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#it was actually the way dahlia was headed

cornertheculprit · 1 year

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something something phoenix ate glass for "dahlia" (aka he ate glass for the girl he fell in love with which was iris) and something something iris stood up in front of that court and admitted point blank that if she would've known that dahlia was planning to kill phoenix she would've done whatever it took to stop her even if it meant killing her. like oh my god you have phoenix studying to be a law student so he could go after miles but he still turned his back on that and attempted to COVER UP EVIDENCE in a way that put his life at risk for the woman he loved and iris loved dahlia because she was her sister but if she would've known dahlia's plan she would have killed her or died trying for the man she loved. girl they're so insane I'M so insane over them oh my GOD. it really was the right time but the wrong place for them......

#i can't say i advocate for them getting back together after everything. i think that the bad memories kind of step in the way of that #and they're not the people they once were. they've grown. they've changed.#but the fact that phoenix canonically still visits her in the detention center.......god. i think it's one of those things where #the love will never really go away. not entirely. when phoenix said 'you really are the person i always thought you were.' he MEANT it #when he said all the way back then that the dahlia who was on that witness stand was a fake. he was RIGHT #he still believed in her and that belief proved to be real. and iris admitted she would've done anything for him even if it meant risking #everything. of course that love is never going to go away. does that mean they'll get back together? no. i'm against the idea entirely #actually. but just. i don't KNOW bro head in my hands they're literally soooooooo. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.#i think. they should still get to be friends. after everything. it's the least they deserve

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frost-queen · 2 months

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Elements in Harmony (Reader x Sokka)

Requested by: Anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @iixchloee

Summary: Reader is Zuko's sister. You and Sokka always argue and fight. You keep infuriating Sokka as you won't leave his head, something he can't stand. Certainly not from a fire nation girl. When one encounter leads to an almost kiss. It draws a line when some guy starts flirting with you, leading to Sokka to show you just how infuriating you are to him.

Appa roared deep, flapping his tail up. Aang petted his furred friend as Momo sat on his shoulder. Katara was poking in the fire to keep it going. Sokka arrived with new wood. His gaze fell upon you from afar. Near the cliff were you practising. Performing graceful moves without actually bending. Your performances calm and at peace. Anything but what Sokka was used to seeing a fire bender do.

Mostly their sequences were brutal and hard. Their fire filled with anger. You seemed odd among them. Anger wasn’t what filled your bending. It was a combination of being soft and tough at the same time. Something your uncle Iroh taught you when you were younger.

Sokka threw the wood on the ground, startling Katara. – “Hey.” – she called out annoyed. – “Sure let us prepare the fire while princess fire nation over there is just dancing.” – Sokka outed gesturing at you. Katara sighed loud. – “Can you only ever complain?”

Sokka grumpily sat down on a log. Glaring your way. Aang approached them holding a bag open. – “We’ll need to stock more food.” – he held the bag upside down. A fruit fell out as Momo immediately jumped for it. Sokka shooed Momo away, picking up the last fruit. – “And that isn’t for you!” – he called out to Momo who flew above his head. Katara got up holding her hand out to Aang. – “I’ll go see if a town is nearby.” – she suggested.

“No, no.” – Sokka answered getting up as well. – “Let fire girl over there do something.” – he pointed at you from afar. – “Her name is Y/n.” – Katara answered crossing her arms. Sokka came closer to her. – “and I don’t care.” – he outed with a sarcastic smile. Sokka whistled loud catching your attention.

You stopped your practise, making your way over. Sokka snatched the bag from Aang’s hand, tossing it at you. You caught it as he was aiming for your face. – “We need supplies.” – he said bothered. – “Please.” – you responded wanting him to ask nicely.

Sokka puffed loud. – “I didn’t know you had manners.” – Sokka answered. – “Unlike you I wasn’t raised in an igloo.” – you responded loud. – “Yet I’m not the one banished.” – Sokka fired back. – “Sokka!” – Katara called out, shocked at his rudeness. As a response you threw the empty bag at Sokka. It bumped against his chest as he moved his head back to not get hit in the face.

“Apologize right now!” – Katara insisted with a sisterly scowl. Sokka looked back to you, seeing how his words made you feel. Somehow he felt a bit guilty for being so cruel. Yet he didn’t act upon it. He took the bag in his hand. – “I’ll just go by myself.” - he spoke turning away. Momo flew on top of Sokka’s head making him stop with a deep sigh. – “We’ll all go.” – Aang spoke to maintain the peace.

The four of you entered the woods in search for food, hoping you’d come by a village soon. You were walking behind Aang and Katara when you noticed Sokka falling in step with you. – “No bending.” – he simply said to you. You mimicked his words like a child, teasing him. – “Oh real mature princess.” – he responded.

“I’m just lowering myself to your standards.” – you answered with a smile. Sokka stepped in front of you, making you stop all of the sudden. He was brazing, glaring down at you. Your words annoying him. Sokka was glaring at your eyes, his face inches away from yours. His gaze fell down to your lips. He caught himself stare at them, making him turn away.

You gasped breathlessly, slouching back as if you were about to pass out. Sokka caught up with his sister, wanting to be as far away from you as he could. Looking briefly over his shoulder to you, falling in line. Grunting soft, he hated how much you messed with his head. Your presence consuming his mind as if you never wanted to leave. No matter how many times he casted you out. It infuriated him.

You were from the fire nation. Zuko’s sister, the one chasing Aang. The one who caused his village pain. – “You know you can just be nice to her.” – Katara spoke looking briefly at her brother. Sokka sighed loud. – “She’s from the…” – he outed as Katara finished his words in a voice that mimicked his. – “fire nation.” – she then giggled at her own imitation of her brother.

“Not funny.” – Sokka said annoyed as it made Katara just giggle more. Sokka looked over his shoulder again, seeing you chat with Aang.

Katara nudged him hard in the side. Sokka tore his gaze away from you. Some twigs snapped underneath his shoes. – “Aang needs her.” – she told him. – “I know, I know.” – Sokka sighed out. – “Then…” – Katara began as Sokka shushed her. She glared at him a bit for cutting her off. – “Don’t shush me.” – she said annoyed, moving her hands to her hips. – “Stop talking.” – Sokka told her, his focus elsewhere.

Katara groaned loud as he covered up her mouth. It was the only thing he thought would shut her up. – “Why have we stopped?” – Aang asked confused. Sokka was looking at every direction, listening in to nature. His eyes widened when he saw a fireblast fly their way. It hit a tree trunk close to them. – “Fire nation!” – he yelled out. The four of you started to run as more fire benders came from out of the bushes. – “It’s an ambush.” – Katara outed, puffing loud. – “You think?” – Sokka responded to her sarcastically.

Aang swayed his stick across, sending an air blast at some fire benders. Katara stopped a moment to bend some water out of a puddle nearby. Letting it whip against a fire bender. Sokka grunted as they couldn’t outrun them. They needed to stand and fight. He pulled out his weapon, standing ready.

A fire bender was coming your way as you deflected his fire blast by ducking down. You then kicked at him. He stumbled back making you punch his stomach a few times. Sokka ducked down a punching arm, punching the man in his stomach. He then pressed the back of his weapon on his back. The man dropped to his stomach with a loud oof. He saw fire blasts coming your way as you kept avoiding them with just manoeuvring.

“What are you doing?” – Sokka called out to you. You looked back at him confused. – “Bend!” – he outed, stating the obvious. You kicked a guy away from you. – “You told me not to bend!” – you shouted back at him. Sokka jumped back from a blast. – “Just do it!” – he insisted upon annoyed. Suddenly you smiled with a new set off attitude.

Performing a sequence you conjured fire, attacking your fellow fire nation soldiers. Aang jumped above your head, landing in front of you as he flashed a blast of air at them. You moved back assisting Katara. – “I got it.” – she breathed out. You nodded at her. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Sokka getting cornered.

You ran over to him just as a blast of fire was coming his way. Sokka’s eyes widened seeing the blast come his way from his side. You jumped in front of him, arms forwards, palms pressed together as you split the blast in two. The fire flared beside Sokka and you. Sokka blinked stunned at you. You then attacked with fire of your own. Sokka was staring at you, admiring you despite his infuriation with you.

He was so caught up with you, that he hardly saw the punching fist come his way. He jumped back, avoiding the hit just in time. He was about to knock the soldier on his head with his weapon as a blast of fire pushed him away. Sokka looked confused, till he turned his head. Seeing you in a position, one fist out, panting. You had once again protected him. Sokka smiled admiring at you till his expression turned to shock. You were hit by a blast, sending you rolling on the ground. – “Y/n!” – Sokka called out.

You came to a stop, panting loud. Forcing yourself to get back up. Just as you almost stood up straight, were you hit with another surprise blast. It was if the soldiers were turning their anger towards you. One of their own fighting against them. You got hit as the blast pushed you back.

You screamed when you felt a loss of ground under your feet. An in-sinking in the ground made you slide down the hill. Tumbling and rolling down, you met with the ground hard and fast. – “Y/n?” – Sokka called out concerned. He threw his boomerang at the soldier, hitting him in the head. His boomerang returned as he caught it. Running up to the way where he lost sight of you. – “Y/n?” – he panted out nearing where you last where.

Sokka felt the ground underneath his feet crumble away. A scream caught in his throat as he slid down, arms swaying around. On the ground, you groaned in pain. Slowly pulling yourself up by your elbows. Your eyes widened seeing Sokka slide down. At the bottom, he came to a sudden stop, his chest falling forwards. He fell forwards falling hard against your chest as your back smacked the ground again.

Sokka groaned soft when he set his hands beside you, trying to pull himself up. He lifted his head up, his gaze catching yours as he paused. Paused as his face was inches away from yours. Heart pounding loudly as you were captivated in his gaze. Sokka’s gaze went down to your lips as it made you feel shy. He neared his head a bit as you sensed he had an urge to kiss you. Your gaze flashed up and down from his eyes to his lips and back. If Sokka was about to kiss you, you wouldn’t protest. Sokka felt himself fall deeper, drawing closer to you. What if he wanted to kiss you in this moment. Would it be that bad?

