#Billy has a really stupid day

[frankmillerturnonyourlocation]

Em Farrow (tentative last name for dhsab si…..) makes a point of attending a book club at a college they don’t attend, for at least the first part of the storyline. It’s how they established and maintain a small civ friendgroup while living in the city and working under the ELE.

It’s just generally assumed by the other members that Em is a student, but when asked directly (hey, what year are you, anyway? you’re not graduating, are you?) they’ll admit to being a dropout. (nah, I failed out, haha. But Samantha said it would be alright if I kept showing up to our meetings, everybody say thank you Sam) (pan, over a chorus of thaaank you Saaaams, to the quiet club treasurer everybody loves who is a little embarrassed by being singled out and certainly isn’t going to make a fuss and REVOKE an invitation even if she’s pretty sure she never offered one because that would be RUDE and make everything worse)

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPxDC prompt: Danny is Chronos' first child.

Well, not his first child biologically, to be completely honest.

It just so happened that the Phantom very often helped/helps/will help Clockwork at different times and his presence next to the titan required an explanation.

And the opportunity to call Zeus a little brother is worth a lot, right? So when the Ancient came up with this idea Phantom did not resist just to have such a pleasant bonus from their cooperation.

However, in the time of the gods and heroes, such a solution was not a problem. But in modern times, when Phantom tries to attract as little attention as possible in order to graduate from university, such relatives are more likely to cause a lot of problems.

~~~~~

Wonder Woman: Uncle Danny?

Superman, who wanted to chase away a teenager serenely strolling through still smoking battlefield, turns to Wonder Woman, who is waving affably at excactly this guy.

Well, Fenton honestly happened to be in Fawcett City by accident, and it just so happened that by chance it was on this sunny and cloudless day that the villains decided to cause riots worthy of the attention of the founders of the Justice League.

Danny: Diana! My dear, it seems like we really haven't seen each other not for a long time! In what century was it? Ah, I honestly, I barely remember it... The speed at which children grow up defies the laws of time. I mean, look at you! Your mother must be so proud. How's Dad? Still not paying child support, arrogant bastard?

Wonder Woman: Oh, uncle, please. I'm all grown up now, don't worry about me.

Danny: Hm, well, let's get back to this question later. I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your friends. Anyway, would you like to introduce them, little princess?

Wonder Woman: Of course, meet Kal El, Batman, and Shazam. The rest of the guys have already returned to our base. Would you like to...

Danny: Ooh, you're talking about, um... What do you young people call it? The Justice League, right? During my youth, the heroes rarely united and mostly performed all the feats alone. It's good that you help each other, kids.

Danny flies up a little to pat Superman and Batman on the head.

Under the Diana's gaze full of hope that they will get along with her uncle, the men do not move.

In the background:

Red Hood and Robin who used to hang out with Danny near the Lazarus pits: *sounds of seagulls dying of laughter*

~~~~~

Flash: So you're Diana's uncle?

Danny: Yes, call me Danny.

Flash: Cool, cool...

Danny: What does the temperature have to do with it? Do you need ice? Let me make some for you.

Flash: No, it's like,um, I didn't know that Zeus has a younger brother with that name. So, it's good to know?

Danny: Hmm, thanks. Many people tell me that I look quite young, hah. But actually I'm his older brother, so...

Flash: Older? Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to disrespect.

Danny: No, it's all right. It's "cool". I rarely appear on the pages of your human myths and legends, I know it. After all this business about Chronos devours his own children, my father punished me for a long time. So, yeah...It's a funny story.

Flash: Punished for what? How?

Danny: Uh, sitting in a room at a time when there is no Internet or electricity is not fun at all. You see, I just didn't want a younger brother or sister because I was afraid that my parents would pay less attention to me. So, I made up this stupid prophecy and persuaded Gaea to tell it in order to remain the only child in the family. My father would never have thought that I would decide to kill him, that's why...Phah, it's just a bad family story. In 10 thousand years, we'll all laugh about it.

Flash: Yeah, that's... funny.

~~~~

Danny *is woken up by an emergency call from the League at three in the morning, although he fell asleep at two o'clock* (he gave his contact so as not to upset his niece): I knew this would happen! I knew it!

~~~~

Billy Batson *stands in his human form in front of the Justice League and doesn't know what to say*,*sweating nervous*.

Danny *enters the hall*: What's up, mortals, Diana and...Batman? My father said that there is something that I have to be here for. Oh! Well, at least someone in this family is also a shapeshifter. Have you decided to make a younger form so that your uncle doesn't feel lonely? What a good boy! Usually everyone is so afraid to seem like children, once they turn a couple of centuries old. Ah, youth~

Billy: Yeah, I decided to..experiment? and it seems I got stuck by accident.

Danny: It's okay, Uncle Danny will help you. Come on, let's go...

~~~~

Danny *teleports them to the Fawcett City*.

Billy: ....

Danny:

Billy: Hey, I'm still stuck!

A new portal opens and a man in a purple cape hands Billy a note. "Go to Constantine. P.S., my son always completes all assignments only by half, sorry." written on it.

Billy: Oh... OoOhHh!!!

~~~~

Meanwhile, Constantine, who is forced to do additional work: Son of a bi... beloved and respected Master of Time.

Danny: Yeap, that's me.

Constantine: Damn it. Couldn't you just let Batman adopt him like in other timelines?

Danny: And where's the fun in that?

[steddie-as-they-come]

everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

[uno-san]

Bill Cipher Vs. Self-Hatred

Howdy y'all! Today I just wanted to go over some thoughts I had over everybody's favorite triangle that may or may not have occurred to some of you already. Naturally this will contain Book of Bill Spoilers.

To start off our little essay I thought it would be important to first sum up my thoughts on one of Bill's more complicated relationships: Stanford

Now we've all seen his dynamic with Stanford plenty of times in the show but with recent information coming from both the Book of Bill and thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com more light has been shed on the subject from both Bill's perspective and Ford's.

There's more than meets the eye when it comes to dissecting Bill's interactions and thoughts on Stanford, with the ever enlightening "EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES" making theorists scratch their heads. Within the Book of Bill are these codes and their meanings: hbh grfwru ri d gliihuhqw nlqg/ zkr zdqw wr pdnh klv sdwlhqw eolqg

eye doctor of a different kind/ who wants to make his patient blind

Qeb alzqlo pxvp/ qeobb pfmp x axv/ tfii jxhb qeb sfpflkp/ dl xtxv

The doctor says/ three sips a day/ will make the visions/ go away

Ixvvb hdwhu/ edeb eloob/ zrxogq'w gulqn/ xqohvv lwv vloob

Fussy eater/ baby billy/ wouldn't drink/ unless its silly

As well as:

Finding out that both Stanford and Bill have a genetic mutation that made them Black Sheep suggests the possibility that Bill saw a kinship within Stanford. After all, he did make the offer for Stanford to join him. No doubt being able to sympathize with Stanford's situation yet misreading his motivations, causing the rift in their once savable relationship once Bill's lies were uncovered.

Now I'll admit it was others who came up with this theory in particular, especially when drawing comparisons of how Stanford was treated and how Bill allegedly was for having a strange eye. Stanford, in some form of other, might represent how Bill was before he saw the destruction of his world by his hands. A mere outcast looking for his place in the world. To be believed rather than ridiculed or "fixed".

Self-Hatred

And now we get to the Bill we all know today:

The chaos loving and nightmare inducing three-sided maniac, who may be hiding more insecurities than he ever let on in the show, thanks to the Theraprism.

Someone far more traumatized

Who's had to convince himself to fully be the bastard he is today

But if the theory that Bill had a type of kinship with Stanford thanks to their mutations was true, then wouldn't it be possible that his relationship with someone else might represent the inner struggle with himself?

For you see, the original title of this post was...

Bill Cipher Vs. Stanley Pines

As my own theory is that Stanley Pines is what Bill decided to project his self-hatred on. Nobody can doubt that the two have similar qualities, yet as I read the Book of Bill and thisisnotawebsitedotcom I couldn't help but notice the absolute malice that Bill has for Stanley whenever he's mentioned.

There have been many opponents before that have strived to take Bill down. Whether that was the Shaman, the Anti-Cipher Society, or Time Baby, none of his interactions with them have appeared as vitriol as compared to Stanley.

Not even Stanford has this same reaction, who, by really no contest, was the closest to ever defeating Cipher by himself. Both with the gun that he near successfully killed Bill with and the secret of the barrier of Gravity Falls he refused to give up. Bill didn't even have a real interaction with Stanley until the last episode.

Yet it isn't Stanford that causes Bill to break while he's in the Theraprism. It's Stanley.

"-A resume-inflating, cheap trick loving, past-denying overgrown child protected from failure only by a force field of DENIAL AND shamelessness!"

"Self-pitying"

"Stupid"

"Smug"

"Hack Jokes"

"UNWORTHY"

Now it could be just me, but those are a lot of specific insults to fling somebody's way that you've barely interacted with. Especially if Bill credits the Twin Swap to Stanford entirely as opposed to allowing Stanley the credit.

"STEP RIGHT UP, it's time to play my FAVORITE GAME!! BOOTLEG SIXER over HERE spent a LIFETIME trying to hide his humiliations, BUT I'VE BEEN INSIDE HIS MIND, so NOW they’re ALL YOURS for the low low price of BEING MY NEW PAL! ITS SHOWTIME FOLKS, AND THE ONLY WAY TO LOSE IS TO BE NAMED STANLEY PINES!"

“SHAME:TM - IT'S THE ONE FRIEND WHO NEVER LEAVES!”

This out-of-character hatred doesn't come from the fact that Bill thought Stanley wasn't worthy, it comes from the fact that Bill sees himself in Stan. Who by all means is a lying and conniving screw up. Somebody who let his family down.

This could possibly be proven by the poem Bill had wrote about Stanley:

The whole poem suits my point but I decided to highlight the sections that caught my eye specifically. That when you put into consideration Bill's clear trauma and regret about the Euclidian Massacre, his own words can clearly be flipped back on him.

That he sees himself as a curse and a mistake. A self-made monster. Someone who's left the past behind when the loss of his home is still on his mind.

And what truly gets under Bill's skin about Stanley Pines?

"He got his life and family back.

His big break, it finally came,

Redemption from a life of shame"

Stanley got back what Bill can't.

[venus-haze]

Stakeout (Billy Butcher x Reader)

Summary: Ever since you started working with Butcher and The Boys again, life has been exciting, invigorating—and stressful. During a stakeout, Butcher mixes the personal with the professional to help you relieve some of the tension you’ve been carrying around.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Takes place vaguely in season 1. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving semi-public fingering, light degradation, and voyeurism (Butcher is insane. So is Homelander.)

You hadn’t been on a stakeout in years when Butcher asked—demanded, really—that you come along with him to keep an eye on Vought Tower overnight. Something about letting Hughie get some sleep while you two tried to keep tabs on A-Train’s comings and goings. It was easy enough to see through his bullshit, but rather than call him on it, boredom from your day job and curiosity of what he had up his sleeve made you agree.

Butcher at least had the decency to pick up some snacks from a bodega near your apartment, mostly beef jerky and bags of chips. Kept the radio low on some classic rock station, the two of you sitting in near silence across the street from the tower for the better part of an hour. His car hadn’t changed much from the last time you were in it. Except for the new pine tree air freshener—though new was a stretch. It’d long since lost its scent, but the blue wasn’t as sun-bleached as the old one. Funny, the things you remember.

“This feels like a waste of time. Even if we were here to spy on A-Train, which you and I both know we’re not, there’s no way we’d be able to actually see him leave and come back,” you finally said. “And Homelander wouldn’t leave out of Vought’s front door unless he was doing some publicity to appeal to us plebeians.”

“You got a point.”

“So what’re we doing here?” 

“Y’think the cunt can see us?” he asked.

“Who? Homelander?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t the point of a stakeout that we’re not supposed to be seen?”

“S’why I’m asking, love.”

You sighed. “Unless he’s somewhere we can’t see him, then I guess not.”

“Perfect.”

He put his hand on your knee, his fingers inching their way up your pencil skirt. You didn’t have time to change out of your office clothes when Butcher picked you up at your apartment. Even though you were back with his crew, you hadn’t quit your day job just yet, working for some stupid startup that somehow landed a contract with Vought. Gave you some insight into what they were up to, at least made your presence in the tower the least suspicious of anyone else, able to say you were there for business.

You shifted in the passenger seat a bit. “Butcher, what’re you—“

“Tryin’ to help you relax,” he said, his fingers brushing your clit through your panties. “You’ve been tense as hell lately.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. He was right. Linking up with Butcher again after so many years gave you a renewed sense of purpose, but with that came the stress, the late nights, the close calls. In the comfort of his car, just the two of you where no one else could see, maybe you could let him take control for a while.

“How tense, Butcher?” you asked, leaning back in the seat. “Tell me.”

“Workin’ yourself too hard for a bunch of sorry pricks,” he said, his voice low and husky as he tugged at your panties. You lifted your hips so he could pull them to your knees. “Can’t have that when I need you now, yeah?”

