#I’m trying to commit to only playing her on stream but

[wtf-amiru]

Bg3 break

Do It For Her ™️

[k-hotchoisan]

hiiiii <333 I have lovedddd lovvvveeeddd alll of your works I actually spent my day reading each and everyone of them I love it so muchhh!! 😭❤️

I have a request teehee, could you write one where Sannie is like a professor in your college and there’s little teasing here and there and where he ends up having her alas!! DOM - SAN ‼️💋

his favourite

<prof!san x fem!reader>

Prof Choi likes playing favourites.

You’re his favourite.

Genres/Warnings: smut, dom professor Choi San, pwp, face fucking, unprotected sex, oral (m receive) ,mutual pining, age gap, size kink, cream pies, mild jealousy plot, sir kink, light bondage (just tying up reader) teasing, sexual tension, teaching assistantxteacher obv forbidden but we still eat it up anyway!

Word count: 12.3K

a/n: happy birthday to the man of my dreams </3 enjoy this little choi san birthday treat. i put my love into this so please love this as much as i did! and thank you @bro-atz for the tidbits of help as always 🩷

apply for taglist here!

You stare at the laptop screen, scanning through your details on the application form, double, and triple checking that everything was filled in correctly. 

“Which professors are you trying as a teaching assistant for?” Your roommate asks, her neck craning over to see you attaching the file to six different emails, to six different professors within the department, pretty much answering her question the moment she reads off each professor’s email. 

“Why not try for the department chair?”

You scrunch your eyebrows as if it’s the first time you’re hearing that. 

“Who?”

“Professor Choi?”

Your eyes widen, your neck almost getting whiplash from how fast you turned to your roommate at the sound of his name. 

“Why the fuck would I try him?” 

Your roommate shrugs in an attempt to hide her amused reaction from your reaction at his name. 

“Who knows? I’m confident he remembers you even though you spent only one semester with him”, she hums turning away to pour herself another ice drink from the pitcher. “On a serious note, you may as well just get all the help you can get. Besides, what are the chances that Prof Choi sees your email? He’s the department chair. I’m sure his mailbox is just flooded anyway.” 

True, you think to yourself, turning your head back to your laptop, and adding the professor’s email address in. But you still hesitate, staring at the application form, your cursor hovering over the send button. Your roommate looks over at you, and she decides that your wishy-washy behaviour is just being the biggest nuisance on earth, so her hand flies over yours and helps you to press send, and she watches you freak out at her while she giggles and escapes after committing her crime, chasing your roommate around the kitchen island for a good seven minutes.

Settling back down in defeat, you sigh in your hands, giving yourself pep talks. 

Right. 

The chances are close to zero that Prof Choi will see my application anyway. 

The chances of him remembering me are close to zero anyway. 

You shut your laptop, and the applications are completely erased from your mind. 

“Yo, check your emails, babe. The application results are out for me”, your roommate says, her eyes glued to her laptop screen. 

You settle yourself down across her, a chilled drink in your hand, pulling up your email inbox. As you expected, you see the subject headline ‘Teaching Assistant Application Results’, and you expand the email.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, you mutter, loud enough for your roommate to hear. Her head pops out from behind her screen. 

“Who did you get?”

“Choi San.”

Professor Choi San. His classes weren’t the bane of your existence—but he, himself was. 

And the fact that it only took one semester to solidify that claim. Almost everyone wanted to get into his class, so fucking many of them just squealing over how he looked almost god-like. You wonder how much of a swoon he would be, how much of the rumours that travelled down the stream were factual, though with thousands of students constantly fighting for a spot in his class, you sure were coloured surprised when you landed a spot in Professor Choi’s class. 

The moment he walked in, the whispers within the confines of the lecture hall erupted into gasps and squeals. Unfortunately, the rumours were right—the moment ProfessorChoi walked in, it was as if your eyes naturally followed his movement—confident strides in his steps dictated by his outfit—a simple dress shirt under a dark gray vest that accentuated his wide shoulders and skinny waist.  

He was so fucking handsome—his hair neatly slicked back, frameless glasses sat on his nose bridge, his sharp and small eyes hiding behind the lens. Undoubtedly, seeds of infatuation began lodging themselves in you. Well, it’s not like you had a chance with him anyway, especially when the gold band reflected from his ring finger being a huge indicator. Maybe keeping him as an eye candy would work out just fine. 

Prof Choi’s classes were interesting, and he as a professor, other than being a distraction during the majority of his classes, held his credentials. However, at times, some sarcastic comments would bubble to the surface, and even though he did tend to commend top-scoring students for tests, he still maintained professionalism for the most part—the content taught wasn’t rocket science anyway. You saw yourself being able to breeze through the syllabus for the most part until you received your grade for one of your essays. You stared at his comments, marked in red lines, circles, and words—tone cold and direct—not that you weren’t used to it, but this time? You felt his comments alongside him marking you down were completely unjustified. 

It was then that you pushed past the group of girls who would stay back after class to shamelessly flirt with him, under the guise of wanting to discuss more about the content taught that day, and you stood before the group, asking to speak to Prof Choi personally. Prof Choi did have people staying back after class to consult with him about grades, although they would stay shortly with him staying stern to his marking rubrics, but when he realised you weren’t backing down on top of the way you approached him so directly, it intrigued him.

His office was spacious, considering that he was the department chair—and without introductions, he had you dive in immediately in consultation. 

You wasted no time, flipping through the spent pages of your essay, pointing out areas where you felt his comments were unjustified. Prof Choi listened, and he refuted your points, some of which you decided to accept but not for one particular part;

“This part had no proper scientific support of your argument for this point-“

“Bullshit”, you cut him off. Prof Choi blinked, shocked at the blunt cut from you. His eyebrows were scrunched in confusion next, wondering if he heard right that a student not only just cut him off, but cussed at him.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s here. A small significance value is still something isn’t it?” You replied, pointing at the paragraph after. He glanced at the paper once more, forcing himself to focus while you fought back that your argument was supported. 

So you made Prof Choi sit before you and listen to your elaborations, and needless to say, he was rather impressed, although he had to hold his expression neutral. 

You came out of the consultation victorious—the day Prof Choi called you over after his class again, handing you your script, and you saw your total marks shooting up to a gorgeous score. Your head was so into the clouds that you returned a smirk along with a shrug—showing off your victory and satisfaction as your thanks—an I told you so, leaving the professor to stare after you in awe while you practically skipped to your seat. 

That sealed your fate. 

From then on, Prof Choi would have his attention on you—recognising which seat you picked to sit in in class, wondering why you hadn’t dared sit nearer. And when it came to picking people to answer questions, his gaze would fly to you immediately—either waiting to call you out once you raised your hand or simply calling you when he felt like it. For some sick reason, he finds the way your face scrunches up in stress when he calls your name in his honey-soaked voice amusing, and even adorable at times, though he would never admit it. But oh, did he love the comments and answers you would give him. 

Despite that assignment being the only one where you decided to consult Prof Choi, following every grade release of an assignment, he would single you out, especially after class, to fucking ask if you had questions regarding said assignment, which honestly started to freak you out—mostly because he never gave you the attention before, and you weren’t used to it. The whispering gossip in the class about you being the teacher’s pet slowly reached your ears too, and even Prof Choi heard it—and he only exacerbated that rumours by constantly giving you his attention. 

Every time you reached your dorm, the words that left your mouth which your roommate could recite verbatim, “I swear to god, Prof Choi has it out for me!”

Not to mention you were fucking relieved when the last day of his class rolled around, but unfortunately, his parting words to you were, “I’m sure I’ll see you around, y/n”. You did everything in your power to avoid getting into his class and even bumping into him, which seemed to work swell. 

Until now that is. 

Now here you are again, standing before the familiar heavy wooden door, staring up at the wooden plate, embossed with gold lettering “Department Chair Choi San” staring right at you. You had to physically drag yourself off your bed to prepare for the first day partnered with Prof Choi. And when your roommate’s words of “oh come on, he can’t be that bad. He’s hot!”, echoed through your ears, it all the more made you want to just ditch your first day by clawing your eyeballs out. 

You had to collect yourself before Prof Choi collected you. 

With a raised knuckle, you rap against the door, taking deep inhales in the process. His voice, which sounded deceivingly like honey, remained the same as you remembered. 

“Come in.”

You pause for a moment, embracing yourself before holding onto to doorknob and pushing his door open. 

There he was, Professor Choi, his eyes focused on the scripts on his desk, which had piled up. His space remained the same as you remembered, for the most part—shelves littered with awards and files, the same desktop taking up one-quarter of his huge ass desk, and the couch with the coffee table left to the side of the room. Prof Choi wore a stern look of concentration on his face, still preoccupied with finishing up marking his scripts. 

When his pen pauses and his gaze shifts towards the door, a small smile spreads across his face. He lifts his head and drops his pen, interlocking his fingers on his desk with growing amusement when his eyes meet yours. 

Fuck, he’s still so handsome.

“Professor Choi”, you greet, holding your expression neutral as you bow, forcing yourself not to fidget with your tote bag. 

“Y/n!” Prof Choi greets almost too enthusiastically. “I would assume you would be more than delighted when I picked you to be my teaching assistant.”

“Honoured, almost”, you reply. It’s taking all of your energy not to break his gaze. He’s staring at you with unreadable eyes, and you’re wondering if the fluttering in your chest is from the anxiety or the way Prof Choi is staring at you.

Prof Choi laughs, and it tickles your ears a little too good. 

“Sit. We have a lot to go through today”, he gestures to the seat before him, and you take it.

He switches on his monitor to his course syllabus and turns the monitor slightly towards you. 

“Oh, before we begin, it’s a pleasure meeting you again, y/n.”

Oh boy, was being Prof Choi’s teaching assistant a fucking handful. You knew it was gonna be rough, but to be assisting Professor Choi San? He was on another level—his schedule would be filled to the brim with meetings with the faculty on top of conducting classes weekly. You struggled in your first month, learning the ropes, especially from a busy and challenging professor like him. He wasn’t mean or cold at all, on the contrary, more direct and meticulous. Well, he had to be, considering his position. Nonetheless, it felt like he was always too busy to attend to your questions sometimes, and that would leave you to your own devices. 

You stand in the aisle, looking down at the assortment of foods lined up in the chiller. Has Prof eaten yet? Does he even eat? What does he even eat? By instinct, you pull out your phone and open his chat. 

[you]: Hi Prof. Have you eaten? I’m at the convenience store near the campus. I could grab something quick for you. 

A couple of minutes go by, but your phone doesn’t receive a ping, and you had to reach the office soon. So you pick up another tuna rice ball for the professor alongside yours before making a beeline for the cashier. 

Prof Choi hears the knock on his door and as usual, he utters his usual “come in”. His gaze lands on you, and he glances at the clock. 

“You’re on time today”, he points out. 

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. “I’m always on time, Professor.”

“You’re usually in a little earlier.”

“Right, because I got you this”, you reply, rustling through the plastic bag in your hands, fishing out the rice ball.

He looks up at you, confusion hinted in his expression. He doesn’t take the food yet. 

“What’s this?” 

“Tuna rice ball. Surely only having coffee in the morning is not filling your stomach.” 

You put the food in front of him. “Besides, I messaged you but you didn’t reply. So I just chose something safe. Unless you’re telling me you’re allergic to tuna or something.”

Prof Choi blinks. His hands reach out to take the snack from the desk, unwrapping the plastic packaging as he watches you leave his office to grab a mug of coffee. He glances over at his phone, and sure enough, your name is there with your message.

Since then, his reply would pop up in mere minutes whenever you asked him if he wanted anything to eat. 

Of course, the more you spent time with him, the more you grew comfortable, and all the thoughts you ever stressed about slowly faded off. Prof Choi grew more relaxed around you, internally grateful that you’re able to tank a significant fraction of his workload for him. Undoubtedly, you also come to realise that Prof Choi is human after all—he obviously would make mistakes, even as someone of his caliber, and deep inside, you found it rather cute, well, until you had to stop yourself from developing deranged thoughts. 

Not to mention, another problem seemed to pop up—his flirty banter. He likely picked up that it made you flustered sometimes, and since then, he wouldn’t let it go, relishing at the way pink creeps up your cheeks when he would say something that wasn’t like his ‘professor-self’, and at worst, feeding into your crooked thoughts. 

You stare at him as he types away, particularly, the metal band around his ring finger. You wonder who was the lucky lady who had the chance to be with him. You blink. 

What the hell were you thinking?

“It’s rude to stare, you know”, Prof Choi’s voice snapping you out of your daydreams. 

“I’m just wondering about your ring, that’s all”, you reply, forcing your attention back to your half-marked assignments.

“I’m not actually married”, he suddenly confesses, and for some reason, it makes your heart beat slightly faster. 

“Huh?” Is all you manage to reply. 

Prof Choi chuckles. He pauses his work on the desktop, turning his attention to you. Even though you have worked so closely with him for a while already, you can never seem to find your composure around him. 

Even though you see his face every week, you can’t seem to wrap your head around how insanely good-looking he is, how sometimes you struggle to maintain eye contact with him, because it doesn’t take long before you feel yourself slowly flushing. 

“I wear it on my ring finger so the students stop asking about my marital status”, Prof Choi clarifies. You watch him pull the ring from his ring finger and fit it over his index. 

“So you’re single”, you echo.

He nods, “I’m single.” 

What is this strange feeling of relief?

“What about you?” He suddenly asks. You’re not looking directly at him, and you don’t realise the way he’s looking at you attentively. And if you do, you just might combust.

“I’m…single too”, you answer, trying to meet his gaze, fidgeting with the red pen in between your fingers. 

“And why’s that? Too busy fighting with your professors for grades?”

You glare at him. 

“I think it was my professor picking fights with me”, you reply quickly, jabbing right back at him. 

You watch Prof Choi lower his gaze, a smile spreading across his cheeks—an actual smile—his dimples showing up. Oh fuck. Just when you thought you could depend on your ribcage to contain your heart properly, you found out Prof Choi could actually smile. 

When he looks up at you again, you break the eye contact, your gaze flying back to the papers before you. 

“You know, I’ve met many students, but you were the first to cuss out at me.”

You did? “I did?”

Your professor nods, cocking his eyebrow at the way you had seemed to have simply forgotten something as eventful as that. 

This time, Professor Choi bursts into a chuckle, completely amused by your reaction. 

“Is that why you kept-“

“Giving you chances to answer in class for credit? You should really thank me for that. Your grade for my class was one of the highest you know.”

You feel your cheeks flush. But before you can retaliate, Prof Choi cuts you off.

“Jokes aside, no. I think the discussion we had that afternoon had an impression on me. The cherry on top was you cussing at me. I liked that. Refreshing and endearing”, Prof Choi continues, his attention seeping back to the pile of scripts before him. 

“I think this side of Professor is pretty refreshing and endearing too”, you let it slip.

His pen pauses in mid-air. You don’t catch his gaze completely softening on you. 

As the semester continues on, you began easing into the class schedules. You watch prof get swarmed by a group of students, a usual ritual that happens right when the class ends. At this point, you had grown used to it. Sometimes the students would come and approach you instead, which honestly surprised you, but your heart would feel warm, knowing that these students trusted you.

It was then you became acquainted with another teaching assistant under Prof Choi, who joined shortly after you did—Choi Jongho. Initially, he came off as a rather shy individual, but the both of you warmed up quickly with each other, sharing the workload and bonding over gossip with each other. Gosh, was he fucking amazing with gossip, especially when it came to Professor Choi. Soon enough, the both of you were texting almost on a regular basis, the conversations weighing more towards academic topics sprinkled with a little gossip. 

“You’re going off with Choi Jongho?”

“Yeah”, you reply, bunching the papers in your hands. “I’ve got some things to discuss with him about.” Partially true. 

For some reason, even though your professor has been completely swamped with papers to grade and meetings to attend, you would always find him loitering around your desk from time to time. He seems to especially enjoy doing that when you’re around. 

“You’ve been spending an awfully lot amount of time with him”, Prof Choi points out, looking over your shoulder as he watches you scribble on another student’s paper. 

“Yeah, we get along well actually. Isn’t that a good thing, Prof? Both your teaching assistants are besties.”

For some reason, that makes Prof Choi frown, but you’re too absorbed in your work to notice it.

A couple of minutes go by, and you still feel his presence, not that you mind, but you’re starting to find it peculiar that he’s been hanging around your desk a lot recently.

“Do you have something to discuss with me, prof?” You ask, eyes still glued to the paper.

“Yes”, he replies, taking another sip from his mug. “What do you think of Choi Jongho?”

Such a random question to ask, you think. Maybe he’s just making sure you and Jongho get along well?

You pause, giving yourself to think, tapping the back of the red pen against your bottom lip, taken aback by Prof Choi’s sudden question, but the conversations you and Jongho had resurfacing into your brain, and a giggle escapes you, which makes Professor Choi subconsciously narrow his eyes and furrow his brows. 

“He’s fun to be around, and despite how he looks, he’s actually got a wicked sense of humor. Oh god, wait. Let me tell you what you he did that day while we were having lunch together-“

You turn your head to continue to run your mouth, only to slowly trail off when realise his face is just inches from yours, and you swear your heart is on a treadmill from the lack of distance between you and Prof Choi. It’s as if time paused, the both of you sinking right into each other’s gazes. You can’t help but notice how intense his gaze is, and you can’t seem to decipher his thoughts, but from the way this situation played out, you swore he’d just lean in and kiss you. 

Your heartbeat accelerates at the thought—why would he do that?

And when his fingers are on your chin, your rational thoughts are getting flushed out. 

“That’s an awful lot of cute things about Choi Jongho. I’ve never heard you talk about another Choi like that.”

You swallow hard, your body still frozen in spot. 

“What do you think about him then?” 

“Jongho? I was just-“

“No. Choi San.”

Oh god. You could only stare back at him. Prof Choi tilts his head, his eyebrows raised, waiting for his answer. His cologne floats and almost shuts down your senses—has he always smelled this good? 

The corner of his lips curl slightly at the way you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights. 

“I t-think Prof-“

“San. Choi San”, he corrects you. 

Another hard swallow the more you try to focus your gaze on him. 

“I think Choi San’s a great professor. He’s really competent, a lot softer than he presents himself as-“

Fuck you can’t think. Not when he’s staring down your eyes to your lips like that. 

“Mmhm.”

“And he’s really so-“

Then a loud knock echoes across the room, breaking the tension. Prof Choi’s body doesn’t shift, but he looks up at the door, shouting “door’s unlocked”, before he stands back upright, adjusting his glasses and walking back to his desk. 

Jongho’s head peeks in, then he bows at Prof Choi before he walks to your desk. You stare up at him with a forced smile. 

“Ready to go? I was waiting for your message”, Jongho says, his eyes glancing over the professor, then you, a strange feeling that he probably interrupted something. 

You nod, while shoving your belongings into your bag, then slinging it on your shoulder. 

Barely being able to look at Professor Choi, you still force yourself to, bowing goodbye to him. 

“Thank you Prof Choi. See you tomorrow.”

He looks up from his desk, right into your eyes. 

“See you too, y/n.” 

You can’t help but wonder how far things would have gone if Jongho didn’t knock the door.

Jongho isn’t an idiot. Initially, he assumes that you and the professor were on much friendlier terms considering that you came in before he did. Granted, the workload he would give the both of you was the same, he would take the initiative to have lunch with the both of you both individually and together whenever he had pockets of free time, but what roused his awareness was the lingering glances Professor Choi would cast at you from time to time, the way he seemed to relish the reactions you would give him whenever he teased you. 

He notices the way your ears would grow red even when you roll your eyes at the professor and jab him with another playful snarky remark. 

Though he wonders how dangerous things could get, Jongho thinks this could get interesting. 

The semester continues smoothly, the only change being that Jongho being absent from the office more often due to his other commitment to soccer. You remember him telling you he had quite a big match coming up, the sparkle in his eyes bright and twinkling whenever he talks about said sport. 

If he wasn’t in classes, he’d be off for training, hopping into the office from time to time to pass Professor Choi marked scripts and reports. Prof Choi pretty much didn’t mind—he stated as long as Jongho did his job, he could be free to do what he wanted outside of being a teaching assistant.

Needless to say, the office was mostly Prof Choi and you, now even more time spent with him with Jongho mostly being absent. By then, the both of you had grown so accustomed to being in each other’s presence that banters amongst each other became the norm—the both of you competing with each other with unserious remarks, laced with almost flirtatiousness, just to see who would back down first. 

Then came the proximity—since Prof Choi would wander over your desk as if he had all the free time in the world, he would somehow strike up another conversation with you, leaning over to hear you better, his arm bumping into yours to look over at the papers you were grading to check if you were doing them correctly. But what he absolutely adores the most is when you’d roll over to his desk to pester him with your questions—sometimes even testing him on his own content. 

He likes the way he gets to be closer to you. He likes the way your shoulders touch his when you lean in to push the paper towards him so he can see the script better. 

