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getouyuri · 18 days ago

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bite the hand that feeds

✞ pairing — vampire!geto x gn!reader

summary — “i want you to eat well. i want you to be full.” or, suguru has denied himself human blood his entire fledgling life. sitting back and watching him self-destruct just won’t do.

✞ content & warnings — SFW but MDNI, gender neutral reader, hurt and comfort, angst, fluff, suggestive themes and content, modern au, vampire au, pet names, bartender!geto, geto is in his 30’s, starvation, blood drinking, bloodlust, mildly possessive behavior, the intricacies of vampire morality and guilt and ethics, religious undertones and imagery, masochist!reader, aftercare, doting geto

author's note — decided to revamp (lmao) an old fic that i published for a different fanbase… hashtag recycle hashtag reuse. i even made a 2nd spotify account to share this playlist for it if you wanna listen while reading 😭 this fic was already very dear to me but now it’s even more so w/ this geto version, so I hope you all enjoy this as much as I do!! 🫶🏽 masterlist

writing © getouyuri. fanart © kayluvshie. dividers © bbyg4rlhelps. wc: 9.1k.

“Baby,” You call again, lips downturned.

Suguru merely hums but doesn’t otherwise show a sign of life, the vampire swaying in place in the kitchen and eyes glazed over like freshly fired ceramic. You have to rise from your perch on the armrest of the divan in order to make his dazed gaze settle somewhere in your direction, but he isn’t really seeing you— his dimmed irises threaten to slide right through your very much corporeal body.

That only serves to make your frown more pronounced.

Since the second Suguru silently slipped through the door with his decorated keychain, fresh from a grueling shift at the bar, you immediately knew that something was wrong. Your instincts told you that it had nothing to do with him smelling of a sticky alcohol that he didn’t consume, the scent nearly masking the remnants of his jasminey cologne.

Suguru looked oddly disheveled and worn down, a far cry from the usual quiet confidence and composure that fills out the frame of the vampire, and was slow to respond as he absentmindedly picked through the pantry.

He was trying to find something to satiate the cravings that were surely making his blood sing, but the hunger was scrambling him beyond repair. You had to jolt forward when Suguru didn’t react fast enough to catch the dried mangos that his shaking hands had knocked to the side.

All of your earlier attempts at questions about his day were answered by incomprehensible murmurs. You hovered uselessly behind him until you finally turned, retreating to the living room with further concerns mounting on top of the already growing pile. Suguru had remained, planting himself in the kitchen amidst the sprawling ivy and potted ferns.

Your concern only fuels your persistence, though, and after you had given Suguru a few more minutes of time— in which he ended up doing nothing but stare at the appliances on the countertop— you think to try again.

“Baby,” You repeat, softening your voice into a coo. You practically creep over, socked feet making a scuffing noise as you drag them across the carpet, then the tile of the kitchen. You keep your hands slightly raised in a placating matter as if approaching a cornered animal— an unpredictable predator.

You think that you may as well be with the way Suguru stares at you with blood-red eyes, slowly swiping his tongue over his lips. It makes you shiver.

You’ve done your fair share of research, having taken to hitting the books (which really means the internet… and admittedly, a few vampire romance novels), boldly showing up at his mother’s door with questions, and simply observing him in the four corners of your shared home.

To someone like Suguru, considered undead from the moment he was reborn into this world by a stray vampire that got their claws in him when he was younger, blood— especially human blood— was essential. A necessity, like water was to humans, to the soil and the plants and the birds.

You’ve noticed something, though. Suguru drives fear into himself— the fear of what that knowledge, the taste of human blood, would do to him. If it would consume him, desire and hunger rotting him from the inside out as Suguru kept it from morphing into what he thinks will be an uncontrollable bloodlust. He denies himself his biggest necessity, the one that lined his very being.

You heard it from the lips of his mother himself, whose tiredly-etched face had been tipped down to her special blend of tea as you conversed during an impromptu brunch.

Mei’s a beautiful woman. You can see where your boyfriend got his almost wraithly elegance in those lavender-hued eyes that exude a calm that drugs you, her black hair that swings over her shoulder in a long braid. That signature Geto smile that she gives you as she pours you your own cup.

But she’s weathered in a way that Suguru isn’t and will never be, forever trapped in a body that cannot age. He’ll never have the crow’s feet that crinkle her eyes just so. The silvery streaks crowning her head. The plumpness of her hips and her neck that her slowing metabolism brings about. The slow decay of self.

“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip of tea. Not wanting to waste her time, you dive right into the nitty gritty. “I’m hoping you can give me some insight on the whole… Suguru thing. He survives off of animal blood just fine, but I know it’s not enough to sustain him for good. Like, at all. I’ve taken a shot at the more obvious reasons as to why he’s adamant about abstaining from human blood in conversations with him, but…”

Mei waits patiently. Your shoulders wilt. “He just doesn’t see that I’m worried about his health. I feel like a bad partner for not being able to help him or get through to him.”

The older woman sets her teacup down with a quiet clink, her expression softening with understanding. She exhales a gentle sigh as she reaches across the table to squeeze the top of your clenched fist.

"You’re not a bad partner, dear. Far from it. And Suguru loves you with his whole heart," Mei reassures, her voice fond but tinged with something heavier—something like grief. “That boy… Suguru’s always been stubborn when it comes to his ideals. He clings to them like they’re his lifeline."

A flicker of bittersweetness and a shadow of something else crosses her features before she continues, "Even as a little boy, he was like that— always putting others before himself, always worrying about being a burden or punishing himself for things beyond his control.”

You purse your lips and trace the rim of your cup. Her eyes follow your fingertips. “Tell me about it,” you quip quietly, earning a twinkling of laughter from her.

But then she sighs, long and weary. It feels like her exhaustion passes to you, for you suddenly feel bone-tired. Helplessly so. “I do think you could get through to him, though. You’re different from me. You’re not his mother. You’re someone that’s chosen him over and over again, connected by a love that you’ve forged together rather than by blood ties. He’ll always see my offers as ones born from maternal obligation.”

“Just because I’m not family doesn’t mean he’ll fold,” you bemoan even though you see her point. You’re just frustrated and a little lost— and trying to figure out how to ask her about how this all started without being overly blunt.

You don’t even know if Mei would be comfortable with sharing such a private piece of information, let alone how Suguru himself would feel if you asked him. When he mentioned his turning to you during a casual conversation, he breezed over it as if discussing the weather. All he said was that he was turned when he was young, and that he’d live with this new change. Would have to live with it.

That made it sound incredibly depressing. Which it was.

She doesn’t even need to say anything. The purposely pregnant pause that follows and the look she gives you is a glaring scarlet letter— you can practically hear her scoffed ‘you’re very obviously part of our family’ that she’s too polite to let spill.