You nodded breathlessly as he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out slowly, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. His gaze, dark and intense, always had a way of making you feel acutely aware of his attention on you, even when you weren't looking at him. Sometimes unnerving, but in cases like this, utterly exposed despite being fully clothed.

“Been a long time, huh? You miss this? You miss when I'd take care of your cunt?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “God, Butcher, keep going.”

“Thought of callin’ you a few times the past few years. You were always a good fuck,” he husked, his lips, his rough beard brushing across your neck and jaw. “Look at you now, people walking by, and you don’t give a damn who can see you, long as you get off, huh?”

“Butcher—“

“Bet if I’d taken my cock out instead, you’d have sucked me off. Take it all like the cockslut I know you are. You fuck anyone else the past few years? They know how to treat you? Know how to make you feel good?”

“Yes—No—I don’t know.”

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re pretty when you’re close. How close are you, love?”

“Fuck—I’m close. I’m so fucking close. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” you babbled, choking out a moan when he slipped a third finger inside you. “Keep going, just like that.”

He was pushing you, knew your limits better than anyone, and as much as you hated to admit it, you needed it. Hadn’t realized until then how long it’d been since you’d really been fucked until he curled his fingers inside you, and your brain felt like someone poured soda over it, your skin burning for more.

You didn’t care who saw, all you cared about was getting there, and you were so fucking close it made you screw your eyes shut and cry out in frustration. Jesus, no wonder you were willing to jump back in when Butcher showed up on your doorstep. Everyday was bland, the same old bullshit. There was plenty of bullshit when it came to Butcher and whatever harebrained schemes he came up with, but it was a hell of a lot more fun than typing up reports and sitting through meetings.

“C’mon, love. Put on a show. Let me hear ya.”

You opened your eyes, only to catch Butcher staring out the windshield. Following his gaze, you let out a panicked whine upon seeing a red glow honed in on you, long enough to be sure he was watching. You came on Butcher’s fingers with a perverse moan, pleasure coursing through you as you dug your fingers into the console. You threw your head back, your hips jerking upward as you rode out your orgasm on his hand. 

Butcher was relentless when he wanted to be, and you weakly tapped out, squeezing his muscular arm, whining a bit nevertheless when he pulled his hand away. Sparing another glance at the windshield, the red glow was gone. Homelander was gone.

You told yourself it was the surge of fear-fueled adrenaline that brought you over the edge, not exhilaration at being seen, being caught in such a vulnerable state by the most powerful supe in the world. Definitely not. But you kind of hated yourself for not feeling more humiliated, instead, as you obsessively replayed the scene in your head as Butcher drove down the street, you were thrilled by it. 

Still, he should’ve fucking warned you, given you some kind of heads up. You held your tongue until you were sure the sound of traffic would hide your voice from any superpowered hearing.

“You fucking prick!” you hissed, smacking his shoulder. “You banked on Homelander being enough of a pervert to watch us?”

“Killed two birds with one stone. You feel better now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reluctantly conceded.

“Attagirl.” He grinned. “I think I know where the cunt’s going.”

You balked. “I can’t look him in the eye after this.”

“You kind of already did.”

“Fuck you, Butcher.”

He glanced at you again, squeezing your thigh. “I’ll make it up to you later, love. Don’t you worry.”

[i-wanna-write]

Stupid Plan - Billy Butcher x Reader

Prompt: You hate Billy Butcher and you hate his stupid plans.

Wanting: 18+ ONLY. SMUT. Rough Smut. Choking. Mention of strangulation. It’s The Boys guys. Swearing. Lots of use of the word fuck. Some use of cunt. Mentions of blood and gore - again, it’s the Boys

Word Count: 3130

Disclaimer: I find all pics off google! This is the first ever Smut I’ve written. I’m so sorry if it’s trash!

————————————————————————

You hated Billy Butcher with every fiber of your being starting with the first moment met him. When you first met him all those years ago it was like mixing oil with water. Your boss at the CIA partnered the two of you together and you wanted to kill yourself then and there. Years of working with the foul-mouthed borderline rogue agent only further fueled your mutual hatred for one another.

You hated how he always called the shots and barely listened to your input when it came to planning. You hated how he was a shoot first ask questions later type of partner. You hated how his vulgar language never stopped even when talking to his superiors. Most of all, you hated how attracted to him you were.

Chocolate brown eyes, jet black hair, jaw scribbled with facial hair. His broad shoulders meant for gripping onto and an ass meant for grabbing.

You really hated him.

When he reached out to you years after leaving the CIA, you laughed in his face when he asked you to join him in taking down Supes. But his serious face didn’t falter and your laughing quickly stopped, now cursing yourself for hearing him out.

Not only did he rope you into this rag tag team, but he got Frenchie and M.M to join too. As well as baby face Hughie who just had an unlucky hand dealt to him.

That’s how you find yourself now, fuming in a silent car sandwiched between Frenchie and Hughie on your way to your underground hideout. Butcher is driving, M.M in the passenger's seat. The Frenchman has the window cracked with a cigarette hanging between his teeth while Hughie bounces his knee up and down in anxiety.

You can only imagine the tight grip Butcher has on the steering wheel. The thoughts of anger going through his head. His plan was a stupid one and you called him on that the minute he proposed the idea. But one dark look from him had you shutting up and rolling your eyes, going along with the stupid plan with the other boys.

Emphasis on stupid plan.

Your goal was to attend a Supes charity event to follow the lead on a Supe dealing Compound V. Rumor was that he was going to make a big appearance and donate a shit ton of money to the charity, allowing him to gain more favors with the public as he wanted to join the Seven.

That’s when the stupid plan started. Butcher had you and Frenchie pretend to be married, which was the first stupid idea he pitched. The Frenchman is your best friend but the two of you work together on missions as well as a cat and a dog. He gets too easily excited at the smallest bit of action while you always go into things level headed.

You two were dressed to impress, Frenchie in an expensive suit and yourself in a revealing cocktail dress. While the two of you were to mingle and pick up comments of where the guest of honor would be, the other three boys were to be scouting the hotel rooms looking for him based on the information you gathered.

So, with the first stupid idea being you pretending to be married to Frenchie, the second was the revealing dress. Because the guest of honor wasn’t out preparing in his hotel room. No, he was mingling with the crowd when his eyes landed on you.

You told Butcher that you being on the floor was not a good idea. That you were the exact type of woman this man was accused of fraternizing with. But did he listen? No. You felt like you were reliving your CIA days - half cocked plans, shoot first, questions later, deal with whatever mess you caused later.

You had to use the restroom and informed Frenchie you’d be back in a moment. The Frenchman merely nodded, turning his attention back to those around him. Another reason why you two should never be partners in this sort of thing. Because any other partner would have gone with you but Frenchie just gets too excited in these sorts of things.

That’s how you found yourself, alone and cornered in the women’s bathroom, the guest of honor not letting you escape. You whispered into your com to tell the boys, Butcher telling you to stall, that they’ll be there soon. You learned not to rely on Butcher early on

So when the boys entered the women’s room to find you covered in blood, the back of a toilet seat in hand, to say Butcher was pissed was an understatement. The Supe made one to many advances, not catching the hint. He backed you into a stall and the two of you began to fight, him eventually encircling his hands around your neck. Reaching for the only thing you could grab, you found the back of the toilet seat and bashed his head in, repeatedly

“I told you it was a stupid plan.” You said to Butcher, dropping the seat cover and stepping over the body to leave the restroom and head to the car

You’re shaken out of your thoughts by the sound of a car door being slammed and look up to see that you’re back to the hideout, Butcher already having exited. You sigh and get out on the same side as Frenchie, closing the door behind you.

“Dumbing fucking cunt.” Butcher mumbles as you five enter the hideout.

You roll your eyes and push pass everyone to enter the bathroom, needing to get the Supes’ blood off of you. You close the door behind you and stand in front of the mirror, looking at yourself.

Your face is speckled with blood and your eye is starting to bruise, purple peeking out through your naturally tan skin. Your hair that was once in a neat pulled back high pony is frizzy, strands falling out to frame your face. You notice light purple marks already beginning to form on your neck, showing signs of the strangulation you endured only an hour ago.

Clenching your fists, you turn on the water, steam rising to the mirror. You place your hands under it and scrub, wanting your blood and the Supes gone.

“Fucking Butcher.” You mumble to yourself. “Fucking stupid fucking plan.”

“Well maybe you should fucking listen for a change, aye?” A British voice says from your right.

You jump and turn towards the voice, seeing the large frame of one Billy Butcher in the bathroom, door shut behind him. You shut off the water and then turn towards him. His face his angry, his arms at his sides as you watch him clench and unclench his fists.

You let you a chuckle. “Me listen for a change?” You ask incredulously as you throw you hands up in the air. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“Is it?” He asks, cocking his head to his side and bearing his teeth. “How’s that now?”

“Your fucking plan was fucking stupid to begin with and I. Told. You. That.” You take a step forward and point a finger into his chest to emphasize the last point.

“What’s stupid is you going of on your fucking own and being dumb enough to get fucking cornered by the fucking Supe.” Butcher yells back, smacking your hand away from his body.

“It was your genius idea to have Frenchie and I go in together - which I advised against!” You yell back just as loud.

Yelling feels good. The past months of putting up with Billy Butcher and his always right complex has finally taken its toll on you. You could put up with him in the CIA, really you could. There your goal was mutual and laid out in front of you. But now, now Butcher only seems to have his own agenda and never shares it with anyone.

“It was your brilliant idea to have me go in! When I fucking told you it was a bad. Fucking. Idea!” You scream.

“Well it was your brilliant idea to fucking bash the cunts head in, losing our lead on Compound V!”

Butcher's face is in yours, so close you can feel his breath against your lips. So badly do you want to punch the asshole. In fact, you want to take the back of this toilet off and bash his head in. Maybe than his plans won’t be as stupid as this one.

“You know what?” You ask, raising your hands in surrender. “I’m done.”

You move past Butcher, wanting to leave the bathroom, leave the hideout, leave this rag tag team. Your hand is on the door and opens it about 2 inches before it’s slammed shut. You feel Butcher’s body behind yours, his hand on the right side by your face.

“No.” He says gruffly, turning you around so you’re now facing him, back pressed against the door. “You’re done, when I say you’re done.”

You have had it. He’s been walking over the four of you for months and you’re done. It’s always his idea, his plans, his reasoning. Not anymore. Fuck this. Fuck the team. Fuck the Supes. And most importantly, fuck Billy Butcher.

“You know what? Fuck yo-“

You’re cut off by Butcher’s lips slamming into yours, his body pressing against you to pin you between him and the door. His lips move roughly, tasting of whiskey he probably took a swig of before following you in here.

You immediately respond, kissing back just as hard. Your lips move sloppily together, both of you so angry at the other you want the kiss to hurt. His hands are placed on your hips, gripping tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises. You bring your hands up to his hair and yank hard, wanting to do the same damage back.

He tongue pries open your mouth and immediately finds yours, tracing over it. You give back the same intensity he is, using your mouth to fight him since your arms physically can’t. An idea forms in your head and you pull away slightly, grabbing his bottom lip between your teeth and biting down. Hard.

Butcher immediately pulls away and you use the opportunity to catch your breath. Your chest heaves up and down and your body is warm, you’re positive your flushed. Butcher looks the same, his breath coming out in pants, cheeks red, hair going in all different directions.

“Did you just fucking bite me,” he asks, his hand going up to his mouth to check for blood.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking cunt I would’ve been gentler.” You goad him.

You watch as his eyes darken and he’s immediately on you again, lips on yours. This time his hands are on your ass and he pushes up, signally what he wants you to do. Your arms grip his shoulders as you jump, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Butcher immediately pins you back against the door and you pull away to gasp as you feel his hard cock against between your legs. Heat immediately rushes to your core and you shift slightly so it hits the right spot, brushing against your clit.

“Fuck Butcher.” You moan, hands moving down his body to reach the bottom of his shirt, wanting it off.

His hips press against you harder, causing you to throw your head back against the door. You watch through heavy eyelids as he removes his shirt in one go before finding your lips again. You didn’t even get the chance to admire his shirtless body, his hands tightly squeezing your ass as your own grip onto his shoulders.

You feel yourself begin to move and pull away to watch as he carries you a short distance to the sink, placing you atop it. He shoots you a quick grin before pulling at your dress, sliding it down your shoulders before his lips attach to your neck, trailing down.

“Ahhh.” Escapes you as he begins to suck on your pulse point, your hips bucking to once again feel his hard cock beneath his jeans against you.

He sucks harshly before biting down, his tongue then swirling along the mark that will be there tomorrow. While starting a new mark, his hands further pull down your dress, freeing your boobs from their constraints. Both hands grab them, fitting perfectly in his hands as he squeezes roughly.

“Fuck sweetheart, your breasts are magnificent.” Butcher mumbles against your neck before traveling lower.

His lips find one of your nipples, sucking and biting causing you to scrape your nails up his back and latch onto his shoulders. A sensation shoots down your body to your core and you buck your hips again, wishing his jeans were gone and he was already inside of you. One hand finds your free breast and squeezes the nipple tightly, another moan escaping you.