He likes the way you would finally look up and meet his eyes when you’re done formulating your question, waiting to hear his opinion.

Today is no different—Professor Choi being so used to the notion that he would only be seeing you in the office, the corner of his lips pull upwards at the thought of the types of banter you would have with him, the kinds of shenanigans you would bring into the office.

He hears your knock at the time you would always arrive, watching the way the door opens, and your head popping from the door, as you greet, “Hi Prof!” 

“Good morning, y/n”, he would greet back, sipping on his morning coffee. 

You walk over to his desk, dropping his tuna rice ball. “Here you go. Enjoy your breakfast, Prof!”

“You can stop calling me Prof”, Prof Choi suddenly says, twirling the pen in his hand. For a second, you wonder what triggered the sudden change. You’ve been calling him Prof since day one, pretty much used to it already, the only time you didn’t was when he—never mind. The thought of it is making your face flush again. 

“Is there something else you want me to call you?” You ask, trying to calm your heartbeat down when that memory suddenly resurfaces. 

“You can call me San. I’m fine with that. I know you’re still my teaching assistant but we’ve been working closely. I think it’s fine to drop the Prof honorific.”

You try out. 

“Sure thing San”, you reply. “Though it’s gonna take a while for me to get used to this.”

“If you’re able to cuss in front of me, calling me by my name should be the least of your worries, y/n”, San teases.

You raise your hand, feigning a stance ready to smack him before you lower your arm, listening to the way San laughs before rolling your eyes and sinking into your desk. 

The day marches on as normal—attending a class or two with Jongho before he’s whisked away to his soccer practice, leaving just the two of you for the rest of the day. 

San is leaning at your desk again, looking at you typing out your report. He squints slightly before he leans down to your shoulder, his finger pointed at one of the paragraphs, asking you about the content. You answer him, and when you turn your head once you’re done, you find yourself looking at San’s side profile mere inches away—his sun-kissed skin, his pretty lashes, his thick, well-trimmed eyebrows, and the way his lips protrude out a little—he always looked like he’s pouting in the most adorable way. 

That’s when you realise a problem seemed to be bubbling up to the surface, try as you might to ignore it, repress it—that you’re falling for your professor. Fast. 

You snap back to reality, finally aware of how loud your heart is beating against your rib cage, and your hand flies up in instinct as a divider between you and San. San blinks at the sudden movement, confused. 

“Y/n, what are you doing?” He’s not moving. 

“I think I’ve got something on my face.”

San cocks an eyebrow. “You do? Let me check-“ 

His palm covers yours, bringing it down to the table, and you’re kicking yourself for sprouting such a self-sabotaging lie.

Why? Because now San has his hand on yours on top of his face in full view of yours, his eyes meeting yours before his gaze flutters around your face, checking for whatever hell you said was on your face. 

His gaze meets yours and for a split second, something else glints in his eyes. 

The door swings open, and San straightens himself up, slightly irritated at the interruption, leaving you to spin your chair away from San, your hands cupping your cheeks, the heat warming you up against the cold air conditioner. The heat from his hand on yours lingers for a little longer. 

Jongho walks in, his duffel slinging on his shoulder with his shoe bag clipped. 

“Hey, Prof. Hey cutie.” 

San blinks. What did he just call you?

“Hey jjongie. Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” You ask, forcing yourself to focus on your colleague instead. 

“Supposedly, yeah, but there was a sudden downpour midway so training got cancelled. Might as well get some work done here”, he shrugs, dropping his bag onto the floor. 

San is wrapping his head around the fact that you and Jongho seem to have pet names for each other. 

“Didn’t miss me too much right?” Jongho teases. “‘Cause I did!”

“That’s a first coming from you jjongie”, you reply, surprising a smile. 

“Of course! It’s been a while, how could I not? We should go eat dinner together sometime.”

San only stares on in silence, pretending to sink back into his grading.

Jongho walks over to your desk, taking his turn to look at your report. San watches the way Jongho’s arm is comfortable over your seat, as he asks you about your report, talking to you as if San wasn’t just behind you seconds before. 

The fact you’re entertaining him—hitting his arm playfully and laughing at his remarks—all the more rouses some kind of irritation in San. It’s like a boiling pot. 

He pretends he doesn’t see the way Jongho leans in to whisper something into your ear although it’s bugging him so fucking much. For once, he wishes Jongho’s training didn’t cancel. 

“Oh right before I forget”, Jongho mutters, rushing back to his desk, digging through his bag. He walks back over with a paper in hand and places it before you. You glance down and your face brightens up—it’s a ticket to his game. 

“For real?” You exclaim, your eyes bright, taking the ticket in your hands. “I’ll definitely make time for you.”

“I’ll score goals for you, kay?” Jongho teases, his eyes glancing at San, who is progressively looking more irritated. 

“Ah, Is San not going?” 

“San? Since when were you on first name basis with him?” Jongho wonders aloud, the suspicion only brewing even more. 

“Jongho, don’t you have reports to hand in?” San asks curtly. 

You feel like you are caught in between crossfire for some reason. 

Jongho smiles, then has your head under his arm, which elicits another irritated reaction from your professor. 

You have never had Jongho done this before. In fact, you recall him offhandedly mentioning that he’s never a physical touch person, and that anything with physical touch makes him shudder. 

“Relax, Prof. You’d rather your subordinates get along than not right?”

Just when San is about to reply, Jongho suddenly exclaims. 

“AH, coach is calling me back to the field. Prof, I’ll send you the report by tomorrow okay? See you guys!”, Jongho hums as he runs back to his desktop to turn it off. 

“Has he always been like that?” San wonders aloud, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“I guess. It’s actually what makes him cute.”

“Cute? You think Jongho is…cute?” 

“Is he not? Doesn’t he remind you of a bear? Big and cuddly.”

San clears his throat, and you watch him walk over to your desk, his hand resting on the tabletop. He leans in. 

“So… you find it cute when he gives you pet names?”

“Well, I mean-“

“You find it cute when he plays with your hair?” San curls your locks around his fingers. 

You can’t seem to get words to leave your throat. 

“You find it cute when he has his hands all over you like that?” He’s leaning in even closer this time, arms trapping you at either side.

“Prof-“

“No. It’s sir.”

Your mind is in a whirlwind at the way he’s towering over you, his scent the only thing filling your olfactory senses, the way he’s staring right into you, gaze sharp as a blade. 

“You find it cute when his touches run up your body like this?” His fingers are trailing up your arms, every touch he burns into your skin, and when his thumb pauses at your chin, you realise you’re royally fucked.

Once more, his face is mere inches away from yours. You wonder if you’ll be teased like two previous times before. 

“Of course you don’t. You’d rather I do that to you, right?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Yes, sir.”

His voice is barely a whisper, his eyes downcast, staring at your lips like it’s his reward to claim. 

“Good girl.”

Of course, he claims it.

His kisses are so greedy—his lips prying yours open, and you feel yourself completely give in to him, surrendering whatever resistance, rationale, repression to Choi San. 

You want more—you want seconds. Every swipe his tongue passes your lip, it makes your head float. How does someone taste this fucking good?

He pauses mid-way—barely a couple of seconds, to pull off his glasses and strew them across the desk—then goes back to devouring your lips. 

San would smile in between kisses when he hears your whimpers. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable when you tremble slightly at his touch. It all goes straight to his cock. 

He thinks you’ll be even more adorable when he ruins you. 

When San pulls back, he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, watching your glazed-out expression with amusement. 

"I'd love to continue messing you up, but I have a meeting to attend. I’ll deal with you later, sweetheart. See you next week.”

His touch lingers on your chin for a couple of seconds longer before he pulls away and shifts to walk back to his desk, leaving your heartbeat wild and erratic, and your thighs squeezed tighter.

Since then, that was all you ever thought about—the slight smile before his lips collided with yours, the way his words rang in your ears. You could barely meet his eyes. 

In more instances than one and with any chance given to him, he’d close up any physical distance he had with you. Worried that your emotions would bubble and overflow when he does that, you developed a habit of avoiding his eye contact. 

Even after classes, you swore he was casting you glances even with lines of students waiting to talk to him. 

“Did you piss Prof off or something?” Jongho asks as he shuts his laptop. 

“Why are you asking?”

He shrugs. “It’s just that he’s been eyeing you down like a hawk recently. Did something happen between the both of you?”

You freeze when the flashbacks of the taste of his lips return to your memory when you remember how hungry he looked just wanting to devour you. 

“Y/n?”

You blink, then force yourself to meet Jongho’s eyes. 

“No. Nothing happened. At least I hope I didn’t make any mistakes.”

“You’re fine. There’s a reason why the department chair chose his teaching assistants.”

You laugh softly at his words.

But when you hear San’s voice from behind you, you almost jump. 

“Y/n, Jongho, the both of you can wrap up here and head back to the office”, he instructs. You feel his warmth radiating from behind, and it only makes your heart jump at the proximity. 

You watch Jongho slowly pack up, small conversations sparking between the both of you about his soccer practice. 

You glance at the door. San isn’t back yet. 

“I think it’ll take him awhile to be back. The students there seem to really like him.” 

No doubt, the female students for this class seemed a lot more assertive, almost always demanding all of San’s time. Well, not that it should matter. It’s not as if he should mean anything-

“Y/n? Are you okay? You seem pretty off recently. Even Prof’s pretty worried”, Jongho’s voice grounding you back to the cold office. 

You force a smile and shake your head. 

“I’m fine. I guess it’s just so much workload to deal with.” 

Jongho places his hand on your shoulder in comfort, “You’re doing fine. You know you can approach either of us if you’re struggling right?”

You feel comforted, even though your messy thoughts weren’t even about the workload, so you return an assured smile before waving Jongho off for his soccer practice. 

You’re wondering what you’re feeling nervous about, because when the door of San’s room opens, you jolt slightly. 

“You’re still here?” You hear San ask. 

“Yeah. Need to reply to some emails and double-check some of their assignments.” Not a total lie. It’s the swirling feelings he’s been giving you whenever that day surfaces in your mind, the small bouts of attention he pays you and the touches he lets linger a little too long that’s all a dopamine rush in you. You can’t help but want more. But in the same breath, meeting his gaze will allude doom for you. 

San nods as he sits back at his desk, going right back to his computer. The silence continues for awhile and you’re surprised that you’re even able to concentrate. 

“Y/n”, you hear San call you. 

Your gaze doesn’t break from your screen. “Hmm?”

“Come here. Help me look at this.”

You walk over, ignoring the way your heart is just pounding so damn loudly. It’s painfully obvious that San is staring right at your face, and it’s also painfully obvious that you’re avoiding looking at him. 

And it definitely seems to be ticking him off. 

Your eyes stay locked to his screen reading off whatever is on the screen, and nothing is processing in your brain. 

“It looks good”, you curtly reply, trying to ignore the fact that you’re being stared down by a certain professor. You turn away, your eyes still not acknowledging San, only for your professor to stop you in your tracks. 

“Now where do you think you’re going?”

He’s making you face him now. 

You’re still not giving him eye contact. 

“Back to my desk?” You say, looking off into the distance. But San seems to have other plans. 

“You know ‘looks good’ isn’t the feedback I’m looking for, right?”

Shit. You know that clear as day. 

Now San has both his arms trapping you on his desk. 

You somehow still manage to avoid his sharp gaze even when you’re backing up against him, easily letting him corner you.

His belongings are strewn all over the desk when he pins you down. By some miracle, only papers flutter down his desk. 

And you’re finally looking right at him. 

“You’re finally looking at me, y/n”, he states the obvious. “Now tell me, did I do something wrong?” 

“No, you didn’t, sir”, you reply curtly. 

He leans in closer. 

“Then why are you avoiding my eye contact?”

You shut your eyes and squeeze them. There’s no pure way out of this—your dirty thoughts are seeping into the smallest crevices of your brain, and the more San is prodding you, the more it makes you throb.

“It’s because that evening when we…” you feel your cheeks burn with every word leaving your lips. 

San is waiting for you to continue. 

“When we kissed…couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“And?”

“It made me want…more.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Has anyone told you how adorable you are when you’re honest?” He chuckles. “I’m gonna finish what we started sweetheart, like I promised.”

It makes your heart flutter. 

“Am I getting your consent for this?”, San’s voice rings in your ears. You’re finding it hard to focus, especially when his thumb is pushing past the corner of your lips, and you’re just growing wet as fuck. 

This is not right. This is so dangerous. 

“Yes sir”, you reply back, trying to ignore the way your cunt is just tingling from the feeling of San’s thick erection pressing against you.

“That’s my good girl”, he praises before he dives in for a hungry kiss, his fingers roaming around your body, squeezing your tits before he unbuttons your shirt at an agonising pace. He smiles on your lips when he hears your soft gasp, and he presses his lips down to your jaw and then to your neck, sucking and biting the soft skin against your neck, his erection growing tighter against his trousers when he hears you moan and squirm. 

When he’s satisfied with the light marks he decorated down your neck, his lips are pressed against your ear, and his hands are moving dangerously close to your cunt, and inevitably, your bottoms are off in seconds, leaving you in your pretty panties. 

“I would prefer fucking you on my bed instead for the first time, but taking you on my desk? Maybe not too bad.”

Your cunt squeezes at the sound of San cussing. You never thought he’d sound this fucking hot. 

He groans when his fingers press against the soaked patch of fabric hiding your pussy. All that wetness for him. He bunches up the fabric and rubs it against your clit, the friction drawing frustrated whimpers from you, much to his satisfaction. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and it’s driving you crazy.

San’s fingers finally hook against the waistband of your panties, sliding them off your legs, and pocketing them, much to your shock. 

And he doesn’t give you much time to focus on that because when he pulls his cock out from his unzipped pants, it makes your head spin from how thick Choi San is. 

“Sir, I’m not sure-“

“It’ll fit, sweetheart, like it’s made for me”, is all the warning San gives before he lines up to your hole and pushes his cock in. 

You can’t tell what’s fucking you up more—the way his cock is stretching you open or the San groaning in relief when he finally gets to stuff you full. 

You bat away your tears, his cock so fucking full inside of you, pressing against your walls, being squeezed so perfectly by you. 

God, Choi San thinks he’s in heaven. 

His fingers brush across your cheeks, collecting your teardrops. His eyes lack any ounce of empathy. 

“Aw, are you crying because it feels good? You look so fucking pretty crying when I’m stretching you open.”

You barely find the words to reply to him, all stuck in your throat, your mind only flooded by the way San’s cock is buried in your cunt, your thighs trembling from the pleasure. It’s almost sickening. You know you shouldn’t be doing this—not with your professor, not on his fucking desk, but when he has you wrapped you around his finger and cock fucking the daylights out of you, it’s a temptation you can never resist. 

A soft hiccup escapes past your lips when San pulls out almost all the way, his cock covered in a sheen of slick and precum before he pushes himself in once more, groaning when you clench around him for the nth time. 

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart. God, I could just fuck you all day. You’d like that right?”

You’re barely keeping track, eyes rolled to the back of your head while your thighs twitch from the pleasure, but you manage to hold the eye contact, and through blurry tears, you mutter a weak, “Yes sir”. 

“Of course you do”, San hums before he pulls out once more and starts fucking you dumb on his desk. 

No matter how much you try to cover your mouth, bite your tongue or your lip, your moans only come out louder in defiance, the dopamine shooting up your pussy over and over again whenever San’s cock hits your pretty spots. 

Your mind is addicted to the way San’s shirt is buttoned down his chest, his cleavage almost fully out for you to gawk at, the way strands of his hair cling to his forehead because of the sweat, the way his eyes roll back when he feels you squeeze him with every loud fuck, and the way he looks down to you from time to time before he eats up your pathetic moans with hungry kisses. 

He fucked you up so good, you didn’t even realise it until now. 

“S-San”, you manage out a whimper, “please…”

“Please what, sweetheart?”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for. 

“Please… you feel so fucking good. I’m gonna cum. It’s so fucking good”, you babble, trying to force your eyes open. 

San can’t help but smirk when his ego is being stroked so nicely like that, especially by you. He’s a good person, of course, he’ll give what his good girl wants. 

His thumb slides south on your body until you feel the ticklish sensation of him on your clit. Cream and precum pooling at the base of his cock makes it even worse for you—with every graze, his finger pressed onto your clit, the knot tightened in your stomach. 

Your nonsensical strings of words only push San to tease you more as he endearingly watches you break slowly when your orgasm builds up. 

Your body twitches, your back arches, your eyes roll back, white splashes beneath your eyelids. Your orgasm burning through you while you cry out San’s name and you twitch pathetically on his cock, letting your cream leak all over his wet cock. 

“Fuck. You’re such a good fucking girl for me, aren’t you?”, you hear San curse. He fucks you through your orgasm, the overstimulation building up. The sensitivity feels so fucking good. 

His hand catches your jaw, and he forces you to meet his eyes. 

“Wanna pump you full of my cum, keep you so fuckin’ full for days on end,” he huffs, “but not now, sweetheart.”

Not that you minded, but there’s a strange tinge of disappointment ringing at the back of your head. 

San thrusts into you a couple more times before he pulls out, his thick and wet cock resting on your pelvis, twitching as his hand takes over. 

Nothing can beat Choi San’s fucking face when he cums. He looks like he’s in fucking heaven, and he’s tearing up the sky because of you. His fingers leave light marks on your thighs, you hear him groan at such a low tone that your cunt flutters uselessly against the air. Translucent spurts land on your skin, but it barely registers in you—you’re too busy swooning over the way your Professor just cummed over your body. 

San’s high dies down, and he catches his breath, casting you a glance, red dusting his cheeks, before he reaches out for the tissue box to clean you up. 

A quick kiss on the lips before he goes on to collect all the papers all over the floor.

That night he drives you home, filling the space with light conversations as if he didn’t just railed you on his desk. 

It’s only when you reach home that you realise one important thing—San still has your panties. 

You know you shouldn’t be telling secrets to your colleague, especially when it’s about your fucking boss. But here you are, facing Jongho, who has his arms crossed in front of you. 

“What’s up with you and Prof?” You predict the words that leave his lips. 

You hesitate to tell him, unsure how you should even say it, where to even start. 

The worst part you knew clear as day was that nothing changed since that day. You chalked it off as San being swamped with assignments to deal with, that’s why the topic was never brought up again, but something still irked you. The only comfort you had was that the semester was ending, and so was your term as San’s teaching assistant. 

Maybe it was how it was meant to be. Just nothing more than that.

But when you realise the dreaded feeling prickling at the back of your eyes, you knew you were fucked. 

“I don’t know how to even start jjong”, you sigh. Jongho scrunches his eyebrows. 

You watch his expression switch from one to the other. You expected him to freak out at you, yell at you for unprofessionalism or something, but he doesn’t. 

“It’s so fucked up. But I just can’t help but wonder if he feels anything”, you mutter. The thought of you not being the only one he’s doing this with makes your stomach churn. But somehow, in the most twisted ways, confiding Jongho made you feel slightly better. 

“Well, looks like we’ll have to play that card I guess”, Jongho shrugs. “But you should mentally prepare yourself for the results, that’s all I gotta warn you. I just need your consent to play along.”

It’s a risky bet you’re playing, but drastic times called for drastic measures, right?

As the semester closes to its end, so does the workload. San feels a lot lighter on his shoulders, and while he’s grateful for his teaching assistants for lifting a significant amount of workload off him, the end of a semester meant the end of the working relationship between him and his teaching assistants. He usually doesn’t feel that much, considering he has had many teaching assistants in the past, but for some reason, he feels a sense of discomfort lodged in his stomach when he thinks about having to let them go.

Especially one of them. 

He sighs, removing his glasses from his nose and shutting his eyes while reviewing the exams. San feels like a fucking idiot when his eyes land on your empty desk, his frustration bubbling when you cross his mind again. 

Even though he pretends to keep himself busy by flooding his mind with work, somehow, you would bubble to the surface once more, pushing him into the pits of frustration when he’s reminded of the way you get a kick arguing and refuting him just to get a reaction out of him, the way you taste like sweetest thing on earth he’s ever tried and the way you completely unravel when San fucks every single thought out of you—

He bites his cheek. 

No. He has to keep it professional. At least, until the term is over. 

He just doesn’t know how to tell you. 

He knows he’s entered deep waters when he crossed the line that evening, the sight of you undone right before him snapping all his rationale. More than anything, he’s suffering the withdrawals, maybe that’s the punishment he has to bear. 

He glances at the colourful ticket at the corner of his desk. It’s Jongho’s big game. Even though he usually doesn’t let himself intertwine with his subordinate’s personal interests, it’s hard not to. 

In addition, you’ll be there. Maybe he’d snag you after the game and talk to you properly. 

The meeting ran overtime, San glances down at his silver watch, realising he’d missed almost thirty minutes of Jongho’s game. Despite the exhaustion, he pushes it aside and heads to the stadium. 