Still, she comments on it regardless. Mei picks her words like they’re little cherries. “You’re family in every way that counts. But you know that.” Another slow sip of her tea, the silver bangles on her wrist jingling softly.

“When Suguru was turned... he was so young. My baby was barely nine— just a child forced to grapple with instincts he barely understood, desperate and terrified. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, not even the man who turned him. Suguru clearly doesn’t trust what he might awaken in himself if he indulges in human blood. He holds onto the fear that he’ll lose control and hurt the people he loves.”

Mei raises her eyebrows, silently encouraging you to take notes. You sit up a little straighter, heart picking up, leaning towards her like a flower greeting the spring sun.

"Normally I’d say that it’s best not to push and instead let him come to you. Clearly, though, he’s willing to wait us all out until the end of time. Considering that… I’d wager your best bet is this— strike when the iron is hot. When you offer your aid, make sure he knows you’re offering because you want to and that it’s your choice. Never because you pity him. Show him that it’s safe to accept something that you want to give to him and that he can trust in everything being alright.”

You had silently taken this in, thanked Mei upon leaving a few hours after you shared brunch with her, and trotted on home with bags of Mei’s tea to make for Suguru.

There’s been a few incidents where you offered up your forearms whenever Suguru’s stashes started to run dry. Your willingness to satiate his appetite made the vampire instantly round on you with a blend of fear and concern that rivaled the intensity of a thousand desert suns.

Animal blood, he promised, was enough and would have to be enough to tide him over. He would not let you come to harm for something he considered unnecessary. You still think it peculiar.

Suguru acted as though instinct was as taboo as the cardinal sins. Suguru acted as though feeding from you was like leading not one but two lambs to their untimely slaughter.

You haven't tried to serve Suguru your blood on a silver platter since, instead choosing to wait for the right moment. Now, with your conversation with his mother still fresh on your mind and Suguru blinking slowly, exhaustion heavy on his eyelids as he cranes his neck to look at you, you think this may be it.

“You can’t keep holding your hunger at bay like this. It’s unhealthy, Suguru.”

One hand goes to the cold stone of the counter and the other tentatively lands on the slope of his shoulder. You rub at his shoulder consolingly. Suguru’s tongue peeks out once more, the same color as the soft gummy pink of a wolf’s mouth seconds before it strikes, and you watch a tremble race through him.

“I’m fine, and I’m well, and I will continue to be so,” Suguru defends himself at last after a drawn out silence that made your skin prickle with the beginnings of fear of already fucking this up. He’s almost struggling to fashion the words together, slurring just barely. His eyes glide down to your hand and burn through you as if spotting the veins beneath your skin, but he doesn’t shrug you off.

You’re immediately thrown— when Suguru gets into a starved state like this, his nature crying out for human blood only to be barely kept at bay by the tanginess of an animal’s, he retreats into himself and shies away from everyone, even Mei and Satoru and Shoko, even you.

Now, though, he just seems… resigned. None of the usual testiness and attempts at self-isolation when Suguru yearns for salvation rears its head. The concern heavy in your stomach like a stone slices further into your insides the longer he lets you stay close.

“That isn’t what I meant, and you know that,” you point out, as you’ve done time and time again whenever the topic of Suguru’s hunger crops up and he tries to dodge it with the grace of someone that’s dodged way too many misdirected swings from drunks at the bar he works at while trying to break up fights. “You need more than just the blood of animals.”

His shapely eyebrows slant with the beginnings of an uncharacteristic scowl. There’s that hangriness, you think humorlessly. “It does its job,” Suguru shoots back, a warning laced into his tone. With barely a glance at you, he turns away, his dismissal coming out short. “Save your breath. I’m about to eat.”

Your hand naturally falls from him when your boyfriend crouches to flick open the cupboards beneath the counter. Your fingers curl midair, wanting to bend down and reach out to him, but your arm drops to your side.

Suguru pulls out the wedge at the top of his small ice-box and frowns when he’s greeted with crinkled, blood-sprinkled packets. You watch Suguru yank out the fullest (a very generous word, considering it only holds a puddle) and rises back up, his shoulder brushing against you like a cat greeting another.

“Will that be enough?” You press.

You know it isn’t; far from it, in fact. Suguru knows that too.

He opens it anyways with a firm nod, the tightness between his brows smoothing out at the first scent of blood. Your body betrays him, and your heart, already thumping a few beats too fast, races faster. Suguru glances at you, at the pulse that thrums heavy beneath your jaw, and wraps his lips around the opening.

Oh, Christ.

Suguru drinks. Feeds. He pushes the blood up to the rim of the packet with massaging thumbs, wringing and coaxing every drop towards his mouth. You’re reminded of the near-empty bottle of toothpaste you share that you’ve pointlessly been stringing out even though it should’ve been tossed a week ago.

His throat visibly catches when he trickles it onto his tongue. Within seconds, he gulps it all down, left practically panting with how fast he knocks it back. Your attention never leaves his lips.

“See?” He tosses the mangled packet into the trash and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Blood smears just below his bottom lip and he swipes his tongue over it, then licks at the remnants on his teeth.

You feel strangely faint, like you’ve been wrung just as dry. You think it inexplicable– the feeling that drums through you every time you witness Suguru ingest blood– but you know its meaning. Even humans have their vices, as odd as they may be.

“I’ve had my fill,” Suguru reassures you the longer you continue to stare unblinkingly like you’ve just bluescreened, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he is you. You catch the flash of his canines as he speaks and you swallow instinctively.

The vampire must realize his face says as much, so he clears his throat and crouches again to toss the packet, forcing the wedge back into the box. Suguru stands and decisively kicks the cabinet shut. The soft bang rattles you into action.

“Somehow,” you begin, voice blessedly calm, “I don’t believe that to be the case.”

“Doll—“

“It’s never enough, is it?” Surprisingly, Suguru doesn’t retort. Instead, he purses his lips. He looks a tiny bit better with what he had ingested, but he still looks worn. His unblemished skin runs unnaturally dry. “That packet held barely enough blood in it to be considered an appetizer, let alone a full meal. You’re surviving, baby. Not living. You know that.”

Suguru’s continued silence speaks volume. He’s exhausted. He’s hungry, but not irreversibly so. A solution sits warm on the horizon, and you, willing to do anything if it means your beloved will be healthy and happy and satisfied and full, hold the sun out to Suguru in the palm of your hands.

“Your reserves are completely depleted. In your current state, weak as you are, you know that there’s no way you can go out and hunt either.” A huff escapes you, laden with concern. “And, just as well, you know that I’m more than willing to quench your thirst with my own blood.”