Sweat beads on your skin as his mouth switches its attention to your other nipple, his hand venturing further south before it meets your thigh. He bunches your dress up so it’s now only wrapped around your waist and presses a hand against your mound.

“Oh my God.” You groan as he pinches your clit, another sensation moving through your body.

“No underwear aye sweetheart?” Butcher starts, pulling away to look in your eyes. “If I knew you wanted me that bad all you had to do was ask.”

You roll your eyes. “Fuck yo-“

But Butcher cuts you off again, this time because of his finger entering you. His thick digit moves in and out slowly, your core so wet it can easily slide. You slide one of your hands down to the front of his jeans, blindly searching for his button and zipper.

You feel his other hand touch yours, helping you get his cock free. You pull his jeans down just enough for it to escape and immediately grab it, noting how your whole hand can’t fit all the way around.

“Ah Fuck.” Butcher groans, his hips rocking to allow his cock to slide through your enclosed hand.

He adds a second finger and you throw your head back, eyes closed. He starts to set a pace and you try to follow it with your hand on his cock, your hips slightly rocking to the motion. His fingers curl up, finding the spot you desperately needed him to find.

“Fuck Butcher.” You gasp, your hips starting to increase their pace.

Only he immediately pulls his fingers out of you.

You open your eyes and begin to lift your head but stop as a hand wraps around your neck. Your body tenses, your gaze meets Butchers. His eyes are dark, face flushed and sweat coating his skin.

“You say my name when I’m inside of you.” He states, his grip tightening slightly to emphasize the demand before loosening.

You can only nod and that’s enough for him as he guides his cock into you. You gasp at the intrusion, his two fingers not even coming close to the size of his cock. You feel it stretching your walls and try to take in air as it touches every crevice inside of you.

Billy doesn’t give you time to adjust to his size as he immediately pulls out before ramming back into you. You feel slight pain at the repeated intrusion but it quickly turns into only pleasure as he sets a fast and rough pace. His hand doesn’t leave your neck, his other tightly gripping your hip to hold you in place. Both of your hands grab onto his shoulders, squeezing tightly, nails digging into them again.

“Fuck Billy. Fuck.” You say as his cock reaches a deep place inside of you.

“How’s tha’ sweetheart?” He asks, his lips attacking your neck in kisses and bites. “This why you’re always such a bitch? Huh? Needed me to fuck that attitude out of you?”

You don’t respond. Instead, you move your hands to his head, guiding his lips to yours. You move just as roughly as before, teeth clashing and tongues dancing as you both try to fuck the fight out of each other.

Billy’s hand on your neck slides down to reach your clit, rubbing your juices over it. You pull your mouth away, tilting your head back and closing your eyes.

“Fuck that. Look at me.” Billy starts, his hand leaving your clit to grab your chin roughly. “Look at this.” He guides your head down, your eyes watching as his cock exits and enters you, coated with your juices. “Look at how wet you are for me. How good my cock makes you feel. You like tha’ sweetheart?”

You nod, looking back up to meet his gaze, his brown eyes so dark they appear black. His hand returns to rub your clit and you stare into each other's eyes as the sound of skin slapping against skin and both of your panting breaths fill the room.

“Billy. I’m- I’m close.” You tell him, feeling that familiar sensation creep deep into your stomach.

Billy’s response isn’t verbal but you know he’s heard you as his pace picks up and he rubs your clit harder. You moan a little louder causing Billy to kiss you again.

“Don’t want the boys to have dinner and a show aye.” He grins as he pulls away.

His hips continue to snap, his cock sliding out of you only to hammer back in, hitting the deep part of you repeatedly. Your core begins to tighten and you squeeze your eyes shut as the familiar feeling starts to take over.

“Fuck, Billy. Shit. Billy.” You chant, the feeling now taking over.

Your eyes remain closed as your body tenses and you feel yourself come undone. Your channel squeezes his cock as it continues to move in and out of you, Billy not stopping as you ride your high. You hands latch onto his neck and you pull him back to a kiss as the feeling slowly begins to die down.

Billy feels you unclench and pulls out, his mouth still connected to yours as his hands pump himself once, twice, before he releases a groan against your lip as he cums onto your dress and stomach.

“Fuck sweetheart.” Billy says as he pulls away from your lips.

He leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, both of you panting as you come down from your highs.

“It was still a stupid plan.” You whisper to him, a small smile on your lips.

Billy just gives a disbelieved laugh before leaning down to kiss you once more.

If all his stupid plans of the past ended like this, maybe you wouldn’t hate him as much as you do.

[artiststarme]

A Grudge Be Held

Based on an enabling comment from @estrellami-1. Hope you guys like it and please leave me your opinions in the comments!

~*~*~*~

There are a few well known facts in the universe; the earth revolves around the sun, George Michael is gay, Tim Curry has sexy legs, and Eddie Munson holds grudges.

It wasn’t because he was a bad person or because he thought people were inherently bad, he’d just been through too much to waste his time on people that had already wronged him. He didn’t give more than one chance and if they fucked that up, well, they didn’t deserve another one.

He was usually lenient on what constituted a grudge to be held. Unless someone did something directly to him or someone he cared about, it didn’t really bother him and they certainly didn’t make his list. His parents were on there (because why wouldn’t they be?), Mrs. O’Donnell was on there because he was positive at least one of his failed senior years was due to her having a bone to pick with him, and Principal Higgins was on there too because fuck that guy.

Tommy Hagan was on the list because of a rumor started that made life hard for Eddie for awhile (it was true but needless to share), Jason Carver was on there now for starting a mob trying to kill him, and Billy Hargrove earned a spot for being an asshole to anything that moved.

A person that many people were surprised wasn’t on the list was Steve Harrington. The DnD party was shocked when they heard King Steve wasn’t an object of resentment in Eddie. But he’d never done anything out of malice to Eddie specifically. Where others saw confidence and pride, Eddie looked at a lonely and broken teen that was willing to do anything to fit in. He couldn’t hate him for that. And the time where Steve stood up for Eddie against Billy Hargrove at a drug deal gone wrong forever cemented him as a good guy in Eddie’s eyes.

After his experience with the Upside Down, psychic murders, and overall shitshow that was his Spring Break, Eddie and Steve got closer. Steve coerced everyone of authority to clear Eddie’s name with help from Robin, Nancy, and the passed Chief Hopper that apparently wasn’t actually dead. He housed Eddie and Wayne until they could find a new trailer that they could afford. Then he spent every waking moment making sure Eddie was alright and included as part of the group. In laymen’s terms, Steve saved his life.

So in true Eddie fashion, he made the internal dramatic decision that he would hold grudges on Steve’s behalf. He would be a guard dog of sorts, protecting and defending the love of his life his friend. What he didn’t consider was how difficult the task would be.

Through a new lens, Eddie saw that everyone walked all over Steve. The cashiers at the grocery store blatantly charged him extra, the customers at Family Video talked over him nearly every sentence in response to questions they asked, and teens on the street laughed at the scars in their view. Worse of all though, the Party didn’t respect him. Dustin and Mike told him several times a day how stupid he was, Nancy looked at him in pity and shut down all of his opinions, Lucas talked about not having sports in common with anyone right in front of him, and Robin kept blowing off their plans to hang with Vickie.

Through it all, Steve appeared fine. He smiled and nodded in all the right places but as soon as he thought the eyes moved on, his smile would slip to reveal something sadder. And so Eddie’s vengeance began.

He “accidentally” knocked over sales racks near the registers in the grocery store when they charged an extra $2 for milk. He keyed the cars of the teenagers that laughed at the evidence of Steve’s pain. When he saw Officer Callahan yacking at Steve for speeding, he picked up a dozen eggs and pelted the man’s house in revenge.

Dealing with the kids in the Party was trickier. His glares and barbed comebacks were clear enough for Nancy and Robin to change their ways. The kids though just weren’t observant enough to pick up on the clues Eddie tried to drop. One session of a campaign though, the perfect opportunity presented itself.

“I didn’t know there were dragons in the game. If you losers had told me there were dragons, I might’ve considered playing ages ago!” Steve exclaimed from his seat on the couch, intrigued eyes meeting Eddie’s.

Eddie smirked at him. “Oh yeah, Big Boy. You should know by now that I’m full of surprises.”

Steve blushed a little bit but as he went to respond, Mike interrupted. “Steve, you’re not even playing. You shouldn’t even be here much less interrupting the game!”

Steve’s flush turned pale and he shrunk into himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can just uh, I can go. I’ll see you guys later.”

As he moved to get up though, Eddie stood and towered over the table.

“Wait Steve, you’re gonna want to see this part.” He glowered at Mike and rasped his voice to transition back to DM’ing. “A comet flies from the dragon’s cavern and lands on Sir Madeon. Roll for damage.”

“What the hell! No, you can’t do that!” Mike stammered with a dropped jaw.

“I just did, pipsqueak. Roll for damage or die trying.”

“14,” Mike muttered. He glared at Eddie then Steve before pouting in his seat.

“The comet is too large to escape from. Sir Madeon tries to run but he’s not fast enough to avoid the flying stone. It lands on his back in a fiery crumble. The intense heat eats through his flesh, bones, and organs at once leaving only his head and limbs intact, scattered amongst the rest of the Party. He dies a horrendous death and his friends are left alone with only the smell of charred remains to remember him by.” Eddie ends his tirade with a quirked eyebrow. That’ll show these little assholes what happens when they mess with him. A quick glance at Steve shows him excitement and surprise, he absolutely was not expecting that.

“What the fuck. This is supposed to be PG,” Dustin stares at Eddie in horror. “You really just killed a character in the middle of a campaign for Steve?”

“Roll stealth and damage.” Eddie tells him deadpan.

“God-fucking-dammit! Eddie, no, please…”

“Roll or face the consequences!”

“3 stealth, Nat-20 damage,” Dustin whispered with his face in his hands. The other kids watch Eddie in a mixture of confusion and aghastment. But Steve is beaming, teeth shining from ear to ear.

“The dragon hears your cries of grief and turns its burly head towards you. Its glimmering eyes reach the you and the rest of the Party and you see its scaled lips open in a human like smile. With a speed you could never have anticipated, it slithers toward you before standing on muscled hind legs and flapping its leathery wings. Its lips curl around a blue flame. The last thing you feel is a flash of ice before you see no more.

Your friends see you disappear into a pile of ash, the heat of the flame too powerful to escape. The dragon whips its tail towards the party while they stare at where you used to stand. Will the Wise can’t even list his magical staff before the weight of the tail crushes him to the ground in a pile of shattered bones and bloody sinnew.

Luther is impaled by one of the dragon’s back spikes and killed immediately. The light in his eyes fades and all he sees is a figure with a crown waving at him in the distance. Prince Stephen and his pet dragon prosper in the face of their trespassing adversaries once again but the only witnesses to the horror are erased from the Earth.”

The boys stare at him in shock while he arranges his papers and stands. “The end. Steve and I are going to the movies. You bitchasses aren’t invited and if you’re even a little bit nasty to Steve again, I’ll pulverize you in real life just like I killed you in the campaign. Think on that.”

With that, Eddie grabs the hand of a stunned Steve and drags him from the Wheeler’s basement. After that debacle, he’s sure that the kids have gotten their point. And now he’s got a movie to see with his main man.

(The kids absolutely get his point and moving forward are a lot nicer to Steve. And a little scared of how Eddie’s mind works.

Eddie holds a grudge against the kids for months and will still reference their comments when he sees fit for the rest of their lives or at least the rest of his.

And Steve? He starts dating his DM in shining armor a mere two hours later.)

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[babybinko]

Made a TON of Venture Bros. genderbends :D

Bonus + some of my thoughts on all the designs under the cut:

This is from a conversation I had with a friend about how Dermott and Hank would behave in this AU (its exactly the same as normal)

Ok now some thoughts on my design process

Hank: I think I drew Hank's face actually perfect, I made her so cute. I also feel like there's a common trope with genderbends where athletic characters get short hair so I gave her long hair and gave Dean short hair. I actually think the longer hair fits her perfectly. ALSO I LOVE HER BOOTS.

Dean: I gave goth Dean more Accessories than normal because normal goth dean had no fucking swag (it was besties idea to make her pants ripped). Even before I started drawing college Dean I knew I was giving her those legwarmers you can pry them from my cold dead hands. Same with the legwarmers I knew the first dean design needed a Jean skirt its just the vibes.

Dermott: The millisecond I even thought about doing Dermott I KNEW she would be 2012 grunge girl aesthetic. Gigantic shoplifting energy. Love her.

Rusty: I wanted her to look like a mean mom and I believe I accomplished that goal. Absolutely had to add the glasses strap. Very Jamie Lee Curtis.

Brock: I drew the one with the hair down first and my friends preferred the one with the hair up so I just did both. I wonder if she was a cheerleader in college and killed another girl on her cheer squad by throwing her too far/dropping them.

21: I drew 21 then I realized I had just drawn myself with bangs. Also I drew her with a blunt because there's an episode where 21 has a joint in his mouth the whole episode the other henchmen are standing in stupid poses in the background and its maybe one of my favorite bits in the entire show its so stupid.

24: 24 took several attempts to get the hair right I kept drawing it short and curly and my friend told me to give her Elaine from Seinfeld hair which I think ended up working really well.