He watches the brightly lit scoreboard as he takes a seat on the bench, Jongho’s team is in the lead by one point. 

Somehow he gets wrapped up in the game, cheering when Jongho’s team takes championship as the benches all burst into loud cheers too. 

He gets up to leave, already thinking of drafting a text to congratulate Jongho in his head, maybe get him a small congratulatory gift on the side. 

Then he spots you, just rows below. Now, he’s walking down as if on instinct, to get to where you are.

San pushes past the crowd to approach you. He’ll offer to drive you back—he knows it’s all an excuse but anything to get you into his space once more. 

His arm outstretched, reaching out to tap your shoulder, then suddenly stopping when he sees Jongho appear right in front of you. That’s fine. San could just congratulate him at the same time—

Which all of those thoughts immediately disintegrate when he watches Jongho cup your cheeks with his hand, his eyes widening in complete silent horror as Jongho leans into you for a kiss. 

You seriously doubt that Jongho’s plan would work. Didn’t San decide not to come anyway? You heard it with your own ears too. 

Nonetheless, you pushed it to the back of your mind, focusing on cheering for your friend, watching the leading scorer jump from one team to the next. You couldn’t help but erupt into cheers when Jongho’s team won, screams echoing through the open stadium. 

You watch Jongho walk up to the benches where you are, and his arms wrap around you, his smile big and bright, competing with the stadium lights. 

“Congratulations, baby bear”, you tease, pushing against his shoulders lightly. Jongho inches close to you. 

“He’s behind you by the way”, Jongho mutters, loud enough for you to hear, but not long enough for you to process, because his hands are cupping your jaw, his thumb pressed against your lips. 

He hears you muffle some kind of question but your lips stay sealed. 

“You owe me one for this,” is the last thing you hear before he leans in. Your eyes widen in shock, and you freeze in your spot, even though his lips don’t meet yours, evidently separated by Jongho’s thumb, his action had caught you off guard.

You barely have the capacity to process what had just happened, and you feel someone’s warmth tightening against your wrist. 

Jongho lets go of you immediately, but you’re staring right at your professor, who is staring right at Jongho with an unreadable expression, with his fingers curled tightly against your wrist. It feels like an eternity since you saw him. He’s not wearing glasses today and his hair is down instead of his usual slicked-back look, donned with a simple dress shirt and tie which framed his wide shoulders so perfectly.

“Congratulations on your win, Choi Jongho. I believe you should be with your team to celebrate right?”

Jongho only smirks back. “Right. See you babe. Thank you, Prof. See you next week.”

Jongho casts you a glance, the mischief twinkling in his eyes before he turns his heel down the stairs and back to the field. 

What the fuck just happened?

And you find yourself staring up at the male before you, his gaze piercing into yours. 

“Prof—San?” You blink. “I thought you weren’t-“

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart. Why would I not want to see the cute relationship my teaching assistants have right?” His voice is laced with venom. 

San doesn’t really elaborate further, leading you to his car, sealing your fate once more when the passenger doors close shut. 

He’s all over you. His body is burning up, maybe just as fast as yours is, and it’s making you feel dizzy. His moves are aggressive, impatient and you swear you feel something else too—desperation. 

“S-San—“ you gasp, in an attempt to take control of something.

“It’s sir to you, sweetheart”, his voice low and gentle, but commanding. Goosebumps scatter across your skin, making you shiver in response when his palms slide up your waist. 

You never saw it coming—from the second his hand grabbed yours, pulling you away from Jongho, his eyes locked into yours for a moment before he turns to Jongho, then to the car ride back, where you noticed the way his knuckles turned pale from gripping the steering wheel. On the walk to his car, you asked him where you were going, and all he did was turn to you and reply, “We’ve got things to talk about, don’t we, sweetheart?”

Now you’re becoming undone once more under San’s touches, trapped beneath him like the first time, now at his place, on his fucking couch instead. 

“It was just foolish of me to just let it be, wasn’t it?” He asks. “Fucking you dumb on my desk wasn’t a good enough indicator, was it?”

“S-sir…!”

“And you think it’s cute getting all cuddly with Jongho? Letting him kiss you all over, touch you all over?” San mutters, his fingers wrapped around your throat, his grip tightening slightly and you’re sure he’s about to leave light imprints. 

But oh, was it so fucking exhilarating—the thought of Choi San riled up like that, a sight you’ve never seen before, and you’re not sure if fear or excitement running through your veins right now, but what you do know, is that if he finds out that your panties are completely soaked through, you’re fucking done for. 

His lips collide with yours again, branding himself as some kind of oxygen thief when he’s turning your mind into complete mush. 

“I’m not sure if it’s a little game to you sweetheart, but if it is, I think you need a reminder.”

You breathlessly look up at him, and he looks ethereal even when he’s panting and looking pissed as hell. 

“What reminder, sir?” You dare ask back. 

The side of San’s lips tugs upwards. His hand leaves your throat and trails down your blouse, effortlessly unbuttoning the apparel until he tugs it off you, panting at the sight of your tits hugged by your lace bra. Your bottoms are off again on the floor of his bedroom, alongside any ounce of rationale. Your soaked panties are agonisingly pulled off your legs, and before you know it, his hands spread them open too. It takes all of San’s self-control to not stuff you full. At least, not yet.

“It’s my cock you’re gonna cum all over. Even when you have another guy’s lips on yours, it’s my name you’re gonna fucking scream.”

Oh. Oh god. 

The pieces of what Jongho was trying to do suddenly come together, unfortunately, the realisation doesn’t last long because San has his lips greedily on yours again on top of the way his full-blown erection is pressing onto your pussy. 

“Sir”, you manage out a weak mutter when he finally pulls away, trying to press and grind against his clothed dick for some friction or anything to rid the burn that’s going through your body. But San remains still. 

“Use your words since you love using your mouth so much.” Like kissing Choi Jongho. 

Your mind is a complete puddle. 

“I really…fuck. I really need you to fuck me right now, sir”, you beg, red flushing your cheeks, but it’s not from the shame. There’s a feral glint in San’s eyes that you don’t miss. 

“No”, is all he answers, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach. 

“Not until I’ve fucked your mouth full, sweetheart.” 

All you can do is watch him speechlessly as he hooks his index finger on the knot of his tie and loosens it, unraveling it back to its original form. 

“Hands together”, he commands you, and you do so immediately, basking in the scent of his cologne while he leans into you, his hands tying knots around your wrists with his tie. “Don’t let it loosen, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Now on your knees.” 

You’ve never dropped to your knees so fast.

San forces you to watch him unbutton and lower the fly of his trousers, and you’re just doing your best not to get drool on his expensive carpet. 

When his cock springs out, you’re also forced to watch him fuck his palm at a slow pace, drinking in his groans, slick staining your inner thighs, and the fucking floor next if you don’t do anything. 

His cock is heavy against your cheek when he taps it there, and your tongue slips out of your mouth by instinct, given experimental kitten licks on his slit, before his fingers catch your chin, and he forces you to look up at him. 

“Look at me”, he instructs. 

You do. You do your best not to break the eye contact, trying not to be sidetracked by his big fucking cock, but your eyes can’t help but dart to his appendage. 

“No, keep your eyes on me”, he redirects once more, his fingers fixing your head in place. 

Then he slides his cock into your mouth and pulls out a choked moan from you. 

“That’s it. Good girl”, he grunts when you start bobbing your head, fucking his cock with your mouth. 

His fingers trail to the back of your head, but he’s using all of his strength not to force your head down. 

But as you pick up the momentum, it’s an automatic reaction to push your head down so his cock hits the back of your throat. Your eyes are watering but fuck you feel like you’re in fucking heaven. Your head spins whenever his wet cock is forced down your tight throat, and you break eye contact a few times, which San has to tap your jaw to make you keep eye contact while he fucks your face. 

“I’m cumming, sweetheart. Fuck. Keep that pretty little mouth open for me yeah?” He groans, bucking his hips, letting streaks of warm white paint your throat and mouth, watching the way you’re looking up at him with doe eyes, taking his cum in your mouth like a good girl. His good girl. 

He smudges his thumb against the corner of your lips before his arms carry you up, only to dump you on the couch.

Your back is on the couch again, hands still tied behind your back and legs up with San pressing his body weight on you.

He props your leg on his shoulder, and he stretches you open inch by inch. You gasp when he fills you up, your walls immediately clenching around him. 

“So fuckin tight for me, sweetheart. You take me so well.”

His thrusts are growing more aggressive mixed in with the possession that’s bleeding in and it’s setting your whole body on fire. Your words are caught in your throat when he’s buried into you to the hilt. He groans at the way your pussy is fluttering pathetically against him. 

It feels so fucking good that nothing but stars engulf your vision when his cock stuffs you full to the hilt again. His name leaves your lips like a mantra on top of broken moans and whimpers, and it only makes San fill up the space in your pussy all the more better. 

His shoulders are so wide that he’s towering over you, his fingers forcing you to face him whenever you’re drifting because of the pleasure, his eyes feral when you look so fucked out for him. And when he combines his heavy thrusts with a squeeze around your throat, it makes your mind shut off and your cunt cream all over his dick.

“Good girl, looking all so fucked out for me.”

 His cock is hitting all the perfect spots, and it’s driving you insane with the knot tightening in your stomach at such a fast pace. You think you’re sliding off the couch but San isn’t letting you—especially not when his thrusts are keeping you on the couch. His name continues to leave your lips in broken moans every time he fucks you. 

San snakes his fingers to your scalp and he tugs sharply, enough to force you to look up at him. You’re tearing up again, and it feels so fucking good with the way he’s keeping your hair tugged while he fucks the ever-loving shit out of you.

“My name does sound much better when you’re crying it doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

You choke back a moan when he hits your g-spot once more.

“Y-yes sir.” 

“How are you feeling?”

“Full. So full sir. Want more. Please. Need you to ruin me”, you beg once more, your mind floating in an endless euphoria.

“Oh, I definitely will”, San hums, watching in sheer pleasure as your eyes roll back when his cockhead presses perfectly against your g-spot over and over.

Before you realise it, your orgasm hits you like fucking train, spreading through your body like a fucking wildfire, engulfing every crevice of your body. 

He’s gonna break you, and you’re fucking loving it. 

“San-“, you cry out, not registering the way he’s wiping the tears off your eyes. “So good. You feel so good. Cumming so much-“ 

“I know, sweetheart. It feels so fucking good doesn’t it?” He asks with a smile, satisfied when you nod frantically while he rubs your thighs.

Your thighs are shaking from how good this all feels, cream staining your inner thighs and his cock when he pulls out. 

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart”, San reminds you. 

He turns you over, keeping one hand on your tied hands, while the other pressing your head against the back of the couch. He lines his cock back to your cunt, pushing into your hole once more. You choke on your moans again, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes until he’s fully seated in you once more. 

The sounds are even wetter now, especially when you’re overstimulated, pussy just being so perfectly abused by Choi San. You fucking love the way his hands are around your neck, forcing you against the cushions when he fucks you dumb from the back. 

Your stomach is in knots once more, the feeling building up faster than the previous time, and all you can mutter is that it feels so good. San thinks you’re so fucking adorable when you’re not having banters with him and being this cock drunk for him. 

Then he pulls you off the couch, letting you catch a breath before he sits you on his lap, his cock still buried in your cunt, and starts bouncing you off his cock from below.

He alternates between melting your brain with his pornographic moans right at your ear and planting more love bites down your jaw. 

“Gonna cum again. You feel so fucking good in me. Oh god”, you hiccup through your tears, the sensitivity pushing your limit. 

“Cum as hard as you want, sweetheart. I’ll let you milk me dry, fill you up so fucking good that you’ll be leaking with my cum for the next two days.” 

That was enough to set you off. Your pussy convulses when your second orgasm hits, fireworks bursting in your eyelids, long drawn-out cries while San fills your tight cunt with his warm and thick cum, while his groans fill up in your ears. You feel his fingers massaging your thighs, coaxing you from your high. 

You’re dizzy, and light-headed as your head slumps against his shoulders, too spent to acknowledge the male behind you leaving more marks down your neck. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” San breaks the momentary silence, well aware that his softening cock is still in you. 

Your hand flies up to his chest to stop him, even though you’re still recovering from seeing stars. 

“We need to talk-“

“After we clean up”, he cuts you off, lifting you off his cock and carrying you bridal style to his bathroom. 

But you’re stubborn. 

“N-no. It wasn’t what you thought it was”, you say, feeling your tears well up in your eyes on top of the weight. 

The prickles are starting to form at the bottom of San’s heart, but he’s more focused on trying to hose you down with warm water. But he’s listening you run your mouth, not that he minded. 

“We didn’t kiss”, you reiterate. 

Now he’s just confused. He stares at you. 

“We just had sex, y/n”, San reminds you, trying not to let the red reach his cheeks. 

“No—I mean Jongho and I. We didn’t kiss”, you clarify.

San doesn’t really know if he should believe your words or his eyes, but now he’s focused on lathering your hair and body. 

“That wasn’t what I saw”, he replies, avoiding eye contact. 

“That’s cause we did this-“ you huff, turning his head to face you, imitating the way Jongho had slid his thumb between your lips and his, demonstrating San the fake kiss. 

San only stares at you wordlessly when you pull back, only more questions than answers. 

“But why would he do that for?”

“He was trying to rile you up.”

“For what?”

“To see if you felt anything for me?”

“By kissing you?”

Oh god. It felt like the more you explained, the more San was getting the wrong ideas. You let your head sit in your hands, unsure if it’s from the embarrassment or the fact that you don’t even know where to start. 

“It wasn’t a kiss, Choi San”, you groaned, your hands leaving your face, suddenly self-conscious that San is staring intently at you. “After we, um, fucked the first time, you acted like nothing happened, and I felt like shit about it, and I told Jongho and then…” you trail off, feeling your cheeks heat up again. It’s probably the hot water, at least that’s what you try to convince yourself with.

“I don’t kiss people I’m not in love with, San”, you sigh in defeat. Your eyes are downcast, but you feel his fingers cup your cheeks, and his lips press onto yours. You swear you could go another round again. 

The silence hangs in the air for a while, only the sounds of the shower filling the emptiness when he pulls back. 

“I didn’t do anything since after that evening because I wanted to properly tell you after the term ended.”

“Tell me what?”

“That I’m in love with you, too.”

You blink. Somehow that shocked you more than the both times he fucked your brains out. 

You don’t answer him because your head is just swarming with so many thoughts, and San lets you do so, satisfied that he’s finally have you quieten down so he can finish washing you up. 

Even when he’s dressed you in his oversized hoodie, San peppers you with kisses, basking in the way you sometimes cover his face with your hands to stop him, which only rouses him to continue to attack you with his lips.

San’s arms are tight around you when the both of you are finally on his bed. You smell like his favourite body soap and he can’t seem to get enough of it—nuzzling against the crook of your neck, muttering sweet nothings. You think this is probably your favourite version of Professor Choi. 

Your fingers twirl around his splayed-out locks, and you speak. 

“Prof Choi”, you tease, and San looks up, and it’s the first time you actually see him pout—it almost makes you combust. 

“I told you to stop calling me that”, he frowns, burying his face, feigning trying to cut off physical contact from you, which only makes you laugh in response. 

“I just wanted to disturb you”, you respond, trying to yank him back into your arms. “I do have a question though.”

His head pops up from his pillows and he stares at you, waiting for you to speak. 

“When did you realise you had feelings for me?”

He pauses, giving himself a couple of minutes to think. 

“The moment I received your teaching assistant application.”

📚 Bonus Epilogue 📚

“Prof Choi!” One of his teaching assistants calls out to him. 

He turns his head and attention to her, pushing up his glasses. 

“Yes?” 

“I need help with this part of the assignment. Could you help me check that I’ve marked it correctly?”

San nods, taking the papers from her. 

As he scans through her work, the teaching assistant’s eyes glance down at the band hugging his ring finger. 

“Prof, you’re married?”

San pauses his writing to glance at the glistening gold on his finger, and a small smile spreads across his cheeks. 

“You know, I used to wear a ring on my ring finger so students would stop asking me if I was married or not.”

She raises her eyebrows, her curiosity piqued. “So you’re not?”

“I am.”

Her eyes brighten, invested in her handsome professor’s love story. 

“Tell me more then”, she asks. 

San scoffs playfully, turning his gaze to her. 

“All I can tell you is that she’s always been my favourite.”

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network: @atzhouse @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet

[girlokwhatever]

i have an emily idea cooking … ok so they played together at louisville (maybe reader is a year or two younger than em) and dated. they broke up and emily left for the wnba. reader transferred to uconn bc louisville reminded her too much of emily. two years later reader is drafted and ends up on the mystics with emily 🙈

(guys i’m switching up the draft picks a little bit to fit the plot ok i know washington wasn’t second pick)

𖤓✎⋆·˚ ༘ *✧.*ੈ✩‧₊˚ end of beginning,,

part two

emily engstler x fem!ex!reader

“i am happy for you emily, truly i am.”

“then why are you breaking up with me? you don’t know that long distance won’t work.”

tears stream down both of your faces, a consequence of your decision to end things with emily. she committed to the draft that was only days away and was projected to rank very high. she was leaving louisville, which meant she was leaving you and the life you built together.

you weren’t mad at her at all. you really were happy for her and her accomplishments. it was going to break you to watch her leave and not come back, which is why you made the decision you did. selfishly, you needed to focus on your career. you needed to let her go so that the two of you could grow on your own.

“emily..”

“please don’t do this. we can try. i’ll try. please.”

you meant the world to emily, encouraged her to do great things and be a better person. she felt as if she owed the entire past year to you and your motivation that kept her going even through the darkest moments. you’d been a great comfort to her. there would be late nights when nothing else mattered but the feeling of you in her arms. she’d do anything for you.

she’d do anything for you.

“i can’t,”

your voice is barely above a whisper. you’re trying to hold back the sob threatening to spill over. sometimes the best choices were the hardest ones to make.

emily drags her hands down her face and peers over at you. you’re not looking at her anymore, head turned and eyes squeezed shut. she reaches out for you and cups her hand around the side of your face. when you lean into her touch she feels sick, finally letting the reality of having to let you go sink in.

“it’s okay. i get it, i know. i love you.”

she kisses your forehead as she stands, letting her hand drop back down to her side. you relish in the feeling before it’s gone because you know this will probably be the last time you feel it. that same feeling that still gives you butterflies.

“i love you too, em.”

that was two years ago.

you went to watch her get drafted, eyes teary and gleaming as you followed her figure walking to the stage after getting picked forth overall. you cheered and cried for her as if nothing had changed.

a few days after that you entered the transfer portal. everything reminded you too much of her. her name was still plastered on the cubby next to yours in the locker room, her scent still lingered in your sheets, her spot on the couch was left untouched, her absence in the home court was noted heavily.

you ended up signing with uconn. the last two years of your collegiate career were spent there, growing and expanding as not only a player but a person. the friends you made were phenomenal and helped you grieve with the ones you lost.

due to the extra work you were putting into your dream, you grew exponentially in popularity on social media along with your fellow teammate paige bueckers. you were close to everyone on the team, especially her. it led to people shipping the two of you much to your surprise.

you hadn’t dated anyone since emily.

but now it was your turn to be drafted. you committed to the draft alongside your two teammates nika and aaliyah. life was good. after two years of struggling and trying to find yourself, things were finally falling into place.

you’d gotten second overall pick in the first round. the washington mystics selected you and you were beyond grateful for the opportunity. you turned to give your coach a hug, noticing paige and azzi recording in the back with wide smiles on their faces.

it felt like a fever dream honestly. the rest of the night flew by, interviews and interactions seemingly only lasting seconds before you were pulled off to the next person. through the haze, you forgot what would be waiting for you once you arrived in washington.

or who.

emily watched the draft, nervous with anticipation to see where you’d end up. when she heard your name and washington mystics in the same sentence, her heart started pounding in her chest.

she never got over you. it made starting the league hard for her considering she lost her main pillar of love and support. her year with the indiana fever was full of intense moments and anger, always feeling like she wasn’t giving enough and kept having to prove herself.

the next year was even harder. she suffered a rough shoulder injury, leading to countless days of physical therapy and doctor visits. all without you.

to know that she’d see you again in only a short number of days was terrifying. you’d both be in training camp together which lasted weeks, spending day after day seeing each other. though it made her anxious, emily was also excited. she would get to see you again in all your glory, hopefully being able to smile and laugh together like you used to.

emily walked into the mystics gym, setting her bag down and standing to observe the room. there were a few people there already, you being one of them. her eyes immediately found you and your figure, so recognizable to emily.

you seemed to have this glowing aura around you. a smile was plastered on your face as you talked to ariel. you dribbled a basketball between your hands effortlessly, adjusting to the weight and getting used to your new surroundings. your eyes also wandered after you broke away from ariel, finding emily across the room.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss her. two years without her was a major struggle for you. sometimes, late at night, you wondered what it would’ve been like if you had never broken up with her. there were countless times when you regretted your choice. you never considered the fact that you could possibly be teammates again one day. certainly not so soon.

you wandered onto the court, leaving all your aimless thoughts behind. the rest of the trainees gathered with you and started a simple drill where you and a partner would take turns shooting and guarding one another.

by second nature you and emily found each other, shyly muttering a quick, “do you wanna be my partner?”