“Why are you so eager to offer yourself up, knowing that I’ll only hurt you?” Suguru suddenly snaps. Some of his lucidity returns to him as his annoyance and desperation mounts. Ozone seems to come out of nowhere like a distant fog rolling in over the hills, crackling, blanketing the air over you until it’s so thick that you nearly choke on it.

He tosses his hands in the air in an uncharacteristic burst of frustration, the sharp movement a far cry from the elegant grace he carries himself with. A gently placed hand on your hip to slowly coax you to melt into the security of his side, a slow-moving pace when at your side as if he has all the time in the world to revel in it with you.

Careful. Controlled.

That’s not what that was, though.

Before you can comment on it or stare wide-eyed at him for a second longer, Suguru’s lowering his arms. Smoothing a hand through his glossy dark tresses, he lowers his gaze to collect himself.

“I’ve survived without it for years just fine.” Suguru’s voice wavers, just barely. He sounds desperate. “There’s no need to add further blood to my hands. Not yours.”

“Lemme repeat something you’ve said to me before then. In pain, there is love, and in love, there is pain,” you answer simply. You shift, intending to draw him close, but his hand instantly catches around your wrist when you go to reach out for him. “And that blood? You’re not ripping it from me. I’d be giving it to you willingly. It’d be my choice.”

You stare at each other, your irises meeting purple ones as Suguru keeps you at bay. There’s thinly veiled terror in his eyes, terror at what he himself could do should you get closer. Your pulse staccatos beneath Suguru’s thumb.

“Let me say this—“

“You’ve been doing nothing but saying this and that. Is speaking your favorite pastime?” Suguru cuts in snarkily.

“Suguru. C’mon now.”

He purses his lips as his deflection is knocked aside. The nail of his pointer scrapes against the skin of your arm. “Sorry. Yeah. Go on.”

“Let me say this,” you repeat, smiling for only a moment before it fades. Your thoughts of months past coalesce on your tongue, turning everything that tumbles out raw. “I worry about you. I worry about you just as much as you worry about me. It’s not out of pity; it’s all love.” You steadily curl your hand around Suguru’s wrist until you’re interlinked. Watching his face carefully, you lift your tangled grip until your lips skate across his knuckles.

“If I have to experience even a little bit of pain to see you healthy, then so be it. I trust you. I trust the control you have over yourself, and I know that you’re not gonna drain me dry and leave me for dead.”

Against all rationale, you think you wouldn’t mind it. If Suguru wanted your bones, organs, your bleeding heart cradled in the palms of his hands and wanted to keep taking more and more, you would give it all to him.

No hesitation. No request for anything in return. Just unwavering devotion.

“You’ve managed what, like, more than twenty years without human blood? But can you withstand another ten without it? Twenty?” You hold the back of Suguru’s hand to your mouth as if whispering it against his skin will make your concern sink in, nestle itself into the marrow of his bones. “The last thing I wanna see is the one I love deteriorate in front of me. You think I want that?”

You swear Suguru’s bottom lip quivers. You know that resonates a little too much. You didn’t really want to strike at the whole ‘hey, I’m painfully mortal and you’re immortal so you’re bound to leave me behind’ topic, but you don’t have many other options. “Angel…”

“Suguru, just listen to me,” you stress, interrupting. “You’re not some beast or sinner for being hungry, and you shouldn’t punish yourself as if you’re either one,” you murmur, voice gone sweet even as Suguru grips your wrist tight. His palm burns against your skin, icy-hot and firm. Shackling you in place, tying you down to the plate of a teetering scale. You wonder if you’re damning you both. “Don’t let your morals hinder your instincts. I want to help you, so take what you want from me. I can handle it.”

Suguru’s mouth parts, as if catching the scent of your truthfulness and letting it sit on his tongue. He ruminates for only a minute, then slowly, his grip slackens until his hold becomes a gentle tether. You take the opportunity to rock towards him, a boat to a dock, and he steps in closer to hold you by the forearms as if you were the one close to crumpling from thirst.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Suguru warns. His nostrils flare.

When you give him a look, repeating everything you had voiced with only your eyes, Suguru meets you stride for stride, struggling to stay stony-faced. His eyes keep flicking to your neck, the smooth expanse of your skin peeking out from beneath the rolled-up sleeves of your cream sweater that he bought for you, as if watching the blood course through you.

“Seriously, doll. I don’t…” he licks his lips. “Neither of us know how I will react the second your blood falls on my tongue, nor do I think I want to find out. I don’t enjoy the thought of hurting you.”

A sweet sentiment— entirely unnecessary, though.

You glance over Suguru again. You take in the glassines of his eyes that threatens to drown them both in his yawning desire, the almost sickly quality to his skin, and gods above— you think for the thousandth time that you’d do anything to relieve even a fraction of the wrongness and hunger that Suguru must feel.

“Set aside your burdens for me to take on and lemme worry about the consequences. All you gotta do is focus on what you need, and I’ll handle the rest.”

You briefly close your eyes and the words burn sharper than fire-water as they crawl up your throat— “Although I don’t want to see you destroy yourself, I’ll respect your wishes and drop the subject entirely if you deny me. Again. This has and will always be in your hands, Suguru. You’re the only one who can decide this for yourself. I’m just giving you… another option, one that’ll always be on the table.”

Suguru simply dips his head after a moment’s deliberation, voice solemn. “I appreciate your words.”

I appreciate your words— the choice to come to his own decision. He speaks with the weight of someone who has rarely been dealt the cards that he has wanted; being attacked, ‘killed,’ reborn again as something he never wished to be, every time that the old management of the bar he works at pulled his leash taut and ground him underfoot whenever he strayed too close to their spoils before he fought tooth and claw to rework it from the foundations and up.

Not for the first time, you want to dig up the strings of fate and rip and shred them thread by thread until you can weave it all into something kinder for Suguru.

The silence that stretches thin between you starts to feel like a dismissal. Resigning yourself to the nth refusal, you begin to tactfully back off. Suguru reaches for you before he can put more distance between you two.

“Sorry. That wasn’t a no— I was just trying to collect my thoughts.” Suguru lets go of you. The lingering ozone in the air finally snuffs out, and you feel like you can breathe proper lungfuls again. “You’re right. I know you are, angel.” Suguru’s lips part so sweetly around the pet name creased with care and use; a folded-up letter from a lover.

“Really?” You utter blankly, the ball of your foot still off the ground from your aborted step backwards.

Suguru levels you with a disbelieving gaze. “What did you think your little speech would do? Roll off of my back?”

“Can you blame me for thinking so?” You retort, thinking of your previous attempts, the small hints you’ve scattered at Suguru’s feet only for them to get swept away. You settle your full weight back onto the floorboards.