You were bringing your chin closer to him to decrease the distance. Sokka slowly closed his eyes, feeling his lips tingle with the urge. A gush of wind caught him off guard. His eyes flashed back open, suddenly aware of what he was doing. He rolled over, away from you just before Aang landed down. – “So here you are.” – Aang said. You were staring at the sky, panting loud. Feeling extremely hot that Sokka was this close to kissing you.

Katara had climbed down joining Aang. Sokka had gotten up, dusting some dirt off him. Aang decided to head back to Appa and search a town from above. All of you agreed, walking back to Appa. You climbed on Appa, sitting at the back. Avoiding eye contact with Sokka. Sokka was staring down at his own hands.

Katara looked from you to Sokka. – “Is something going on between the two of you?” – she asked. – “No.” – Sokka answered loud. You lowered your head on Appa’s saddle, watching the scenery you were leaving behind. Momo came landing on your head, laying himself down.

Appa roared loud as he descended. Aang had spotted a town. A small village at the edge of the earth kingdom. Appa landed as all of you climbed down. You held the empty bag following Aang into the village. There were many curious heads turning at your friends. They certainly stand out with their watertribe attire and air nomad clothing. You didn’t receive that much attention as you were earth kingdom clothing.

You had left your fire nation clothing long behind. The moment your father banished you after Zuko’s banishment, you gave them up. There was no hope in finding a new home when you wore enemy clothing. Zuko had been given an ultimatum to return. You never did. Not acceding his expectations and questioning the flaming fist of his way of ruling led to your banishment.

The youngest of your siblings, apart by just one year with your sister Azula. You saw more to fire bending then power and anger. Fire could be beautiful if one found a balance between them. Harmony. Your father found that a weakness. Soft. Not something he could have in his daughter.

You went over to a stall where they sold fruits. Sokka’s eyes fell upon a different stall, making his way over to it, without his friends knowing. You bargained with the owner for some of his best fruit. Katara wondered where her brother was, spotting him at a stall that sold herbs. She furrowed her brows, watching her brother buy a patch of leaves. He turned around holding a little patch as he suddenly noticed his sister watching.

Sokka cleared his throat from afar, moving the patch behind his back. It made Katara quirk her eyebrow up. He joined the others once more letting his sister know to stop staring to weirdly at him. – “Look Y/n a herb stall!” – Aang pointed out. You turned your head to look as well. – “You can make that delicious tea of yours again.” – Aang said pushing you towards it.

“Actually…” – Sokka started feeling the patch in his hand. No one heard him as Aang was too enthusiastic to show you the herbs. Aang pulled you to a stop after having pushed you all the way over. – “Anything you like?” – the owner asked as you looked at his products.

“Do you have any jasmine leaves?” – Aang asked for you. – “I certainly do boy.” – the owner answered. – “Actually I…” – Sokka began wanting to let you know he already bought the jasmine leaves. The owner presented Aang with a patch of jasmine leaves. Aang nudged you to accept them. – “Aang we really don’t need them.” - you told him. – “Of course we do, you love jasmine tea.” – he encouraged you to take them.

“Your uncle taught you to make it.” – Aang added with a smile. – “Y/n I…” – Sokka spoke wanting to place a hand on your shoulder and reveal his patch to you. A new pair of hands grabbed the patch from the owner. – “I’ll pay for her.” – all of you turned your head to a boy. He smirked flashing a wink at you.

His wink baffled you as you weren’t used to that kind of attention. The boy tossed some coins in the owner’s hand. Sokka got shoved aside as the boy wanted to be closer to you. He held the patch up for you to accept. – “You really don’t have to…” – you said feeling a bit embarrassed someone paid for you.

“Nonsense.” – he grabbed your hand, facing your palm up, placing the patch in your hand. – “Anything should be paid for a pretty girl like you.” – he finished. Sokka puffed with a roll of his eyes. The boy slid his arm over your shoulder, moving you away from your friends. – “You look like a girl who likes tea.” – he spoke as Aang followed behind him. – “How does he know.” – he asked happily astonished that he had guessed. – “We literally stood by a herb cart.” – Sokka answered bothered.

The guy was leading you to a tea shop. His arm was still around you as Sokka found himself glaring at it. Katara and Aang clearly unbothered with Sokka’s concerns. – “Has anyone told you, your smile is like a blossom on a spring day?” – he said. It made you touch your lips shy. – “No.” – you answered. Sokka tensed his jaw. You were about to enter the tea shop when a pull on your wrist pulled you to a stop.

You slowly turned as Sokka had taken a hold of your wrist. Aang, Katara and the guy walked further in. – “Something wrong Sokka?” – you asked confused. – “Are you seriously following a guy like him? Just because he flashes a smile at you and gives you a compliment, you girls fall hard.”

You smiled teasingly. – “What’s so funny?” – Sokka expressed loud. – “Nothing.” – you answered with a shake of your head. – “You are cute when you are so worked up.” – you patted his cheek teasingly. The guy came standing behind you. – “Are you coming sugar?” – he asked placing a hand on your hip. Sokka saw it almost making him lose his mind. – “She’s not!” – Sokka stated clear, grabbing you by your wrist. – “Hey!” – the guy called out when Sokka dragged you away. – “Sokka… Sokka.” – you breathed out as he kept pulling you away.

He went into an alleyway, pushing you against the wall. Sokka groaned loud as you could only stare confused at him. He turned around, grabbing you by the waist as he pressed his lips on yours. Eyes wide with shock, you blinked startled at the touch of his lips on yours. He pulled away half angered at himself for kissing you. – “Why are you so infuriating.” – he outed. Sokka noticed you were still holding his patch with herbs so he slapped them out of your hands.

“Hey!” – you called out as Sokka gave you his with some roughness. – “I bought these because I knew you liked them.” – he told you. – “I don’t know why I bought you them, because I shouldn’t. Certainly not for a fire nation girl!” – he went on. – “So why do I care for you. Why can’t I get you out of my head, and why did it bother me that, that guy was hitting on you!”

You smiled coming up to Sokka. – “Oh hush.” – you told him, grabbing him to kiss him. Sokka gladly accepted your kiss, holding you by your waist. – “You are cute when you get worked up over things.” – you told him, making him smile sheepishly. Sokka held you again, kissing you once more just because he could. Certainly now when he made peace with himself and simply let himself fall for you.

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munsons-curls · 1 year

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Black Dahlias

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

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

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

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

Somebody’s watching you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You will be soon enough.

You smile and tell Robin your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has dimples.

“Yeah, I know.”

Your heart skids to a stop. “You do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————————————————————————

Somebody’s watching you.

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

Somebody’s watching you.

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

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

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

You glance at the clock.

02:22.

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

Somebody closed your front door.

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

“Dad?” You call out.

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

Somebody was in your house.

There’s an idiom associated with horror movies.

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

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

You freeze.

The door closing could have been a person going out.

Or a person coming in.

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

“Hello?”

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

“What?”

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

“Eddie?”

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

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

You’re here, you might as well.

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

“I saw your lights on.”

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

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

You smile at his gruff gesture.

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

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

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

“Of course that’s okay.” You reply.

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

“Mhm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

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

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

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

A black dahlia.

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

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

But somebody’s watching you.

——————————————————————————

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

Another black dahlia.

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

He was here. You’re being followed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.” You clip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dude, you’re nasty.”

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

“Eddie-“

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

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

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

——————————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

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

“Butchered.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This won’t help.

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

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

A hit of something to get your head right.

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

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

It makes your heart pick up pace.

You stifle a laugh. “Eddie, it’s me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I don’t think so. Not yet—“

“—Hey, man. Turn that up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Black sharpie against red paper reads;

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

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

If anything, it connotes the opposite.

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

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

Could he have touched you?

Are you the business he has to take care of?

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

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

Or anybody.

You never do.

——————————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wince.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your blood runs cold. “More?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Be safe?” You call out to Eddie.

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

——————————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on.”

“Rule number one: never have sex.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re exhausted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure? It’s late.”

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

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

——————————————————————————

Somebody’s watching you.

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

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

You’d devised a plan on the way home.

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

But somebody’s watching you.

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

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

He’s here.

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

He seems scared.

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

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

“I came to warn you.”

“Warn me? About what?!” You snap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. All good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?“

“I swear, Eddie. I’m all good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” You ask.

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

Three victims. Three victims in one day.

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

——————————————————————————

Breakfast is a bleak affair.

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

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

Today’s victim: Andy Clayton.

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

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

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

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

The Wheelers, the kids, Robin.

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

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

Not that Eddie ever remembers to lock his doors.

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

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

You’re met with more silence.

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

5:30pm.

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

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

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

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

You should talk to Eddie about rebranding that soon.

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

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

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

It’s a dead match.

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

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

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

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

No. No, no, no.

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

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

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

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

Eddie.

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

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

——————————————————————————

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

You start to hyperventilate.

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.” He breathes.

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

“Goddamnit!” He grunts.

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

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

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

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

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

Than accepting that your best friend is a serial killer.

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

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

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

Steve’s white Nikes, covered in blood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Eddie.

“Yes.” You reply truthfully.

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

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

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

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

And you hate yourself more for wanting him.

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

“Yeah?” He asks, looking down at you.

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses you harder.

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

You pull away, looking at him hesitantly.

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

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

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

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

You swallow. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go ahead.” He smiles knowingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My best girl.” He whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A whining, whimpering, mess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eyes on me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper, nodding.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Eddie. Please, I need more.”

“That’s right, you do. Well done.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so hard, Eddie. So thick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, Eddie. Anything you want.”

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

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

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

“I know, baby. I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweet?” He asks.

You nod around his fingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God—Eddie. Please. Please, please…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the house, Eddie.”

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

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

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

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

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

——————————————————————————

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

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

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transmascaraa · 4 months

Text

gaming headcannons!

he's liked you for a while now...

crush!gaming x gn!reader

author's note: sorry this took a while lmao i was too lazy to write anything. it might be ooc but oh well i js really like him and he's so skrunkly omgshhfhs and i wanna do a gf furina x reader FANFIC for a christmas special or smthn😍 i'm too insecure abt my writing skills like for fanfics but i hope it comes out good🤷 anyways, enjoy👍

"so you see, i've been dealing with a strange feeling ever since we've met..."