“yeah, i’d love to.” her heart was pounding at your words, imagining that maybe, just maybe, you missed her too. she smiled at your shyness, finding it ironic how your relationship had devolved.

emily was considerably taller than you, so shooting over her was not easy feat. at some moments you felt like she was letting you drain shots purposefully, even if she swore she wasn’t. you were even able to block a few of her shots, mostly when she kept her feet planted though.

after awhile and a few rotations, the coach offered a different drill. he split the group in two and let you scrimmage, you and emily somehow ending up on the same team.

it was giving you deja vu. anytime you’d get the ball emily was there either setting a screen or opening a path for you. it felt like she never left, like you never split, like you two were still the dynamic duo you were known to be at one point. like she was still your emily.

being here with her made you feel like your old self. the you from louisville, playing with the emily from louisville. in a time where you were both still in love and happy. another version of yourself was here, the best version of yourself.

after hours of sweating and nearly collapsing from being breathless, the day’s training was coming to an end. you drained one more three point shot, finally feeling satisfied with your performance. everyone cheered for you playfully as you collected your bag, quickly heading back to your car. you made it all the way to the parking lot before hearing a voice.

“you did really good today.”

you turned to see emily standing behind you, slightly disheveled and out of breath. she was smiling softly at you the same way she used to. it still made you flutter to this day, especially when you remember all the memories the two of you share.

“thank you, you too! your defense is still so good.”

“thank you,”

you both stood there in silence, not quite ready to break away. being around her offered you some sense of comfort in such an unfamiliar place.

“how’s paige?”

“paige? i mean, she’s good.”

“are you two, like.. together?”

“what- no. we’re just friends.”

emily nods, satisfied at the information. she’s slightly embarrassed for even asking, but she had to know. she had to know if you moved on with someone else.

“so then, is it okay if i take you out to dinner?”

“like, right now?”

“just tonight. you can shower and stuff of course.”

you don’t even have to think about your answer. you’d been wanting a moment like this for over a year. you missed her so much, too much. it was starting to affect you mentally. you’d wonder about her too often, having to fight some of the strongest urges to reach out to her and ask how she was doing.

“yeah, yeah. i’d really like that.”

she’s smiling, allowing it to reach her eyes as she waves you off. she felt like she was home again, even though she was still thousands of miles away. you were here, and that’s all she needed. any moment with you felt so right.

she took the time apart from you to grow as her own person, but now she was ready to grow again with you.

hopefully, you’d be ready too.

𖤓✎⋆·˚ ༘ *✧.*ੈ✩‧₊˚

guys hopefully the song makes sense for this fic

should i make a part two idk?!!?!

also i will spell check this tomorrow.

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift is giving fans more insight into her new album “The Tortured Poets Department,” thanks to a track-by-track experience with Amazon Music.

Fans can now listen to the album — which shattered streaming records after its release on April 19 — along with commentary from Swift breaking down the meaning of each track. To listen to “The Tortured Poets Department” with Swift’s commentary, fans can simply say to Alexa, “I’m a member of ‘The Tortured Poets Department.'”

Through the experience, Swift has revealed the inspiration behind songs including “Fortnight” with Post Malone, “Clara Bow,” “Florida!!!” with Florence + the Machine, “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” and “My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys.”

“‘Fortnight’ is a song that exhibits a lot of the common themes that run throughout this album. One of which being fatalism — longing, pining away, lost dreams,” Swift said of the album’s opening song. “I think that it’s a very fatalistic album in that there are lots of very dramatic lines about life or death. ‘I love you, it’s ruining my life.’ These are very hyperbolic, dramatic things to say. It’s that kind of album.”

Of “Clara Bow,” named after the silent film actress, Swift said the track is “a commentary on what I’ve seen in the industry that I’ve been in over time.”

“I used to sit in record labels trying to get a record deal when I was a little kid. And they’d say, ‘you know, you remind us of’ and then they’d name an artist, and then they’d kind of say something disparaging about her, ‘but you’re this, you’re so much better in this way or that way.’ And that’s how we teach women to see themselves, as like you could be the new replacement for this woman who’s done something great before you,” she said. “I picked women who have done great things in the past and have been these architypes of greatness in the entertainment industry. Clara Bow was the first ‘it girl.’ Stevie Nicks is an icon and an incredible example for anyone who wants to write songs and make music.”

“Florida!!!” featuring Florence + the Machine is one of the rare songs on the album that doesn’t see Swift directly speaking of a former lover. Swift said the inspiration for this track actually came from “always watching ‘Dateline.'”

“People have these crimes that they commit; where do they immediately skip town and go to? They go to Florida,” the singer added. “They try to reinvent themselves, have a new identity, blend in. I think when you go through a heartbreak, there’s a part of you that thinks, ‘I want a new name. I want a new life. I don’t want anyone to know where I’ve been or know me at all.’ And so that was the jumping off point. Where would you go to reinvent yourself and blend in? Florida!”

As for “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me,” Swift revealed that she wrote the tune “alone, sitting at the piano in one of those moments when I felt bitter about just all the things we do to our artists as a society and as a culture.”

“There’s a lot about this particular concept on ‘The Tortured Poets Department,'” she added. “What do we do to our writers, and our artists, and our creatives? We put them through hell. We watch what they create, then we judge it. We love to watch artists in pain, often to the point where I think sometimes as a society we provoke that pain and we just watch what happens.”

Lastly, Swift broke down the metaphor within “My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys.”

The song is about “being somebody’s favorite toy until they break you and then don’t want to play with you anymore,” she said. “Which is how a lot of us are in relationships where we are so valued by a person in the beginning, and then all of the sudden, they break us or they devalue us in their mind. We’re still clinging on to ‘No no, no. You should’ve seen them the first time they saw me. They’ll come back to that. They’ll get back to that.’”

[her-power]

Fixation on the Darkness (Part Four: Dark Romance! e.m. x fem! reader)

‼️🚨 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🚨‼️

Trigger/Content Warning: Dark! Somewhat Souless! Eddie! Strong sexual content, blood play, unprotected p+v, choking, hair pulling, rough intercourse, fingering (f receiving, m receiving), masturbation, oral (f receiving *for now*), fight or flight responses, grief, thoughts of unaliving self & others, manipulation, violence, smut, some fluff, angst.

Summary: Full summary on Part One.

Word Count: 4.2k

Eddie Munson Masterlist

A/N: You guys are awesome and I love you and I’m so sorry this took forever. This is gonna have two more parts before it’s completed so it’s not over yet!

It had been a week since you saw Eddie. He didn’t come to your house, or make it known that he was there. You were getting worried; he had left your house so fast that night. You did what he had asked and told Dustin everything. Had explained to him about his soul, about how he made a deal with Vecna just to return to you. Dustin couldn’t believe it at first, and then started asking questions that you couldn’t answer. He asked why you hadn’t said anything before, and he wanted to tell Wayne, but you told him not yet. Not the way Eddie was now, you told him. He was too dangerous.

Another murder was committed, in the woods where Will Byers went missing all those years ago. It was a female, older, she wasn’t from Hawkins. The police said that she might’ve been a hitchhiker. It was the same scenario, barely any blood at the scene, body mutilated but her skin was pearly white. The police issued a curfew for everyone to be inside their homes at sunset, lock all the doors and windows. It was still Winter, and it got dark earlier, so your boss made you go home at two o’clock everyday.

It was freezing tonight, the heating system in your house was older than dirt and the highest it would get was maybe 70 degrees. You bundled up in a large sweater, wool socks and leggings. You stare blankly at the television, a rerun of I Love Lucy was on, but you didn’t pay attention. You were too worried about Eddie.

You didn’t know why, the Eddie who loved you and who you loved was most likely trapped inside his torture chamber in another dimension, and soulless Eddie was most likely roaming the town feasting on not so innocent individuals who maybe did deserve to die.

He was mean; he was dangerous, he was…

He was still yours.

A loud thump from outside startles you from your thoughts. You freeze on your spot on the couch, your eyes fixed on the front window. The thump is heard again, and you sprint off the couch. Stupidly, you go to the window and peek behind the curtain to get a view of your porch. The porch light was dim; the bulb needed to be replaced, but it didn’t stop you from a shriek escaping your lungs as you catch the silhouette of a person hunched over on your steps. The soft light reflects of the eyes and your heart is in your throat.

Eddie.

He’s moaning your name.

“…open…the fucking door!” His voice is muffled, and the only reason you sprinted to the door so fast was because he sounded like he was being maimed from the inside out. He was in so much pain, and you can see just how much as you open the door. He’s bent over your front steps, his fingers gripping at his stomach, a stream of blood was falling like a river through the gaps in his fingers. He’s paler than normal, he looks gaunt, monstrous.

“Please.” He begs, meeting your eyes and you run to him, practically dragging his body into your house, slamming your door shut. He collapses in the foyer and your eyes widen at the severity of his injuries. He’s covered in dirt, scratches adorn his cheeks, his neck. His shirt is ripped to shreds and dark with dried blood. He’s still gripping his stomach and you kneel down in front of him, trying to pry his hand away.

“No.” He groans through his teeth.

“Let me see.” You tell him, pulling his hand free and you gasp. There is a three-inch long gash across the middle of his stomach, any deeper and his insides would be on your floor. “What happened? Why aren’t you healing?”

“I don’t know.” He groans as you gently lean his back against the wall, looking more closely at his wound. “I think it was an animal, or some…thing. Just out of nowhere. I couldn’t see what it was it dashed through me like lightning…ow! Fuck! Don’t fucking touch me, you—“

You grip his chin hard in your hand and he flinches, almost smiling as you stare into his eyes with a hard stare. He was too weak to fight you back, and you used that your advantage. “I could just leave you here to bleed to death or do myself a favor and take that knife from my kitchen and slit your fucking throat because you’re already half dead, but I’m not gonna do that. You came to me for a reason, do you want my help or not?”

He grins, his teeth stained with blood. “I like it when you’re rough, should I bend over so you can fuck me too?” Your grip tightens on his chin, a low chuckle rumbles in his throat.

“Why aren’t you healing?” You ask him again.

“I don’t know.” He mumbles again and you pull your hand away. He’s skin was almost gray, you get to your feet, find a dishrag and soak it in water from the faucet. You kneel in front of him and his hand snaps up to grip your wrist hard. His eyes stare into yours, and you can almost see the pleading behind them.

“Let go of me.” You tell him.

“A rag soaked with water isn’t gonna heal me, princess.”

“It’s so you stop bleeding on my fucking floor, let go of me.”

You pull your wrist out of his grasp and he growls but doesn’t fight you. He flinches when you place the rag on his wound; you gently wipe his skin, and blood continues to pool from the gash. You’re worried now, what could’ve caused this injury?

You meet his eyes again, your heart racing. “Will my blood heal you?”

His eyebrows come together. “What?”

“My blood. If I give you some of my blood…will that…help you?”

He smirks at you, flinching again as a wave of pain hits him. “Won’t…know…until we try.”

You sit back on your bottom, moving your hair away from your shoulder, exposing your neck, your heart racing. He carefully moves towards you, and you tilt your head to the side. You close your eyes, feeling his breath close to your neck as his cold hand cups the side of your face. He startles you when you feel his lips press lightly against yours. It was a gentle kiss, a kiss you were more familiar with when it was your Eddie. He pulls away from you, and stares into your eyes. You have no words.

His fangs grow as he smiles and the peaceful feeling you had was now gone, replaced by some fear…excitement. His teeth graze your neck and you shudder. Before you have a second to think, he bites down and you feel your entire body become hot. He grips your hair, slowly moving on top of you as he continues to drink from your vein. You were trying to speak, but all that came out was a soft moan as an unexpected wave of pleasure forms in depths of your lower belly. He was grunting softly as his tongue laps the blood up from your neck. 

He was taking too much, you realize. Your head was buzzing, your fingertips were numb, you couldn’t feel your legs. “Eddie…”

He doesn’t hear you, he’s too busy enjoying this. Your nails dig into his back and you try to find as much strength as you can to get him to realize. You lift up your foot, and kick him hard in the leg, and you scream out his name. He flies off of you, you’re certain it was reflex because you’re not that strong. His back hits the cabinet doors, and you can’t move. Everything was getting dark. He says your name, and you try to focus.

His eyes are brown again.

“No. No. Oh no. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hands lift your head up and you blink back tears. “I’m gonna fix this, I’m gonna fix this.” You focus as he bites into his wrist, and you see the crimson fall from his veins.

“I don’t want to be…like you…”

“You won’t.” His voice sounds so far away. “Just drink, drink baby.”

You feel the blood against your lips and you weakly open your mouth, feeling its warmth drip slowly down your chin. He’s gently angling your head back so the blood goes down your throat, everything was still getting dark and you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

“Stay with me. Stay with me!”

He came back, your Eddie. He came back to you, but how long would he stay this time? How long until the monster that wears his face comes back to finish the job? You could already feel the affects of his blood, it was almost unbearable and it made your stomach churn but you couldn’t move.

“Are you…healing?”

“Yes.” His voice is shaky. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s okay.” You mumble, your eyes flutter and smile. “I can rest now.”

“Your color is coming back…”

“Eddie…”

“I’m here baby.”

“I can’t kill you…”

“Sweetheart…”

“There’s been more murders…curfew…what attacked you?”

You couldn’t hear his voice anymore, you were so sleepy. You felt lighter as you drifted off, calmer. You were Princess Aurora who just pricked your finger on the spindle, in a deep sleep; awaiting a kiss from your true love.

When you awoke, the sun was rising. Your body was sore; was last night a dream? You sit up, throwing the covers off of you. You feel your neck, there was no feel of a mark, or bandage.

“Finally, she arises.”

You yelp, almost falling off the bed but Eddie catches you. You stare at one another deeply, his discolored eyes staring into yours. You want to scream, wishing they were that beautiful brown again. Although, there wasn’t anything menacing about this stare; it was almost like he was studying you, like that good part of himself was slowly filling himself back up again as he looked at you.

He smirks at you.

“Boo.” He says and the breath from his lips causes your hair to move. You rip out of his grasp, pulling the covers back over yourself.

“You almost killed me.” You snap at him.

He grins, pacing around your bedroom, running his fingers along the top of your dresser. “But I didn’t. Your little boyfriend was there to save you. I was trying to figure out the blocks in my memory at the most random times, and then I realized it’s because of other me. He really gets bent out of shape when it comes to you, it’s gross.”

“Must suck, not being able to love someone that deeply.” You narrow your eyes at him.

He growls and he’s in front of you, you didn’t have a second to blink. His breath is against your lips as he leans in close to your face. “I know exactly how to love deeply. You have been unconscious for three days, if I wanted to kill you I could’ve. And if you haven’t noticed, sweetheart, your Eddie lives in the deep, deep depths of my dead heart so I can feel his love for you.” He almost looks pained as he’s telling you this, you hold his stare. “I could never kill you, and if you died... That’d be the end of me. Of us.”

You blink and almost smirk. “Bring him back then.”

“What?”

“Bring back my Eddie. If you really love me, you’ll bring him back.”

He laughs. “I’m not made of magic.”

“Aren’t you?” You counter. “He seems to pop up in stressful situations, he knows how to get out of that trap Vecna holds on you.”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t say his name.”

“Why not? He’s weak, practically dead, right? Why are you afraid of him?”

“I’m not.” His tone changes, it scares you and he smiles. His hand reaches up to smooth out your messy hair, he moves his mouth closer to yours. “I’m afraid of you.”

You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, awkwardly leaning back on the bed. “Why me?”

“So many fucking questions.” He sneers his lips barely grazing yours. “No matter which way this ends up, you will be the death of me.”

“Bring him back.” You whisper.

“No.” His cool fingertips glide up your neck and you shudder, your eyes fluttering closed. You feel his lips against your chin. “Tell me…” He kisses your skin gently and heat floods your cheeks. “How did he make love to you?” He moves behind you, his hands gliding around your throat before resting on your shoulder. He kisses the back of your shoulder, and you gasp quietly. “Was he soft? Did he worship every-“ you let out a moan as his fingers grip your hair in a ponytail and roughly pulls you back against his chest. “Inch of this beautiful skin?” You feel his tongue dance along the vein at your throat, his grip tightening its hold on your hair.

“Get your hands off of me.” You say through clenched teeth. Your nails digging into his thigh, but he doesn’t release his hold on you. His free hand glides over the fabric of your t-shirt, under the covers that shields your lap, and you hold your breath as you feel his fingers dance against your clit. He moans softly against your throat, and you lean your head back against his shoulder as he moves your lips apart, feeling the wetness that pooled inches from his fingers.

“Did he whisper that he loved you? Telling you how beautiful you are?” He rubs faster on your clit, and you moan loudly. The grip you had on his thigh loosens, and you knead at the fabric of his jeans gently.

“Y-yes.” You breathe out.

“Mmm.” He coos in your ear, and you turn your head towards his. His presses his lips against yours, kissing you sweetly as his other hand cups your cheek. You open your mouth with his, his tongue like silk against yours. Your hand moves lower to his crotch, and he lets out a breath into your mouth as you rub his erection through his jeans. You deepen the kiss, turning your body so you’re straddling him, his hand still not leaving in between your legs. He tries to pull away from you, but you pin your body closer to his. Your hand finds his zipper, and you miraculously expose him with just the flick of your fingers. And before he could object, you push his hand away from your clit and lower yourself onto him, feeling every inch of him burying in your cunt. He moans loudly, and you rock your hips. His hands grip your thighs hard as you pick up your rhythm, your skin was prickling with a sensation you couldn’t quite make sense of.

“You are one dirty girl.” Eddie whispers against your cheek, his breath hot. “Show me how you’d make him come.”

You groan, your head falls back and sweat forms behind your neck. You reach behind you, cupping his balls in his hands and he lets out a small laugh, his knocks his head off of your headboard as you continue lower and lower until your finger is at the opening of his ass. He gasps as you slide your finger into him. “Oh…my…”

“God?” You say, leaning forward to bite his lip. “I thought he didn’t exist.”

He whispers your name, and a low growl starts in his throat as you pump your finger faster, the angle causing him to rock his hips faster into you, causing you to scream out. He pushes his mouth to yours roughly, his fingers curl in your hair as he forces you on your back. He slams into your hard, your nails claw at his back through his t-shirt. Your blood sang, your entire body was vibrating, you wondered if maybe his blood was the cause of it. You feel your orgasm approach your core, and you feel him trembling.

A sudden thought pops into your head as he continues to move above you. If he wouldn’t bring your Eddie back himself, there had to be a way for you to bring him back. He seems to come back during stressful moments, but what if you could get him out of the upside down for good? Pull him out by using dark Eddie’s mind. You needed help though. You glance around your bedroom, your eyes fixing on the ceramic lamp that sat on your nightstand. His blood gave you a superhuman strength that he doesn’t even know about, and you knew if you used all the strength, especially while he was vulnerable, you could knock him out. His head was buried in your shoulder, and you carefully reach your hand towards the lamp. You realized how morbid this was, knocking him out while he was buried inside you.

Could be worse, you thought.

You are able to get a good grip on the base of the lamp, you turn your head to the side, squeeze your eyes shut and bring the lamp down as hard as you can onto his head. The lamp shatters in your hand and you knew immediately you had cut it; he goes limp on top of you.

Holy shit, it actually worked.

You wiggle out from underneath him, pushing him off the bed and onto the floor. You poke him with your toe. He didn’t even budge; you were relieved when you could see his chest rise and fall. You zip him up in his jeans, for his modesty. Blood drips from your hand as you stand over him, just watching him.

The taste of copper hits your tongue and you realize you’re licking your blood off of your hand like a starving dog.

What the fuck.

You rush to the bathroom, rinsing off the blood from your hands and wrapping it with a small towel. You get yourself dressed in decent clothes and go back to your bedroom where Eddie still laid unconscious. You pick up the receiver of the telephone and dial a number, you keep your eyes focused on him, your heart pounding in fear that he will wake up.

The person picks up on the other end.

“Dustin. I need your help. Bring bungee cords and duct tape.”

***

Dustin stares at Eddie’s unconscious body, he’s been staring at him with his eyes wide and puppy like for the last five minutes.

“Dustin?”

“Yeah?” You startled him, and he meets your gaze. “Sorry, it’s just…he’s…alive.”

“I know…well, partially, I guess. We have to get him downstairs.”