“I’ve been… dismissive about it before,” Suguru admits; that’s the best you’ll get out of him for sure. “To be honest, I’ve found myself considering drinking from you for the last month or two, but I still had my doubts and reservations,” he near-mumbles, then. He crosses his arms and scrunches his nose. “But I needed that extra push.”

The vampire keeps one arm pressed to his chest and rubs at his temple. “I’ve been apprehensive about this since the day my life was flipped on itself. You know that.”

“I do.”

“And you’re truly just… not worried?”

“Not particularly, no.”

He searches your expression. “I just want to make sure that you’re certain and not doing this because you think you owe it to me.” Suguru speaks carefully.

You blow out a sigh through your nose. “My silly Suguru. I’ve always been sure, especially when it comes down to your health being at stake. I never say things that I don’t mean.”

Suguru surprisingly— or unsurprisingly, really, given his track-record of picking off of Satoru’s stupid puns— cracks a small smile at that. “At stake, huh?”

“Don’t.” You catch on immediately with a groan. You wipe a hand down your face to hide the uptick of your lips. Some degree of relief at Suguru’s quip fills you despite your amused exasperation.

Emboldened and hopeful, you press yourself against Suguru. His shoulder is solid against your own. “So,” you prod, light and airy, “if your answer isn’t a no, then what is it?”

Suguru hums under his breath, presses his weight back against you. Purple irises crawl skywards. “I guess it’s a yes.” He points at you before you can utter a loud woop, but your budding smile speaks volumes. “If this goes wrong, this will never happen again. Literally never.”

“Say,” you drawl, mind already wandering off five steps ahead even as a vicious relief unspools from your chest and spreads through your body at his yes, “hypothetically, if all goes well, would you continue to feed from me? Like, habitually?”

“Provided you don’t taste gross, yes.”

“What the— hey!” You cry, openly giggling at the shade. “You’re so meaaaan, Suguru. Don’t knock it until you try it. I’m sure I taste a billion times better than animal blood.” Squinting, you rub your chin. “… what does it even taste like, anyways?”

Suguru visibly shudders a little. “Depends on what kind,” he says, voice thick as if growing nauseous. Or being haunted by something particularly disturbing. “It’s usually really… chalky. Muddy and kinda sour, too. Imagine swallowing a whole cloth that was used to wipe up vomit.”

The flavor that immediately tries to replicate itself on your tongue makes your face screw up in disgust. “Okay, ew.” You tug at his arm, glancing towards the nearest divan. “Let’s sit down for this.”

Suguru follows along with an amused huff. Your linked arms lightly swing between your bodies. “I’m beginning to suspect that you have a little more stake in this than one of a concerned lover.”

“Drop that word, will you?” You snort.

Suguru flashes you a real, genuine grin at the noise. It’s toothy, revealing a fleeting glimpse of unnaturally sharp canines. “Well?”

Thoughts of Suguru’s fangs have chased you to work, to lunch breaks, to your doorstep, your dreams. Going from peacefully sleeping through the night for a majority of your life to waking up in a cold sweat with an imprint of Suguru against the inside of your eyelids, poised over your prone body with fangs kissing your throat, proved to be a very jarring wake-up call.

Would it hurt? You asked yourself over a glass of water that you poured himself in the middle of the night after one such dream with shaking hands. Would you enjoy it? The heat that settled decisively in your gut as you leaned against the counter and stared at the moon spoke for itself. You’ve always been intrigued, both in an intellectual, genuinely inquisitive way— and in a how would those fangs of his feel on my jugular? way.

Despite your traitorous mind, you’ve always put Suguru and his values first. Your feelings and interest in the matter have always been only an aside.

You have no shame in voicing any of this, but, well. You’re sure Suguru knows somehow, anyways. You clear your throat. “Consider me curious.”

“Ah, curiosity,” Suguru drags his voice out honey-slow, clearly amused. When you sigh dramatically, long-suffering, he raises his eyebrows and herds you closer to the divan until your legs graze its edge. Your heart thrills. “A person’s weapon, vice, and downfall. Would I be right to assume that there’s more cards on the table than just that?”

Those purple eyes sweep over you. You childishly avert your own and don't grace him with an answer.

“I want you on your back, angel,” Suguru orders in the next beat, his tone switching tracks so rapidly that it leaves you reeling. A delicious thrill licks up your spine. “And still.”

Embarrassingly, your body already began to run hot the second Suguru’s fangs flashed through your head again, so you’re quietly grateful that you need to shed your sweater to make room for Suguru. You wiggle it off, not missing the appreciation that curls Suguru’s lips, and sling it over the back of the furniture.

Satisfied, Suguru lays a gentle hand on your chest and towers over you. You follow his guidance and obediently sink back until you’re practically splayed out, a butterfly pinned to a corkboard, completely at his mercy.

Memories of Suguru tracking you down the street by scent alone to give you your wallet that you left behind at the bar that he works at swims through your head. That was your first meeting. Every whisper of cloth, every subtle brush of shoes against the ground had your heart pounding until you jumped with a shriek when he abruptly grabbed your wrist from behind, giving you an apologetic smile when you whipped around.

You know what it is to be hunted, intimately so.

But nothing compares to being caught.

Not when Suguru collars you so sweetly, measuring out your demise in spoonfuls of sugar; a hand with sharp fingernails ghosting along the newly exposed skin of your shoulders, his purple eyes trickling down your body like a stream, the gentle but grounding weight of him settling onto your lap like he belongs there, trapping you beneath him.

Oh, you think, feeling terribly like prey. Oh.

Suguru slips his arms beneath your own and his hands land on your lower back to feel your warmth that he latches onto. He cradles you close like a boa, all tightly wound power, curling around you and enveloping you in nothing but Suguru.

He’s fucking freezing against you. Unnaturally so— yet, you suppose, it’s natural for him considering his vampiric constitution. His body runs even colder with the beginnings of starvation. You’re sure that if you carved out a space between his ribs, squirreling yourself away into the alcove next to Suguru’s heart that his ribs protect, even his insides would run frigid enough to eternally preserve you both.

You both exhale when Suguru ducks down to peck your nose, raven locks spilling down his shoulders and around you like a veil of safety that promises his attention is on nothing but you. Then he tucks his face into your neck, lips brushing over your pulse point.

Your heartbeat flutters wildly beneath your skin like a caged animal and you know that Suguru can feel it thrumming eagerly at his mouth. He says nothing of it, but you hear his breath come quicker.

“Just… shove me off if I somehow can’t stop myself,” Suguru murmurs into you. You nod a little, mostly to placate him, and tilt your head back in invitation.

“I trust that it won’t come to that. You should have more faith in yourself,” you sigh back. You gently squeezes his waist, then run your touch down the leg caging in your own. “Now stop stalling with your needless worrying. Everything will be fine.”