-he would be all over you already at the first eye contact you two made

-he was really energetic when he met you

-oversharing about himself, talking constantly and giving you a compliment every now and then

-you kinda fell for him too, but didn't think much of his actions(you were a little blind)

-he tried flirting a couple of times and it made you blush but again, you were a pessimist.

-but he had high hopes on you loving him just by the look you gave him

-so after a while of knowing eachother, you guys met at the lantern rite, a small place near a little lantern shop

-"hey y/n!" he waved and smiled brightly at you

-"oh, hey gaming!" you replied, walking towards him and smiling in return

-he was head over heels for you, trust me.

-not like you weren't for him.

-the two of you chit-chatted for a little bit, just enough for him to get comfortable in the conversation.

-"hey, also, i see the people getting prepared for launching the lanterns, do you have yours?"

-"yup, let's go!" you exclaimed as you unconsciously grabbed his hand, making him blush a bit

-getting to a place with not too many people there, you finally started lighting up your lanterns, whispering your wishes to them and slowly allowing them to fly high up in the sky, making your wishes come true.

-the sky was covered in lanterns.

-little lights.

-little yellow dots.

-until they couldn't be seen anymore.

-while you were looking at them, he was looking at you.

-your eyes shining in such adoration as you looked at them.

-his shined too, but not for the lanterns.

-for you.

-finally, you looked back at him.

-"wow, that was so beautiful..." you softly said to him.

-he only had a few seconds to think before replying.

-now or never.

-"but not more beautiful than the person standing right in front of me."

-one could say that there was a smile on his face.

-but a Mona Lisa type of smile.

-you blushed and hid your face.

-"w-what?..." you were too shy for this.

-no way he actually said that.

-you were dreaming.

-"i'm being serious... i've..."

-*sigh*

-"i've liked you for quite a long time now..." he shyly said.

-"but it's up to you if you wanna try..."

-he was so insecure.

-he was looking down the whole time, not even realizing that you were ready to look him in the eyes and answer

-"gaming..." you said, voice barely above a whisper.

-"h-huh?" he looked up, his eyes meeting your eyes.

-eye contact.

-he trusts you.

-you trust him.

-"i like you too..." you put your hand on his cheek and gently caressed it with your thumb.

-he was left speechless.

-his face was burning.

-his heart going 1000 miles per hour.

-"y-you do?"

-"yes, gaming, i'd like to try this. only with you." you were looking at him with a hopeful look.

-"thank you, my dear..." and before you could say anything else, he had his forehead pressed against yours.

-so... close.

-"i love you..." he whispered, blushing so hard.

-"i love you too..." and with that, your lips met in a soft, true, kiss.

-your wishes came true.