Monarch: One of my favorites I did. I feel like this one you can definitely tell how Bayonetta completely re-arranged my brain chemicals as teenager. I love the hip cutouts, I made a tummy cutout to kind of mimic how Dr.GF's monarch costume is kinda skimpy. It's also hard to tell because of the cowl but I tried to give her like a finger waves hairstyle.

Dr.Gf: I tried a bunch of different hats but my friends liked the brimless hat the most and completely doomed him into looking like a Bellhop (more than he already did). Its giving Tyler the Creator at the 2020 Grammys. I still think he's cute though :)

Billy: I really didnt want to just draw her in a suit because thats boring. The show always gives me 60s vibes despite being set in modern day (I'm sure its on purpose) and I definitely channeled that with Billy. It took a couple tries to find a balance between fitting her body but still looking adult but I think I got it in the end.

Pete: YAYYYY PETE YAAAAYY!!! ^_^ Shes so Ava Max Coded. I also gave her giant buckles on her shoes to match his stupid ass one two buckle my shoes ass shoes.

Triana: Very much looks like putting emo boy in the Pinterest search bar. I made her thigh highs into his sleeves and I gave him square bangs like her.

Dr. Orpheus: NEEDED to make her a hot milf and I did. Its a little hard to see but her shirt has lace over the open part. I love the hair Jewerly at the bottom of her braid. :)

[acowardinmordor]

Steve has powers, specifically of a Doesn’t Stay Dead variety. He knows theirs a limit on how many times he can come back. Let’s go with eight. Aka he has nine lives. He knows there’s a cap, and he has some kind of mark on his body that counts down. He lost one as a kid, doing something like riding his bike too fast, and crashing over a hill. Nothing nefarious, just a bad accident.

He drinks himself unconscious freshman year, and wakes up in vomit, missing a marker.

He survives the demogorgon.

Billy kills him though. So does the Russian beating.

The kids realize after Starcourt that Steve really was killed by the Russians, but don’t realize there’s a cap. It makes them feel safer if they think that Steve will always be there for him.

He doesn’t tell them that he died twice. The only reason he knows about the second is because he woke up the next day missing one of the marks. He never went to the hospital, so doesn’t know why or how, just that he’s used six of his eight chances.

Definitely drowns getting dragged through watergate, and barely revived before the others reached him. Only one left.

Eddie survives, barely. Steve learned his lesson from Starcourt and goes to the hospital, takes the antibiotics. Takes it easy, tells himself that it’s all over. So it’s fine. And he still has one spare.

Gets close with Eddie as they recover and wait on the Feds. And Eddie loves stories, knows fairytales and immediately declares that this infinite life glitch is fake. There’s no way it’s Infinite. He assumes that Steve doesn’t know that, and isn’t going to tell him. They get close enough that Eddie sees the marks on the back of Steve’s neck, sees seven faded, sees one left. He freaks out for a while. Tries to talk to Robin about it, but even she doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know how to tell her this secret that doesn’t belong to him.

Steddie is not quite together, but everyone knows it’s an any day now thing. That’s when Vecna comes back.

Steve goes down protecting the kids. But he gets up a moment later. It’s the first time they ever saw it happen, and it cements Steve as the coolest dude ever. He’s invincible.

Something something, they have a plan that needs someone to take on a very dangerous bait role. Obviously, to the kids, Steve is the only possible choice. And since it doesn’t matter, Steve wouldn’t let anyone else do it anyway, there’s no reason to tell them. Either he’ll survive or he won’t.

Eddie though? Not having it. Informs the group that he’s going with Steve. No one likes this plan. Eddie has vivid, vicious scars from last time. Steve can come back to life. It’s just stupid for Eddie to risk himself.

They’re both self sacrificing idiots, and when shit goes down, they’re both determined that THEY will be the one to die and save the other.

Luckily, they cancel each other out. Neither dies during the fight, and the others find them fast enough to get them to the hospital. It’s not until Eddie wakes up from the surgical anasthesia, and frantically asks about Steve that the secret comes out. He’s drugged out of his mind, and rambles his fears and the marks and how he knows that Steve won’t survive another one.

Unluckily, the kids and Robin were clustered around Eddie’s bed - around the bed of the guy they thought was at risk of dying and staying dead, because they knew Steve would be okay no matter what - and they hear all of it.

So it’s a horrible thing as they look at the other bed in the room, at Steve, still not awake, still critical, and have to grapple with that fear, even as they try to count, and learn all the times and ways that Steve has died before. Praying that it won’t happen again

[lighteyed]

it's no big surprise you turned out this way

steve harrington x fem mayfield!reader

[3.7k] steve comes over for family dinner. it is absolutely not your idea.

disclaimer- no mention of blood relation to max, no physical descriptors of reader, they are sisters in any way you want them to be. trigger warning for shitty parents and billy h*rgrove. this is not a billy safe space.

dividers by @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

thanks for reading if you do <3 enjoy teehee

You drop a kiss on Steve’s head in greeting, which he accepts with a thrilled, in-a-new-relationship, glowing smile, before dropping down beside him and subsequently dropping your news, or rather, your request that’s not really your request, on him. “Neil wants you to come over for dinner.” You tense at the utterance of your stepfather’s name, even if it’s your own mouth doing the uttering.

   His smile dissipates. Only a little, but enough for you to wring your hands together. You want to scoop all the words you’d just said back out from his ears and spoon them into your mouth again. Make him forget it’d ever happened. “Like, like family dinner?” He asks. He can’t fathom a world where he sits placid across the table from Billy Hargrove and passes him the salt respectably and doesn’t end the night with his fist colliding with his face (regardless of the outcome).

   “No, it’d just be you and him, he’s dying to take you out on a date,” you deadpan in response, shaking your head. Steve rolls his eyes, no malice intended. “Obviously family dinner, Steve. You, me, Max, my mom, Neil… Billy.” You force out the final name. He swears he hears your teeth grinding as you say it.

   “Don’t get grouchy on me.” He reaches over and smooths out the upset crease between your brows. Your shoulders relax in response. You’re always so wound up he’s made it his mission to give you that ease he knows you crave. He’s quite good at it, on days where he can steal you away and keep your mind occupied with the lovelier things in life. But there are some things he can’t spare you from, as much as he tries.

   Really, he can only keep you out of that house for so long before your family starts demanding their 17-year-old back.

   For the most part you keep away. Max roams the new mall all day with her friends now that June’s here and summer’s entered Hawkins in full swing, and you drive them there with your mom’s car if she doesn’t need it for the day, or Steve drives you all there and then home again if he’s not at work already that morning. If he has work you loiter in Scoops the entire day, lugging a stack of books acquired from the library and settling in a corner booth, popping your head up once in awhile to check on him and his misery in his new position in that ridiculous uniform. You brighten his days just as much as he brightens yours. And he really, really does. (And you like the uniform, as silly as it is, for the record).

   “’M not grumpy,” you deflate, pressing your forehead into his shoulder. He rubs your back in a nice, soothing way when you lean into him. Ever since he asked you out he’s been taking every excuse to touch you and you’re not complaining in the slightest. He has the softest hands you’ve ever held and they’re perpetually gentle and kind. All the love in the world encased in the hands of some boy from Hawkins, Indiana, a place you never expected to find a home in, let alone find a boy. The boy, if you thought about it long enough. Early days to be thinking about it but you did think about it. Often. For hours. You sigh quietly. “I can tell ‘em you’re busy, you don’t have to come.”  

   “Max knows I’m not busy,” he points out.

   “She doesn’t wanna be there, either. Look, I’ll just say you can’t come-“

   “But I can.”

    You lift back up, wary, but hopeful. A new flower poking its petals up from the earth, tilting right toward the sun.  “I don’t wanna make you miserable.”

   “That’s stupid,” he scoffs. He kisses your head this time, the perfumy scent of your shampoo fogging his brain up in a nice, lovey haze. “How could you make me miserable? You’re like, the best thing I’ve ever had, by a mile.”

   You smile in spite of your gloomy mood. “The fuckin’ Hargroves have an innate knack for misery.”

    “It’s a good thing you’re not a Hargrove then, hm, Mayfield?” He brushes your hair away from your face and  takes your chin in his hand, angling your face up properly to meet his, and he kisses you like he well and truly means it, firm and adoring. You can feel his grin seared into your mouth when you pull away, in spite of your reluctance and Steve’s attempts to pull you back in.

   . “You really wanna come? It won’t be fun. It’ll probably be shitty, actually.” You ask him in a tiny, hesitant voice, too overcompensating to someone who do anything you asked of him. Having Steve there sounds better than not having him there, and better than having to explain why he’s chosen not to come, but you know it’ll be weird. Worse than weird. After what happened back in November, him and Billy go out of their way to ignore one another, and it’s so deliberate it sucks the air out of a room. And even with that, Billy still makes it a point to direct snide remarks to you about Steve every chance he gets: alone, in front of Max, in front of your parents, in front of Steve himself while pretending he’s not there. And it’s gotten worse since you admitted to your mother in confidence that you and Steve were together now, and she told Neil, and Neil told Billy. But there’s no running from being at the same dinner table as him. You know you’re asking a lot. You wouldn’t be asking if Neil hadn’t insisted. In a loud, pointed voice, with a stare that unnerved you. You’d agreed to it hurriedly after that.

   “Well,” Steve leans back, playful, “want to is a bit of a stretch but I can make an exception for ya-“

   “Steve-“ you groan, pushing his chest, but he laughs, pushing himself back forward, smacking another loud kiss on your mouth.

   “Kidding, I’m kidding, c’mere,” his fingers grip your waist feather-light, tickling, as he laughs, and you can’t help but laugh too through your head shakes and faux-exasperated sighs.

  “I’m really asking you if you want to, I know it’s a lot asking you to make nice with Billy.” You interlace your fingers with his and he places them on your lap, all big brown eyes blinking up at you affectionately. You’re a sucker for his eyes. You can tell what he’s going to say before he says it.

   “Nothin’s too much for you,” he says in his sweet, low voice, another kiss pressed to your cheek, his stamp of agreeance left blazing there on your cheek.

   Late into the next day he arrives on 4819 Cherry Lane, as he has so many times before, but he parks right in front and gets out this time. He doesn’t sit by the wheel waiting for you to come running out, sometimes with Max in toe, usually by yourself, breathless and beaming, ready for him to whisk you away as fast as he can without breaking a million laws. He knows it’s not the gentlemanly thing to do, having a girl come to the car by herself instead of going up and ringing her bell, and normally he would, but you insisted he didn’t, not wanting to draw attention to yourself or him, and you were already waiting outside on the front steps when he got there most of the time, anyway.

   And this time, too, you get the door before he can ring the bell, almost ripping it off the hinges when you throw it open to greet him.

   “Thank God,” you mutter. You go to take his hand but remembers yours is sweaty and pull back. The sweater you’re wearing is pretty, complements your eyes and complexion and your everything, and your hair is down and soft-looking. He’d run his hands through it in other circumstances. “It’s not too late to make a break for it,” you lead him into the house quietly, throwing your head back and casting a dark look down the hallway. “Just say the words and we can flee, I won’t blame you.” He’s dressed so nicely, and you don’t even have the time to properly admire him. He did his hair all perfect (he always does but you can tell he put a little extra sparkle into it tonight), he’s in his nicest jeans that mold against his legs slim and fit, his sweater is a navy blue and it’s such a good color on him you might cry. You can see effort written in everything he does, tonight especially. His desire to make a good impression rings in your heart. You want to regard him warmly and turn your gaze on him with the utmost veneration but your skin buzzes with anxiety and it feels like one large, domineering fist is clamped around your intestines. 

   “It’ll be fine,” he says, squeezing your hand. He doesn’t even notice that it’s sweaty, though your anxiety is palpable and he amps up his happy exterior to balance you out. He’s probably just as nervous as you are, deep down. “Parents love me.” It’s an insistent sentence. “And I’m gonna turn on my charm.” He makes a clicking sound with his mouth and snaps his fingers around a little. You stare at him, blank. Neil is rumbling around somewhere in the distance and for the time being you are utterly immune to Steve’s banter.

   Not completely, but enough. “I don’t know if that’s the kinda charm we need here,” you pat his shoulder.

   “But it can’t hurt,” he points out with a raised eyebrow, pointing a finger gun at you.

   “Oh, it can hurt alright.” You steer him into the living room anyway. “Steve is here.”

   You announce it to the open air, waiting to see who comes when you call. Your mom, immediately, rushes out of the kitchen to greet him. She’s never met one of your boyfriends before. Her greeting is enthusiastic, to say the least. And she’s a hugger. It’s nice, actually, Steve thinks, no matter how embarrassed and nervous you are, to be embraced kindly by a mother. It’s familiar, like some distant dream from a faraway past. You have your qualms with Susan, he knows that, but he knows you love her hard, and that’s why you take so much issue with the way she lets herself be treated. It’s difficult to watch you grapple with all of this, all of the time.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Steve, or Steven? Whatever you want,” she rubs his back as she takes him into the kitchen alongside you.