“I’m not stalling.” Suguru sounds a smidge petulant at being read like an open book, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement to his tone. “Can I not take a minute to savor this moment?”

“There’ll be plenty of other moments like this for you to savor in the future,” you point out with a confident puff of your chest, pleased by the fact you can say so knowing that your words possibly hold water, but you go quiet and indulgently rub at Suguru’s thigh. He huffs out a laugh, and the first whisper of incisors nicking at you as Suguru’s lips part around a smile makes you shudder.

“I won’t remind you again that this will hurt. But this is your last chance to back out,” he warns.

“I have no plans of doing so.” Your voice is breathier than you intended it to be. “Have you had your fill? I know you’re enjoying yourself, but I’d hate to be kept waiting.”

“My baby is such a nuisance.” Suguru laughs. His shoulders shake with it, bright and airy. “Use some of that patience of yours and wait.”

And you do. Suguru’s fingers curl into your side. You almost wish you had a mirror nearby, if only to watch the way Suguru noses at you, breathing in slowly as he searches for a place to sink his teeth into. Languidly, he laps at the junction between your neck and shoulder, slicking the delicately thin skin with spit.

For a beat, there’s nothing from him. His breathing settles and goes near-silent, as if he’s been lulled into a trance, until you can only hear your own. The chimes at the kitchen window jingle. You feel and hear Suguru’s jeans chafe beneath your palms when you flex your hands. You sit still, patiently and impatiently.

Teeth eventually poke at your skin, like they’re asking you to make way. You suck in an anticipatory breath, Suguru whispers a low “relax, I’ve got you always,” and his fangs finally slide home.

His mouth fully seals itself against your neck as he breaks the skin with ease and lets blood rush forth. You register the odd sensation of being impaled by fangs— it’s kind of like being struck by a needle, only they have more pressure behind them— seconds before the sharpness of them kicks at your senses like a jackrabbit. You tighten with surprise and Suguru’s quick to soothe you with a gentle squeeze at your side; another relax before he hungrily swallows his first mouthful with a satisfied noise.

You aren’t sure if Suguru’s utilizing some secret vampiric trick that allows him to sedate his prey or if it’s simply the trust you have in him, but regardless, you slowly unwind beneath him. First your fingers, which had somehow twisted into Suguru’s pants so hard that your knuckles surely went white with the force of it, then your shoulders, neck, the rest of your body gradually unthawing— the same way the coolness of him begins to unthaw as he draws in your warmth.

Your body submits to his needs without hesitation. You know he could drain you dry if he wanted to (hell, part of you admires that he could) but, feeling completely safe, you just focus on the way he gratefully melts into you.

An oddly soothing feeling seizes you in wake of the fading stiffness. It flows molten through your veins, pools heavily where those blade-sharp teeth dig into you. It clouds your head and makes your eyelashes flutter. There’s a warmth to it that feels strangely good, overwhelmingly so.

All people are a little bit mad. It just so happens that you’ve never been an exception to that fact of life.

Once you gather yourself enough you try to focus on the vampire on top of you. Fine trembles wrack Suguru, noticeable enough that you can feel each one vibrating off of him. You take a steadying breath and stay stock still, wondering if he’s alright— until a broken, muffled noise slips from him.

Your hand darts for Suguru’s hair before you can use your brain. Wincing, you unceremoniously drag Suguru’s teeth from your skin with your heart lodged in your throat. Blood drips from the wound unconstrained, the smell stinging at the fine hairs of your nostril.

All you can think is that maybe, just maybe, you’ve made a grave error. Did you just ruin what you have with him? Was Suguru losing it? Was he disgusted? You have no fucking clue.

A glassy sheen marches across Suguru’s hauntingly beautiful plum-rich eyes the second they open and land on you. He looks beyond wrecked, spit and blood clinging to his bottom lip and eyes wild despite their far-away look. His deceptively soft mouth glistens, crimson; fangs stark white and like marble that’s been sharpened into the spear point shape of blades.

Your mouth parts as you stare up at him, chest heaving. You don't know what suddenly possesses you but your hands curl tighter into Suguru’s long soft hair, an incoherent mumble falls from you, and the rest of it gets swallowed up by his mouth as you drag your bodies impossibly more flush until it’s hard to remember where you end and where he begins. Only then do you kiss him.

The flats of your teeth click with how fast you descend upon each other and it stings and you do not care and you want, want, want—

Suguru’s sinful tongue slots into your mouth with a noise that crawls into the hollow of your ears and destroys you from the inside out. The taste of metallic blood— your blood— that he shares with you should disgust you to no end, but you hungrily lick along the silkiness of Suguru’s mouth to get at more of it. You part for a breath and Suguru snaps his teeth at your bottom lip in mockery of the deeper bite on your neck. Brain fizzling, you eagerly arch up to kiss him again.

Holy shit. Your thoughts buoy back to you, tied down by the tiny strings that keep your mind from floating up to join the singular cobweb blanketing a corner of the roof.

There was something incredibly, deeply intimate about letting your lover swallow down your blood, more so than you thought it would be. Suguru has you lining the softness of his throat, filling the hole in his stomach that has ached for two decades that felt longer for him than they did you. You satiate Suguru’s unquenched hunger with all of yourself.

You groan.

He drags his lips down your cheek, your jaw, chases the scent of your blood further down your neck like a bloodhound and damn near growls. “Little more.” Teeth sink back into your skin with a vengeance but never once does it feel too rough, too painful, and you squeeze your eyes shut, breathing out a sigh as you continue to let Suguru take what he so rightfully deserves. He swallows; savoring rather than devouring.

“Good,” you choke out. “That’s okay. Take your fill, baby.”

You can practically feel how his mind, usually so disciplined, teeters dangerously close to frenzy at your words—but the soft press of your fingers through his hair anchors him. Despite his desperation that swells even further, it remains checked. He flicks the flat of his tongue out to lap up each wet rush of pumping blood with an intense desire that makes your insides do cartwheels.

(For the first time in his life, Suguru understands why drunks lose themselves to their bottles, why vampires lose themselves to bloodlust. It’s euphoric. It’s agony. He wants more. He wants to bury himself so deep in the heat of your veins that he forgets what it means to be anything but ravenous.

The taste is nothing like the animal blood he convinced himself to survive on without ever truly satisfying himself. It sweetens his tongue like cherry wine. This is ambrosia, thick and metallic and alive. It crashes against every neglected corner of his being in gentle waves, filling up that monstrous hollow that threatens to be his ruin. With how good he abruptly feels, Suguru thinks he could almost mistake himself for a human again.