Dustin nods, you go by Eddie’s legs, and Dustin goes by his head. You both squat, grunting and you feel your legs almost give out as the two of you lift him off the ground. You didn’t think this through, Dustin scolds you as you awkwardly make your way towards the stairs. It was a struggle getting halfway, Dustin had lost his footing and the two of you squeal when you end up dropping Eddie down the rest of the way. The two of you just stare at the ground where he laid.

“Well, if he was waking up. He isn’t now.” Dustin says with a chuckle, and you groan, awkwardly dragging Eddie into the living room. Dustin gets a wooden chair from the kitchen, and you sit him upright. Dustin wraps the bungee cords around the chair legs and Eddie’s, continuing to look up at him to make sure he was still there. Your heart broke for him, for so long Dustin held onto a guilt that he couldn’t properly explain. Now, he still felt that guilt, and it was because Eddie didn’t come back as himself.

After the two of you had securely and tightly tied Eddie to the chair, you weren’t sure what to do now.

“Do you think this is gonna work? Do you think you can bring him back?” Dustin asks you.

You move Eddie’s hair from his face, his breathing coming out in soft waves. “They don’t like heat, right?”

“Right.”

“I have space heaters in the garage, go grab them.” You peel off your sweatshirt, going to the thermostat, turning the heat up to 90 degrees, it might work, it might not. It was a wait and see. “If he kills us, at least we know that we tried.”

“He won’t kill us.”

“You don’t know who he is now.” You look at Dustin. “He’d kill me out of love if it came down to it.”

“And you still love him?”

“Always.” You look back to Eddie. “Go get the heaters.”

You sit on the couch across from him, watching his chest slowly rise and fall. You hear the side door slam as Dustin goes into your garage.

You had a realization.

If this didn’t work, you knew you would have to kill him.

You didn’t want to admit that to yourself or to Dustin.

But you couldn’t do this anymore.

You missed Eddie. You missed the boy who walked into your life when you were fourteen years old who made you a flower out of guitar picks. You missed the man who carried you home from a house party when you were too drunk to walk. You missed the way he’d take strands of your hair between his fingers, tucking them behind your ear. You missed the way he would give you a certain look when you knew you were being crazy and unreasonable whenever you got into an argument. You missed the way he would kiss you. Really kiss you.

If you had to survive another minute with this Eddie, you’d rather suffer with the grief all over again than have to deal with a monster.

You take in a deep breath when you hear Dustin walk back in, and you feel the sweat pool behind your neck.

This was suicide.

But sometimes, you have to do crazy things for love.

The house was scorching, it had taken only fifteen minutes before the heat started to take full effect and Eddie began to move. Dustin was bopping his leg, the nerve settling in as Eddie groans. You had a knife next to you on the nightstand, ready to use it if needed. He lifts up his head, his hair falling into his face as he realizes his hands are tied tightly behind his back.

“What the…” he struggles in the restraints and then meets your eyes, and then Dustin. He laughs, a squeaky chuckle. “This is kinky, tying me up like this. Are you gonna watch?” He asks Dustin, his eyes lifeless and cold, a smirk on his lips. Dustin doesn’t move, his words are stuck in his throat. You move closer to Eddie, squatting in front of him.

“Bring him back.”

“That’s what this is about?” Sweat drops from his neck, you could tell he was uncomfortable. “You could’ve asked nicely.”

“I have.” You growl. “And I’m tired of asking. I’m tired of you.”

“Aww, break my heart.” He teases and struggles again. “You think these are gonna hold me? You’re stupid if you don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I do know what you’re capable of. You almost killed me.”

You feel Dustin’s eyes on you, but you ignore him.

“But didn’t you want a forever ever after?”

“Not like that.”

“Pity.” He lets out a groan, his jaw clenches. “Turn the heat off.”

“No.”

He goes to launch for you, his fangs out but Dustin did a good job with the knots. You laugh at Eddie.

“Scared?”

“Not even close.” He growls, his eyes menacing, his teeth bared.

“Good.” You turn the knob on the space heater all the way up, the heat blasting and he lets out a sound you’ve never heard before. He struggles more, the veins in his neck bulging, his shirt was soaked with his sweat. “Bring him back!” You scream.

“Fuck you!” He yells at you and screams in pain. “Ughhhhhh, turn it off!”

Dustin jumps back. “It’s hurting him!”

“Don’t you fucking dare touch that!” You snap at Dustin who had reached for the heater.

Eddie lets out a psychotic chuckle, his fangs still exposed. “You’re both dead when this is over.”

You grab him by his hair, making him look at you. “I thought you couldn’t live without me?”

You take the space heater and push it against his chest. He screams, loud, painful, and he thrashes so hard he falls back to the floor. The chair breaks underneath him, but he’s still screaming. You push Dustin into the kitchen, the knife in your hand as Eddie struggles to break free. You keep Dustin behind you as you walk backwards when Eddie gets to his hands his knees.

He gags.

And then he vomits.

Black liquid spills out of his mouth and onto your floor, you both watch with wide eyes as his body heaves and it kept coming and coming.

Until it stops. 

His body is still heaving but he’s not moving, not trying to attack you, not screaming anymore. You couldn’t see his face; his hair shielded it like a blanket. You move towards him, but Dustin grabs your arm, fear in his sweet eyes.

You free yourself from his grasp and walk closer to Eddie. Your hand still gripped the hilt of the knife as you walk closer, hearing him breathing heavily, catching his breath.

His head whips up to you and you jump back.

His eyes.

They were brown.

[princessbiteme0o0]

Listen. Do I want JSchlatt to commit assault for me? Yes. Do I want to hold his drink as he whales on some poor guy who dared to mess with me? Yes. Do I want to kiss his injuries better afterwards, him bragging that the other guy looks much worse? Yes. Do I want him to be protective over me from then on? Yes.

Him always being our knight in shining armor, even if he says otherwise

It’s Not a Threat; It’s a Promise. (Schlatty Daddy x Reader)

(A/N): So I’m in the mood for some tooth rottingly sweet fluff and some gut wrenching angst and this ask is PERFECT for that. Not FULLY what ik you want, but close ❤️

Summary: A stranger at the bar fucked around and found out lmaooooo

WARNINGS: Slight violence, blood, attempted non-con

—🌸—🌸—

“Can you get me another drink, Jay?” She asked softly, smiling up at him from where they sat in a booth a bit away from the bar. His eyes sparkled with happiness as he stared down at her.

“Sure.” He hums, giving her a kiss on the forehead and sliding out of the booth and heading for the bar. She watched him make his way across the crowded room and then her eyes flashed to a man that slid in his place. She tried to move away from him, but he trapped her against the wall.

“Hi there, Sexy.” As the man’s voice rolled off of his tongue, it filled the air with the scent of liquor and cigarettes, making her visibly cringe. Her eyes flickered around the bar in search of her boyfriend, but he’s nowhere to be seen and this makes her heart drop to her stomach.

“Can I help you?” Her voice is soft and filled with fear. His hand slipped to her thigh and she nearly jumped at the touch. His fingertips played with the hem of her skirt and she tried to push his hand away only for him to grip her thigh harshly, making her wince in pain.

“Actually, I think I can help you.” He purrs out and she feels her stomach churning as his hand slips up her thigh beneath her skirt.

“Please don’t touch me.” She basically begs, her voice shaking as tears threaten to spill from her eyes.

“C’mon, we both know you wouldn’t dress like that if you didn’t want it.” He growls out, leaning over her so no one could see what he was doing to her. His lips kissed over her neck as he tried to drunkenly suck a mark on her skin and she whimpered, trying to push him off of her. When she felt his fingers brush against her panties, she closed her eyes and prepared herself for the worst. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she whimpered out her boyfriend’s name. “That’s not my fuckin’ name.” The man growls in her ear.

“You’re right. It’s mine.” Schlatt’s voice booms out behind the man. Her eyes snap open at him and the man blocks her view of him, but not for long because Schlatt yanks the man out of the booth in seconds. “What did you think you were you gonna do?” He growls lowly, throwing the guy on the floor. The rando holds his hands up sheepishly, fear lingering in his eyes as he looks up at her boyfriend that’s absolutely seething in rage. The man scrambled back up to his feet to try and get away from Schlatt, but before he can get very far, her boyfriend grips the back of his hair and yanks him back, spinning him around to meet his fist. Schlatt’s mind is gone in a blank rage, eyes only seeing red.

She watched silently with wide eyes as Schlatt beat the absolute piss out of the man that was trying to take advantage of her. With a shaky hand, she reached for his shoulder to stop him. His head snapped in her direction and his eyes immediately softened when he saw the mascara stains on her cheeks and her trembling lip.

“Jay…” Is all she can manage to get out, before tears rolling down her cheeks again. Schlatt is on his feet in a heartbeat and his arms are wrapped around her, pulling her into his chest.

“Shh, shh, I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you, Princess.” He whispers softly into her hair, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. She looks up at him with her pretty eyes basically glowing behind the tears and he is quick to kiss her forehead. “Let’s get you home.”

“Can we- can we get food first?” She croaks out through her tears and her small question makes a slight smile slip across his lips.

“Of course, Toots. Anything for my pretty little girl.”

[katelynnwrites]

Take The Moment And Taste It (You’ve Got No Reason To Be Afraid) | Ona Batlle

warnings: bit of sad feels

word count: 451

summary: ona’s leaving for barcelona but she’s not leaving you

a/n: part 4/4 of And I Saw Something (They Can’t Take Away), finally got this blurb out from where it’s been sitting in my notes app since last may

You stare at Ona, knowing that this would be the last time you ever see her in a Manchester United kit.

Tears fill your eyes and the Spanish woman turns around.

‘Oh mi amor. Don’t cry.’ She murmurs, wiping your tears away gently.

Her hands cupping your face is too much, especially when you wouldn’t be experiencing it for much longer. At least, not until you are able to visit her in Barcelona or till she’s able to make the trip from Spain back to Manchester.

Your shoulders shake as you cry even harder.

‘Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.’ Ona pleads, stepping closer to you so that she can kiss away your tears.

‘I’m gonna miss you.’ You tell her tearfully and Ona fights back her own tears.

‘I know. But it’s only for one season and then you’ll come to Barca too.’

Nodding slightly, you hug your girlfriend tightly and press a kiss onto her head.

You wanted to go with Ona to Barcelona too but Manchester United had rejected the offer the Catalan club had made for you and chosen to exercise the third year option of your contract.

Soaking in the limited time you have left in your girlfriend’s arms, you murmur, ‘I know and in the meantime, I’ll be supporting you from here. I will watch all your matches and try to attend as many as I can.’

‘And you know I’ll do the same for you.’ The Spaniard promises, holding you just as tightly.

Tears are still streaming down your face but you take a deep breath in, looking at Ona and trying to memorise how she looks, committing to memory her last time playing in Manchester, with you.

‘I love you.’ The fullback says and you smile weakly.

‘I love you too and I am so very very proud of you. Now let’s go and make this the best game you’ve ever had for this club okay?’ You tell her and Ona laughs.

‘Okay. If you say so mi amor.’

You hold her hand, walking to the door of the locker room together only for you to pause right before you both walk out.

Kissing her passionately, you pour all of your feelings into it, trying your best to convey how you feel. How proud you are of her, how much you love her and how thankful you are for her.

Ona gasps but catches on quickly, her hands steadying you as she kisses you back just as intensely, with just as much emotion.

‘Let’s go smash it together. One last time for United.’ She breathes once she pulls away.

You grin at her, unable to resist giving her another quick kiss.

‘Let’s do it.’

Spanish Translation:

mi amor - my love

[sweetbans29]

Cait x reader. R is SUPER adhd, like total space cadet. Her brain is always going SOOO fast so if she’s trying to do more than 2-3 things at once it kinda short circuits for a second bc she’s like I gotta do this, but first gotta do this, but can’t do that til I do this, and it’s just on and on in a circle until she stops and takes a deep breath and commits on one task to do first. So because of this when she gets picked to be mic’s up for some livestream event they’re doing for practice she literally forgets like 5 minutes in. So the rest of the stream she’s not censoring herself at all, she’s flirted with Caitlin for like 80% of practice (fans go crazy bc they had kinda soft launched but hadn’t really confirmed it, there’s like 1000 edits by the end of the night) and saying just random outta pocket shit for the other 20%. She also talks to herself a lot, either hyping herself up while she’s running between drills/plays or admiring her girl play while she takes a breather. She only remembers about the mic the last 5 minutes of practice then is like oh sit- wait fuck I’m not surprised to cuss shit-SHOOT!

I LOVE the mic'd up idea! Keep an eye out for this on a 'Coming Soon' 🤍

[sadgothtransbian]

The lore drop u were all waiting for. I will try to update it fairly frequently.

The author of the shitposts: Osprey (yes it’s also my chosen name, deal with it) a female Dhampir born in 1312, died in 1330 and was bitten a few days after death, turning them into a sort of half dead person. Constantly needs new bones as hers were turned into liquid through the vampirification process. Also slowly going insane.

Dhampir(loosely based on Albanian folklore): either humans that were turned incorrectly, like if a fetus’s mother was turned, if they were bitten after being dead or born from a vampire-human couple. Their bones become liquid, generally slowly go insane, and often have unique powers (most typically invisiblity while playing bagpipes)

Fish powers/fish boy powers: allows the user to fight anisakid nematodes fish to fish and punch Shtriga into the ocean among other powers but is useless against a Baloz. Typically obtained through eating sushi on a cruise ship with different fish giving different powers.

Anisakid Nematodes: A parasitic worm typically ingested from raw fish. Can be fought against in fish to fish combat with eel fish powers.

Shtriga: vampiric witches(based on Albanian folklore) that feeds on infants and turn into insects. Can only be punched into the ocean with cod fish powers. They live exclusively on cruise ships.

Snapple Topplr: A species of gelatinous rodent that lives underneath Osprey’s house’s foundation and eats sugar cubes and the house’s foundation. Can be repelled by a tower of beans???

Sneegle Sangler: A monstrosity that likes tea leaves, steals kneecaps from unmarked graves and knows the true name of all. If given a liquid it spews irradiated eyelids. A person know when it approaches because they can feel it darken the moors of their mind, their reflection will become offbeat and finally their surroundings will become hazy. It consumes the blood of innocence.

Pooka(pl. Pookas): like dropping beer bottles on people’s heads while they sleep

Man with a face/ the man with too many faces: a shadow person who especially likes to collect people’s faces

The Doom Vample: a bitches motherfucker who bullies people for playing anything other than the original doom game.

Poob: the classic streaming surface from that one tumblr post we all know, it keeps tolling for some reason and I’m slightly concerned

Fricking fumblenuts: an obscenity, usually issued upon dropping pancakes.

Dehydrated camel cartel: an elaborate criminal organization of dehydrated camels that is currently pursuing the author due to unspecified bad decisions.

Cave diver I hardly know her: a location where cave divers go to die.

The shadow people: can only be talked to past someone’s bedtime. They’re quite nice once u get to know them, really.

Vasoline car dealership: place where cars are priced based on how much vasoline can fit in them.

Goog: an exam proctor that lives to breathe down students’ necks and drips ooze from their orifaces. Otherwise a nonbinary icon.

guamrjdispfigh: an exam taking application that slowly sucks the souls out of students while taking tests

Gogol Bafinkerdinkers: A powerful yet small and delicate device capable of mass destruction

Gregorio Oreo Somorio: u don’t want to know

Bibby bop wibby mode: grants the user to commit atrocities free of charge

Skibble wibble: god of the bibby bop wibby mode and of horses with three legs

Demon burger: burger made between the hours of 1am and 6am. If eaten starts hissing and causes intense abdominal discomfort and purple blood

Fleebus: will murder you brutally with the 4chansaw. U have hours to live

Flangerizer: Osprey’s roommate??? May or may not need to chill the fuck out. Who knows anything anymore(EDIT: apparently the Flangerizer is Osprey’s CAT!?! May also be a roommate, who knows, but he may or may not be sentient and may or may not be made into a Mongolian yurt)

Sneedle: A wolverine that tells you stuff that you probably don’t want to know

You’re welcome.

[ancient-wanderer]

Waverly/Wilson Family Drama wip

Mid-October, 1995

Camp David, Maryland

Late Friday Afternoon

The porch door creaked open for the third time in twenty minutes, and Ellen didn’t bother turning to see who it was.

She sat in one of the weathered teak chairs that lined the edge of the deck of the Aspen Lodge, a mug cooling between her palms. Beyond the railing, the Maryland woods stretched in every direction—dogwoods, pines and maples turning steadily with the season, their leaves already deep in amber, red and gold. The late afternoon sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out toward her.

Camp David was quiet the way few places ever were. No motorcades. No press pool. Just the layered stillness of forest and wind and a long drive that led nowhere the public could reach.

It should’ve been peaceful.

They’d only just arrived a few hours ago—her parents, her brother, Larry’s entire family. All of them stepping onto the grounds like it was a reunion, like it wasn’t also a reckoning. The house had good bones—wood-paneled halls, stone fireplaces, oversized leather armchairs—but none of it could muffle the tension simmering beneath polite conversation.

It was one thing to have come out, to face the world with the truth of who she was. But this—this was a family still trying to catch up. Still trying to fit pieces together that didn’t quite match anymore. And here they all were, playing house in the woods, pretending everything could still be the same.

Ellen stared out into the woods, feeling the weight of every branch and leaf. What had she been thinking? Inviting them all here, together, in the wake of everything? Maybe she had hoped the controlled setting would ease the tension, that the serene surroundings of Camp David could somehow soften the raw edges of what they were all facing. Maybe, in some corner of her mind, she thought that a weekend away would give them the time they needed to process—time to let the truth sink in, even if it wasn’t the truth they expected. Or wanted.

Larry had been anxious, and she’d understood why. They both knew they couldn’t avoid the fallout any longer. Their coming out had upended so many assumptions, shattered illusions of who they were in their families’ eyes, the country’s eyes.

If they were going to survive the court of public opinion—if she was going to survive the attacks from Congress, from her own party—they needed this. She needed her family to understand, to be on her side. Without that, everything else was just noise. Because if she couldn’t get them to stand with her, how could she ask a whole country to?

So, they were committed to honesty. No lies. They’d promised themselves that. No more. Even if it meant facing the discomfort, the awkwardness, the questions and the silences that stretched too long.

That was all she could offer them—the chance to see who she really was, even if they couldn’t immediately accept it.

The porch behind her gave a small groan of weight—someone stepping out. Again. Still, Ellen didn’t turn.

“It’s getting cold,” came a voice behind her.

She exhaled, a thin stream of steam rising with her breath. “I’m aware.”

The mug was more prop than warmth now, but she kept it in her hands. She hadn’t asked for company. But she also hadn’t told anyone to leave her alone.

“I thought you might want something stronger than coffee,” the voice added.

This time, she glanced over her shoulder.

Janet stood behind her with a bottle of bourbon in one hand, two short glasses in the other. She raised an eyebrow like it was a question but didn’t wait for an answer before taking a seat next to Ellen.

“I figured if we’re all going to pretend this is a normal weekend, we might as well drink like it is,” she said, setting the glasses down on the table between them.

Ellen gave the smallest nod, grateful without showing much of it. Janet poured them each a finger of bourbon and handed one over.

They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.

“I always wondered,” Janet said eventually. “About you and Larry.”

Ellen didn’t look at her, but her jaw tightened slightly.

“I didn’t know, not really. But… I mean. Come on,” Janet continued, her tone light but not flippant. “You were Ellen Waverly. You’re—what did my mom used to say? ‘Too impressive by half.’”

That got a faint smile.

“And Larry,” Janet went on, “Larry is… Larry. Brilliant, kind, terrible dresser. He blushes when someone says ‘undergarments.’ I love him, fiercely. But I always had this sense about him. This sense that the two of you were more like… college roommates that got along well enough to make it work.”

Ellen huffed a quiet laugh, her fingers drumming against the tumbler. “You’re not wrong,” she said, eyes still on the glass. “We were roommates. Best friends, really. Oddly good together, just not like that.”

Janet shifted in the chair beside her, crossing one ankle over as she took a slow sip, then rested the glass on her thigh.

“Did he ever have anyone?” she asked, her gaze fixed somewhere out past the trees. “Like that?”

Ellen swirled her own drink, the amber liquid catching a glint of the low sun. “You should probably ask Larry that.”

“I would,” Janet said, “but have you seen him today? His eyebrows are practically grafted to his scalp. He looks like he’s waiting to be audited.”

That pulled a soft snort from Ellen. She tilted her head slightly, the faintest trace of amusement flickering across her face.

“I just want him to know he can talk to me,” Janet said. “It’s not like I need names and dates. Just… context.”

Ellen nodded. “He’s never really wanted to find the one. But he’s never been short on company.”

Janet took another sip, then let the glass settle again. “Yeah. That tracks. He’s always been the kind of person who could build a whole life out of the parts he liked… and quietly ignore the rest.”

Ellen gave a quiet hum of agreement and took a sip from her own glass, the bourbon warming her throat. “That’s definitely one way to describe him,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting.

