” he says, downing the last of his soup before standing right after you do. While he fears indigestion, he couldn’t have you sticking around for him.

“It’s a waste of gas! Save the Earth, I only live a few blocks away.”

“Then I can walk you home.”

So he does. You walk out the 7/11 together, one following right after the other, and into the empty sidewalks. It was getting later by the minute and the streets on this side of town were growing more and more quiet as most of its occupants settled inside the comfort of their homes.

The world around you still moves in the dying pace of the daylight rush but you walk at a leisurely pace. The cars speed past you, beating red lights, and leaving a cacophony of sharp beeps in its wake. The air is cooler now that fall was creeping in but the wind still carried a faint touch of summer warmth. Either that or Changbin felt that way because, for the first time since he started walking around the block to clear his mind, he had someone with him.

You weren’t even talking or touching, just walking side by side on the wide sidewalks as others passed you without even batting a glance your way. There’s a sense of relief that he hadn’t spiralled further than he would’ve. Tonight, he doesn’t feel lonely and he’s thankful for the company.

“Thank you.” The phrase comes out of nowhere as they stop by a red pedestrian light. The world falls out naturally but out of context. When you look back at him with a confused expression, he knew there was a need to elaborate further. “For covering for me earlier,” because he knows you were the one pulling the strings and everyone else just followed, “and for keeping me company,” because his thoughts would’ve gotten to him if you weren’t around.

You beam at him, smiling back as the lights ahead blinked green. “Thank you for offering to walk me home and of course, the free food,” you answer. “Asking for help isn’t really a sign of weakness, if you’re worried about that.”

He nods as he listens, even when the piece of advice was bound to slip his mind sooner or later. Your reminders were things he once lived by, some he said like a broken record to other people. To Chan when he was overworking himself the year before, to Minho when he got himself into one sticky situation after the other, or to anyone who needed to hear it. But he discovered that it was harder to carry it out, his own internalized dispute with seeing dependency as a sign of not being strong enough weighing him down more than keeping him balanced.

Hearing the same things echoed back at him was warming, even when he knew the deep-rooted mindset would require much more than that to uproot, he would at the very least try. It was a start, a tentative step in the right direction. He looks over you and the solemn face you keep as you walk down the streets. There was something about another presence orbiting, having someone ask how he was holding up that meant a lot more than he thought. He was always used to carrying himself, carrying everyone else’s burdens, utterly unaware that he was bearing more than his limit.

But tonight, there was someone else willing to hold up the light for him as he waded through the dark parts of his thoughts, one who was willing to stick by as his facade crumbled, one who allowed him to rest when pretending became too tiring. Walking alongside a person whose concern bled between words and actions, he feels how it’s like to be the one to be reached out to, to be the one holding on to the helping hand not being the one to reach out. And while it doesn’t feel the same, his mind at war that he doesn’t deserve a treatment this gentle, it’s nice to have someone guide him through the dark even just for now.

The establishments die down at the next corner, the commercial area slowly turning into a quiet neighborhood. Here, the buildings no longer held up bright signs for businesses. The tall, narrow houses stood side by side in varying heights on the slope leading uptown. You stop abruptly, a few doors down from what Changbin knew to be your house.

“You can leave me here,” you say, turning to him. “Sorry for making you walk here. Now you have to walk all the way back.”

“How many times do I have to tell you it’s fine? You wouldn’t have gotten home this late if it weren’t for me. It was the least I could do.”

The look on your face tells him that you still had something up your sleeve, some kind of rebuttal that would turn in an endless rally of proving the other person wrong until you both grew tired. But your phone was ringing endlessly in your hand, the angry caller ID still blinking as you bid your goodbye.

Before Changbin could turn back the way he came, he stumbles backward, yanked by the arm. He turns and finds you behind him. “Go to sleep early, alright? Don’t bother coming to school early if you’re going to pass out halfway. We have important appointments tomorrow afternoon, so if you’re planning to skip half a day, make it the morning. You’d need the extra rest, you’ll need it for the next few days.”

You’re walking backwards from him now, up the road until you reach your house. His responses are nothing but nods, the bobbing of his head making him a tad bit dizzy until he resorts to saying ‘yes’ out loud.

It starts there, he remembers that it starts there—the little thing you shared that the rest of the world hasn’t stained with its touch. You raised a hand at him, this time it’s a thumb up as you stopped on the steps leading up to your door. “Okay?” you ask him, voice faint from the distance down the street.

Changbin holds his own hand up, thumb jutting out to mirror you. “Okay.”

It was a small thing in the grand scheme of life but he remembers the little gesture brightened his days. Mid-meetings, pre-speeches, at class when he spaces out, at the gym when the noise of the crowd seemed to drown him in thoughts of his own. It’s what keeps him reminded that in the midst of his own rainy days, there was someone out there who cared enough to make an effort to keep him dry. An umbrella against an endless downpour, a single light following him down a dark road. Just one, just you, but it’s more than enough.

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