But there’s guilt there, too— his conscience clawing at him despite the pleasure surging through him. Just this once, though, he lets himself indulge— and dream of a future where this is your new normal. Quiet moments in bed where he sucks gently from your wrist or forearm between kisses that he presses there, gazing at you as if wondering how on earth such a flawed being like himself could be touched to his core by someone as special as you.

You trust him. This is you giving him something no one else ever has. Every appreciative swallow is a revelation and a promise, every pulse of your blood against his tongue a brand-new addiction. The sweetest of sins that he’d willingly die once more for.)

Suguru drinks you down like a mortal laying their lips to a goblet of nectar— quickly, messily, greedily, blood pooling too fast for his lips to catch. A tendril of it slowly spools down your neck, catching in the dip of your collarbone. You’re near dizzy with it, but you think Suguru dizzier with the way his lips lazily smush against the skin of your neck as if inebriated.

“I want you to eat well,” you murmur against the side of Suguru’s head, breath puffing over the shell of his ear. He jerks against you, just slightly, and you have to suck your teeth to keep from groaning. “I want you to be full.”

A honeyed melody drips from Suguru’s lips, returning to your skin. Feed, feed, feed, your very blood a siren-song. Suguru kneels over you, swaying, drunk on you, before sobering enough to sink down and lick his spoils back up with a greedy tongue.

He follows the steady stream down to your collarbone, lapping what strayed from the punctures, before returning to the wound with shuddering breaths. Suguru sinks his teeth back in to keep the blood pooling, and this time, you’re the one who jerks. Your hips kick up and you jostle you both.

You can’t hold back the noise you make at the pleasure-pain blossoming like a dragonfruit that’s been shredded into with a knife and left to bleed its juices freely and the way Suguru rolls down against you, almost unthinkingly. Your hands somehow find their way to Suguru’s hair and tangle into the dark strands. He hisses through his mouthful of skin and blood, and you find that you’ve never felt this awed and turned on in your entire life.

“Shit.” Shit. A shudder sings through you in a hot-flash. Words slip between your fingers faster than you can think them. All you know is Suguru. “Suguru.”

He keens in response. Unlatching himself, he’s quick to groan out “Jesus Christ,” all raspily before dipping back down and lapping over you again. You let loose another curse and drag your hands over every crevice of his body, futilely trying to hold onto him for dear life.

You lose yourself to the pull of blood between teeth, the shuddering grind you find yourselves falling into. Time rolls into a small disjointed ball. The fog settled over you starts to take on a different shape. Your neck painfully throbs like a drum, beating faster and faster until the cacophony drowns out all sound, forcing all of your senses to lock onto the overwhelming scent of copper filling your lungs. You claw at his back in prayer.

“Okay,” you manage to wheeze out when it finally becomes too much, voice cracking on the last syllable as your vision washes black. Blearily, you wonder if Suguru can even hear you over the roar of blood as it races through your veins— hell, if he even wants to hear you, but Suguru instantly unfastens himself from the wound with a wet, sticky pop.

The pressure that clung fierce to your skin lets up all at once, and you choke on your stumbling breaths. Your head tips forward dangerously. You think you black out to the sound of Suguru’s labored breaths and panicked mutterings, because when everything filters back in, Suguru’s inhales and exhales are a little more slower, relaxed.

You’re tilted slightly to the side as if you started to tip over and got caught. You drink in the weight of your partner still sitting astride your hips for a moment before gently bumping your forehead against Suguru’s collarbone to alert him to your returning consciousness.

“Hey,” Suguru murmurs, voice rumbling pleasantly near your ear.

“Give me a moment,” you rasp, near apologetic. Suguru merely cups the back of your head in response, promising his presence and patience.

With that, you let yourself soak in the sensations and smells of your shared house for a while longer as you recuperate, then you take stock of yourself. You feel incredibly lightheaded, but not a drop of regret darkens the calm waters of your thoughts. You slowly drag a hand through sweaty hair and find that there’s blood beneath your nails when you go to drop your hand back down.

You stare at the scarlet flakes that fall from them like petals and have to close your eyes at the sight. The phantom sensation of your fingers digging into Suguru’s back makes the tendons in your palm grow stiff.

“Did I hurt you?” You croak, a wave of guilt slamming into you. Your hand moves to do— you don’t know what, but when it ends up hanging uselessly between you both, Suguru gently takes it between his own.

“Not at all. A few drops of blood is nothing compared to the amount I took from you, doll.” Suguru sounds concerned.

You peel your eyelids apart at that, hoping to reassure him that you’re fine, and manage to catch the relief flooding Suguru’s features as you blink a few times.

He stares at you for a long moment, something soft flickering in his gaze when he assures himself that you’re well before he smooths a thumb over your tender puncture marks, wiping away the remaining blood. Calloused palms come up to cup your face, cradling your head and keeping you from listing sideways any further.

“You’re not a monster for that, y’know,” you mumble instinctively, feeling the urge to say it. There’s no way you’ll let him sit alone with his thoughts later and convince himself that the basic necessity of feeding is deserving of penance. Not when he’s finally just now had a taste of what breathing without a weight crushing through his chest is like. “It’s totally fine. I’m fine, see? Still alive and kicking and happy to talk your ear off in the morning.” Almost comically, that’s right when you yawn.

The chuckle that rumbles from deep within his chest makes you beam, feeling all warm and gooey in a way that has nothing to do with blood loss. “I very much look forward to that.”

Looping back a few seconds in your conversation, voice pitching impossibly softer, “I just… you wouldn’t respond for a moment,” Suguru informs you. The tightness of his jaw suggests that it affected him more than he wished it to. You feel a pang, hoping you didn’t spook him. “Nothing crazy, roughly forty seconds. I should’ve stopped sooner. If anything, I’m the one that needs to apologize.”

You’re sure you look a mess, what with the stupid dopey smile on your face as you drift through a fog of aching pain and desire. You attempt to school your face into something more firm. “Ugh, stop with that. You really don’t have anything to say sorry for. But you’re sure that you’re fine?” You toss back at him.

God. Between the two of you, you could easily secure a gold in the ‘fussing over each other’ Olympics.

Suguru rolls his eyes but fondly drops a kiss to your forehead, a soft assurance. You tilt into it with something akin to a happy purr. “Seriously, don’t worry about me,” he soothes, smiling slightly all the while. “It’s already healing.”

Letting you lean your cheek into the palm of one hand, Suguru takes one of your hands and guides it to the expanse of his back, helping you search for where your nails bit into him. He drags your fingers over miniscule raises on his back, and you’re pleased to find the skin already stitching itself back together.

“Faster than usual?” You rub your face against him like a cat, eyes threatening to fall shut again. Peering up at him, you admire the gentleness in his gaze that Suguru reserves only for you.

“Definitely. I knew to expect it, but it’s still surprising.” Then, “hold on, let me get you something.”