-now you surely know what to wish for next year...

~~~~~

this won the poll and when i have the motivation i'll do this similar confession but with dahlia. BUT FURINA FOR CHRISTMAS FIRST.

TYSM GUYS FOR SO MANY LIKES ON MY RECENT POSTS I'M GOING INSANE.

ily all sm also this gaming guy is adorable omfg

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moondirti · 8 days

Note

Hello! So not a request but a Dahlia thought: when getting to the boys place she's a little anxious but then she sees the perfectly set up spare room they just happen to coincidently have set up perfectly. And it's so comfortable and peaceful after a shit day and a equally shittier couple of months that reader just kind of releases the damn of tears. Which you know just inforcess that they are doing the right thing by taking her. It's for her own good.

PART 1 • PART 2 • PART 3 tags: simon x f!reader x johnny. alluded abuse (not by ghoap). kidnapping (but is it really kidnapping anymore?) pregnancy.

Their home is nice.

You don't know what you expected. Nothing bad, certainly – one look at their car and you guessed they were comfortable – but whatever approximation you rendered in your head didn’t come close to hitting the mark. Perhaps it was the remnants of your misgivings, then, that convinced you they lived in some squalid house off the side of the freeway. No one is kind enough to offer free room and board without there being some sort of catch.

But it's nice. Spacious. Secluded, though not to a concerning degree. You pass through a quaint town in order to get to it, and it's only another two miles out, tucked on the outskirts of a neighbouring forest. A two-story chalet, understated and painted dark to deliberately sink into its surroundings. If you had to guess, it was the pick of the one in the mask; the style suits him more than the other one, you think. Elevated inches off the ground. Weathered cedar exterior, softened by time, and a modest front porch with three Adirondack chairs positioned around a bonfire pit.

“Did someone else live here with you?” You ask, tucking your thumb into your bag strap as you follow them to the front door. The shorter of them throws a look over his shoulder, brows furrowed in an endearing way. “I just ask because– well, you mentioned a spare bedroom, and there are three seats out here. So…”

“Johnny’s mum stayed with us for a while after his father passed.” The masked one says, unlocking the entrance before pulling it open for you. Your heart twinges uncomfortably in your chest, and you give a sad smile to ‘Johnny’ on your way in.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

He appears astounded for a second, gaze flickering back and forth between you and his partner, before settling in place. “Ah, dinnae be. Wis a long time ago.”

You’re pleased to find that the interior is a lot brighter. Where the outside boasted a dark green paint job, the inside glows in a smattering of honeyed wood and sage tones. All open-plan; you can see the dining table and kitchen from where you step into the living room, brown leather couches serving as the only divisors of the space. You allow your eyes to rove over the walls, the plush carpets underfoot, up and over to where the lofted second-story overlooks the bottom floor. Large picture windows allow ample light to flood in, yet it seems to have the particularly concerning effect of illuminating how… empty it all is. Because apart from a strew of personal belongings – boots by the foyer, a half-filled water bottle on the breakfast bar, a coat thrown over the back of an armchair – there’s nothing to indicate that they actually live here.

For all you know, they could’ve rented the car and the house to lure you in.

A pit opens up in your stomach. You pat your pocket for your phone, then turn to where they await your reaction.

“I didn’t catch your names.” You ask, cringing internally at how straightforward you seem. You have to remind yourself that it’s better to be blunt, to scope this situation out before you’re in too deep. If it takes playing oblivious, then so be it. “I’m embarrassed I don’t know. You’re being so kind, after all.”

“Johnny. John Mactavish, if ye wanna be proper.” The Scotsman beams, stepping forward to take your bag off your hands, that which you tentatively. The other one merely stays still, peering out on you from above his fabric mask. You shift from foot to foot, waiting.

Eventually, he blinks. “Ghost.”

The pit deepens. You breathe through the nausea climbing up your chest. That’s not a name, you’re tempted to say. Tempted to take your bag back over your shoulder and call a cab. But it’s so early in the morning that you know you’ll have a hard time reaching one. And even if you manage, where would you go? Certainly not home.

The callous echo of your ex’s voice still bounces around in your skull. It’s just a matter of probability. Risk it here with these perfect strangers, who may or may not be ill-intentioned. Or risk it back home, with a man you know only means to do you harm.

So, you give them your name.

(Just the first. Though that isn’t without its precautions, either; later, when you finally tuck in, you’ll be sure to send your location and the name Mactavish off to a trusted friend.)

Johnny’s grin widens, something warm and molasses-thick radiating from the lines it carves into his cheeks. It’s so genuine, so welcoming and hospitable, that you have a hard time imagining him as a bad guy. And however Ghost unnerves you, he’s obviously decent enough to have bagged such a positive force of nature. Decent enough to have offered you a ride, and a place to stay when you were so desperately in need of one too.

It all tallies up in your head, sand on a scale that dips in favour of one side. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, or the pregnancy hormones schooling your common sense into accepting the two, strong men who have demonstrated their willingness to provide – but you’re quickly softening up to the possibility that this is something good without exception. A reward for putting up with so much over the past few months. Some reality where life isn’t looking to beat you down.

If only for the night.

You blindly follow as Johnny gives you a brief tour. Their bedroom is just to the left of the living space, and he tells you to knock if you need anything at all.

“Ye'll be staying upstairs, hen. Unless th' stairs ur awfy much fur ye?”

“No.” You shake your head, stricken by the utter graciousness. “Please. I’m so thankful you’re helping at all. Upstairs is just fine.”

“Promise?” He demands, eyes wide like a quizzical pup. Ghost sidles up behind him, large hand clasping onto his shoulder, right where his shirt's collar ends to reveal the base of his neck. You stare at that touch, that point of skin-on-skin contact, for what must be too long before you can bring yourself to respond.

“I- Yeah. I promise.”

Your room isn't really a room at all, but a loft as large as half the first floor. Three walls and a missing fourth, polished wood railing and opaque curtains offering a degree of separation from the rest of the home. It's all you can do not to flop down on the bed immediately, stripping down to your panties and undershirt before relieving yourself in the attached bathroom.

Despite the modicum of hesitation still planted in your gut – which you doubt will go away until you’re absolutely sure you haven’t made yourself victim to a pair of crazy sexy serial killers – you unwind at record speed. Surprising how easy it is when you aren’t confronted with the burden of your real life. When everything is warm and provided for. When your bed is made with crisp clean sheets, a homemade quilt folded neatly on the edge, and the outside ambience isn’t singing drunks but quiet.

And of course, once your guard comes down, so too does your strength. A ball of devastation snowballs in your chest. Your sternum burns and your nose grows hot. You hardly remember to clasp a hand around your mouth before you burst into an ugly sob, fat tears slipping off your lash line. Only when a stressed hiccup seizes your frame do you become thankful for your sense; you’d really hate for them to hear you cry after having been so kind. You’re not ungrateful in the slightest, but already you prep yourself for the disappointment of returning home come night. A preemptive grief for the life you can never give yourself.

A chorus of morning birdsong and your own, miserable sniffles lull you to sleep.

if anyone's curious, here's the floorplan i used to imagine ghoap's chalet! (source)

#༄dee answers #ghost x reader x soap #ghostsoap #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader x johnny 'soap' mactavish #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x reader #ghoap x reader #simon riley #john mactavish #ghost #soap #x female reader #ghoap

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munsonthings86 · 2 months

Text

scattered lilies

eddie doesn't have enough money for flowers before your date so he improvises by picking the prettiest flowers he sees on the way to your house.

warnings: cursing, fluff, soft!eddie, kinda shy!eddie, shy!reader, 0.6k

"shit," he curses in a whispered tone, desperately slapping at his pockets. he rushes over to his neglected, mountainous laundry pile, digging at every pocket he can find, praying to find a bill, a quarter, shit he'd be relieved to even spot a nickel. but the strewn out clothes with their pockets all turned out to reveal nothing but crumpled tissue and lint, eventually rendered useless.

eddie was becoming hopeless, running his boisterous silver ringed fingers through his curly hair that was growing unruly by the minute. pacing in his room, he nearly toppled over the picnic basket that he'd packed with food, drinks, books, and sweet mary jane for the two of you, which was where all of his money had gone, of course. glancing at the analog clock on his end table, the daunting red numbers blared 4:37.

from what he could see out of his small window, he spied ivory flowers growing out of mrs. hafers front yard of her trailer, and a cunning idea sneaks its way into his conscience. he tried to talk himself out of it as it was mrs. hafer who’d offered to put him to work at her cafe when no other employer in hawkins wanted to hire him after the incident in '86.

he figured he could ask his uncle to spot him so he could head down to the florist to legally obtain flowers instead, but he made the promise to pick you up by 5:00 and he was out of options. he couldn't not show up with flowers. what kind of a gentleman would he be?

he shrugged on his trusty leather jacket, tucking a bandana into his back pocket and scoops up the picnic basket that he hoped you'd love. he nearly knocked his uncle wayne over as he dashed out the door but soon changed his pace, creeping up to the bush of lilies. he plucked as many as he could without leaving the yard looking so obviously tampered with, and made a beeline for the main road.

on the trek to your house, eddie couldn't stop staring at the thrifted bouquet. he knew you loved flowers as you always had one threaded in the strands of your hair and wore pretty little dresses with floral patterns, but he had no clue what your favorite flowers actually were.

what if you hated lilies? what if you were more of a tulip or a dahlia kinda girl? eddie only knew those names because you talked about flowers so often.

he spent the rest of the walk picking any and every flower he saw whether it was red, pink, or white, big or small, tying the stems with a scrunchie you'd given him some time ago, when the bouquet grew too abundant.

his fist shook a little as he knocked on your door, nerves poking fiery needles across his skin, coloring him red. his cheeks and lips pulled into a toothy smile when you answered the door with a grin of your own, doing your best to hide your face with your hair. you wore a blush pink crewneck, styled with a white collar, a skirt of the same hue and sneakers that were almost identical to eddies. you looked nothing short of perfect to him.

"hi, angel," he waved to you the best he could, what with the basket and bouquet occupying his hands, and all.

"hi, eddie," you giggled, closing the door behind you, stepping closer to him. eddie's breath hitched as a gust of wind blew, allowing his senses to be overrun by your sweet, fruity perfume. "got these for ya," he gently rested the flowers into your cradling arms.

"thank you, they're gorgeous," you giggled at the wild assortment of flowers, recognizing some of them from your neighbors yard a few houses down. you decided to not question him about it. no one’s ever gotten you flowers before.

eddie took your hand in his, leading you to the park where he hoped to have a date that was as perfect as you were <3

💌 1 new message from jojo: if you made it down here i love you :) lemme know if i should make this into a full fic, cuz im thinking abt it…inbox is open!

#i rushed the end cuz i have class lmao #but yeah #love this goober #if he wanted to he would :(#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie and flower #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine

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talaok · 1 year

Note

I don’t know why this request popped into my head but Spencer wanting to get BAU reader flowers for Valentine’s Day but they’re working and the team don’t know about them yet so Spencer, the sweetheart he is, he’s like ok I’ll just get all the girls flowers. And the girls are like wow that’s so sweet but Morgan’s like ‘funny, you didn’t do this last year, or the year before, why now?’ And just becomes really suspicious and starts investigating lmao