   “Steve is great, thank you, Mrs. May-“ he clears his throat, “Mrs. Hargrove, I mean.“ It’s hard to reconcile this woman in front of him with the domineering men bearing that same last name. It’s hard to distinguish her as anything but another piece of you and Max. A good piece.

   “The girls talk about you all the time,” Susan says, still smiling.

   “I do not,” Max huffs as she comes out of her room, abashed. She’s in a nice outfit, too. Not as dressed down as she usually is. She tugs at her tied back hair like it hurts.

   “Ma, how tight did you do her hair?” You ask, beckoning Max over.

   “It pops out of every scrunchie!” Susan says, patting her on the head with such clear affection it makes Steve ache a little.

   “Maxie.” You open your arms for her. She stands in front of you obediently as you loosen the hold her hair ties have on her unruly locks, smoothing them out nicely as you tie it back up again, looser.

    Everything’s so nice and homey that the shift in the atmosphere is almost imperceptible when a door creaks open a bit away from you four. But it’s there. He sees you draw back into yourself, your smile, at him talking to your mom and being so sweet, at Max, at the normalcy of this moment, sliding right off your face as Neil walks into the room. You’d almost forgotten him. You could’ve stayed in a bubble with your mom and sister and beautiful boyfriend forever. But Neil comes out from the hallway, from Billy’s bedroom, and Billy follows behind, fully clothed for once, his shirt buttoned all the way up his chest, his expression dark and cloudy. His jaw is tight as his gaze fixes on Steve.

   But Steve, so gracious, sticks his hand out to shake Neil’s, smiling like Neil’s spawn isn’t the worst person Steve’s ever encountered as he introduces himself. “Nice to meet you, sir. Steve Harrington.” He keeps his mouth upturned sweet and polite even when Billy snorts in the background. He doesn’t even look in his direction.

    “Nice to meet you, too, Steven.” Neil’s handshake is more like a clenched fist. You stare at their clasped hands like you want to commit murder. Steven.

   “Steve, not Steven,” you mutter. Max touches your arm in warning before Steve can. You can’t help it. If there’s anyone you’re defensive over besides her, it’s him.

   “Steven’s fine,” he chimes in, keeping that same old good-natured Steve smile on his face. He’s too appeasing and Neil has never deserved it. He rolls his shoulders back and talks to himself in his head. Just one night. For her, for her, for her.

  “It’s the name your parents gave you, of course it’s fine,” Neil claps him on the back, and you know he doesn’t mean anything by it but you and Steve both flinch. From the words and the tap alike. Neil ignores your remark completely as he continues to talk to Steve in a way that makes your skin crawl. He brings Steve over to the dining room table and the rest of you follow suit, settling in around each other. You make sure you sit next to Steve, but you second-guess it when Billy takes the straight across from him. Neil drones on. “Y’know, it’s interesting how all this time, you’ve been driving the girls around for months now, but this is the first time we’re meeting.”

    Steve checks on you out of the corner of his eye. Your jaw ticks. He squeezes your knee but before he can answer, you do it for him. “He’s been busy, that’s all.”

Neil looks toward you. For once. It is not a pleasant look. “For months?” He tucks his hands under his chin.

   “I know you don’t like having strangers in the house after you work,” you say, placating in a way that turns your stomach.

   “That’s true,” Neil says. “Billy doesn’t seem to get the memo on that, so I’m glad someone in this house is paying attention.” The degradation of Billy at the dinner table is nothing new. And you feel bad about it. You’d feel worse if he wasn’t so nasty and hateful to everyone because of it. Neil had run into Billy’s latest flavor, Miranda Brady from your Calculus class, while she was rummaging through the fridge the other night, and he hadn’t been happy. He was polite to her until she’d been hurried out the door by Billy, and then he’d reamed into him in colorful, awful ways. Max and Susan both hadn’t been home, but it was one of those nights where you had been, and you’d lingered by your bedroom door awkwardly, making sure it didn’t get too out of hand. You weren’t sure either of them even knew you were there. Accepting the praise seems wrong. You nod stiffly.

  Billy, however, turns his gaze on Steve, the first acknowledgement he’s gotten in months. “Say, Harrington, you used to be quite the ladies’ man yourself, yeah?” A sick grin creeps up on his face. Steve sees your hand tighten around your fork. You’ve barely shoveled your pasta into your mouth. Max gapes at her stepbrother, her mouth still full of food.

   Steve clears his throat. “I had a steady girlfriend for about a year, actually. I’m sure you remember that.”

   “Yeah, but I mean,” Billy rocks his chair back. “That’s not what they were calling you King Steve for, is it?”

   You lurch forward. Steve drops his hand over your knee again. “I think it was because of the whole captain of the basketball team thing. Or the captain of the swim team thing, I can’t remember when it started. Youngest captain the Tigers had seen in a decade, actually, when I got it sophomore year.” Steve grins again and the cocky charm he possesses but hardly uses much anymore comes out to play, just for a bit. You settle down again. You eat what’s in front of you, calmly. You hear Max gulp down her own food across the table. It’s almost cartoonish.

  “Max, chew first,” Susan admonishes gently.

   “I am,” she retorts, but she’s inhaling everything in front of her.

    Billy  cuts in. “See, that’s interesting, I thought it was because you hooked up with a lot of girls. Like half the class.”

   Steve doesn’t even blink. He takes a sip of his water. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  “Are you trying to upset your sister?” Neil asks him with raised eyebrows.

  He goes quiet again, hardened. “No.”

  “It seems like you’re trying to.”

   His jaw ticks this time. “I’m not.”

   “Do you remember what I said to you? About a half hour ago?”

   His jaw ticks again. His eyes meet Steve’s over the table. Steve feels the merest twitch of embarrassment for him. He knows all too well what it’s like to have a dad who takes a weird sort of pleasure in berating his son. “Yes, I remember.”

   You stare down at your plate, pinching the skin of your palm.

   “If you remember so well, then you should stop talking.”

   Billy stops talking. Neil turns to Steve again. “So, captain of two athletic teams, that’s impressive. I’m sure your college plans are impressive as well.”

   Steve stutters in his answer and you hold your head aloft in your hands, suppressing a groan. Max finishes her food so fast, she’s excused from the table and gone within minutes of that conversation starting. You nearly fall out of your chair in your attempt to kick her shin under the table. She holds her hands up in her retreat while nobody’s looking, mouthing that she’s sorry at you and running away into your shared bedroom. You suppress a groan again.

   Outside, after another grueling hour of Neil dominating the conversation and making dinner unenjoyable for everyone, you walk Steve to his car, fiddling with your hands again. He props himself up against his window and wrestles you out of the knot you’re in.

  “That sucked, I’m sorry,” you say, knocking your foreheads together, your mouth drawn in a thin, perturbed line.

  “It was fine, you’re fine,” he whispers the last bit. That’s what you’re more worried about, after all. You’re worried he’s mad, planning to leave you for someone with a more normal family, people who are warmer, someone capable of being warmer. You’re plenty warm around him, but you suppose you could be better. You start running over all the things you could do better and all the ways he could do better in your head. “Stop thinkin’ so much. Everything’s okay.” He nudges your foot with his.

   “No, I know, it’s just, it’s awkward, it’s not fun, shitty way to spend your night, shitty way for anyone to spend a night.”

   “It’s okay. It was good. I was good, wasn’t I?” He kisses your palm where you’d pinched it earlier.

   “You were great, you’re always great.” You stroke his cheek, lingering on his lips for a second. “You look really nice, by the way.” You’d almost forgotten to tell him. “I like this color on you.” You smooth over and down his arms.

   “Yeah?” He grins, lopsided, tilting his head.

   “Looks good with your hair.” You reach up to tug on the strand that hangs down like an art form over his forehead. You’re the only one he lets play around about his hair.

   “You look beautiful, too, for the record.”

   “I was trying to make this about you.” You poke him.

   “I like when things are about you.” He pokes you back.

   “I hate when things are about me.”

   “Yeah, I’m trying to fix that.”

   You chuckle. “Good luck.”

   He gestures back to your house. “I’m makin’ progress here. I think I get you a little bit better now, after all that.”

  “And what exactly do you get?” You wrap your arms around his waist.

  “Why you’re always so tense and grumpy.” He cups your cheeks like he’s holding the most delicate thing ever to be held.

   “I’m not grumpy-“

   “Just tense, then.”

   You accept that, begrudgingly. “I’m pretty on edge most of the time, I guess.”

   “I try to talk you out of it,” he says softly, stroking your face.

   “You’re the best, I hope you know that.”

   “I try,” he says again, and you nod. “It’s not easy. Night after night.”

   “It’s not.” You bunch up his sweater.

   “I get it, you know? They’re not here as often as yours, but I get it.”

   “Dinner with yours next time?”  

   “Yeah fucking right.” He kisses you for it, though, because you mean it, you’d have dinner with them if he asked just like he did because you asked, a long and languid kiss that he hopes no one’s shifting around the curtains to be privy to. He withdraws first and says, “Your mom is sweet, I’d have dinner with her again.”

  “I’ll let you know when she’s free, take her out, show her a good time,” you tease.

    “If she’s anything like you I’m a goner,” he laments.

    “You’re a flirt, is what you are.”

     You kiss him again, beaming, heart swollen with affection.

    When you go back inside and Susan tells you how wonderful and handsome she thought Steve was, how good he seemed for you, that rush flows through you all over again. You even bring her in for a hug.

thank u for reading ur super hot n sexy n we're kissing rn

[sunny-mercya]

Ours not Yours.

Poly!Billy Loomis & Stu Macher x Male Reader

Fandom -> Scream 1996

Requested by -> @jaythes1mp

Masterlist

Billys rage of jealousy was at a boiling point and ready to burst into anger. Throwing some fists or perhaps even gutting someone sounds more than pleasing appealing to Billy right now.

Slamming his locker shut, Billy turned his head to the side, taking a narrowing glance at the group a few meters ahead of him.

Tyler Gillery, one of the school main jocks, was the sole reason of Billys displeasuring anger. The teen was next to you, couldn't keep his hands off—one was always placed on your hip, as if you belong to him—from you. How Tyler could bring a laugh out of you, with his stupidity of jokes, how he managed to make you smile—the genuinely one with radiating happiness and love—and overall keep you from them, your actual boyfriends.

Billy scoffed, shoulders his bag and walked towards them. Bumping hard into Tylers shoulder, ignoring Sidney and Tatums confused faces and whatever they are about to say. Billy wasn't in the mood for their girlish complaints. He thought about pulling you along and away from them, but Tyler had a good grip on you and by god—that smug arrogant smile Tyler gave him, was making Billy even more furious.

«Damn, whats up with Billy? He looked mad.»

«hah, he's just being a silly moody mopey» joked Tyler, laughing boastfully and well too loud.

You elbowed Tyler in the rips, hard enough to have his grip loosen on you. Facing him, you gave him a frown. Tyler, in a mock surrender, holds his hands up, taking just a few steps of distance from you.

«chill, was just a joke, pretty boy.»

Your frown deepens, turning more into a scowl. Taking your bag into your hands, you gave a short goodbye to Sidney and Tatum.

«Hey hey, we're still going to do some studying later?»

«Maybe. If you're not being a silly asshole moody mopey.» your reply was flavoured with a disdain—biting bitter curtly—in your tone.

You liked Tyler. You too were acquaintances, counting him to a friend level, in and outside from school. He's a good guy by heart, but sometimes he can be a unnecessary mean little shit.

~~~

Stu grinned. Amused by Billy's little fit of jealousy and upcoming bloodlust towards Tyler. Stu gets it, really, seeing you constantly with Tyler—all friendly and almost lovely dovely—gives him too a rumbling of jealousy, but his and Billys jealousy were two different things.

Stu's jealousy was subtle, more of a teasing and hovering near you. Holding your hand for a week and showering you with compliments and jokes.

Whilst Billy's jealousy was a merciless possessiveness. Brooding glares, keeping you at hips bay, always near him and at the end of the day, marking your body with visible love bites and making your body limp in his hold.

«Ya know, rumours has it, that the Nurse office is at this time unoccupied and how about we give [Name] some health check up?» Stu's grin got wider, licking over his lips, leaning against some lockers.

«I'm this fucking close to gut Tyler out. The asshole had the actually audacity to have his filthy jock hands on [Name]'s hips.»

Stu only hummed in agreement, that he was listening to his boyfriend angry ranting. Being on a lookout for you, to catch you in his arms and "kidnapping" you into the nurse office. Doing it in school is a thrilling thought of excitement.

~~~

Billy and Stu hadn't meant to go this far. Didn't mean to cover your skin with so many love bites—bruising your skin into a purplish bloody hue, leaving marks, visible, of teeths all around every inch of your body—decorating your skin with it as if you were a trophy.

They both felt almost guilty about it, once they saw how dazed—one the verge of passing out—and shakily you are. Almost though.

Billy and Stu laid with you on the medical-bay bed, cramped together and with you in the middle. Prepping you face with kisses and showering you with praises till you dozed off into a short nap.

It was entirely your fault, that they had to go such length. This could have been avoided, if you didn't have acted so naughty.