“What about you? Did you ever have anyone?” Janet asked, her voice casual but with a hint of gentle curiosity, as if she was asking about a favorite book, not a cornerstone of someone’s life.

Ellen’s eyes dropped to her glass. The corners of her mouth twitched involuntarily—a smile she had no intention of letting out. Of course there had been someone. There had always been someone, someone who mattered more than anyone else. The only woman who ever made her feel like everything fit, everything made sense. And for a moment, she wanted nothing more than to talk about Pam. To say her name, to spill every good thing, to let it pour out like she'd been waiting years to tell someone.

But not yet. She cleared her throat and smoothed the expression from her face. That part of the story was coming. Just not tonight.

She took a slow sip of her drink, then set it down with deliberate calm. “We should probably head inside,” she said.

Janet eyed her for a beat, then pushed herself out of her chair with a quiet grunt, taking her tumbler with her. “Yeah, I did leave Craig with your mom when I came out here.”

Ellen raised an eyebrow. “Oh, he didn’t deserve that. I thought you actually liked him?”

“I do,” Janet said, offering her hand to help Ellen up. “After you, Madam President.”

Ellen took it with a soft laugh, rolling her eyes. “Let’s go save your husband.”

She brushed her hand down the front of her jacket, gave the woods one last look, then turned toward the door. The porch creaked again behind them as they stepped inside—back to the noise, back to questions, back to family.

[skysometric]

2023 Resolutions In Review

it's new year's resolution season, and for me, that means looking back as much as looking forward. yesterday i wrote about all that i accomplished this year, and today, i want to look at the resolutions i wrote for 2023. i got so much done that, surely, i knocked those out of the park… right?

so as the year draws to a close, i’m not making any resolutions about what i’ll accomplish online, because i know that i’ll be drawn to it no matter what happens. no, my resolution for 2023 is to improve my IRL, so that this year is not as miserable as the past two have been.

uh. Shit

okay, so… i definitely neglected my IRL this year, in favor of creativity. i'll freely admit that some of it was escapism, throwing myself into the act of creation so that i could get away from how i felt about my life. but other parts of it were to get something off my plate, so that i could handle my IRL with more grace and less stress. so it wasn't all bad!

but this quote especially hits like a truck:

then, once i’ve bolstered my IRL with stronger foundations, more joy, new inspirations, less stress… online stuff will naturally follow. i will always want to create. resolutions are for putting in the work.

the sad truth is that i did not get the stronger foundations that i wanted; most of my year was spent in survival mode until i could get home and create again. i want to create out of joy, not escapism! to be clear, there's nothing wrong with the latter – but only i have the tools to get out of survival mode, and i did not accomplish that this year.

i did, however, put a dent in the mountain of stress. here's some things i tackled IRL:

my partner and i put a LOT of effort into improving her mental and physical health this year, getting her to new appointments and treatment and professional help that she did not have last year. i consider this our biggest IRL accomplishment of 2023!

with good budgeting, my partner and i were able to upgrade our computers, phones, and consoles. every single device i just listed was 5-10 years old and falling apart at the seams, so these were very necessary upgrades! all of them have contributed to us getting more creative work done this year, like my upgraded computer allowing me to stream more often – as well as getting more rest.

we also got out of the house more, picking random nights to go shopping, go to the park, or just get food. it's nice to be able to do that again, after the pandemic locked us in the house for so long… but we're just natural couch potatoes anyway lol

i have a psychiatrist and a therapist now! i don't get to see them often due to my health insurance, but it's a good start and something i may be able to invest more into in 2024.

speaking of which, i got to try ADHD meds this year. they didn't work out… but i did try, and it was worth the effort of trying. i would like to try again next year, though i am not making it a resolution.

i wouldn't call this an accomplishment… but we lost two cats this year, and while we'll miss them dearly, it does mean a lot less cleaning and chores to take care of our remaining two cats. having four cats was a commitment we did not choose in the first place, and it was a sore spot for many reasons – but we did our best to care for them anyway.

it's a lot for one year! and i did accomplish my goal of being less miserable than last year… it's just not everything i hoped for, resolved for. i've allegorically polished up my house, but the house itself is still built on shaky ground.

i would say something like, "oh well, there's always next year!" and in truth, there are a lot of opportunities on the horizon that could very well bring the stronger foundations i'm looking for. but i am not going to make the same resolution again… because, quite frankly, i don't know what it takes to get out of survival mode! and i can't possibly predict how a year will go, or what the whims of my ADHD will decide to focus on. i'd rather play it by ear, and just… try to be cognizant of how much i'm leaning on escapism.

so here ends this resolution… but 2024 brings new possibilities, and maybe they'll lead me to where i was already headed.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE COURAGE OF CODE

I'm surprised people still worry about this. In a startup you can do whatever you want and don't cite any previous work, and indignant readers will send you references to all the papers you should have cited. The best you can do, if you want to spend your time travelling around, or playing in a band, or whatever, that's a perfectly legitimate reason not to start a new and much more exciting startup, Justin. Humans like to work with you on your current idea, switch to an idea people want to lead in it, instead of reconciling it with scripture.1 Court hierarchies are another thing entirely. CEOs like to increase earnings. I can tell, the concept of the hormone-crazed teenager is coeval with suburbia.2 Nerds are unpopular because the other girls would make fun of her.3

While there, the peer pressure that made you wear a suit and tie to work.4 Why do it if you're not ready for commitments on that scale. What made our earnings bogus was that Yahoo was, in effect, put you in a position, if not to create this situation, to realize what was happening and to milk it. Usually it's implicit in statements like there are only so many startups Google, Microsoft, and Yahoo can buy. Why will the Internet have great effects, and that people should work for another company for a few years before starting their own. Even a lot of adults who still react childishly to challenges, of course. So far that is a very good spam indicator.5 There are thousands of smart people who could start companies and don't, and with a relatively small amount of force applied at just the right place, we can spring on the world a stream of new startups that might otherwise not have existed.

To have kids!6 Teenagers now are neurotic lapdogs. Good design uses symmetry. You rarely hear of a startup that's working around the clock doing deals and pumping out new features, and dies because they can't afford to hire a lot of people trying to be Thurston Howell. What's too young? Kids in pre-industrial times, they were all apprentices of one sort or another, whether in shops or on farms or even on warships. But the techniques for building a new type of venture firm?

I wouldn't be surprised if one day people look back on medieval peasants and wonder how they stood it. But software companies don't hire students for the summer as a source of cheap labor. It worries me a bit to be saying this, because in effect we're advising people to educate themselves by failing at our expense, but it's actually a pretty good description of what happens in most American schools. But they could not have put into words exactly how their ugly ducklings were going to grow into a big one. They couldn't fix the system. What made him seem older? The distributors want to prevent the transparency that comes from making the company bigger? If you develop ideas in a startup instead of starting your own.7 So at the last minute I cooked up this rather grim talk.8 If you start a startup.9 All startups are mostly schleps.

Sam Altman, however, is an outlying data point.10 It describes the work I've done to improve the performance of their algorithm, let alone of Bayesian spam filtering in general.11 C#: Java is controlled by Sun.12 Investors looked at Yahoo's earnings and said to themselves, here is proof that Internet companies can make money. If your software miscalculates the path of a space probe, you can't finesse your way out of trouble by saying that your code is slow, and fix that.13 The new model seems more liquid, and more efficient. I feared. I think the Internet will have great effects? It's still early days. The great majority of programmers still go straight from college is that they hate the idea that a bunch of guys who get together to go hunting. Filtering rate is a measure of the bugs in my implementation than some intrinsic false positive rate of Bayesian filtering. Fashions almost by definition change with time, so if you can make without using sales talk.

The new model seems more liquid, and more efficient. If you make fun of it. Boston. A lot of them. But I know they exist.14 Bill Gates will of course come to mind. Another problem, and possibly an even worse one, was that we never had anything real to work on something interesting with people I like. And what this means, as everyone seemed to then, that smart kids tend to be the middle course, to notice some tokens but not others. All startups are mostly schleps.15 T: Scheme has no libraries.

Notes

But that oversimplifies his role. Perhaps it would be vulnerable both to attack the A P supermarket chain because it was one firm that wanted to have to say that intelligence doesn't matter in startups. This is isomorphic to the World Bank, the partners discriminate against deals that come to you. A significant component of piracy, which allowed banks and savings and loans to buy it.

27 with the guy who came to work than stay home with them.

In a period when people are magnified by the time I had zero effect on what you do a very good. Apparently someone believed you have to think of a stock is its future earnings, you can't or don't want to design these, and don't want to help the company is like math's ne'er-do-well brother.

Y Combinator never negotiates valuations is that they were more dependent on banks, who probably knows more about hunter gatherers I strongly recommend Elizabeth Marshall Thomas's The Harmless People and The CRM114 Discriminator. Peter, Why Are We Getting a Divorce?

It's not only the leaves who suffer.

If you have an edge over Silicon Valley is no different from deciding to move from Chicago to Silicon Valley, the partners discriminate against deals that come to them, and there are already names for this to users than where you read about startup school to potential investors are just not super thoughtful for the first meeting.

25 people have seen, so I have so far done a pretty comprehensive view of investor is more efficient.

The VCs recapitalize the company might encounter is a fine sentence, but instead to explain how you'd figure out what the attitude of the subject of wealth for society. It might also be good employees either. Even if you have is so plausible, you have more money chasing the same phenomenon you see them, just those you should make the argument a little more fat, and the manager of a city's potential as a naturalist. Within Viaweb we once had a demonstration of the things we focus on growth instead of profits—but only if the sender happens to use them to get only in startups.

It took a shot at destroying Boston's in the future, and VCs will try to give up your anti-dilution provisions also protect you against tricks like a headset or router.

They're common to all cultures with long traditions of living in a cupboard saying this is why I haven't released Arc. If you want as an adult. This is one resource patent trolls need: lawyers. And journalists as part of wisdom.

Though nominally acquisitions and sometimes on a hard technical problem.

We don't call it ambient thought. A variant is that it's boring, we should worry, not all are. I'm compressing the story a bit more complicated, because the rich paid high taxes?

I was writing this.

Many famous works of anthropology. The First Two Hundred Years. And no, you can't expect you'll be well on your product, just as Europeans finished assimilating classical science.

Content is information you don't want to believe is that they discovered.

[denimbex1986]

'Twenty five years after the late, great Anthony Minghella introduced Patricia Highsmith’s mild-mannered manipulator to a whole new audience, The Talented Mr. Ripley has been reimagined once more – for modern-day streaming consumption.

That means even more time to spend in the company of the softly-spoken sociopath, as he causes chaos for Dickie Greenleaf and friends in sun-soaked early-1960s Italy.

But while some may debate the merits of expanding an already slow-burning thriller to more than five-times the length of Minghella’s very late 20th century masterpiece, there’s no doubting the aesthetic qualities and commitment to craft inherent in Netflix’s eight-episode Ripley.

Creator Steven Zaillian (The Irishman, Moneyball) might have eschewed the Amalfi Coast’s azure blues for the crisp black-and-white that helped make his and Steven Spielberg’s World War II-drama Schindler’s List so compelling, but it helps transport the viewer to another time and place (as does a 60s-infused soundtrack that initially includes hits by Orbison and Humperdinck), while also allowing cinematographer Robert Elswit (Nightcrawler, There Will Be Blood) to make great use of shadows and light for atmosphere-creation and narrative-reflecting.

Likewise, there’s less of a youthful and ensemble feel to the cast, the fresh-faced Matt Damon replaced by the more careworn (and centre-stage) Andrew Scott (Fleabag, Sherlock), while Johnny Flynn (One Life, Emma.) and Dakota Fanning (The First Lady, The Alienist) are terrific, slightly older matches for Minghella’s Dickie and girlfriend Marge – Jude Law and Gwyneth Paltrow. And while there will no doubt be groans from some quarters at the restyling of key figure Freddie Miles (played here by Eliot Sumner), it actually feels like a sensible choice, rather than trying to find anyone to top the scene-stealing brilliance of Philip Seymour Hoffman.

For those unfamiliar with the plot of Highsmith’s 1955 crime novel (first adapted for the cinema via 1960’s French tale Plein Soleil), this Ripley follows the European adventures of New York-based Tom (Scott), as an unexpected opportunity lifts him out of borderline poverty and a seemingly perpetual cycle of petty phone and mail-based crimes.

Having tracked him down with the help of a private investigator, shipping magnate Herbert Greenleaf (Kenneth Lonergan) wants to send Tom on a mission – persuade Herbert’s son Dickie, an old schoolmate of Tom’s, to come home. Convinced his offspring is no painter or writer, Herbert is frustrated by his years of “sailing and drinking and avoiding responsibility”, living “in a place around Naples” off a trust fund “we stupidly set up and can’t legally take off him”, contact only maintained by “an occasional postcard”.

Initially, Tom is unsure, until his apartment’s plumbing goes south and the prospect of a salary and an all-expenses paid trip to Italy’s southern coast prove too tempting to resist. However, once there, he quickly fesses up about the plan, admitting that “I’m not someone who takes advantage of people”.

But while Dickie thinks he’s genuine, Marge isn’t so sure, especially when her beau begins spending more time with his reacquainted college pal than her.

What follows is Highsmith’s captivating cat-and-mouse tale, here given copious amounts of time and space to develop and unfold, twist and turn the tension all the way up to 11.

While the production, costume design and overall mise en scène is quite frankly intoxicating, it’s Scott who provides the sizzle and dramatic meat of the story, giving his duplicitous and dangerous Tom a real edge behind the outwardly effortless charm and insouciant smile.'

[daysofourlivesrecaps]

Wednesday, 12 July 2023

This was a pretty eventful one for a Wednesday episode! Maybe these guys have finally realized that on a streaming platform (as in life itself) time is meaningless and the labeling of individual days serves only to mark the inevitable passage of time.

Then again, they probably do know that because I think that’s exactly what this guy has been trying to tell us since 1965.

(Incidentally, they’ve shaved that intro down to a tight fifteen seconds. It would almost certainly take you longer to find and use your remote to push the ‘skip intro’ button than it would to just let it play.)

Okay, first — Wendy finally chose a guy!

If you felt jerked around by me teasing this information in yesterday’s recap, imagine how I’ve felt for the past… 8 months or so? I have a distinct memory of this being a thing around Christmas, but it’s possible it’s been going on even longer than that. And even though we knew she picked one of them at the end of yesterday’s episode, it still takes more than half of this one for them to finally tell us.

First, she asks Tripp (who lives there) to give her and Johnny some privacy.

Both guys somehow inexplicably interpret this to mean that she’s chosen Johnny, not just that she wants to have a conversation with one of them without the other one just hanging around. But of course, “misunderstandings bordering on farce” are one of this show’s favorite tricks. Certainly of late, anyway.

So Tripp goes to visit his dad, Steve. Steve continues to be an extremely good dude, and it’s easy to see how a guy like Tripp came from a dad like Steve. He tells his son that, if he cares for Wendy, he should fight for her. But not in the shitty, sexist way that guys used to do stuff like that.

Steve is doing his best to keep up with the times and gives very good advice about how to be confident and assertive without being toxic and pushy. I wish I had jokes for this, but I don’t. I’m just a real sucker for media where strong, self-assured dudes are also allowed to be compassionate and sensitive. It’s a level of nuance that actual grown-up TV shows struggle with, but this soap fucking nails it.

Back at Wendy’s place… Johnny’s being a real smug dickhole over his assumption that Wendy has chosen him.

Which is what makes it extra delightful when she says “nope, I’m actually into Tripp. Now get out of my house.” She’s more diplomatic about it than that, but after so many months of waiting for this exact thing to finally happen, my memory wants to embellish it a bit.

Also he throws a little entitled hissy fit when he gets the news. Because of course he does.

Then Tripp comes home, gets the news and everyone’s happy! Except Johnny, and nobody fucking cares about that guy!

Over at the pub, Kate and Kayla have a chat over breakfast. Mostly about how Kate really wanted Harris to kill Megan, and how disappointed she is that this didn’t end up happening. Kate gotta Kate.

Kayla commits a very mild HIPAA violation and tells Kate what’s been going on with Harris’ deprogramming.

And here he is, still at the hospital, hanging with Marlena. Who is somehow not crawling with picnic ants.

Harris believes that, what with being brainwashed to kill for Megan on two different occasions, maybe he shouldn’t just be free to go because Marlena says he’s cured now. Maybe, he suggests, I should go Offscreen Hills, the mental institution where we sent Tripp’s mom, and be under observation for awhile.

Marlena is weirdly hesitant to agree to this, but finally does.

I still want to like Harris, but a trip to Offscreen Hills usually means, as you might infer from the name, leaving the show. I mean, I’d be very happy if he met Tripp’s mom (Ava, one of my favorite characters) there and they fell in love. But that doesn’t seem terribly likely.

But before the Nice Young Men in Their Clean White Coats show up to take him away (ha ha), Kate shows up to sort-of apologize (this is Kate we’re talking about after all) for asking him to kill Megan.

Which, let’s be honest, is probably the best send-off this poor guy is likely to get.

Okay. I promised eventfulness and I definitely meant more than just “an obvious resolution to a tedious love triangle.”

Because this is the episode where we meet Clint Rawlings, formerly deputy mayor to Abe Carver and now, in light of Abe’s presumed death, acting mayor of Salem.

I was pleased to see the introduction of a new, fairly handsome character but one of my viewing companions (TLo) insisted we were meeting a new villain.

And she was proven right almost immediately. Clint really comes out swinging, laying into Chanel for daring to reopen her bakery after the Poisoned Biscuit Affair of April or So.

He proceeds to go into the elaborate web of deception and misfortune that led to Sweet Bits’ recent closure (Chanel getting involved with her college professor; the untimely demise of the professor’s wife; the subsequent cover-up of the whole affair by her mother; the arrival in Salem of two of that professor’s children, both swearing revenge) and assures her that he will not stand for any of this because his administration is going to bring law and order (now streaming on Peacock) and decency back to Salem.

If you happen to be watching the show with any racist dogs, they almost certainly started barking at the sound of that whistle.

And at the police station, Rafe actually does decide to do something about the whole “Shawn was drinking on the job” thing and prepares to suspend him. But then Shawn reveals that he knows all about Rafe’s secret affair with Jada (his subordinate and the only other named cop on the show) and effectively blackmails Rafe into not suspending him lest the affair become public knowledge.

Wow, he’s a mean drunk. Who would have expected that of Shawn Brady, the Irish cop?

Naturally someone overhears all of this. (Did I say “bordering on farce” earlier? I meant “living in a comfortable suburb of farce and commuting in daily for work.”)  And that someone is Acting Mayor Family Values, who almost certainly cannot account for his whereabouts on 6 January 2021 if you get what I’m saying.

Rafe does manage to go through with the suspension of Drunk Shawn, but then Rawlings proceeds to Make Salem Great Again and fires Rafe!

Which sucks, because I was just finally getting to like Rafe a bit. But also because, as far as I can tell, this makes Jada the only active cop in Salem now.

Well, unless you count Officer Skippy, the guy whose pants got stolen at the hospital a few weeks ago. But what’s the likelihood that this new Acting Mayor puts an inept, inexperienced white dude in charge over the woman of color?

[bastard-of-a-bog-being]

I want to add your tags here when I reply because like, that last part especially, just like… yes. I have adhd. I have chronic pain. I have god knows what happening to my organs right now and I can’t even be committed with my job right now. I still can’t fathom leaving someone High and Dry so flippantly. My ex best friend would do this shit to me where I’d invite her to hang out doing things we both loved (“hey! You haven’t seen this classic Halloween movie? Why don’t you come over and we’ll put it on and have a spooky charcuterie board and play board games.”) (“you wanna come over and stream the movie you wanted to see? I’ve got HBOMax. We’ll do something fun maybe get chips and soda and watch it!”) and she’d go “sure!” Or “I’ll let you know”. I’d ask her a few times leading up to the event including the night before (“are you sure you’re up for it? You’re not too busy? I’m going to the store to pick up snacks so I just wanna be Sure before I buy anything.”) and she’d consistently say “yes! I’m sure!” So, dumbass me, I’d get super hyped because this was going to happen! And we were going to have fun!

And then twenty minutes before the event (cutting the stuff for the charcuterie board in fun little Halloween shapes, or having bought and chilled her favorite soda that I don’t even drink and setting up the movie) I’d get a text with the LAMEST possible excuse of “sorry my mom was talking a lot today and driving me nuts and I don’t feel like doing it now” or “sorry I decided to go to JCPenney instead after church and don’t feel like coming over thanks for the invite tho”. (These are the ACTUAL excuses I was given. For these specific scenarios.) (i also want to add that like, what makes this worse, is this is not from when we were teenagers. This woman is 30something. We are both adults. SHE IS NOW MY BOSS. Her best excuse was “I’m going to JCPenney’s instead” and “my mom was driving me nuts today because she talked too much”. Rereading those excuses just now, I realize it sounded like I was referring to a teenager. Like it was a high school BFF and much time has passed. No. It’s only been a year and a half since the last Flake Out.)