I love this. you're a genius.

Flowers

Spencer had been nervous about it for the whole week.

He knew it was stupid, but you know that voice in your head that keeps reminding you that it isn't stupid and that you should worry, probably even more than you're doing now because this is a huge fucking deal even if it's really not?

well,

that voice had had the best of him.

He had thought about it for a long time,

about all the possibilities and the related outcomes,

he had thought about surprising you later, after work, but then again, that meant seeing you at the office and having to pretend like he had forgotten, hence, hurting your feelings.

so that was a no.

He even thought about not coming into work, just make up some excuse to hotch and not show up.

but that didn't feel right,

and so it had come to the last possibility,

The best way to hide something is in plain sight, right?

__ __ __

he was sweating.

it was ridiculous how much he was actually stressing over this, but still, there he was, his forehead glistening, his tie too tight around his throat, and four diffrent bouquets in his hands,

well, not exactly diffrent,

only one of them was,

the most important one,

and he had already thought of the excuse as to why it was y/n's,

he was gonna say the truth,

or better, part of it.

See the thing was that he knew her favorite flowers,

Dahlias, she loved dahlias,

pink ones to be exact,

he remembered the moment she had told him, that day at the park, the sun shining on their faces, as their bare feet brushed the fresh grass,

He remembered finding it interesting that she would choose a flower that's also the symbol of one of America's most famous unsolved murders, and he recalled her turning to him, and as if she had read his mind telling him that she liked the flower even more because of that,

"it's not fair that just because one case has been named the black dahlia then all of the sudden all of those amazingly wonderful flowers lose their beauty. That's not how it works. The dahlia is only more beautiful now because even after all that, she remains unfazed, and so does her beauty"

And he remembered having kissed her,

because if there was one person able to think that way,

it was her.

And so she obviously had bought her those, while for the rest of the women he had opted for some red roses,

witch to the untrained eye may have looked like a much more romantic option, but trust me, after all those comments about how much she hated them, Spencer had got the hint she didn't like them.

Ding

The elevator's door opened

Ok, it's fine Spencer, it's fine, you can do this.

he took a deep breath as he pushed open the glass doors, immediately noticing the team already in the conference room.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply once more before entering the room.

"oh wow" Jj immediately commented, eyeing the flowers

"pretty boy" morgan grinned "you're really showing off huh?"

He felt his cheeks warm, but smiled nonetheless, everyone else was.

He could feel your eyes on him, and as he glanced at you, just as he had expected, he took in the twitch of your lips as they turned up in that cute way they always did, and his heart skipped a beat.

"well" he cleared his throat "since it's valentine's day I wanted to do something nice for all the wonderful women of the office" he explained "and even though, as a recent study showed, chocolate is the most common gift, In fact, approximately 48% of people who celebrate valentine's day gift chocolates" he stopped a moment to noticed every amused or questioning expression staring back at him, before continuing" but, anyway, I liked the idea of flowers better, "he smiled shyly "so- yeah" he looked down at the bouquets as he turned to his left "Emily, this is for you," he said, handing the roses to her, and earning a big smile and thank you from Prentiss, "JJ, "he said walking up to her "happy valentine's day," he said as she took the flowers "thank you" she grinned at him "I hope Will isn't gonna be jealous" she joked, and spencer laughed softly before finally turning to you.

The moment your eyes met, something traveled between them, a mutual understanding, a mutual sparkle going from him, straight to you.

"And these are for you y/n," he said "happy valentine's day"

You smiled, looking down at the flowers "dahlias"

"How could I forget?" he blushed, and you couldn't help but throw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, as you closed your eyes, lost in his scent.

"thank you Spence" you whispered, before remembering where you were and reluctantly leaning away, he was beaming when you did, and your heart warmed.

"are the other ones for my baby girl?" Derek asked, and spencer frowned, confused before realizing, "oh- yes, they're for Penelope" he said"I actually wanted to give them to her now if it isn't a problem" he turned to Hotch, and he nodded slightly before saying "make it quick" to witch spencer immediately answered "absolutely" before starting towards the door

"wait"

he turned around

"I'll come with you" you said before you could stop yourself

__ __ __

"so that was.." morgan chuckled

"what? it's nice" Emily came to his defense

"yeah Derek what are you talking about?" jj chirped in

"Rossi? Hotch?" he turned to them

"I think he's just jealous his baby girl is getting flowers from another man" Emily joked, making jj laugh

"what you don't find it even a bit weird?" he was facing Rossi now, who shrugged, " if there's one thing all my wives have taught me is that women love flowers"

JJ and Emily laughed softly at that

"hotch?"

"I think it's nice"

Derek sighed deeply "yes but doesn't anybody find it a little strange that he only did it this year?"

"Derek-" JJ shook her head

"What, we've been working together for 5 years, and now all of a sudden he gifts roses on valentine's day? You can't tell me that's strange"

There was a moment of silence

"maybe he just wanted to do something nice" Hotch intervened

"yes but why now?" Morgan asked "don't tell me you haven't asked yourself that"

Emily sighed "Even if you're right, even if it's strange. What are you tryna say?"

"I'm just saying there has to be a reason, that's all" he explained, sitting on his chair

"like what?" emily asked

"i dunno"

another moment of silence

"well he has been acting weird lately" JJ spoke up, and the whole room turned toward her

"Weird how?" Hotch asked, seemingly worried

"Nothing big he's just been busy a lot that's all" she shrugged " we haven't hung out in a while because he has always someplace to go to"

"yeah that's true" Emily agreed "even last night he said he had something to do didn't he?"

"yup"

"Maybe the kid just goes to a new chess tournament " Rossi joked

" I knew something was up" Derek mumbled

"but it still doesn't make sense. What does he blowing us off have to do with the flowers?" JJ asked

Derek's mind worked fast as he pieced all the clues together, all the glares, blushes, and smiles finally coming together.

"well," he got up again "who do you give gifts to on valentine's day?"

"your partner"

"Exactly" he nodded "but what if, and this is hypothetical, you couldn't give them to them directly because let's say nobody knows about you two. Then what do you do?"

Emly chuckled "you give them to everyone else too"

"Exactly" Derek grinned

"wait" Jj waved her hand in disbelief "are you saying-?" she couldn't even finish the sentence and just pointed blankly at your seat

Derek raised his eyebrow "I mean it would make sense wouldn't it?"

Emily smiled "it sure would"

"let's not get ahead of ourselves " Hotch intervened "this is all just speculation, it could all still be just a nice gesture"

"Hotch's right "Rossi agreed "we can't be sure of anything"

And just as he pronounced those words you and Spencer walked through the door, and as much as they were all trying to be professional, and respecting of whatever privacy you might have wanted,

it was very hard not to notice the pink on both your cheeks, or the way your lips looked somehow a lot more swollen than before, and spencer's collar definitely not as straight as it was just a few minutes before.

And what was even harder to not notice, was the big beautiful bouquet of red roses Spencer was still holding.

Derek grinned way too smugly as he witnessed everyone around the table come to the same conclusion he had just moments before,

and as Spencer finally spoke over the terrifying silence, asking "What's up?" He couldn't help but respond "nothing" he eyed the bouquet he was still holding "We were just talking about how much Penelope likes roses"

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid Criminal Minds #spencer reid fluff #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic

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skunkox · 2 months

Text

Darlin's Jacket Headcanon

Been sitting on this for weeks , so just hear me out rq.

Dalrin's jacket was a gift from Asher. It was a present to cheer them up while they were on punishment when they were young. Possibly a birthday? Grades? Faught a kid? Embarrased their parents in front of the pack? Havent worked out the details.

It's a letterman jacket from a band they were really into. But the issue? It's a gooddam Unisex XXL, and the twerp of a Tank is like, barley 14 with not real muscle mass yet. My Tank at least is 13 when they make the move and join the pack in Dahlia while the main shaw pack kids are 14.

▪︎■▪︎■▪︎■▪︎

"Ash. Remind me again why you dragged us to Hot Topic." Milo asked, reluctantly following a brace faced Asher into the cramped, and dim lit store.

"Cause Half-pint, your comrad in short arms has been looking miserable. Or at least, more so than normal." Asher snickered, slowly getting more, and more side tracked as he wandered farther into the store. It wasn't long before David grabbed the boy by his collar and dragged him to the back of the store. Milo flashed him a cocky grin while Asher stumbled behind David.

"We got a problem. You said it was this one, right? It's too big." David released Asher to nealty pick up the jacket. "I mean, I know it's the thought that counts, but it's just not practical, Ash."

Asher was already looking through the piles. Wanting to be 100% sure they weren't missing anything. Starting to feel defeated. There was no way Asher was going to ask the clerk if there would be another shipment. Nor would he be willing to wait for a possible restock. Milo looked at his friend. He could tell those puppy dog eyes were gonna start bulging soon. A huff escaped his lips, and he stood straight with his hands on his hips. Trying to seem cool and a little bit taller.

"It's not like they're done growin'. And a jackets a jacket. If it's coverin', it's good." Milo couldn't stop the noogie barreling his way.

•●•●•●•

The handoff was swift. Just as the troublemaker was mounting their skateboard outside their middle school's gate, a familiar truck rolled up. From the truck's bed, Asher gave a quick "Heads up!" Before giving the equivalent of a basketball pass with a heavy black bag. A cackle could be heard, and the truck road off. Leaving them bamboozled.

It wasn't until Tank got home that they viewed the contents of the bag. The biggest, and goofiest smile spread across their face. They couldn't give two fucks about the size. It was from their favorite band. It was a gift. Someone cared enough to gift them something. Anything. But the fact that the few times they did speak, they were actually listened too. It nearly brought the runt to tears. It did. They won't admit it though. That's just embarrassing.

Really embarrassing. They were given a jacket by a boy. An upper classmen boy. A boy who was a part of their pack. Who they'd have to face on a regular basis. They did the jacket at the back of their closet. Still in it bag.

The disappointment in Asher's face really couldn't be hidden. Mostly for the fact that though the week of quick pass bys,they didn't wear the jacket. But he noticed at their next pack meeting, they'd give small waves now. Small smiles were attempted. This continued until Tank would inevitably start sitting near Asher during meetings. Or willingly go on group outing. This snowballed to the occasional video game or movie hangouts.

Still mostly lingering around Ash, or him leaning on them. When he did so, Tank would get flustered. But in true Tank fashion, would give his sides a punch or his legs a kick. Never hard enough to leave heavy bruises. What can I say? They play hard.

As oblivious to this Asher was, it was almost too embarrassing a site for the other second gen pack members. Cristian would poke his fun while Asher was away before Amanda could put him in check. Milo genuinely wanted to see how things would play out. David called them the "Disaster Duo" for a long while.

In true 2008 middle schooler cringe, Tank was convinced that the might have had the tiniest crush on Asher. But they denied it. Denied it so much that the others couldn't be convinced it wasn't true. There were lots of little arguments that summer. But Tank would immediately shut up when ever Asher came around.

•●•●•●•

Freshman year was something......

The teasing started to get out of hand. Asher would definitely hear the snickers and teasing. Especially now that it was directed towards him by his classmates. Asher would deny it during classes and lunches that they were just his "Lil Buddy." It's not like he really helped the situation. Hitting a growthspurt over the summer, it was easy to see him from down the hall. He'd wave and call Tank's name out into the crowd. His little buddy was drawing in a sea of students.