For 2 whole weeks you have ditched and kinda avoided them, to hang out with Tyler—doing school projects or something like this. Leaving your boyfriends for themselves and it was getting on their nerves.

You were theirs, their precious little darling. You are Billy and Stu's priced possession. They will kill for you, if it means to protect you.

If they could, they would have collard you up, showing everyone who you belong to—even though they all know by now, that you're the boyfriend of Billy and Stu. Though since they couldn't do that, Billy and Stu have settled for a far better idea—giving love bites, the ones which would fade after weeks.

~~~

Exhausted with sleep, you limped through the empty school corridors. Billy and Stu walking on each side next to you, one holding your hand and the other your bag.

A pleased smile full of smugness and overconfidence on their lips. You rolled your eyes, muttering something about being impatiently needy under your breath. Honestly, they could have waited till you were at home, but then again, your boyfriends liked to be experimental (risky).

«Boys, once we're home you're gonna get me some Mcdonalds and KFC,»

«'course babe, everything you want my prince!»

«Yo, [Name]!» Tyler called out for you, jogging towards you, once he saw you stepping outside the school. He ignored the glaring stares of Billy and Stu, thinking about challenging them—too see who could win you over more, even though Tyler knows that you're already in a relationship with the two—but he always liked a good match or gambling.

Tyler stared at your neck, gulping his spit when he saw the amount of hickeys on your neck. Tired and disheveled you looked and Tyler wonders what you three has done and somehow he knew what you did, but didn't want to imagine it.

Because Tyler knew all too well that you belonged to only Billy and Stu. They have made that more than once perfectly clear.

«Are you....uh still up for some studying?»

«No, sorry, maybe tomorrow perhaps. I'm about to fall asleep any second soon,» you shook your head, mumbling out another apology to him as your eyes threatened to close themselves again. Staying awake was hard and the more you walked around the more exhausted you gotten.

«You heard [Name], maybe tomorrow Tyler. Now, if you so kindly would piss off now»

Tyler nodded, watching how Billy put an arm around your middle, pulling you close to him and giving Tyler—like he has done before—a smug grin.

There might be no killing tonight or in the next few weeks, but that doesn't mean Billy and Stu wouldn't give Tyler a good fucking scare anyways.

[munson-blurbs]

hii 🫶🏻 i've had this idea of the reader and eddie being at a halloween party and her drink getting spiked (roofied or wtv) and like eddie comes to the rescue and takes care of her - enemies to slight lovers pls!! have a good day/night :))

Hi! I changed it a bit so that her drink was spiked with extra booze, but I kept it enemies-to-lovers!

Warnings: underage drinking (everyone is over 18 but under 21), reader's drink gets spiked, drunkenness, brief mention of Eddie dealing, Billy Hargrove needs his own warning tbh, enemies-to-lovers, idiots in love

WC: 2.5k

Thank you so much to @corroded-hellfire @lofaewrites and @manda-panda-monium for their help! Y'all made this fic much stronger, and I am indebted to you.

--

A brief, incomplete list of activities you enjoy: grabbing coffee with a few friends, walks down by Lover’s Lake powered by whatever cassette you’ve jammed into your WalkMan, reading a good book and curling up in the sunlight streaming through your bedroom window.

A brief, incomplete list of activities you despise: Steve Harrington’s house parties.

The bass from the stereo has the entire downstairs shaking, and you wince as you pass by it and make your way to Nancy. She’s the reason why you’ve started coming to these stupid things, and although Steve isn’t as big of a tool as you’d previously thought, it doesn’t make other people more tolerable.

“You having a good time?” Nancy asks now, bouncing along with the music. Her eyes are hazy with booze; her half-filled cup of the jungle juice concoction is clearly far from her first of the evening.

You shrug, hitching your bag close to your shoulder as a beast of a man in a letterman jacket pushes his way through the crowd. “Not really.”

“Cool, awesome!” Nancy chirps, senses compromised by the constant flow of alcohol and the blasting music. 

Steve has his arm around her waist, pressing chaste kisses to her neck. He looks up at you for just a second and frowns. “Where’s your drink?”

You jingle the car keys you’ve had clenched in your fist the whole night, ready to make a getaway as early as you can. “Designated driver. Unless you want José Cuervo behind the wheel tonight,” you raise your brows as you motion to your friend.

Steve shakes his head. “Nance is gonna stay here with me tonight,” he tells you, taking Nancy’s cup from her hand and placing it in yours. “She’s had enough, anyway. So, uh, go crazy.”

Go crazy. It’s tempting to dull the roar of the dozen or so conversations worming their way into your consciousness. And no doubt it’ll be easier to slap a fake smile on your face and even join one of them. But you still have to get home somehow, and the thought of asking either of your overbearing parents for a ride home from a party has your stomach in knots, especially considering you’d told them you were going to the library and sleeping at the Wheeler’s. 

Instead of going crazy, you toss the couple a frustrated eye roll, but they’re both too enmeshed in their puppy love for each other to catch it. Home. You just need to get home, snug in your own bed, away from–

“Hey, Goody Two-Shoes!” Billy Hargrove flings his muscular arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him despite your clear lack of interest. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s bad etiquette to bring down the party vibe?”

 “Get offa me,” you grumble, but his strength easily overpowers yours. 

“What you need,” he continues, stifling a beer-scented belch, “is to fuckin’ loosen up.” He punctuates his statement by placing one beefy hand on each of your shoulders, shaking you back and forth. He stumbles a bit in his drunken state, and you seize the opportunity to step away from him.

The entire encounter makes the drink in your hand even more tempting, and you throw it back without another thought. Your throat burns with the sting of alcohol, and you wince reflexively. Jeez, if this is what Nancy’s been drinking all night, no wonder she’s wasted, you think, grateful that you only had half of the cup.

Eddie Munson arrives when the party is in full swing, lunch box of illicit substances gripped tight in his hands. He hates spending time with these jockstraps outside of school, but parties are a great way to make some extra cash, and rich douchebags like King Steve practically throw the money at him, too drunk and lazy to actually count it out.

He sees you out of the corner of his eye, swaying to the music alongside Billy Hargrove. You’re leaning into him, with his hand around your waist pulling you into him. You laugh loudly, though it doesn’t appear that Billy’s said anything.

What a weird pair, Eddie muses, comparing your usual type-A, pain-in-the-ass, teacher’s pet personality with Billy’s thoughtlessness and indifference. He watches as Billy nonchalantly refills your drink and grabs your backside.

When Billy notices Eddie, he props you against the counter and murmurs something before staggering over to buy something. “What do you have tonight, Munson?”

“The usual,” Eddie replies casually, placing the tin box on the kitchen table and flipping it open. “So, uh, looks like Goody-Two Shoes is having a good time.”

Billy chuckles, twirling a toothpick across his lips. It’s a menacing laugh, and Eddie doesn’t care for the sound of it. “Yeah, she needed a little help, but I took care of it.”

He really doesn’t like that. “What do you mean?”

“Slipped a little extra in her drink when she wasn’t looking,” Billy whispers, flashing Eddie a now-empty mini bottle of tequila. “Shit was pretty strong to begin with, but she’s definitely feeling it now.”

“You spiked her drink?” Eddie’s mouth goes dry, and he snaps the lunch box shut. When Billy just laughs again, Eddie shoves him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Billy holds his hands up in defense. “Hey, man, you can’t blame a guy for doing what he has to do to get laid. Especially when it’s someone as uptight as her.”

Rage pounds in Eddie’s ears, and he barely hears anything after that. He marches towards you, fists clenched. You weren’t his favorite person, and he wasn’t yours–not after what happened in health last year–but he’d be damned if he let you get taken advantage of.

“Hey,” he says softly, tapping your shoulder to grab your attention. “Let me get you home.”

You sloppily shake your head, jungle juice sloshing over the side of the cup. “‘M fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He’s insistent, tone much harsher than his usual carelessness. “You’re absolutely plastered, and I’m taking you home.” He extends his hand, and you reluctantly take it, letting him lead you to his van. Your feet are bricks beneath you, and you giggle involuntarily as you trip over them.

“Munson, what the fuck?” Billy calls out, charging over. His own stride isn’t much more graceful than yours; the Keg Stand Champion having reclaimed his title earlier in the evening. “Get your own girl.” He reaches for your bicep to tug you away, but Eddie’s faster, which only makes the jock’s eyes stonier. “Fucking freak!” he calls out, quickly downing another plastic cup of beer.

Your eyelids begin to close, and slurred words leave your lips. “Whas’ goin’ on? Why’s Billy shhh-so mad?”

Eddie ignores your question, not wanting to slow down and risk Billy catching up to you. Once he’s safely got you in the passenger seat, he starts the ignition and glances at where you’re leaning against the window. “Where to?”

“Home.”

“Right, and, uh…where might that be?”

You shrug, body heavier with sleep by the second. “Dunno.”

“Like an address, or a general direction…anything?” Eddie drums his ringed fingers against the steering wheel. He sighs and throws the van in reverse when you shake your head. “All right, looks like you’re staying at mine.”

He keeps his eyes on the road, stealing a peek at you every minute or so. You’re sleeping, soft snores punctuating the otherwise silent ride. He winces as he goes over a bump and puts his arm out to prevent you from falling against the dashboard. 

Twenty minutes later—it would have been fifteen, but he drove slowly to prevent jostling you too much—he’s pulling up to his trailer. “Welcome to Casa Munson.” He opens his door with a dramatic grunt and shuffles around to your side. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” If any of the neighbors see him, they’ll assume the worst, but it’s either that or have you sleep in the van. 

The last thing you remember is mumbling about needing a bed and Eddie leading you to his with an offhand comment about not knowing where the stains are from. When you wake the next morning, a jackhammer has replaced your brain and your throat is filled with bile. 

“Ugh, fuck,” you groan, pulling your sheet up over your eyes to shield them from the sun. Except this isn’t the baby pink set your mom bought you from Wal-Mart. These sheets are white and smell like cigarettes, weed, and drugstore cologne. The realization that this isn’t your room has you jolting up in bed despite your body’s protests. “What the hell?”

“Good morning to you, too,” a voice grumbles from below. You look down to see Eddie Munson laying on the floor, a towel rolled below his head in a makeshift pillow. A throw blanket covers from his shoulders to just above his ankles, leaving his sweat sock-clad feet exposed. “There’s some water and pretzels next to you, and I can grab Advil if you need.”

You nod, squeezing your eyelids together at the pain the slight head movement causes. “Yes, please.” He returns with the medicine, and you eagerly swallow it with a gulp of water. A quick assessment assures you that your clothes are still on, but you still have to ask, “did we…”

“Nope. No way. Not even a little.” He takes a seat next to you, offering the pretzel canister. Though your stomach is churning, you need something to absorb the medicine, so you take a handful and carefully munch on them. “But you had quite the offer last night.”

“Wha—?”

“Hargrove spiked your drink to get you in bed,” he explains. His mop of curls is disheveled from tossing and turning, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “And, uh, not to sleep.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” you mutter. A fresh wave of nausea washes over you, and it’s not from the hangover. Your memories are muddled, but you can vaguely piece the night together: Nancy and Steve, the unfinished drink, Billy’s arm around you… “We left before he could do anything, right?”

Eddie nods, stealing the plastic water bottle from your grasp and taking a swig. He swishes it around his mouth before answering. “Got you outta there before he could even cop a feel.”

You grimace at his brazen response. “Well, um, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” You start to stand up, fumbling for your keys in your bag when you remember. “Fuck, my car’s still at Steve’s.”

“I can take you,” Eddie offers, grabbing the jeans he’d haphazardly flung over his desk chair. 

“Nah, s’okay. I can walk.”

“Seriously?” He throws his hands in the air, utterly exasperated with you. “You’d rather walk three miles back to Harrington’s—hungover as shit…looking like that,” he gestures vaguely at your smeared makeup and bloodshot eyes, “than take a ride from me?”

You remain quiet, so he proceeds with his rant. 

“Y’know, when you ditched me last year, I figured you weren’t, like, into me or whatever. But, Christ, what did I do to make you hate my guts?”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “I ditched you?” The thunderous headache makes it difficult to wrack your brain for the memory, but you definitely would recall ditching Eddie Munson. “I never did that.”

“Last April,” he begins, tone clipped and direct, “the night we were supposed to finish our health project—”

“You ditched me.”

He shakes his head. “Uh, no. I invited you to see my band play and then we would finish the project after—which you agreed to—and then you never showed.”

“No, you told me, and I quote, ‘Corroded Coffin has a gig at The Hideout at 8, and we can put the poster together after we play.”

“Exactly!”

“Exactly what?” It hurts to roll your eyes, but you do it anyway just to emphasize the absurdity of the situation. “That wasn’t an invitation; that was just you telling me what time the show starts.”

“What time it starts,” he says slowly, as though explaining it to a child. “If I just wanted to meet up for the project, I would’ve told you what time it ends.” His eyes narrow. “Do you really think I spent all that time doing research with you just to flake when we got to do the creative part?”

The missing pieces shift into the puzzle. You’d been thrown off when Eddie had failed to show that night; you’d genuinely thought the two of you had forged some kind of friendship during your evenings at the Hawkins Library. But when midnight had rolled around, you’d given up altogether, gathered your notes, and made the poster alone. 