And man! I felt so stupid and so embarrassed because I wasted so much time and energy on someone who decided I wasn’t worth theirs. I was so mad she didn’t even have the decency to fake being sick or claim her dog needed to go to the vet. And this woman dropped me the second she got promoted because now she’s decided she’s better than all of her friends.

I 100% get being sick/mentally out of it and cancelling for that. If you’re honest and saying “I can’t come I’m so sick” or “I’m just not able to handle it today I’m sorry” I’m just like “that sucks but it can’t be helped”. But when it’s bs like “eh I’m just gonna go to JcPenney’s instead”? Or hanging out with a different group of friends because you like them better/they were doing something you deemed more fun? That’s some real messed up shit.

It’s so fucking heartbreaking when people you care about enough to Want them there enough to move plans, don’t even have enough basic respect to Try to be there or RSVP. That group absolutely sucks for doing that to you, and your ‘friends’ who ditched you on your birthday suck too. Especially the way she handled it??? Telling your PARTNER in passing? Flaking is bad enough, but flaking AND not even having the courage to directly tell you herself? Ugh. That’s fucking gross behavior.

I hate feeling like I sound like an old man “doesn’t commitment mean anything anymore??!?” But like!!! Seriously so many people just don’t understand like, basic respect for others and they want to act like they’re not capable of harming others when they “do what they want” and “don’t owe explanations”. But they lack any ability for understanding exceptions to the rule and often don’t want to bother apologizing because they don’t want to admit that they hurt them.

Where you say about like, feeling like you’re gonna get eaten alive for saying it… like yeah. I get it. 😔 it shouldn’t be controversial to express “I wish people would follow through on commitments and it hurts when people break promises.” But knowing how People Who Flake act when you call them out on Flaking… I’m not surprised it even has to be a concern.

I wish it were easier, as an adult, to make friends. Because I want to be like “you gotta dump those friends and meet people who also have a passion for event planning OR who just like attending events” to myself but then it’s like, “what’re you going to do? Put out a Craigslist ad?”

Sorry for reviving your old post to rant in the tags but I am SO glad to find someone who knows what I’m talking about, lately it’s been on my mind a lot how I can’t even call people out for flaking because there’s always an excuse and I’m the jerk for “nagging them” to hang out/answer and it’s like, just really tiring. I wish certain people would just re-learn like, basic respect/civility to some extent. The golden rule. Etc. Even just Some basic ass understanding of “hey, here’s what happens when you tell someone Yes but don’t mean it. Surprisingly, they interpret that to mean Yes.”

the thing that no one ever tells you about making plans with other people as an adult is that while it's difficult to coordinate schedules, 90% of the headache comes from other people just not fucking responding or ignoring plans that have already been made

[queenimmadolla]

CRUEL SUMMER - '85, PIII

summary: . . . the year Eddie Munson doesn’t give a fuck about not having graduated when he’s gotta save the girl so he can get the girl. (in which Eddie is in ST3 and reader is basically Heather Holloway) ┊ Eddie Munson x Flayed!Reader┊Main Masterlist - Series Masterlist - PI - PII

chapter summary . . . Eddie finally learns the circumstances surrounding your bizarre behavior and teams up with a ragtag group of kids to track you down and finally confront you. The only problem is you aren’t you because you’re suddenly committing grand theft auto and people around you are going missing.

chapter warnings: pining, billy hargrove (this fic is black reader friendly, I PROMISE), ‘unrequited’ love, angst, jealousy, mind control, nightmares, violence.

a/n: a very big thank you to my dear friend @kitmon for betaing this chapter! a literal angel ♡ and the detergent scene is inspired by this post, as I am a fan of LifeFire/Headdie/whatever the fuck eddie x heather's ship name would be and it was stupid fucking funny to imagine eddie seeing flayed heather do it. also didn't want to make Reader eat dirt.

word count: 8.4k

“No.” “What? What do you mean ‘no’?” Max demanded from her place in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van.

Eddie let out an incredulous, so-fucking-done-with-this laugh, void of any humor as he drove towards her home. They’d spent the entire car ride feeding him some utter bullshit story about weird paranormal shit going around Hawkins. Now, Eddie knew Hawkins was bizarre but he gave the credit for that to its rather conservative townsfolk. Not some preteen with mind powers and a gaggle of other kids trying to take on an alternate dimension and its monsters. He loved fantasy, so the moment they mentioned a Demogorgon, Eddie knew the whole thing was a lie. A Demogorgon was a monster that existed only within the confines of DND guidebooks and lore. Not in real life. “I mean whatever game of pretend you’re trying to play, I’m not playing.” He should have known better. Maybe they’d gotten mixed in all this when Billy had brought you over (thinking that alone caused his heart to ache) to his house and decided to have some fun with it.

“You don’t think it’s bizarre Chief Hopper suddenly has a new daughter after the death of his other one?”

“Sara.” El immediately leans forward from the back, frowning at Max’s lack of humanization for a sister she’d never get to know.

Max shot her an apologetic look before turning her attention back to Eddie who was sneering.

“You weren’t even around to see Hopper with his family, so no, I don’t think it’s bizarre! There’s a thing called adoption, you know. You adopted?” Eddie directed the question to El, glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

She nodded.

“There you go!” Eddie sighed as he pulled up outside of the house they’d been directing him to, windshield wipers working aggressively to clear the constant stream of rainwater pelting down. “Look. I get it. It’s summer, you’re probably bored out of your fucking minds but what’s going on with Billy and—.”

God, he couldn’t even fucking say your name in the same sentence with him, it felt vile. Bad. What were you thinking? Why couldn’t he have just gotten to you sooner? He shouldn’t have canceled to make a few more bucks, if he hadn’t, you’d be with him. Not fucking Billy. Oh, god. No. He should have thought of another explicit word to use because his mind was racing with images that were making him sick to his stomach.

“It’s just adult stuff, okay?” He croaked out, throat thick with emotion. “It’s not whatever you think it is, you’ll understand when you get older.”

El opened her mouth to argue but Max hushed her, shaking her head as they once more exchanged a secretive look that Eddie could very much see since he had working eyeballs. 

“No,” El whispered in return as fragments of what she’d seen in her trances rushed to the forefront of her mind, the last being an image of you, soaked in an ice bath with red teary eyes as you begged her to help you. Then you’d been pulled away, dragged under by something wicked. That hadn’t been her imagination. Despite having seen you, seemingly fine in the flesh, something was amiss. Your eyes hadn’t looked the same as they did, had lacked life almost.

El directed her stare at Eddie with pleading eyes.

“You have to believe me, she needs help. She asked me herself.” 

Eddie frowned, exhausted with this whole back and forth. He’d been right freaking there and you’d asked her no such thing.

“When was this?”

“Last night. I can see things─”

Eddie groaned, yanking his door open. “Christ, I’ve had it. Out, everybody out.”

The girls scrambled out of the van and into the rain, staring up at Eddie while he pulled their bikes out from the back. “Enough! Enough with the magic powers, the lab, the visions and the monsters! This shit is not a game! If something wrong is going on with them, then I’ll find out on my own! I don’t have time for your little fables and I’m not a babysitter.”

Eddie was beyond frustrated. He’d wasted all this time with them when he could have been staking out your house to see what you were up to next. Instead, he’d foolishly trusted some 13 year olds and now he’d probably have to track you down.

He didn’t even know what the fuck he was going to do, obviously you weren’t going to talk to him now that you had your stupid ass ex-fling back and said ex-fling just wanted to rub it in his face that he’d gotten you because Eddie had been too little too fucking late, as per usual. Eddie just couldn’t let you settle for Hargrove, not after everything he’d put you through and how much you’d grown since Billy had discarded you. If you didn’t want Eddie, then that’d be fine. 

It really wouldn’t, because Eddie would be a total wreck and never forgive himself for missing out on you, let alone be able to get over you, but he’d rather experience that epic heartbreak over you choosing Patrick McKinney instead of Eddie. Or literally, anyone one other than Billy. 

Nevermind the strong sensation of danger that radiated out of the house while you’d been in it. Hell, Eddie had been reluctant to think it but the feeling also seemed to be coming from you as well as Billy. It was difficult for him to believe, he’d dubbed you Sunshine on impulse but it had immediately gained meaning as Eddie grew to know you. Regardless of how people tried to bring you down, tried to discourage you from what you wanted and where you wanted to be socially (he’d been one of those people at some point) you refused to settle, refused to give in and fall back into the crowd like your peers wanted you to. You were positive you’d shine one day. And one day, you did.  For Eddie, at least. He’d just been too stupid to see it—no. He’d seen it. He’d just always assumed you’d be there. Now, you weren’t. There had been no sort of sunshine present in your dining room. You hadn’t been you. 

“Just go home.” Eddie shooed them in the direction of the house, ready to go back to the trailer and collapse, though his brain was running a mile a minute to try and figure out what to do next.

As he’d been about to reach for his car door handle, it suddenly moved higher than his reach. And so did the door it was connected to. 

Because his fucking van was hovering a couple of feet in the fucking air.

Eddie’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide and the hairs on his body raising at the sight of the impossible.

His head whipped around to see El, hand out towards his van with blood dripping from one of her nostrils as a look of concentration morphed her docile features into something fierce.

He watched, stunned as she lowered his van, letting it go once it was just a couple of inches off the ground and it bounced on its tires. Eddie couldn’t even wince at the damage his rims were definitely feeling.

He was stupefied, gaze moving from the van to the young girls over and over again while his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

What. The. Fuck.

“Believe us, now?” Max asked, smug smirk on her face at Eddie’s astoundment. He could only nod stupidly, mouth on autopilot.

“Definitely fucked up my rims, so don’t do that again.” He whispered out, still mindfucked.

Eddie let himself fall against the side of his van, back pressed up against the wet metal as he ran a hand down his face and pushed the hair sticking there way, the rain wasn’t even a bother to him anymore.

His brain was spazzing out, sizzling like bacon as it tried to make sense of what he just witnessed. It just—It couldn’t! 

But it reminded him of the outlandish story they’d given him in the van. The government, the not so random deaths of Benny, Barb, the disappearance and reappearance of Will Byers and how Jonathan, Nancy and Steve’s weird little love triangle (used lightly, everyone could see Nancy and Jonathan would be ending up together) also was involved in the supernatural events. And The Monsters.

Eddie felt the blood drain from his face as he specifically recalled the one about Will Byers and how he’d been just about possessed by the Mindflayer, as the girls had dubbed it. A spy for its sinister intentions.

His stomach hurt.

“Okay, okay.” Eddie finally gave in, he still had no fucking clue what was going on and he really didn’t want to but there wasn’t anytime to waste trying to somehow argue his way into coming up with a reasonable explanation for all of this. It’s been obvious to him you weren’t in the most ideal of situations, despite giving him the cold shoulder, and he knew you were possibly in danger but know he knew El actually had real fucking powers and the stories they told him were true. You weren’t just in peril, you were in a life or death situation.

How he didn’t faint was unknown to him.

“What do we do?” The question escaped him in a rush as he started at Max and El, eyes wide with desperation. “We have to save her.” Max’s eyebrows furrowed as she stated the obvious and the desperation left Eddie just for a moment so he could glare at her. “I know that. How? Is it the Mindflayer?” “We didn’t kill it, just made sure it couldn’t come out,” El informed him, wiping the blood from her nose. “Look, I hate to put all of this on hold, but there’s not much we can do right now. We can recon tomorrow. Give me your phone number.” Eddie winced again, eyes darting around to make sure there was no one else around. God, why did this have to look so fucking bad? He yanked his car door open to dig around the floor of it for a piece of paper, shouting in victory when he’d found not only a receipt, but a really fucked up pen that still worked. He scribbled his phone number down and made sure to keep it snug in his palms to protect it from the rain as it was transferred to Max’s hold. “And don’t you dare think about leaving me out of any of your weird plans, I’ve seen those little looks you’ve been giving each other so I know you scheme. If it’s about her then I need to know. Deal?” “You’re not even offering us anything.” Max made a face as she shoved the receipt with his contact information into her pocket.

“Are most kids this annoying?” “Just go home and get some rest, Eddie. You look like hell,” she snorted out as she and El hurriedly guided the bikes up the driveway.  “I mean it! You better not leave me out of the loop!” He shouted after them before quickly jumping back into his van. “Go home and rest. Yeah, right.” He mumbled, fumbling momentarily with the keys before the van was sputtering to life. He yanked his seatbelt on and floored it, ring clad fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly as he made his way back to your house. No fucking way was he going home, now. Not when the love of his fucking life was possibly possessed by some cthulhu fucker. Eddie didn’t even bother turning to music for comfort, nothing but you could offer that to him and you were currently busy, apparently. When he was just a little ways down the street, he turned his headlights off and slowed his speed. He’d do a quick driveby and then circle back to park a little ways from your house, scope it out to make sure Billy wasn’t hurting you. That feeling of dread returned when he drove by and saw your home, every single light off and seemingly vacant of life. It was your wide open front door that really worried him, though. Fuck the discreet attempt. Eddie swerved into your empty driveway and jumped out of the van, slamming the door shut as he surveyed for the car he’d failed to notice the last time he was present but Billy’s Camaro was nowhere in sight.  “Sunshine?” He called out as he slowly crossed the threshold of your home, shutting the door behind him. The house didn’t seem all that scary anymore, he had a feeling neither Billy nor you were here.` When you didn’t answer him and Billy didn’t spring around the corner to attack him, he made a beeline for your room. Didn’t even bother knocking, just burst right in but like the rest of the house, your room was empty.  Eddie’s shoulders sagged as he sighed, a hand wiping down his tired face, back leaning up against your bedroom door to shut it. The day and his newfound knowledge were finally catching up to him. He was exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. And the stupid fucking weight on his chest wasn’t helping, Eddie was not a fan of melancholy or heartbreak, dealing with both the idea of the girl he loved being with someone else and being in mortal danger were not the obstacles he thought he’d have to face when he planned to confess his feelings.  Selfishly, he hadn’t thought he’d face any obstacles. Definitely fucking karma. Eddie should just pull himself together to go home and wait for Max and Eleven’s (he still couldn’t believe they had nicknamed her after a fucking number, the whole time he thought it was one of those preteen phases as Eddie had once tried to make himself known as The Munster. Terrible, he’s aware) call, just like he shouldn’t deal drugs. But he does. And he wasn't going home. He’s had a feeling, now that you and Billy were aware of your parents’ plans, Billy had taken you out somewhere. It was killing him to not know if you were doing something along the lines of Max and El’s memories or if you were doing something else with Billy. Were you completely out of it? Or were you aware of what you were doing? Did you really have feelings for Billy or were you being forced to stick around him? He needed answers and having to wait ‘til morning made him want to scream. So, he did. He collapsed onto your bed, body cushioned by your soft blankets and screamed into one of your pillows. He didn’t stop until it physically hurt his lungs to continue and only then did he shift around, kicking off his sneakers as he stared up at your ceiling, another thought (one he feared to even be thinking) plaguing his conscience. Could he lose you? And he didn’t mean to Billy.

People had apparently lost their lives when this Upside Down place was involved. And now you were mixed into it, would that mean you’d lose your life, too? Eddie frantically shook his head, trying to kick the thought out of it.  No. No, you did not get to die. You deserved so much more than what the world had dealt you and Eddie would move heaven and hell to make sure you got it. Whatever the fuck had a hold on you, he’d fucking rid you of it. And he was gonna tell you he loved you, too. If you didn’t love him, well then. Then, well. Yeah, he had no idea what he’d do but you’d still be alive so he could live with it. And if you did love him, then he’d spend the rest of his fucking life–your lives making sure you knew how important and loved you were. How much he loved you and wanted to make you happy. He’d do it every day. Tell you every day, if he could somehow keep from professing it multiple times a day (which he didn’t plan to). Wouldn’t be able to stop kissing you, either. GOD, how he wanted to kiss you. He’d had the urge sporadically throughout your friendship but it intensified around Christmas time last year and by the end of the school year, Eddie’s self control was hanging by a thread. He hadn’t kissed you then because he was too stupid to even think about acknowledging his feelings as well as yours. Then summer had punched him in the fucking face because all he wanted to do was kiss you stupid, hold you and just smother himself with your existence.  

Only he couldn’t. You were possessed and maybe dating your ex-whatever he was, while under the influence of something non-human (his brain hurt to make sense of it). How the fuck was he supposed to un-posses you? The only scenario he could think of was that of The Exorcist and while you hadn’t seemed yourself, your neck hadn’t been moving in ways it shouldn’t so an exorcism was probably out of the question. Eddie sighed, head nestled into your pillow before he realized it was your pillow, then he was pressing his face into again, albeit much more gentle, as he inhaled your scent, the ache in his heart immediately comforted by it. On impulse, he nuzzled further into it and for a moment, he was able to pretend it was your hair and you were with him, safe and curled into his side. Where you always should have been. He cracked an eye open with a sniffle to see one of your stuffed animals staring back at him. It was the one you’d immediately dove for, to hide, when you’d first invited him over and forgot it was still displayed on your bed. He’d teased you about it for only a moment before he’d made amends by having a one sided conversation in which he befriended it.  It was quickly pulled into his arms and Eddie was further comforted just knowing he was holding something you held and cared for. He hoped–full offense to the stuffed animal–he’d be taking its place in the future.

It was all too much for him, the tears slipped out before he could stop them. Eddie found himself muffling his sobs into your pillow. It was so unfair. So, so fucking undeserved. All you wanted was to be accepted, how could that fucking warrant all this bullshit? If Eddie could, he’d swap places with you in an instant. He’d do anything.

He cried so hard and so long, he eventually ended up tiring himself out. Eddie wasn’t even aware that he’d been slipping further away from consciousness, thoughts only focused on you, so much he even dreamed of you.

“You’re really not helping me out here, Sunshine,” Eddie commented with a smirk and a dry tone as he watched you get comfortable on his bed, stomach down and feet up in the air.

“You met her at one of your shows, Eddie. She knows you’re metal so literally every single piece of clothing you own is not only appropriate for your date, it also means you can’t go wrong. ‘Sides, you look great in all your clothes,” you said, rolling onto your back to peer up at him upside down.

“Now, you’re just flattering me.” But it had been the right thing to say, Eddie had already changed twice—eager to please—and just needed reassurance. You always made him feel better about being himself.

You were also making it harder and harder for him to deny his feelings. 

Maybe he shouldn’t anymore.

“Sunshine,” Eddie started, voice serious to even his own ears as he closed the distance between the two of you, squatting by the edge of the bed directly in front of you. You flipped over and sat up on your knees, hands clasped together in your lap with a hopeful gleam in your eyes. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“Okay, you can tell me anything,” you quirked and Eddie felt his heart squeeze, affections for you growing as each moment passed. 

He knew he could, you were always so easy to talk to. Still, something in him was scared, he didn’t want this to be another Chrissy situation. He didn’t hold anything against her, knew hurting people wasn’t in her nature but she’d still chosen Jason over him. It had stung, but he’d had you as a salve for the pain when he was finally ready to stop running from their end and stop seeking her out.

Who would he have if you got tired of him? Something about the ache he got at the mere thought of losing you told him it would hurt way more than any of his previous heartbreaks and that wasn’t something he was keen on experiencing. So, he chickened out. 

“You’re my best friend, you know that?”

“Of course, I know that. You tell me all the time,” you reminded him and Eddie just leaned forward to ruffle your hair, chuckling when you fought his hand away. He stood back up and went to grab his jacket from where he’d thrown it over one of his amps. He pointedly pretended he hadn’t seen disappointment flash over your face.

He’d make it up to you later, take you to buy a new cassette or something. God, what was he thinking? He’d almost ruined it all.

“I better get going or I’ll be late,” Eddie shrugged his jacket on, watching from the corner of his eye as you quickly pulled yourself together, pushing yourself off the bed.

It was only a little awkward as you both made your way out of the trailer. You walked over to retrieve your bike from where you always left it when you came over, unchained. No one really took stuff that didn’t belong to them around here.

Except for Eddie. 

“Well, I hope you have fun, Eddie. Just don’t trash her music taste if it differs from yours in the slightest like you always do and you’ll definitely get a second date.”

“What about you? Doing anything fun?”

“Oh, yeah. Babysitting some of the neighborhood kids. I think you and Lucas would get along. He’s a huge nerd, too.” You shot him a smirk over your shoulder as you walked your bike away, always too embarrassed to hobble onto it in front of him.

Eddie stood by the door of the van, the handle loosely in his grasp as he watched your retreating figure and felt the familiar feeling of longing settle into his belly. 

Fuck this.

“HEY!” He called out to you, already jogging the distance as you stopped to look back, eyes wide as you noticed the sudden change in him.

“What?”