His warmth vanishes from your lap. You’re momentarily thrown, brain lagging, before focusing on Suguru slipping around the counter and into the kitchen. He returns with a glass filled to the brim with juice.

“You need the sugar,” he explains simply. He cards your hair further away from your face and he gracefully curls in at your side, pulling you sideways onto his lap.

It would be so easy for Suguru to allow his instincts to raze all rational thought, to let himself finish the job and go for your jugular like an unleashed hound and rip your throat out with scarlet-stained canines.

But he’s doting. Achingly so. Even now, even after feeding, his first instinct is to make sure you aren’t suffering for his sake.

He sweeps a soothing hand up and down the scoop of your shoulder and his other comes up to carefully coax your head back as he brings the glass to your lips. Drowsy eyes flicker up to Suguru, who meets yours with a relaxed smile, and you let Suguru trickle the juice onto your tongue.

You obediently drink your fill, taking another sip when Suguru’s pointer finger curls away from the glass and pokes your lips until you let them part again with a sigh. You half-focus on not choking, even as Suguru siphons it out carefully enough that it would be impossible, but all you want to do is drink in his handsome figure.

For a moment, you think yourself truly out of it and stupidly love-drunk until you realize that Suguru does look positively radiant. You blink slowly, once, twice, and squint through the haze.

Color blooms prettily in Suguru’s cheeks and the shadows beneath his eyes have entirely been chased away, his entire being humming with renewed vitality. He looks incredibly loose-limbed and relaxed; more so than he does when dozing off to the feeling of you scratching at his scalp and the smooth tenor of your voice as you read to him after a long day.

Edward Cullen sparkles, you internally giggle to yourself.

Suguru catches you staring and shakes his head fondly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Glass clinks as Suguru leans over to table the cup before rising. His hand curls around your bicep and he helps haul you from the divan. When you immediately sway on your feet with a disgruntled moan, trying to blink back the twilight creeping in on your vision, Suguru steadies you with a quietly confident, “I’ve got you.”

An arm wraps around your midsection and you return the hold with your own draped lazily over Suguru’s shoulders. The slow shuffle to the hallway and into the bathroom feels like an eternity and a half.

Artificial light blares against your irises and you grumble under your breath. It dims into something less harsh and you peel your eyes back open, your reflection wavering in the mirror before you. Your attention glides down to your chewed lips, a tiny thumbprint of blood pressed along the curve of your jaw, the bruised junction between your neck and shoulder.

You flatten your pads against the dark spot and stare some more. Suguru shuffles behind you and his mouth comes to rest against the back of your shoulder, ghosting over your nape. His eyes, usually deep violet, glow faintly crimson. His lips are still stained a sinful red.

“Mine,” Suguru mumbles.

“You sound like a caveman,” you hum in reply, earning a snort, and you let Suguru kindly direct you around the bathroom, ushering you through fragments of your usual routine instead of the full thing. Something about leaving yourself to Suguru calms you.

“This has to have gone against some sort of protocol,” you mumble as Suguru finally lowers you into your bed, mouth tasting vaguely of the mouthwash he managed to make you swish around and clothes switched out for loose sleepwear.

Blankets tuck up and around your shoulders, and both an exhale through Suguru’s nose and multiple kisses ghost across your cheek. You shiver. “I’m sure there was something in one of the books I read about vampire and donor relationships— professionality and boundaries and whatnot.”

“When have you ever cared about rules,“ Suguru gets out, mostly to himself, then snorts. Somehow, the noise sounds attractive coming from him. “You are so ridiculous.” He presses another kiss against your face and entertains you with a smile in his voice. “I suppose I’m being pretty damn unprofessional then.”

“Oh, no, you’re very professional,” you argue. You instantly whine as the bed creaks when Suguru leaves you, but you’re quickly satiated by his swift return. You have no shame in your neediness.

The rest of your thoughts wash out as Suguru burrows into the blankets next to you and gathers you close to protectively curl around you. You settle in together, face to face and skin to skin. It’s familiar.

Your eyes flutter back open once it occurs to you. You don’t know how many minutes have passed you by.

“Did I taste good?” Comes barreling out of you.

Your partner hums in brief contemplation. A curtain of hair whispers across the punctures in his neck as Suguru props himself up on one elbow, peering down at you. Another kiss presses against your cheek and Suguru’s breath fans over you. “I’d certainly make taste to drink from you again.”

“I’m going to sleep now.”

Suguru shakes with silent laughter.

(Long after you finally doze off, lips adorably parted and legs tangled together like the roots of a tree intertwining with another’s, looking cuter than a kitten in his rolled up flannel pants and old college sweatshirt, Suguru allows his head to fall, cheek squished against the chest cavity that houses your humanity. Your heart thumps steadily beneath his ear. Reassuringly so.

A soft exhale escapes him, half fondness, half awe. “Thank you, baby.”)

author’s note: this old fic of mine fits suguru so well it makes me sickkkktkshrkdja I LOVE YOU VAMPIRE SUGURU I LOVE YOUUUUUU

if you listened to the playlist while reading this… i heart u forever. also I’m thinking of when my mutual of 4 years read the original version of this fic and said she’s never been so turned on and frazzled by smth that was sfw which was truly the highest of compliments. MISS MY BAE!

perma tags: @libr4sonsa @spirit-kat @kaitospo @m1nrrva @enchantinghonymoon @shokogasm @dairyfaerie @pvmpkingod @skz8stay @floriophrastus @originalsaucy @loyalguma @wormplant @amane1271 @oporotheca @teachmehowtodokiaye @dogwhiskey @sunnydayqq

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eeriesilkworm · 2 days ago

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Why I think the flashback scene in ST5 is about Lonnie (and Mike and Jonathan's complicated relationship...)

CW: This post discusses potential spoilers and mentions implied abuse (It's about Lonnie, after all...) proceed with caution!

So, we already know about the casting call for a scene featuring 8-year-old Mike and Will, and 13-year-old Jonathan.

I've had multiple thoughts about what this scene could be (so many possibilities!) but after reading a leak regarding this scene, I've finally settled on (an admittedly speculative) theory.

(Of course, not all leaks are accurate, so take this with a grain of salt. And if you’re avoiding spoilers, consider this your cue to stop reading!)

Based on the leak, here’s what we know about the scene so far:

It is not a supernatural or horror-based memory (unlike Will’s 1983 flashbacks of the Upside Down).

It takes place on a school set (likely Hawkins Elementary, which makes sense if they’re reusing sets e.g. Holly Wheeler’s school).

The scene includes multiple parallels to Season 2.

This made me wonder: what Season 2 themes involving Mike, Will, and Jonathan could be echoed here—without needing the supernatural?