He'd elped them get to their classes by becoming a meat shield. Tank was just barely able to keep up. Asher once thought I'd be funny if he could heave them over his shoulder like a cheap, stringed gym bag. Tank was flustered but kicked and punched all the same.

The teasing one again grew when Tank finally decided to wear the damn jacket during school pictures. Not wanting to be remembered in the preppy outfit their parent picked out for then, they stowed the jacket away in their backpack.

The little smile on Asher's face couldn't have been bigger when he saw them in it. He was on his way to take pictures, and Tank was headed back to class. He pulled them off to the side of a couple half functioning vending machines.

"Sooooo? How're liking the jacket? I know it's too big but you said you like listening to the band. That, and I've never not seen it in your discman. I'm sorry I got it so big. It was t-." Asher's lip got stuck on a braces bracket, and he began to fumble his words. Quickly second-guessing if Tank even really liked the damn thing.

Giggling could be heard from a couple kids passing by. A light shove was made by another to Ash. A quick "Dork." was thrown his way. Heat rose in his face. In Tank's too. But out of frustration. Asher didn't do anything wrong. He was just trying to be a good friend.

And it clicked for the freshman. Why overthink and cause trouble for Asher if they could be a friend? That could be comfortable. They wouldn't have to avoid him like an unwanted puppy. He'd been their friend. Or at least trying to be. Shit didn't have to be weird.

"Hell yeah, bro! It really saved my ass today. My parents wanted me to look like some sort of outstanding citizen or some shit. Can't wait till I can bulk up some, though. I'll totally be able to take on David one on one." Tank beamed and jabbedAsher in the arm with quick fist. This was the loudest they had ever been as far as he knew. His goofy ass grin was back on his face. Before Asher could get out a word, Tank ran past him.

"Thanks dude!" They called out from the crowd, not looking back and focusing on making it through the herd of upper classmem.

•●•●•●•

The following years, Tank continued being bro-y with Asher. He laid off of a lot of physical contact in turn. But this was comfortable for them. Not real close like he was with the others but it was what Tank wanted. They seemed happier that way.

Tank absolutely wore the jacket every chance they got. Around their waist if need be. Ruined absolutely every single yearbook photo. Every pack meeting. Every fight. Even when they felt there was no one to run to for comfort. That jacket had been through hell and back. However, you can only stich fabric so many times.

It looks ratty, but there is no way they're giving it up any time soon. Even if hugs are always offered or dare I say mandatory.

Tank was now yelling at Asher for kicking their controller from their hands during their match of Mario Kart. Hands were thrown, but carefully so. The group of 8 were hanging out at David and Angel's after all. There was no way either of the two were willing to take beating from David. At the very least, another ban from the house. Laugher roared in the home from all sides. Of course, Sweetheart, being an opertunist, took first place of that round.

David and Sam had been in the kitchen, taking a break from the roundy bunch. He had asked Tank about the jacket on multiple occasions, but never gave a straight answer. He'd at least wanted to get it professionally fixed up. Tank had gotten used to all the stains and tears. Saying it was like "The scar that protected their scars." And was proud of it for always being there.

David was willing once again, shed a little light on the troublemaker. Sam let out a chuckle. The next round was starting, and he wanted to make sure he wouldn't be playing doctor that night. The two men returned. David taking his corner seat next to Angel. Same made his way to the recliner. His Darlin' not missing a beat, taking a seat on the beanbag they claimed earlier in the night between their mate's legs. All the while, raspberries were exchanges between them and Asher from across the room. His own mate laughing at their childsh antics.

This was all the comfort they could ask for.

▪︎■▪︎■▪︎■▪︎

Jacket really be a security blanket, tho. Sorry for the shit grammar. Caught some kind of cold, and my vision is absolute shit.

Bromance anyone?

#milo greer #redacted david #redacted sam #redacted tank #redacted darlin #david shaw #shaw pack #redacted milo #sam collins #redacted headcanons #redacted audio #redacted asmr #bromance #they're just friends

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slvt4lanadelrey · 10 months

Text

Flirty Stranger | Wednesday Addams | part three

Warnings: Wednesday being Wednesday, Kissing

Wednesday (8:31pm)

Dear Y/N,

I'm not quite sure how to use my device, yet.

It would be greatly appreciated, also highly praised if you attend a date with me. Let's say, now. I shall not take 'no' as an answer, I will break into your house again.

From Wednesday.

You (8:33pm)

Did you just address a message like a letter?

Wednesday (8:33pm)

Dear Y/N,

I think it's only proper to address such a formality in such a way,

Furthermore to my previous message, shall I be expecting you? Or should I break into your house once again? Either way, it'll be more than fun for me and Thing.

From Wednesday.

You (8:35pm)

What the fuck is a thing?

Wednesday (8:35pm)

Dear Y/N,

You're avoiding my request, will you accompany me on a date?

From Wednesday.

You (8:35pm)

When?

Wednesday (8:35pm)

Dear Y/N,

It pains me to know you aren't that smart, I just state rather clearly that I am willing to meet you right now.

From Wednesday.

You (8:37pm)

No.

Wednesday (8:37pm)

Dear Y/N,

I will not hesitate to break into your house again, it was rather easy.

From Wednesday.

You (8:40pm)

You just called me dumb :(

Wednesday (8:45pm)

Dear Y/N,

I wasn't insulting you, I was simply stating a fact.

Will you still join me on a date? I have a place where I think you would enjoy, it's deep into the forest.

From Wednesday.

You (8:46pm)

Stop saying Dear Y/N, and stop saying from Wednesday.

Wednesday (8:46pm)

Dear Y/N,

No.

From Wednesday.

Seen

Wednesday (9:13pm)

Dear Y/N,

I'm outside your house.

From Wednesday

There was a faint sound of rocks being thrown at your window, you scoffed in disbelief at how Wednesday wasn't joking. The late fall night meant that the sun had long set, nothing but darkness surrounding your home. The moment your window curtain was drawn open, the soft yellow light seeping into the crisp air: you looked down, there standing was Wednesday with a single black dahlia.

"I'm outside." She stated, tilting her head up to meet your tired eyes. She threw her hand up, showing off the elegant flower she had retreated for your liking.

"I got you a flower, apparently it's appropriate to show off these types of treats during a date. Is it not? My roommate Enid is rather a romantic, have a made a fool of myself?" She all but shouted, no doubt alerting your dad there was an intruder on his property.

Your hand pressed into your eye socket, rubbing the sleep from the place.

"No, no, it's sweet. I'm just tired, that's all." You mumbled, shrugging your jacket further up your body. She nudged her feet ever so slightly into the rocky floor, standing almost awkwardly in the centre of your driveway.

"Too tired to go on a date?" She sounded soft, almost. Her eyes landed on you, through the faint outline of the window you were standing in pyjamas, with a TV show blaring in the background.

"Can you give me 10 minutes to get changed?" She nodded, immediately taking the chance to actually go on a date with you.

You pushed away from the window, walking into your room.

"Can I come up?" She shouted, your head snapped back towards her body.

"I'm getting changed." You mumbled back, pulling your shorts down your body, leaning over to grab your jeans.

"That isn't a definite answer, no or yes?" You groaned, shaking your head at the girl's question. By the time you heard Wednesday move your body was already dressed and ready to enter the cold air of night.

"Do you need help getting down?" She asked, standing back to assess the drop she assumed you'd be falling.

"I'm using my front door, like a normal person." She rolled her eyes, leaning the area to meet you at your front door. When you pulled open the door, treading into the night she quickly pushed the flower into your chest, humming when your fingers wrapped around the stem.

"They're my favourite, I like everything black." She stated when you looked at her in question, you chuckled at the quizzed face she held. You shook your head, quickly re-entering the house to place the flower in the nearest vase.

"I gathered, but I'm just wondering why the Wednesday Addams has gone soft, especially due to a girl." Wednesday faced twisted into a sour state, shaking her head with a snarl.

"Don't read too much into it, Enid forced me to bring it." You didn't let the snap in her tone get to you, you simply leaned into her placing a soft but quick kiss to her cheek. You did however notice the remote way her lip quivered and almost turned into a small, especially the way her ears burnt a deep red.

"You're too cute, Wednesday." Once again, Wednesday didn't appreciate the comment. She stomped away, only turning back when she didn't hear your feet next to hers.

"You're coming, correct?" You snickered at her comment, laughing as you walked beside her.

"Not yet." You winked, smiling brighter when Wednesday flashed you a confused look.

When the both of you were nearest the forest, hopefully not walking into a trap where you'd never return home, Wednesday grabbed ahold of your hand, her cold fingers wrapped around yours.

She walked beside you, her mind assuring that her fingers were tightly wrapped around your hand; she'd never admit it, but you brought a weird scene of peace within her, just the slightest of touches helped calm all her wild thoughts.

"Are we near?" You yawned, your tired state once again drawing on your small frame. She looked around, stuffing her other hand into her pocket.

"Nearly."

Your back pressed into a small cushion, your back facing Wednesday as she set up a movie on the screen. The both of you were in the middle of nowhere, literally in the woods. There was a screen placed in front of the ocean of trees, a small laptop connected to it. She demanded to watch a classic, so when Dracula began to play you weren't surprised at all.

"You know, there's new versions of this show. Like remakes, stories of vampires." You commented, nibbling on the string of your hoodie, she didn't turn around, only groaning at your suggestion.

Soon enough, Wednesday slipped into the space beside you. She is nuzzling down, seeking your body heat for her own.

"That may be true, but nothing compares to the original." You couldn't argue with that logic, she was speaking straight facts. You hummed, subconsciously rubbing your cheek into her shoulder; She tensed, her shoulder going stiff against your touch.

"Are you okay?" You whispered over the movie, hushed but still loud enough for Wednesday's weirdly sensitive ears.

"Nothing. Go back to where you were." She demanded, pressing your back against the blanket and letting your head roll to her shoulder once again.

"I'm refreshed by your love for originals, but seriously, The Vampire Diaries is so good. Rebekah Mikalson is so hot, it's unreal." You mumbled into your hand, placing a piece of candy into your parted lips.

She hummed, offering you more food to stuff your face: hoping it would stop the words from leaving your lips as the climax of the show erupted.

"So fucking hot."

She knew you were going to stop talking, normally she would hate anyone and anything that would interpret her time whilst watching something she loved, but you were an exception, she liked the sound of your voice.

"Stop calling other women hot, whilst on a date with me." Wednesday felt like she drank vinaigrette straight up, a lemon after sting throbbing her tongue.

You giggled, kissing her cheek: her nose flared, the small of cherry lingering around her oxygen.

"I think you're hot too, Wednesday." You tried to ease her, hush her small fear that crept into her shallow heart.

"I wasn't seeking a complement." Wednesday corrected your behaviour, turning a literal cold shoulder on you.

Laughter erupted from your lips, smiling as the end scene rolled. You nuzzled your head into her chest, taking in her enticing scent: the rich aroma of cinnamon and wood.

"Can I?" You asked, your tongue grazing your teeth, eyes low and dark when they grazed at Wednesday's plushed lips.

They looked so kissable, so delicious, you wanted nothing more in the moment. You looked like you wanted to feast on her, act like she was your last meal.

"You may kiss me, only if you-"

Your lips pressed into hers, revelling in the way she gasped then let her fingers wrap around the back of your neck.

Your relationship with Wednesday was teasing, you mocking all her triumphs on winning your heart: but ultimately, she was the one holding the strings all along.

#jenna ortega #tara carpenter #lgbt #jennaortega #vada cavell #wlw #lorraine day #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addmas x fem #wednesday #wednesday addams x fem #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem #jenna ortega x fem!reader