“The thing is,” Eddie started, lips pursed as he debated over what he was about to confess. It would change everything and Eddie didn’t take to change very well. It was precisely why he’d ignored your feelings and his, hoping they’d simply go away, vanish into thin air someday. 

He didn’t want them to go away anymore. He wasn’t afraid of change. Because the change that would come to your relationship was the good kind. The kind that would allow him to hold your hand, kiss you, be close to you without feeling like he was pushing a boundary. 

“Are you okay?”

Eddie snapped out of it, focusing on your expression again. You looked concerned, of course you were worried about him. You were one of the few people who cared for him. 

He reached out, gently taking your soft hand in his, thumb stroking over your knuckles.

“The thing is . . . I love you. I love you, so much and I’ve been too chicken shit to say anything because you’re also my best fucking friend, Sunshine. I didn’t want to lose that. But if I didn’t say anything, I’d be losing the chance for more. I want everything with you, I want to be your boyfriend,” he confessed, giving your hand a squeeze as he watched you with bated breath.

You stared down at your hands for a moment.

Then you laughed.

You laughed cold and cruel and hard, before yanking your hand out of his grasp. 

“You think I’d want you? After all this time?”

The pain in his chest was immediate, he could feel the blood drain from his face. Then Billy Hargrove walked around the corner of a neighboring trailer, hands in his pockets with the most smug of smirks on his stupid fucking face. The fuck was he doing here?

“Why the hell would she want you, Freakazoid? She’s my girl, always has been.” Eddie watched as he walked right up to you, slipping an arm around your shoulders as you leaned into his embrace like you were used to it, your own arms slipping around his waist. Eddie felt physically ill.

He could also feel his heart cracking, chipping and shattering into millions of pieces as he stared hopelessly at you and Billy. It got worse.

Billy leaned down, mouth devouring yours in a messy kiss that you returned with fervor and Eddie felt like he was dying, could feel the hot tears of anger, heartache, frustration and betrayal—he didn’t really have a right to feel—already running down his cheeks.

He wiped furiously at them but they just kept coming. When you and BIlly finally pulled away, it was only to laugh at him.

Then it wasn’t just you and Billy. Suddenly, he was in the cafeteria of the high school, and everyone was crowded around, laughing at him, having an absolute fit of a good time at his expense. 

Eddie couldn’t breathe, wet gaze and red eyes darting around to take in all the cruel faces around him before landing on yours again, begging with them. 

This time, there was no cruelty on your face. It was void of any emotion before you turned your back to him and made your way into the crowd solo, Billy was no longer present. 

Eddie made a desperate attempt to follow you, trying to force and bully his way through the crowd, watching the back of your head disappear into it as he screamed your name, begging you to come back to him as the crowd got louder and rowdier. You were gone. He was left alone.

Eddie’s eyes snapped open as he gasped for breaths and jolted up, chest heaving and filled with momentary panic before he realized he’d experienced a nightmare. Or something close to it.

It wasn’t real. Thank fucking hell.

The nightmare had started off as a memory. You had been at his trailer, hanging out with him before one of his dates but he hadn’t stopped you when you left on your bike. Eddie had only watched you. Then he got in his van and went to pick up the girl he had asked out. 

He fell back into soft pillows, relaxing for just a moment before he realized the pillows were too soft and fluffy to be his, as was the mattress under his body. A quick look around his surroundings reminded him he was in your bedroom. 

He was also reminded of the horrifying circumstances regarding why he was in your bedroom and you weren’t.

Shit.

Reluctantly, Eddie got out of your bed, quickly gathering his things. Max would probably call soon and he had to be at the trailer to answer. He practically ran down your stairs, stopped, ran back up them to snag the stuffed animal he’d cuddled the night before. He’d need a little bit of you to keep him sane.

As he locked and closed your front door behind him, he just so happened to glance at your next door neighbor’s house, head doing a double take when he noticed their front door was also open.

Eddie did a quick glance around before he made his way over to investigate, brows furrowing when he noticed the door jam was broken. 

“Hello?” He called out, pushing the door open further. The entrance was a wreck, a small table with flowers had been knocked over along with a coat rack, which had a large section of it broken off. The broken piece was only a little ways away. The home had obviously been broken into and some sort of struggle had taken place.

Eddie had a feeling both you and Billy had been involved. Just as he turned to leave, a picture had been knocked to the floor caught his eye.

Of fucking course your neighbor had to be the goddamn Mayor.

He ran back to his van in record time, quickly peeling out of the area as he weighed his options. He couldn’t call the cops, not only because he was probably still on their radar, there was no way they wouldn’t try to blame him for it. Then, he’d get locked up and saving you wouldn’t be impossible from behind bars.

Besides, they were pretty much useless. He’d have to tell Red and El.

Eddie made it into his trailer just in time to answer the phone before it could finish its first ring. He nearly broke his ankles flinging himself at it, wincing as his shoulder collided roughly with the wall.

“‘Lo?” He croaked out, mouthing ‘ow’ as he rubbed the sore spot.

“It’s me.”

Red—Max, whatever.

“What’s up?” He demanded, shoulder pain immediately forgotten.

“Your girlfriend, you know her schedule right?”

“She’s not my—yeah. Yeah, I know her schedule. Why?” It didn’t matter all that much to correct her, right?

“Does she work today?”

“No. WAIT. Yes, she’s covering for her co-worker Heather. I don’t know what shift, though,” If you bothered showing up this time, anyways. “Why?” 

“Meet us at the pool then.”

“WHY?” Eddie demanded again, wincing once more when he remembered Wayne should be asleep on his bed. A quick glance into the living room confirmed his old man was still asleep. Thank god that man could sleep through the apocalypse.

“Why?” Eddie muttered into the receiver, voice much lower this time.

“We’re gonna see if she’s a spy.” 

“Were you not in the same house as me, yesterday? I wouldn’t call that atmosphere pleasant.”

“I wouldn’t call any atmosphere Billy is in ‘pleasant’.”

“Alright, you got me there. But I went over again and—hello?” Eddie was met with the sound of the dial tone. He rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath as he placed the phone back on the receiver. Kids were such assholes.

He took a quick shower, probably less than five minutes, and freshened up just so he wouldn’t smell in case he ended up in close quarters with you.

When he got to the pool, he was momentarily concerned he wouldn’t be able to find them. Then he caught sight of Red and El, crouched in the parking lot in front of a nearby car. They weren’t alone.

“Oh great, you brought the rest of the little rascals,” Eddie sighed as he walked over.

“Shut up.”

“I’m Lucas.”

“Will.” Eddie had seen him on a couple of ‘Missing’ flyers, had been handed one when Jonathan was passing them around during all of his breaks and lunch.

“Mike.” He was prompted when El shoved her elbow into his rib.

“Eddie,” He introduced himself, giving them all a nod before his attention was on Red. “What are we doing here?”

“I already told you,” Max sighed, ready to elaborate once more.

“Yes, I know that. I mean why are we hiding in the parking lot?”

“Plotting,” Max stated, glancing back at where Billy lounged on the lifeguard tower. Eddie followed her stare and frowned. If Billy was on duty, then they’d most likely missed you.

You appeared on the other side of Billy, still clad in your swimsuit with a towel over your arm as you conversed.

Eddie perked up immediately and so did the sense of longing in his belly. 

“What were you saying?” Lucas asked Will, referring to whatever it was they were talking about before Eddie interrupted with his arrival. 

Eddie didn’t take his eyes off you, too afraid you’d disappear like you did in his dream but he was listening intently to the conversation.

“The Mind Flayer liked to hide. He only used me when he needed me.” There was that unsettling feeling again. Eddie did not like that, not one bit. “It’s like you’re a doormat. And then, when he needs you, you’re activated.”

You didn’t look like you could harm a fly, sunglasses over your face as you appeared to argue with Billy, who didn’t so much as look down at you, gesturing to a kid in the water he’d most likely called a name.

You told him Billy did that a lot and it bothered you significantly.

“Okay, so we just wait until they get activated,” Max decided.

“No,” Mike shook his head, “What if they hurt someone?”

“Or kill someone.” Lucas added.

“They already broke into the Mayor’s house,” Eddie informed them, grimly. He was trying to wrap his head around the idea of the cute lifeguard, who held his heart in the soft palms of her hands, breaking into a home and abducting someone.

“What?!”

“I went by again yesterday.” Eddie threw Max a glare as he recalled what he had attempted to tell her over the phone before she hung up on him. “And when I left this morning—don’t ask—I noticed her neighbor’s door looked kicked in. The inside was wrecked and a lovely little photo of that asshole and his wife was on the ground.”

“That’s not the Mayor’s house,” Lucas corrected him, “It’s his mistress’ house. The Mayor lives in some fancy schmancy part of town with his wife but he’s been seeing my mom’s hair stylist and that’s where she lives. I hear my mom talking about it to her friends all the time.”

“Then they got a rude interruption last night.”

“We’re not taking any more chances,” Mike declared. “We need to find out if they’re hosts to it.”

Mike, Lucas and Will ran to the boys locker rooms to check something but Eddie couldn’t be bothered to go with them, choosing to wait with Max and El so he could keep an eye on you. The boys came back within minutes and had developed a plan to capture Billy. Which just left you.

Mike had come up with the idea to lock you in the sauna with Billy but Eddie vehemently rejected the idea. He was not about to lock you anywhere with Billy, especially since he was a little more reassured of your dislike of him. While you two had been playing house the evening before, it looked like you were back to being annoyed with him today. What the hell was up with that?

Eddie noticed you walking away and stiffend. Was The Mindflayer calling you away?

“She’s leaving,” he pointed out, a desperate edge to his voice.

“Oh, shit. We can’t let her out of our sight!” 

“I won’t,” Eddie stated as they crouched low to hide behind the car when you came out. He’d been expecting you to walk over to the bike racks but you made your way to the parking lot instead, hopping into the first car you saw. You dipped a little below the steering wheel before the car came to life and you drove out of the parking lot.

“Should we follow her car?”

“She doesn’t have a car,” was all Eddie stated before he bolted over to the van. Before he could peel out after you, Lucas’s face popped into view of the window and Eddie hastily lowered it in time for the preteen to shove a giant fucking walkie talkie through it. 

“Use this to keep in contact and be careful!”

“Thanks, kid.”

Eddie didn’t wait any longer, speeding out of the parking lot to make sure he didn’t lose you. 

His heart was racing, palms sweaty and gripping the steering wheel as he followed the car you stole. When you pulled into the grocery store, he parked further from you, just to make sure you weren’t on to him.

You got out of the car and Eddie realized you were still in your red swimsuit and white sneakers, with no bag or car keys. You glanced around you and Eddie quickly ducked down into the seat cursing as he waited a few moments before peaking over at your retreating figure. There was no telling whether you saw him or not, you were still wearing your sunglasses but if you had seen him, his presence didn’t bother you enough to stop you.

Eddie pulled out the TRC, fumbling with it until he managed to get it operating, “Eddie to Little Rascals. Come in, Little Rascals.”

There was nothing for a few moments, then static.

“Eddie?” It was Lucas.

“Yeah, it’s me. I followed her to Bradley’s Big Buy.”

“What’s she doing there?”

“Buying groceries? I don’t know! But I’m gonna find out. I’ll check in soon.” Eddie didn’t bother asking how their plan with Billy was going, they couldn’t exactly trap him in broad daylight with witnesses, nor did he even care about what happened to the mondo-douche. Not after he got you involved in this fucked up mess.

He did his best to maintain a sense of casualty when he got into the store, giving a forced smile to some lady who was staring at him for obvious reasons: his attire and general appearance. “Hey, how you doin’?”

Eddie speedwalked, checking each aisle for you. He almost feared he’d lost you, maybe you’d already left the store, until he reached the laundry detergent aisle.

There you were and for a moment, he forgot about the current situation, eyes raking over your figure with deep appreciation. Wow. Just—wow.

Then you grabbed a detergent off the shelf, uncapped it and began chugging the liquid down, effectively snapping him out of his horny thoughts.

Eddie could only stare, eyes wide and mouth open, dumbfounded. 

You lowered the nearly empty jug, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before you noticed his presence, turning your head to him.

“Hi, Eddie.” You greeted him as though nothing was wrong, like you didn’t just down an entire jug of chemicals.

“Uh, hey, Sunshine.” Was all he could force out because he didn’t know if he was interacting with you or The Mindflayer. Did it even allow you to be you? Fuck, it was confusing. Did he mention how fucked up this whole thing was?

“I’d go with the lemon scented, lavender’s pretty shit.” Then you capped the jug and put it back on the shelf before walking off. Eddie took a few moments to regain his composure, trying not to have a panic attack about what drinking that shit could do to you before he was stumbling after you but he was too late.

You weren’t in the store anymore and Eddie cursed as he made a break for the front doors, running out of them just as the car you were in—an entirely new one from the one you stole at the pool—screeched by.

FUCK.

“FUCK!” Eddie gripped the roots of his hair in frustration, paying no mind to the weird looks he was getting.

You’d gotten out of there fast, there was no way you weren’t on to him following you around now. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He ran back to the van, yanking the door open and rooting around until he pulled up the walkie talkie.

“Preteens, we have a problem. I repeat, we have a colossal problem.”

This time it was Max who responded, “What is it, Eddie?”

“She knows.”

Eddie heard a bunch of them trying to talk as Max held down the button before she told them to be quiet, “What does she know? What happened?”

“I was following her inside and I caught—well, I mean it was out in the open but not a whole lot of people were around—anyways, I caught her drinking laundry detergent and I was so damn shocked, she had time to make it out. She must have been bolting in the parking lot because by the time I made it out behind her, she was already driving off!” Eddie rambled, still shook up by the whole ordeal.

“She was drinking detergent?”

“Messed up, right? She took off in a different car this time and I don’t know how she’s doing it unless The Mindflayer gives his little puppets a crash course on hotwiring.” But even that took a few moments, you’d gotten out of there way too quick if that was the case.

“You have to find her, Eddie!”

“I know, I know. I’m gonna search around town. Be careful on your end.” The TRC was tossed onto the passenger seat as Eddie started up the van. 

He drove through the streets of Hawkins looking for any sign of you and while he didn’t find you, he found elements of your presence in the form of a few homes which looked broken into. He wasn’t entirely sure if you’d done it since Bradley’s or if they had been homes you and Billy had hit the night prior.

You made your way through the crowded mall, easily weaving between bodies as you approached the girls hanging out by the fountain. You’d since changed your lifeguard attire, He needed you to blend in for the next part of his plan.

“Well, well. Look who’s out of the house,” Beverly commented, hot pink lips pursed into an ignorant smirk. The rest of her lackeys giggled as if she said something remotely insulting.

“Thank you for stating the obvious, Beverly. I am—indeed—at the fucking mall and not my house,” you stated, face void of any amusement. Fix it, He commanded and your face broke out into a smile just as Beverley’s contorted in shock at your brazen reply.

“Anywho, girls, Billy sent me.” You waited for them to show signs of interest, He was pleased when they did; sitting up straighter, leaning forward to hear what you had to say. “He’s throwing a warehouse party tonight. Interested?”

Eddie was camped out in front of your house, sunk just low enough in the seat to see over the edge of the dashboard as he waited for you to come home. He had no luck perusing the town, so his best bet was to wait for you to come to him.

The stuffed animal was clutched to his chest again, mind entirely filled with nothing but thoughts and concern about you when you finally pulled up to your home in another car, having ditched the other.

He knew it probably wasn’t wise, but he needed to confront you, he had to find out what was going on with you.

The moment you were out of your car, Eddie was out of the van and calling out to you.

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him with a bleak expression, “Yes?”

He had no idea what to fucking say, so he went with, “Where have you been?”

“Around.”

His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, ache in his chest only growing, “Sweetheart, please. Please talk to me. What’s going on? You’re avoiding me, hanging around Billy again and not acting like yourself. Did I do something? If I did, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie saw you fidget, brows furrowing as something akin to sadness appeared to pass over you.

“You didn’t do anything, Eddie,” He let you tell him. “Go away.”

You turned to walk up your driveway but Eddie was desperate, he reached forward to grasp your wrist and you whirled around, expression dark as your body tensed.

“I said. . . Go. Away.” It was hissed out between your clenched teeth with so much venom, Eddie almost backed down. Almost. The impending doom feeling returned, filling the warm night air with dread.

He clenched his jaw, preparing for you to attack him at that point but he’d take whatever you gave him. He could handle it, even if he had to wrestle you into submission. 

“No.”

Just as it looked like you were about to make a move, something odd happened.

You froze, eyes looking both at him and beyond him. The skin of your wrist under Eddie’s palm began to move in a way that was not at all normal or even remotely human. He stared in horror as your veins appeared to bulge and crawl up your arm, following them up to your face where the veins around your eye sockets—not normally seen to the human eye—were very apparent, bulging and dark. 

Your eyes were nearly pitch black.

With ease, you flung the arm Eddie had a hold of, sending him flying in the air before crashing onto the lawn on the other side of the street. 

He gasped, trying to get the air that had escaped his lungs on impact to return to him and was still gasping when he managed to roll onto his side, eyes darting around until they caught sight of you running towards a telephone poll with an electricity distribution box on it.  

Eddie watched, chest heaving as you tore the cover off, before flinging it at an alarming speed towards the telephone wires, one of the jagged ends catching along and snapping a wire from its place as its sparks rained down around you.

It was only then Eddie noticed the puddle of water, left over from last night’s storm, you stood in.

“NO!” He managed to yell, voice hoarse as he tried to warn you, gritting his teeth while he pushed his sore body up from the ground. He watched the wire dance around the street, sparks flying from the end. 

He’d just managed to get to his feet, ignoring the pain in his sides as he ran towards you.

Before Eddie could reach you, the wire end dipped into the puddle and he was sure his heart stopped.

Only, you weren’t electrocuted as you should have been. You weren’t affected at all.

Eddie’s running slowed to a stop as you reached down, grabbed the thick wire and raised it to your mouth.

“No fucking way.” He whispered into the air, mouth dry.

You bit into it and Eddie swore he saw your body illuminate, literally glow from within like a finger would if held against the lens of a flashlight, before the lights of the homes around him flickered, as did the street lights. Suddenly, telephone pole glass insulators burst on every pole as far as his eyes could see and the bulbs of every street light shattered. The homes went black, leaving your street and probably the next couple of blocks swallowed in darkness. 

Eddie could barely make out your figure fleeing under the cover of a total blackout, sprinting further and further away until he could no longer see you at all.

He stood in the middle of the street for quite some time before he painstakingly made his way back to the van.

The drive back to the community pool was filled with silence, his headlights the only source of light.

When Eddie pulled up to the pool it was obvious the area had been affected by the power outage but not too bad, a couple of lights flickering and the ones that weren’t were dim. The kids were all seated on the sidewalk, looking as defeated as he felt.

“We lost Billy. He’s flayed,” Max stated, sounding disheartened as Eddie sat next to her, grimacing at the shock of pain flaring through his side.

“So is she.” Saying it out loud made his eyes burn with the sting of tears, fists clenched as they rested over his knees. It was one thing to fear you were possibly under the control of that thing, he felt a whole new sense of terror knowing, without a doubt, you were. 

He explained what had happened on his end, how you possessed almost superhuman strength and managed to drain a large region of the town of its electricity, which also explained how you were easily able to start all those cars you’d stolen. The kids deflated further as they realized exactly what they were up against this time around. 

“What are you going to do, now?” Max asked quietly, fully expecting him to run for the hills. It’s what any sane person would do. 

Max didn’t know Eddie wasn’t sane. And if it hadn’t been you in this situation, he would have run, wouldn’t have even been mixed into this whack ass situation.

But it was you and Eddie was done running from you. It was high time he ran towards you.

“I’m gonna save her. Or—y’know, die trying, I guess.”

“The girl,” you asked, grabbing the rag at your side. “Was it her?”

“Yeah. It was her. She knows now. She knows about me.” Before you could press it to the cut actively bleeding on Billy’s forehead, his hand darted out to grip your arm. “Will Munson be a problem?”

“No,” Brief flashes of warm, pretty brown kind eyes, a smirk, a wide grin, and brown curls managed to slip past His control before they were snuffed out, the ashes left to sink into the the grips of the Upside Down, along with your freewill.

Billy’s grip on your arm loosened and despite his bruising hold, there were no marks left behind on your skin. You were one in the same.

“She could have killed me,” he continued, and you felt what he feared. The failure of your plan. Of His plan.

“Yes.” Billy would be no match for the girl with superhuman abilities. Even with the gift He bestowed you, you may be no match for her. “But not us.”

You turned your head, both you and Billy taking in the sight of your growing numbers, various members of the community now a part of your legion, a part of Him. Soon, you would all join Him as one.

“Not us.”

And He watched you, from the eyes of the creature left behind in the world he’d been cast out of. 

In his domain, the realm of the Upside Down, the being, the nightmare who would soon be known began his preparations.