It’s difficult to answer because Will’s entire plot in Season 2 revolves around the supernatural. Namely, his possession by the Mind Flayer. But if this flashback isn’t supernatural, maybe the show is drawing on what the Mind Flayer represents: trauma, fear, and abuse.

The Mind Flayer as an allegory for trauma and PTSD

I don’t need to make this section long—most fans are acutely aware that the Mind Flayer is associated with trauma and PTSD. This is supported by the fact that these hauntings begin when the anniversary of Will’s abduction approaches, and that Will is diagnosed with PTSD by Dr Owens. The only thing that people may need convincing of, is that the Mind Flayer (and Upside Down) serve as allegory not just for trauma, but for Will’s specific trauma concerning his father. @greenfiend has an excellent series which delves into this theory.

Will is good at hiding

Season 2 also clearly shows us what Will's primary trauma response is: He initially freezes, be he also runs and hides. The way Will ran and hid behind the stairs on Halloween seemed practiced to me. Like he had done this before. He doesn't panic, and he doesn't keep running. He chooses to close his eyes and hide in a self-soothing position.

In fact, Jonathan himself has said that Will is good at hiding:

He wouldn't know this if he hadn't witnessed Will hiding before. In fact, Will being good at hiding implies he is also difficult to find.

It would make sense for us to see this play out: Will hiding, and Jonathan attempting to find him. And if Mike is also there, and we're paralleling Season 2, then that means...

Mike is good at finding

Despite Will being good at hiding, Season 2 also showed us that Mike is good at finding him. There are three Mind Flayer associated scenes in which Mike is the one to find Will, and in two of them, he's also the one who breaks him out of the visions.

He spots him outside the arcade:

He's the first to find him at Halloween: "I couldn't find you!"

And he's the first to find Will outside Hawkins Middle on the field: "I just found him like this!"

The 1979 Theory

If we're able to acknowledge that the Mind Flayer serves as an allegory for trauma and PTSD, then the gates which allowed the Mind Flayer to penetrate Hawkins (and Will by extension) are also relevent.

Interestingly, the first gate was opened by El in 1979. In this flashback—if Mike and Will are aged 8 years old—that means it also takes place in 1979.

I've made a fairly visual (rather than analytical) post about what I think may have happened to Will in 1979 and how it parallels the Hawkins Lab Massacre.

(Content warning: while nothing is explicit, the subject matter involves implied child abuse).

TL;DR: I believe Lonnie’s abuse escalated in 1979, and it marked a significant trauma for Will—one that he likely repressed or fragmented, much like El did with her memories of the massacre. That would make 1979 a foundational year for both of them: the year their “gates” were opened.

Jonathan’s guilt (the Mike vs Jonathan argument leak)

Additonally, there is a leak which claims Mike and Jonathan will get into an argument about Will's safety this season.

If this ends up being true, I think it will feed into this flashback scene as well. Specifically, Jonathan's guilt and possible quiet resentment of Mike.

I say resentment because Jonathan has made it clear that he views Will as his best friend. He also took on a somewhat parental role helping to raise Will, despite only being 4 years older. He likely feels that Will’s safety and wellbeing is his responsibility.

However, the show has also told us that children aren’t always honest with their parents/ family, but they usually tell their friends everything:

Once again, I’ll point to my previous post about 1979, and the fact that I believe there is something concerning Lonnie’s abuse that Mike is somewhat privy to, that Joyce and Jonathan are not. Because Will told Mike things he didn't tell anyone else.

Jonathan on the other hand, is concerned and insecure that Will no longer comes to him when he needs help or advice.

He said so himself in Season 4:

Jonathan also has a track record of not being around when bad things happen to Will—or not being the one to "rescue" him—but Mike usually is:

Will was at Mike's house before he went missing, and Jonathan was supposed to be waiting at home for him. While Jonathan was focused on capturing the Demogorgon, Mike was focused on finding Will.

Will was trick-or-treating with Mike when he was chased by the Mind Flayer, and Jonathan was at a party when he was supposed to be supervising Will. While Jonathan was partying, Mike brought Will home to his place.

When Will was possessed by the Mind Flayer, Mike stayed by his side the entire time, while Jonathan met with Murray to expose the Hawkins Lab scandal.

It was Mike's memory of meeting Will for the first time that allowed Will to (partially) break out of his possession and use morse code.

None of these are Jonathan's fault, but he has clearly expressed guilt:

If an argument does break out between Mike and Jonathan this season, I think it will be fuelled by exactly that: Jonathan’s quiet resentment and frustration that Mike keeps “butting in,” keeps (trying) to protect Will in ways that Jonathan believes should be his responsibility.

And if emotions run high, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mike snaps back with something like, “Well, I’ve actually been there when Will needed someone. Can you say the same?”

Likewise—Jonathan, who is aware of Will's romantic feelings for Mike—would find that quite rich coming from him, as he's witnessed his brother's heart break.

So for Mike to throw Will’s emotional well-being back in Jonathan’s face? That would cut deep. It would feel hypocritical. And that’s what would make the fight so compelling—two people who love Will deeply, clashing over how to protect him, while unknowingly tearing open wounds they both helped shape.

In this post I point out that Mike and Jonathan's "heart-to-heart" conversations with Will in ST4 were very similar: they were both seeking reconnection with him and expressing concern that they have become distant.

This tension will culminate in Season 5.

How it culminates (my actual theory regarding the flashback)

I speculate that the flashback will show Jonathan arriving at Hawkins Elementary to pick Will up from school, only to find out that Will isn’t where he’s supposed to be. But not because he got lost—because he’s hiding.

The reason why Will is hiding may not be explicitly stated, but it's because he's scared to go home—scared to see Lonnie.

Jonathan will search for Will, but it will likely be Mike who finds him first, or Mike who is already with him (and alerts Jonathan).

Mike also might already have an inkling as to why Will doesn’t want to go home. Because friends don’t lie. Because friends tell each other things they don’t tell parents.

He might even offer to let Will come stay at his place—a callback to what he does years later in Season 2, when he says he’ll "take him home" and brings him to the Wheeler house instead.

This flashback will be seen from either Mike or Jonathan's perspective, as Will's memories of 1979 are likely spotty. It will also highlight the dynamic between the three: Jonathan and Mike are both similarly protective of Will due to their affection for him. But this also creates wounds:

Because Mike feels helpless to protect Will from harm, even if he is always there for him, and Jonathan is frustrated by Will's habit of repressing and hiding his pain.

Well, that's my theory. What do you guys think the flashback scene will be about?

#st5 speculation #will byers #stranger things #mike wheeler #jonathan byers #st5 theory #lonnie byers #byler #stranger things analysis #byler analysis #stranger things theory #st5 leak #st5 leaks #st5 spoilers

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