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ringaroundaroses · 5 months

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BIG BIG DISNEY'S 'WISH' SPOILERS!

So. About King Magnifico...

Does anyone else feel like the filmmakers went in two contradictory directions with him? On one hand, he certainly has some issues *prior* to becoming a power-hungry megalomaniac, but on the other hand, him becoming a power-hungry megalomaniac genuinely doesn't seem like his fault? Now, that's not to say Magnifico didn't have issues. He's full of himself. He's a narcissist. Based on what Amaya said at the beginning ('don't you dare ever ask about the wishes, what a sorcerer does isn't your concern'), he may or may not be passive-aggressive to his wife-- and he's definitely passive-aggressive to his would-be apprentices. He's become complacent, he's egocentric, he's everything that would be bad in a leader-- --except Rosas genuinely doesn't seem bad under his rule? Asha only knows differently because she saw what wishes *could've* been granted, and granted, he shouldn't be the sole controller of who can fulfill the wishes, but I do feel like he would've been a lower-stakes political villain if Star didn't rush in and cause him to have a mental breakdown. Consider: Magnifico only got to the point of wanting to use the forbidden magic because Dahlia incited the crowd to annoy him. Significantly. He ignored what his wife said, and was in a bad mental state when he turned to the book. Prior to that, when he was more clear-headed, he *did* listen to Amaya and left the forbidden magic behind. This man is clearly hyped up on forbidden magic drugs and no one seems to be concerned by this? They're all saying he was always bad and all the good in him disappeared? Well yeah, technically true, except all the good melted away a day or two after he touched the no-no book that specifically was a danger to everyone. This reads like a possession/corruption plot point? Not a villain that's purely evil and can't be redeemed at all? He hadn't even *considered* breaking a wish up until touching the book, he was definitely not a good person but he only went comedically, scene-chewing evil after his magic corruption. I don't get the need to make him 'fall' *and* to have him get corrupted by a book, because one of the two makes him significantly less at fault than the other, and blending the two of them while treating him as a total lost cause feels... wrong? In some way? I've seen it done before, but those are usually played as a tragedy, and the tone used with Magnifico feels more like 'revel in how bad he is!' instead of 'he could've recovered from this if he didn't choose the obviously evil route.' Not to mention, he has a tragic backstory that's implied and... never brought up again? What was the point of that? If Disney wanted to do a homage to classical villains, giving them a random tragic backstory and then backtracking to add 'actually he's evil all along and super evil and super bad and not at all hyped on magic green bad juice' is a ... bizarre way to make a throwback villain. I like the performance. I honestly like Magnifico's scenes. I just... don't understand why he was written that way.

#disney wish #disney movies #wish 2023 #king magnifico #wish disney #wish spoilers #to be honest i don't think i'll get over magnifico's whole fall being because of an evil green evil book #even typing it out i can't quite accept the concept #i *wish* we had more scenes of him and amaya because that was genuinely one of the more complicated relationships of the movie #i feel like he might've loved her more than the kingdom? it's hard to tell-- but he at least seems to tone himself down a little near her #just a giant rant #okay-- but i'm also not over how amaya legitimately did not age. move over immortal magnifico #immortal amaya is on the scene

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kobitoshiningneedle · 7 months

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I think the tumblr Ace Attorney fandom has a weird stance on Dahlia Hawthorne. Even more so, on her culpability, to the point that some people claim that she was justified in killing Terry Fawles and even Valerie

First of all, we need to consider the main message of the games first and our personal sense of justice second, because Dahlia, as much as any other AA character, operates within the games' own narrative, and has consequences according to it. And Ace Attorney makes it quite clear that any human life is valuable and no one has a right to take it (illegally). This message was accentuated in TGAA mostly, but even in the trilogy we have Edgeworth who says "everyone deserves a fair trial"

And (I think I need to say before someone throws tomatoes at me) I'm not here to defend Terry Fawles and say that he didn't do anything wrong. He pretty much did, and the fact that he started to date his young pupil is pretty horrible and brow-raising, even if it's unclear who initiated it. It's also possible that Valerie was a neglectful sister, and that Dahlia's whole family was abusive and insufferable to her. The most important thing to understand here is that even if Terry and Valerie were all-round terrible people, killing Valerie and manipulating Fawles made Dahlia a criminal. Objectively.

The second point I see people miss is how disastrous was the collateral damage Dahlia caused in her attempts to cover herself. Poisoning Diego. Killing Doug. Attempting to kill Phoenix. Attempting to kill Maya. And the question is: in what way did any of these people do Dahlia injustice? What is their fault?

They didn't have any. By the time of T&T timeline she was pretty much a person poisoned by her hatred and fear. The main tragedy of her character is that she spiraled down from a mistreated schoolgirl who wanted to run away to a malicious woman who would stoop to crime whenever she needs to. I think this is a solid example of an anti-arc, in which Dahlia's fate was indeed shaped by her unfortunate circumstances in many ways, but! She still had agency in her actions, and having agency means having responsibility

To clarify: I don't hate hate Dahlia, even though my disagreement with the fandom lies in the amount of her hateability. I think she's fascinating and is a good foil to Mia. She pretty much IS a tragic character, and we actually have a good insight into her via Iris' recollections before the final trial segment - the person who probably understood Dahlia the most. Realizing that Dahlia was yet another victim of Fey family drama, much like our Maya (even if in other ways) adds some sympathy points to her. But I have a firm opinion that she wasn't exactly redeemable at the end of her criminal path

So, do I think Dahlia's character goes beyond the crazy-psycho femme fatale? Yes, even if the game wasn't really forthcoming about her childhood misfortunes as much as we would want to. Do I think Dahlia deserved condemnation in the end of BTTT? Yes, and I personally didn't expect Phoenix or Mia to pat her head after being responsible for the deaths of 4 people and (the other important part that adds to her hateability) feeling absolutely no remorse towards people that had nothing to do with her tragedy. Having complexity doesn't necessarily mean Dahlia is secretly better as a person, and understanding why a character became the way they are doesn't mean we should sympathize with or forgive them

#ace attorney #aa3 #dahlia hawthorne #meta #ace attorney critical #sorry if it came out preachy #i didn't wanna #and probably i just overreacted #but i think there is much nuance to dahlia even without justifying her actions #i do feel bad for her #but i feel more bad for Maya and Iris sorry

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behindthesoul · 6 months

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Forgotten Child - Ch. 3

Shang Tsung x Reader

Masterlist || Previous Part || Next Part

Characters - Shang Tsung, you, Li Mei, Kitana, Mileena

Summary - A night alone gives you feelings that spill into the next day

Word Count - 1600

Warnings - angst :) not proofread :)

Tags - @mortal-kombat-shitposts @geeky-trash01 @fandom-garbage

The black dahlia, a mysterious and alluring bloom, stands tall as you admire her petals. She’s been your favorite flower since childhood. You remember annoying your family with facts such as its petals are not actually black! Rather, it’s a purple, almost maroon color, and did you know they are native to Earthrealm?

Your admiration for the flower meant the palace gardens had a patch of black dahlias dedicated to you. Smaller than the patch of flowers dedicated to your sisters, but arguably more loved.

“You were always fond of the dahlia,” a voice says behind you, making you jump. Hand over your heart, you turn to confront the voice.

“First Constable! What are you doing here?!”

Li Mei smiles apologetically, not meaning to scare you. You were the only royal to remain close to her after the death of your father. His death hurt, yes, but your anger was never taken out on her.

“I should be asking you the same. It is late, you shouldn’t be out here.”

Though you trusted Li Mei, you couldn’t let slip that Shang was to visit you soon. It’s frustrating he’d rather keep your love hidden, but you’ll always respect his wishes. It would be nice if she could leave sooner than later.

“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you roam the palace grounds,” you deflect. “Does mother know you are here?”

She nods before moving in to give you a quick hug. She sighs, and you can tell her heart is heavy. The grief of not only losing her emperor, but her closest friend too, was almost too much to bear. You’ll never envy her position in life.

“My family is in deep mourning, Li Mei. I know you miss everyone; I promise they’ll come around soon.”

There’s not much truth to your words. Your mother will most likely hold a grudge against her until the end of time. Still, you hope your worlds will comfort her. Li Mei shakes her head, as if to remind herself why she’s here.

“I was instructed to inform you the Empress wants you to welcome the Earthrealmers for the tournament tomorrow.”

“Ah! The tournament. It completely slipped my mind.”

Li Mei suddenly looks concerned, much to your confusion. She holds your face in her hands and looks deep into your eyes, trying to find something wrong. You relax in her touch; she’s always felt like a second mother to you.

“Not once have you ever forgotten about an Earthrealm visit. You enjoy talking to Liu Kang. What occupies your mind?”

Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung, Shang Tsung -

“Nothing, I have just been busy.”

Li Mei wants to press further, but decides against it. She wishes you well before taking her leave, leaving you alone once again. You wander around the garden for some time. Shang is a tad bit late, but not enough to make you worry. You return your focus to the garden, heart aflutter in anticipation. There were better, more hidden places for the two of you to meet, but something about the gardens heightens the experience of your secret romance. Maybe it’s the way Shang plucks a rose before placing it in your hand, or the way the dahlia seems to capture his heart, too.

In the distance you spot a clock tower, its chiming announcing the midnight hour, and still, there’s no sign of your love. Anxiety laughs and begins to taunt you, but you swallow the negative feelings and choose to have faith Shang will appear soon. Gazing up at the moon, you whisper his name, hoping he’ll somehow hear your call.

Hours and hours pass. It’s a bit embarrassing, spending hours in the same spot. He isn’t going to show, you know he won’t, but your mind tells you to stay put. The first glimmers of dawn appear, the dark sky morphing into pinks and golds; despair settles in. The birds sang with you not too long ago but now they mock you with their joyous songs.

The sun’s golden rays cast shadows over the garden as you lower your head in sorrow. Precious time that could’ve been spent reading, writing, or sleeping was now wasted by false words. You allow yourself to drown in sorrows for a little while longer before making your way to your bedroom. It’s time to start your day.

Resting before the tournament would’ve been wise. You feel a bit off as you wait for the Earthrealmers with your sisters. All-nighters aren’t uncommon for you. You learned from an early age how to make yourself appear as normal as possible even when you’re running on two hours of sleep. Still, rest would be appreciated. If only someone told you he wasn’t coming…

“Something bothers you. Are you unwell?” Kitana asks, looking over at you. Sighing, you erase any current thoughts of Shang, realizing your frustration with him is easily shown on your face. Maybe you aren’t good at appearing normal.

“I’m fine, Kitana.”

“Are you sure? Mileena and I can greet the Earthrealmers alone. You look upset, you need time alone.” Kitana places her hand on your back and gently nudges you away. Mileena notices your pained expression, and shoos you away.

“You both treat me like a child…” you want to protest more, but you honestly don’t feel like being here. You want to find Shang Tsung and berate him for not showing up, but you also want to curl up in your bed and cry. Finally giving in, you leave your sisters, but not before telling them to apologize to Liu Kang for your absence. You make your way to your room, carefully avoiding any place your mother may be.