“I…I didn’t know…” you muse, mouth drier than it was before you’d drank water. “I thought you forgot, or didn’t care…” You press a tooth into your bottom lip and gnaw at the chapped skin. “Trust me, I never would’ve ditched the guy I—”

You’d tried to cut yourself off before Eddie catches what you’d inadvertently implied, but it’s too late. “The guy you…” he gently goads. When you don’t answer, he sits on the bed next to you and knocks his knee against yours. “Would it help if I told you that you’re the girl I…” He tilts his head and peers at you through his deep brown eyes.

“Me?!” There’s no way he’s serious; you brace yourself for the ‘gotcha’ or some other punchline he’ll inevitably toss your way.

To your surprise, there is none. “What can I say?” he shrugs. “I’m a total sucker for a goody-two shoes.” He stands up again, crossing his arms over his chest and pacing back and forth in the tiny room. “So, since I’m the guy that you…and you’re the girl that I…can I interest you in some of the finest hangover food this town has to offer?”

“Can I brush my teeth first?” You grimace at the tang of last night’s tequila that sticks to your molars. “Unless you also happen to be into girls with wicked morning breath.”

He chuckles, a true and hearty laugh, and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds you’ve ever heard. “Spare toothbrush is in the top drawer,” he says, pointing towards the bathroom. 

Once minty freshness has replaced stale booze, you wash the remnants of your makeup off of your face. You look a bit better; tired and hungover, but better.

Eddie’s dressed in ripped jeans and a faded concert tee, keys clenched in his palm. “Ready?” he asks, leaning against the bedroom doorway.

“Mhm.” You feel his hand ghost the small of your back as he leads you towards the front door, sending shivers of excitement down your spine.

“Hey, by the way?” 

When you turn around, his lips are on yours. It’s soft and sweet, just a bit more than a peck, but you can tell it took every ounce of courage for him to do it. You both take a small step back, swapping shy grins.  

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

You take his empty hand and lace your fingers with his. “Does Corroded Coffin still play at the Hideout?”

“Every Tuesday at 8.”

“I’ll be there.”

--

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Nineteen: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker x femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink(Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, public/semi-public, spitting, cumplay, nude vids/pics, masturbation, oral, PIV, dick piercing, forced orgasm, bondage/blindfolds, biting/slapping/ spanking/cutting, rape kink, NONCON/DUBCON/CNC, Somno, blood, knife, GEN. SMUT, [All possible tags listed, all may not apply] GORE, MURDER

Info: Anakin is thoroughly enjoying making you squirm, also, how dare another man look at you [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Your heart stopped and your skin turned cold, every hair on the nape of your neck stood up straight. Scream? Anakin wants to watch Scream? You can’t tell him no, right? You’d mentioned ages ago that you liked the Scream movies, it would be strange to deny that now. Right? You had no choice, you had to act normal, as normal as possible. 

“Scream? Oh! Right.” You nodded, cringing internally as you heard your words aloud. “Yeah, let’s watch that. The original?”

”Duh, that one is the only one worth watching.” He chuckled, looking down at you cuddled up against him. He just adored you so much, even now, watching as you awkwardly cleared your throat and darted your eyes toward anything other than the TV or him.

”Yeah,” You laughed nervously, Anakin smirked but hiding it with a quick lick across his top lip. “Yeah the original is my favorite too.”

”Huh, really?” He asked, trying to sound more thoughtful than teasing. “Why’s that?”

”Why is it my favorite?” You asked, meeting his crystalline eyes for a split second. “I don’t really know, I guess maybe it’s the nostalgia?” 

“Sure.” Anakin snorted, bringing his knuckles to his mouth to hide his downturned smile.

”What?” You scowled, pulling back from your position against his chest so you could see his whole face. “Well why is it your favorite?”

”Geez, defensive are we?” He snickered, pinching your rib playfully. “I’m teasing doll, no need to be ashamed.” He sucked in his cheek on one side of his face, biting down lightly while he let out an amused puff of air through his nostrils.

”Ashamed?” You bolted up and quickly remembered you shouldn’t be acting so jumpy, the more on edge you seem the more suspicious he will become. Right now it seemed he had no clue about Ghost, he was simply being your stupid goof of a clueless boyfriend. 

“I bet you were one of those little freaks who fawned over Billy and Stu even after the masks came off.” His voice low and taunting, like he already knew the answer.

”What?” You squeaked, wiping the shocked expression from your face to replace it with feigned amusement. “Ha-ha very funny.” You rolled your eyes and dropped your head back to his shoulder, hoping that would signal the end of his teasing.

”S’okay sweetheart.” He whispered as his arms encircled you in a quick squeeze, his hands laced together to rest on your waist. “I’ll quit.”

You felt a mixture of emotions as you watched the movie, the most prominent being embarrassment. It was so difficult to sit there with Anakin who continued to lavish you in affections, while watching people with the face of your lover (who you absolutely did not miss) slash people to death. Why can’t you just be normal? Why can’t you just watch this movie and not be so distracted by the memories you’d been replaying in your mind for days. They were coming back in full force and worse.

It was like watching your Ghost on screen. It was so much more attractive than it ever should be. You hadn’t watched this movie since well before Ghost was officially introduced into your life, the film used to be kitschy and just good old horror movie fun. Now it was more like porn with a side of stabbing. You kept thinking back to that night at the lake, how sick to your stomach you were, how awful you felt for pulling that trigger. How easy it was for Ghost. 

You’d never admit it aloud but deep down, in that terrifying corner of your mind that you squirreled away these darker thoughts containing Ghost, you had stored a different feeling that you’d refused to acknowledge until now. It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t right, this was real life, not fiction. Ghost killed real people, you killed a real person. It wasn’t shits n’ giggles and bad fake blood. 

Real blood, all over everything. You had always thought that scary movies over did it with the blood, that there couldn’t possibly be that big of a puddle, but now you knew for certain, they didn’t use enough. A real gun, real knives, real bodies who used to be real people who had real families. 

So why the hell did you feel so… hot under the collar when you disobeyed his orders and took a peek at his handiwork in the trunk of that car? Was it the confidence in what he was doing, the way he seemed so completely unphased by the situation? Was it the way he was able to stay the same Ghost you’d come to know and love? It was so hard to be scared despite knowing what he was capable of. He made you feel safe and protected, cared for and loved. Even as he was elbow deep inside a corpse. 

He cracked jokes, he hummed and laughed, he got down on your level and comforted you the best that he could all while cleaning up the mess you’d both made. You might’ve almost puked, went into a state of shock, and spiraled for a few days… but with your new perspective it wasn’t really all that bad. Except that it was bad. Illegal, horrid, and a gory mess. Which is exactly why you were having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that watching the killers wearing Ghost’s mask… using that same humor and attitude, had you soaking wet and blushing. 

“Where ya going babydoll?” Anakin asked, his hands falling away from you as you stood up.

”I’ll be right back.” You said, thankful the room was dark as you gave him a quick reassuring smile over your shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom. 

Once inside you splashed your face with cold water, begging the pink tint in your cheeks to dissolve. You felt for your phone but realized you’d left it in the living room, probably for the best anyway. You didn’t come in here to text Ghost, you came in here to stop thinking about him. So you left the bathroom and went to Anakin’s room, grabbing the stuffed animal you kept there and returned to Anakin’s lap. Maybe the distraction and quick walk would help to reset your brain.

”You okay pretty girl?” He asked quietly, kissing the crook of your neck lightly as you settled back down. 

“Yeah I’m okay.” You nodded, giving him a soft smile, trying to keep yourself under control and watch a simple movie with him. 

“M’kay.” He hummed, resting a hand on your stomach while the other found its way to your hair, tugging one lock teasingly before playing with it by twirling it around his finger over and over again. 

“I don’t understand how she doesn’t realize that’s her boyfriend.” He scoffed, watching the scene playing out in front of you. “Like you’d think she’d notice the shoes right?” He asked, his hand gently trailing up and down your arm as he watched the movie.

“His shoes?” You asked, paying attention to Ghostface’s feet as he burst out of the bathroom stall.

“Yeah, both of ‘em they wear the same shoes in and out of costume. Those girls have some shit observation skills.” He said, waving his hand flippantly. 

“I think she’s a bit too busy trying not to get murdered to notice his shoes, Ani.” You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink before sitting it back down. 

“Hey I’m just saying they should’ve been smarter.” He said, pointing at the screen. “It’s stupid to wear a full consume but not change your damn shoes.”

“It would make sense yeah.” You agreed without much thought, watching as Sidney ran down the hall and trampled down the stairs.

“I always thought he should’ve got one good jab in.” He said, pushing his hand forward in a stabbing motion. “Have her stumble out into the hall holding her guts.”

”That’s disgusting.” You grimaced, looking up at him to see him take a swig of a fresh beer, he only answered with a shrug and his mouth pulled over to one side.

”Just sayin’ would’ve made a damn good scene.” He said, tilting your chin up with his ringed fingers to plant a soft kiss to your lips.

”You went into the wrong profession.” You joked awkwardly. Anakin often made comments like this during movies, sometimes you even added your own too, but it just felt so odd to hear him talk about Scream like that.

”Psycho killer?” He snorted, giving you a mischievous grin. 

“No!” You scoffed and smacked at his arm, that same blush returning to your cheeks. “No I meant movies and stuff.”

“Movies and stuff?” Anakin repeated, feigning thoughtfulness. “I’ve never considered going into the film industry. But I bet it would be fun, so long as you’re my final girl.”

”Aw how sweet.” You joked, feeling uncomfortable as a familiar jolt of guilt and curiosity ripped through your chest.

”What’s wrong baby?” He asked, brushing hair from your face and cupping your cheek with the palm of his hand. “You got all tense on me.”

”Oh it’s nothing.” You shook your head, trying to force yourself to relax in his arms again. 

“You can tell me princess, did I upset you?” He asked, a worried expression forming on his face as his eyes scanned your features. Anakin was always so considerate of your feelings, times like now reminded you of how horrible you really were.

”It’s really nothin’ Ani, just me being me.” You sighed, at least that wasn’t a lie, you thought.

”I like it when you’re you.” He smiled, kissing the corners of your mouth to make them tip up into a tiny smile. “But I also like it when you tell me what’s on your mind.”

”Ani, really it’s no big deal.” You said, trying to keep the little smile you’d managed. “Just thinkin’ about… about the movie that’s all.”

”Ah.” Anakin nodded, looking back up at the screen and then back to you. “I get it.” He smirked.

”Get what? There’s nothing to get.” You huffed, getting defensive. You didn’t like how you were losing control of the situation.

”S’okay baby, I know.” He whispered, shifting your weight in his lap, scooting out from under you to hover over your smaller frame.

”What?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows in a panicked concern.

”Mhm.” He nodded, his eyes locked on your lips as they twitched, desperate to form an excuse that just wouldn’t come out. “I know your little secret.”

”Wait, Anakin- I can explain.” You said, sitting up quickly as your heart raced in your chest. 

“No, its alright doll.” He shook his head, a firm hand on your wrist to keep you seated. “I understand. Luke explained everything.”

Luke? Luke sold you out. Luke has ruined your relationship, your life, your one chance at real love. It was devastating to realize your oldest and truest friend had turned on you. 

“No.” You stuttered, floundering helplessly as Anakin’s free hand reached behind his back. “No, Luke has no idea what he’s talking about Anakin, I-“

”Sweetheart, you don’t need to be embarrassed.” He said, frowning slightly. 

“Embarrassed? I- well,” You were so confused, why wasn’t he yelling? What was happening? Why did Luke betray you? “Why aren’t you angry at me?”

”Angry at you?” He asked, taken aback by your question. He sat back on his haunches and looked a little deflated. “Babydoll, I’m not angry at you. I would never be angry at you over a little crush.”

”A crush? It wasn’t! It was nothing I swear.” You said, holding up your hands that he gently took in one of his.

”C’mon, everyone has weird little crushes on movie characters.” Anakin said with a small amused smile, “It’s okay sweetheart. So, what if you think Ghostface is a little hot. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He teased, bringing your hands to his lips so he could gently kiss your knuckles. 

You stared at him in silent shock. He wasn’t talking about Ghost. He wasn’t about to tell you to get the fuck out and not come back. He was teasing you about a crush on a movie character. You almost gave yourself up, you almost ruined the relationship you’d went to Luke to fix. Although you felt awful for jumping to conclusions and assuming Luke had marched his ass over and told Anakin what you had done… You felt more betrayed that he had only shared your horror movie crush. 

He couldn’t have known that your movie crush was also your real-life side piece. He would’ve had no way of knowing that telling Anakin about something to trivial would send you into such an upset. But that’s beside the point. He’d told Anakin a secret of yours that was on the same high-security tier as Luke being in love with Dwayne from Lost boys, how he made you rewatch the carousel scene so many times just because someone grabbed at his ugly necklace.