To your surprise, Shang Tsung sits on your bed while staring out the window. The sight of him turning around and looking at you with soft eyes would normally make you melt, but you feel anger seeping in. You glare at him, before climbing into your bed.

“Get. Out. I am not in the mood for you right now.”

He sighs before standing to close your door; Shang has to make sure no one sees you’re in his room. He climbs into bed with you and you quickly turn around so your back is facing him. For a moment, guilt passes over his features. It’s a feeling he’s never been familiar with. Throwing an arm over your waist - and noting how you make no effort to move it - he speaks:

“I had matters to attend to last night, something I couldn’t avoid.”

You roll your eyes. “I would’ve appreciated a message, a note, anything, to let me know you were busy. Instead, I sat in the gardens like a fool. A fool who was mocked by the sun’s rising. I wonder if you even care about our time together.”

“I do care, more than I once thought,” Shang replies, gaining your interest. You turn around and face him, eyes still dark with anger. It feels like a small win to him.

“More than you once thought? You did not care in the past?”

“When we met, I did not expect to fall in love with you. Nor did I expect a royal to pay attention to someone like me. You are beautiful, loving, and so much more than I deserve-”

“Get to the point, sorcerer,” you snap, “I currently have no stomach for your tangents.”

He sighs, taking a moment to collect himself. “I cannot explain the circumstances of my absence right now. But know that it was a matter of utmost importance. I do apologize for being unable to notify you, and I ask for your forgiveness.”

Torn between your love for Shang Tsung and the pain of his absence, you stay quiet. Anger fades but leaves behind slight resentment. “I took time to think to myself last night. I cannot be in a relationship I have to hide. I want Outworld to see I am proud of my love, and I want you to be proud, too. I wonder if these feelings are wasted on a man like you.”

“They are not. I understand your wishes and I ask that you be patient for a while longer.” Lying to you is odd, he can’t describe the feeling, but it doesn’t feel good. Making your relationship public could bring unwanted attention to his and Quan Chi’s actions. He briefly wonders if getting involved with you was a mistake, but he can’t bring himself to break things off. Shang feels selfish for wanting your touch.

“You say that often. I wait, and wait, but nothing happens. Your words are starting to feel empty.” You want to cry. Neither of you expected a lonely night in the gardens would bring up so many feelings. It’s late in the afternoon now; Quan Chi will surely wonder where Shang is by now. He begrudgingly gets out of your bed and opens your window, preparing to leave.

“I will return tonight, we can talk further then.” Shang looks back at you with a neutral expression, but his heart is annoyingly hopeful. This conversation felt disjointed and leaves you both uneasy and unsatisfied. It doesn’t matter to you though, you want time to yourself.

“Do not bother, sorcerer. For now, I think it’s best if we go our separate ways.”

#mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat fanfic #shang tsung x reader

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frost-queen · 7 months

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A cat's way (Reader x Enoch O'Connor ft. the cat)

Requested by: @puppysjy ,Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

A/n: The cat has been changed to a male cause I thought it would be funnier.

Enoch sighed relieved seeing you sit alone by the tree. To be absolutely sure he looked around. Up and down hoping he wouldn’t encounter him. Behind him were Hugh and Fiona playing tag. Claire trying her best to join. Just a bit to his left he saw Olive helping Emma put the squirrel back up in the tree. Yet no annoying thing to be seen. Enoch plastered on a charming smile ready to make his way over to you. He took about three steps till he heard the annoying voice. – “Looking for me?” – Enoch turned his head upwards seeing the cat slide down a branch coming in view.

Enoch’s smile dropped, sighing deep. – “In your dreams furball.” – Enoch mocked back. The cat hissed loud dropping down in front of him. He came to sit down licking his paws. Enoch rolled his eyes at it, moving to go around it. The cat jumped aside blocking his path. It made Enoch groan annoyed, stepping more to the right.

The cat once again blocked his path to you. – “Let me through you furball!” – Enoch called out bothered. The cat licked his paw, then washed it behind his ear. – “If you say please.” – The cat answered plainly. It made Enoch boil, clenching his hand. – “Like hell!” – Enoch called out. The cat shuddered out a chuckle. – “See you getting all worked up over me.” – he responded.

“Y/n!” – Enoch called out having enough of his interruption. You jerked your head in his direction. �� “Y/n!” – Enoch repeated waving his arms at you. The cat hissed loud jumping at him. Enoch stumbled backwards onto his back. The cat sitting on his chest. – “Get off!” – Enoch groaned out, wriggling to get the cat off him. The cat hissed again at him, pressing his paw firm onto his chest. – “Mister Fluffzpants.” – you said.

Instantly the cat turned to you, squinting its eyes to give you the sweetest expression. You bend down to pick your cat up. – “Are you playing with Enoch?” – you asked as you moved it close to your chest. Mr. Fluffzpants purred, snuggling his head against you. Enoch moved his upper body up. – “That thing is ferocious.” – he called out with a point. – “Mr. Fluffzpants?” – you answered confused looking down at your sweetest cat.

You pulled him up, pressing his cheek against yours. – “Look at him. He’s the cutest thing ever.” – you said as the cat purred against your cheek. The moment it stared down at Enoch disappeared all signs of cuteness. – “See!” – Enoch said desperately. You walked up to Enoch, offering him your hand. He took it letting you pull him up. You started brushing some dirt off him.

“There all better.” – you said. – “Y/n I…” – Enoch started taking your hand. – “Yes…” – you replied. – “Au!” – Enoch blurted out pulling his hand away from you. Your eyes widened seeing the scratch marks on his hand. – “Mr. Fluffzpants!” – you called out looking sternly at the cat. – “That wasn’t very nice.”

You dropped the cat onto the ground. – “Hey!” – it called out feeling tossed away. – “Oh Enoch does it hurt?” – you asked taking his wounded hand gently into yours. Enoch tried to hide his smile of victory. You carefully touched it as Enoch flinched at the touch. – “He’s exaggerating.” – Mr. Fluffzpants called out. Enoch shook his head trying so hard not to show he actually was. – “Hush Mr. Fluffzpants.” – you said with a dismissive glare.

Enoch stuck his tongue out to the cat behind your back. The cat hissed as you hardened your glare. Mr. Fluffzpants laid down begging for forgiveness. – “Let me tend to you Enoch.” – you spoke taking him with you back to the house. Mr. Fluffzpants got up, narrowing his eyes on Enoch. – “You better sleep with one eye open boy.” – he purred out. He then ran after you as he barely left your side.

You led Enoch inside the pink manor darting out of the way of a running Bronwyn and Horace rushing down the stairs. You crossed over heading into the kitchen. You sat Enoch down by his shoulders on a chair. – “Does it hurt much?” – you asked looking in some cabinets for bandages. Enoch was about to speak when Mr. Fluffzpants hopped onto the counter. He glared at Enoch, tilting his head to the side. Enoch gulped nervously.

“Uhm...not so much anymore.” – he answered. You found some bandages noticing Mr. Fluffzpants. – “You behave.” – you said. – “As always.” – he answered lowering his head in a bow. You cleaned his wound and put a bandage on it. – “Perhaps a kiss?” – Enoch said boldly offering you his hand. – “Perhaps not.” – Mr. Fluffzpants called out. You smiled touching Enoch’s nose. – “You are teasing me.” – you spoke as Enoch smiled nervously at his missed opportunity.

You rubbed Mr. Fluffzpants on his head before heading out. – “I’d watch your back O’Connor.” – The cat said showing him his claws. Enoch puffed loud. – “You better watch yours furball!” – he responded getting up. – “When you are dead I’ll toy with your body for funs.” – Enoch called out before darting out of the kitchen.

The cat gasped loud. – “You foul monster!” – Mr. Fluffzpants shouted dipping down the counter onto the ground. – “I shall have your eyes scratched out. Playing with your guts like a ball of wool!” – he shouted standing in the hallway. Miss Peregrine who had just left her study, cleared her throat. Mr. Fluffzpants chuckled nervously, dipping his head down. Miss Peregrine watched him run off like a scaredy cat. On his way he knocked over a jar. It crashed down, glass shattering around.

The cat gasped loud, stopping briefly in his tracks with a raised paw. Miss Peregrine’s eyebrow rose higher. The cat rushed up the stairs. Darting between Millard’s walking shoes. Millard nearly tripped over the cat. Mr. Fluffzpants kept looking over his shoulder hoping Miss Peregrine wouldn’t follow him. He jumped into a room, jumping onto Enoch’s lap. – “What are you doing?” – Enoch called out. – “She’s coming.” – he said scared plopping of his lap. – “I need hiding.” – Mr. Fluffzpants rushed through his room towards the shelves.

Enoch got up moving over to his shelves. – “No! Get out!” – he called out trying to catch the cat by his tail as it jumped from shelf to shelf. Enoch’s eyes widened as one of his jars toggled over. He was able to catch it in time making him sigh relieved. Mr. Fluffzpants jumped on Enoch hearing footsteps in the corridor. – “Who is it?” – Enoch asked feeling the cat’s tail draped over his shoulder. – “The bird.” – he whispered lowering himself.

“Miss P.” – Enoch gasped out as the cat hid in his sweater. Enoch squirmed as it tickled him. Mr. Fluffzpants moved to his back, grabbing onto his shirt underneath his sweater. There was a knock on Enoch’s door as it made them both gasp. The door opened as Enoch and the cat feared the worst. – “Hi Enoch.” – Enoch sighed relieved as it was only Olive. – “Hi Olive.” – he responded pulling his sweater open by his back. – “Now get off!” – Enoch insisted wiggling his back to get the cat off. Olive stared confused at the display.

She blinked confused when Mr. Fluffzpants dropped onto the ground. The cat hissed at Enoch. – “I saved your catty life!” – he called out. Mr. Fluffzpants bowed his head. It then rushed out of the room past Olive. – “Are you two getting along?” – she asked curious. – “No.” – Enoch responded loudly. – “Not even a little bit?” – she continued sweetly. – “We are not friends.” – Enoch declared. Mr. Fluffzpants made his way to your room as you were there to his surprise.

“Oh where have you been.” – you asked as the cat jumped onto your nightstand. – “You don’t want to know.” – he answered. He lifted his head up as you scratched his neck. – “Do you want a belly rub Mr. Fluffzpants?” – you asked. The cat hopped onto your lap, rolling over. – “You don’t have to say that twice.” – he purred moving a bit with his paws. You smiled rubbing his belly. You sighed soft staring into the distance. Mr. Fluffzpants rolled over, setting his paw against your chest, standing upright.

“What is it owner.” – he asked curious. You gave him a faint smile as he already knew what you were thinking off. – “Don’t think of that boy.” – he called out patting your nose with his soft paw. – “I can’t help it.” – you answered. – “You have me. You needn’t need anyone else. Never had.” – Mr. Fluffzpants reminded you. – “I know… but having Enoch around makes me feel something Fluffz.” – you answered. Mr. Fluffzpants lowered itself on your lap once more. Claire came knocking on your door telling you that diner was ready. After diner were you outside.

Walking a bit around as Mr. Fluffzpants was near you. Guarding you like he always had. He jumped, narrowing his eyes. – “Not a chance.” – he said to Enoch, stopping him from taking another step. Enoch sighed deep. – “Let me have a moment with her.” – he begged. – “No!” – Mr. Fluffzpants answered grumpy. – “I…you owe me for letting you hide from Miss P!” – Enoch let out to blackmail the cat. The cat turned his head rudely. – “That was hardly any saving. It was only Olive.” – he answered dismissively.

Enoch smirked. – “Then you wouldn’t mind me telling Miss P where you are so she can have you clean up your mess.” – he expressed with vanity. The cat remained silent looking anxious around. – “What cat caught your tongue?” - Enoch pressed on. The cat gave him a side-eye for such a stupid comment. Then it sighed loud, sitting down. – “Fine, but only because you please my owner.” – he said, tail swishing over the grass.

“Thank you.” – Enoch said. – “Don’t mention it.” – Mr. Fluffzpants answered. Enoch walked passed the cat over to you. The cat turned watching from afar how Enoch met up with you. Seeing the joy in your eyes upon seeing him. – “Perhaps not so bad after all.” – he muttered with a smile. – “What was that cat?” – Mr. Fluffzpants meowed loud jumping out of his skin.

Panting he looked up to seeing Olive suddenly stand by him. – “Nothing!” – he groaned out annoyed. Olive bend down to him. – “Don’t worry I won’t tell a soul.” – she winked knowing the two of them warming up to each other. Olive left as Mr. Fluffzpants laid himself down in the grass, keeping a watchful eye on you from afar. Just like he always had.

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