”I was just thinking…. It’s October, we’re having a movie marathon, Walmart always has cheap props.” He shrugged, slowly bringing his arm from behind his back to show you a big rubber knife and a cheaply made Ghostface mask. 

The air turned stagnant around you, like everything in the room was waiting for your reaction. Even you. 

“What do you say princess?” He asked, his voice low and smooth as he slipped the mask over his head. “Wanna play a game?”

Diary Entry: October 3rd

I’ve given so much thought to how I would tell you about Ghost and I simply can’t decide on my approach. So in order to ensure that I’m on the right track i think it’ll be a good idea to do a bit of a trial run. Going back to my roots now with the pre-planning and lengthy thought process. Impulsivity is not my friend. 

So after a very interesting chat with your very best friend I know have an excuse as to how I know about your love for Scream. I won’t have to mention that I read it in your diary. I can blame it on Luke. Truly, so thankful for that guy in so many ways. He’s such a good friend to you and he’s certainly a good friend to me as well considering how he willingly offered up your dirty secret to me when I asked him his opinion of my Halloween costume ideas. 

“You wanna know what she’d really love? Be the guy from Scream. She’s got the hots for Ghostface.”

Yes indeed you do. 

October 4th continued.

”Anakin… are you sure?” You asked, unable to comprehend exactly what was happening. Anakin was offering to dress up as Ghost Ghostface? Why? 

“Yeah, it’ll be fun.” He said, his voice muffled and so unlike the one you loved to hear when seeing this mask hovering over you.

”I-I don’t know,” You stuttered, the feeling in your gut churning on the brink of arousal and the precipice of nausea. “If you’re sure…”

”Don’t you trust me sweetheart?” He cooed, taking the rubber knife and running it along your forearm. “If you don’t like it, we’ll stop.”

”Of course I trust you, it’s just…” Your voice was shaky and uncertain as Anakin ground his bulge against you, nudging your thighs apart. Anakin was making it so difficult to say no, so difficult to do anything but give in like you wanted to. He may not be Ghost, he may not have his voice, but god did he have a dick that was just as good as his.

”There we go, atta girl.” He whispered, watching the hesitation in your expression fade into something more malleable. “Just let me make you feel good.”

You nodded, afraid to speak and say something you shouldn’t. His big hands tugging your pants down your thighs and peeling them off as quickly as he could, not bothering to remove your panties. His hands fumbled with his belt and jeans, finally releasing his throbbing cock. 

“Finally got out that new jewelry.” He said as he stroked himself, looking down at you through the eyes of the cheap plastic mask. “Think you’ll like it?” 

He twisted the silicone ball, turning on the gentle vibration. You watched as the new sensation made him shiver, goosebumps prickling at his toned, tattooed arms. Pulling aside your panties he guided his cockhead back and forth through your folds, making sure to pause over your clit and put pressure on the sensitive little nub.

”Mhm, I-I think I will.” You whispered, your breath hitching in your throat as he continued his teasing movements. He grasped the base of his cock firmly, notching the tip at your entrance to slowly rock his hips.

With a tortuously slow pace he pushed against your weeping pussy, only going far enough to tease you with his girth before easing up again. His calloused thumb making its way to flick over your clit, making you jolt and gasp. 

“You gonna let me fuck you?” He asked quietly, kneeling between your legs as he kept up his work. “Or am I just going to have to take what I want?”

The tip of the rubber knife lifted up the edge of your shirt, pushing it over the swell of your breasts, allowing him the view of your bra and the soft hills and valley of your chest. Anakin left the fake knife on your lower stomach as he slipped his fingers under the cup of your bra, gripping the soft flesh beneath as he gently kneaded it in his palm.

”Ani…” You whimpered, the added stimulation from the vibrations and his gentle but firm hand was clouding your mind. It felt good, but it was difficult to relax, it all felt so forced and not in the way that you enjoyed. “I-I don’t think-“

”So I’ll just have to take it then.” He growled, his voice gravely and rich as he pushed inside your cunt, feeling your walls contract around his thickness. The jewelry paired with the blunt tip of his cock made for an oddly satisfying experience as he hit your cervix when he bottomed out. Despite your hands on his chest in protest, your stomach tensed with pleasure.

”Anakin, please I-“ You started to object, to tell him this was all too strange, but he silenced you by pressing down on your lower stomach, feeling his cock bulging in your tummy. You squeaked, involuntarily clenching around him when you squeezed your eyes shut tightly. “B-but Anakin I-“

”Shh, c’mon babydoll.” He hushed you, moving his hand up your body until his palm rested over your throat, his fingers wrapping around to gently squeeze. “S’okay I know you want it.”

”No, no I-“ He squeezed harder, cutting off your air supply until your words crumbled in your throat. 

“Don’t lie to me.” He snapped, though you could tell he wasn’t actually mad, there was a hint of amusement tainting the harsh tone. “I know what you want, what you need.”

”Yeah… yes.” You nodded, biting your lip. This just kept getting worse and worse. You wanted to let go, to enjoy yourself. But the guilt of literally being face to face with your lies made it nearly impossible.

”I can see it in your eyes sweetheart.” He whispered as he thrusted deep and hard, taking his time to drag his cock out and ensure the vibrations rubbed over the sweet spot deep inside of you. “You need this, huh? You love it. Don’t you?”

”Uh huh.” You nodded, your eyes fluttering closed again as you sucked in a deep breath through your nose. 

“No way princess,” He chuckled, giving you a light tap to your cheek, not nearly hard enough to call it a smack. “Keep your eyes open for me. I like seeing how big those pupils get when you look at me.”

Not only did you have to worry about your mouth getting you into trouble, now you became hyper aware of every movement in your body. You couldn’t control your eyes or the way they reacted, but you could try your best to keep everything else in check. 

“Don’t be like that.” He teased, running his thumb across your jaw. “Just relax.”

”Ani, I can’t.” You whimpered, your hands coming up to cover your face as it flushed bright pink. 

“You can, you just won’t.” He retorted, ripping the mask off with a huff as he shook his head in frustration. “Turn around baby.” He breathed as he pulled out, smacking your hip to hurry you along.

On your hands and knees you positioned yourself for Anakin, thankful you wouldn’t have to look him in the face and thankful he’d taken off that stupid mask. He pushed back inside, this time he was hell bent on using you until you came, regardless of what you thought you wanted. His hips slamming against yours in a punishing pace, the wetness of your folds coating his length and dripping down his balls. 

“I was- was just trying to spice shit up a little.” He panted, spanking you with a loud *crack* to make you yelp. “Thought you’d like it? Liked it enough to tell Lukey all about it. Just not enough for me to make it happen for you?” 

“I’m sorry.” You whined, your cunt fluttering around his length from the sting left by his palm.

”You should be.” He grunted, one hand tangling in your hair to pull roughly, each strand tugging uncomfortably on your tender scalp. “I had a whole schtick worked out for you doll.”

”I… am.” You panted, your words coming out clipped. “Sorry, I’m really sorry.” 

“Was gonna take this stupid thing and hold it right here.” He grumbled, taking the rubber knife and pressing the blunt, pliable tip just under your jaw, if it were a real knife, one slip, one knick with too much pressure… 

“M’s-sorry.” You moaned, his grumpy comment holding a pinch of something else that made your insides flip.

“I know you are.” Anakin’s condescending tone meeting your ears with a sharp edge. “It’s alright darlin’, just need you to cum for me. That’ll make it all better won’t it?” 

“It’ll be all better.” You tried to nod but found that he was gripping your hair too tightly. The way he was fucking you so hard, so deep… no. No that’s not right, you can’t think of Ghost right now, that’s exactly what you were trying to avoid.

“Yeah? Well let’s speed it up, huh?” He panted, reaching down to roll your clit between his finger and thumb, pulling and twisting it with a gentle but insistent pressure. “This… this fucking jewelry- I, fuck.” 

“Sh-shoulda bought some fuckin’ numbing cream or some shit, Jesus.” Anakin hissed through his teeth, feeling his balls drawing up tight as he fought off his orgasm, clenching his teeth so tightly that they squeaked. 

You braced yourself against the couch’s armrest with one hand, the other staying firmly planted on the cushion below you as you looked to the side, catching a glimpse of that stupid plastic mask, so unlike the one you’ve grown so used to seeing. It was all wrong, this was all wrong. 

You couldn’t concentrate, you couldn’t relax, you couldn’t push it all away and focus on the only thing worth paying attention to. Anakin was fucking you into oblivion, your body unable to fully enjoy the experience because your mind simply could not come to terms with the reality of your situation. 

Yes it felt good, so good. Yes you were on the brink of orgasm. Yes Anakin was talking you through it just how he loved to, always guiding you through your big, overwhelming orgasms. But this wasn’t big or overwhelming. If anything it was lackluster and flat, a moment of bliss followed by a horrible longing that tugged behind your bellybutton. Anakin’s cock slowing inside you as he pumped you full of his hot, sticky seed. 

He leaned forward to rest his forehead between your shoulder blades, the gesture feeling more intimate than the sex you’d just had. His arms wrapped around your waist as he held your back to his chest, allowing his cock to slip from your folds, leaking cum and slick down onto the couch below. Though he didn’t seem to care, he was more concerned with you getting back in his lap and covering you both up with a big fuzzy blanket. 

“I’m… I’m sorry that didn’t go well. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that.” He whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“No, no it’s okay. I was just overthinking it.” You said quietly, not wanting him to feel bad for something that was entirely your fault and completely outside his realm of knowledge.

“Still, that was unfair of me.” He said, nuzzling into your neck, kissing under your jaw and along the curve of your neck. “Won’t happen again baby I promise.”

“Well, Anakin, I don’t know about using the mask… or any mask. But… but the other stuff would be okay.” You offered, gesturing to the rubber knife and the cock ring he was currently removing. 

He wiped his hands off on his discarded shirt, placing the silicone jewelry on the coffee table before snuggling back up against you. He gave you a curious look, his mouth turned in a half smirk but his eyes spoke of something different.

“The knife?” He asked with a snicker, picking it up and bending the tip back to release it and watch as it wobbled back and forth. “You think that’s hot?” 

“Well no, that’s not…” You squeaked, scrambling to correct yourself.

“Good.” The word coming out in a low tone, sounding serious. “I do too.”

“Wait what?” You furrowed your eyebrows, your mouth parted slightly as you waited for him to repeat himself, needing to hear it again just to be certain.

“You heard me.” He raised an eyebrow, his lip curving up in a cheeky smile.

“That- its kind of dangerous don’t you think?” You said quickly, immediately regretting your poor decision to dig further into this conversation.

“Not if we don’t use a real knife. Don’t be silly.” He snorted, patting your thigh before stroking it with light fingertips. “We can try that another time, or not at all. But there’s no reason to stress now, let’s just have a quiet evening like we planned.” He said softly.

“Okay,” You nodded, accepting his words for what they were. It’s not that you didn’t trust Anakin with a real knife, you just weren’t certain that anyone could wield one as expertly as Ghost. “that sounds like a plan.”

He hummed in agreement, savoring the feel of your warm flesh against his. He held you, pet you, kissed you and loved on you until the previous encounter was nearly forgotten, save for the pit in your stomach that screamed out for your attention. 

The movie was picking up speed, getting to the more important and more interesting moments where the Ghostface duo was picking off cast members at Stu’s house. Anakin sat back and propped his feet up, stifling a light laugh as Tatum was lifted into the air via the garage door. He made a crunching sound to mimic the noise of her neck cracking under the pressure of the doorframe and the garage door mechanism, poking you in the side to make you giggle with him.

”I always thought this bit was so fucking funny.” Anakin snorted, gesturing to the TV where Ghostface has just slit Kenny’s throat and is patiently waiting for Sidney’s reaction, not attempting to immediately attack her when he had the advantage of her shocked state. “And like, dude really? Trying to crawl out the van after her like that? The back is open, just walk around.”

”He was probably trying to pull her back inside.” You shrugged, glancing over at him.

“Should've just walked around.” He mumbled, making a circle motion with his pointer finger. 

Diary Entry: October 4th

I’m really confused by your reaction to tonight’s activities, I wasn’t expecting that at all. I thought you’d be thrilled, seeing ‘Ghost’ after going so long without hearing from him. I thought you’d let loose and enjoy yourself, I thought maybe you would let yourself be a little more kinky with me. 

You’ve always saved that for Ghost and I know you’ll be completely unsatisfied with our sex life if we don’t incorporate that into our bedroom. If Ghost isn’t going to be around anymore then you’ll just have to share that part of yourself with me. I was trying to show you that, trying to show you that I can do what you need, what you want and crave. I’ve been giving it to you for how long now? Just let me do it this way alright?

Now, let me rant for a minute because I’m still a little upset that you turned off your phone when you went to Luke's, that’s the whole reason I had a chat with him the other day in the first place but the guy had his lips locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Like I’m glad he’s such a good friend to you but damn that is real inconvenient for me. I wanna know what you felt was too sensitive to share with me. 

Are you just being petty? 

Date: October 10th

”Anakin no, that’s hideous.” You giggled, covering your mouth as you grabbed the packaged costume from his hands and shoved it back on the shelf.

”What do you mean?” He grinned, his hands squeezing your hips from behind as you flipped through the rack in front of you. “You’d look smokin’ as a sexy little Dalmatian. I’ll be your big strong fireman.”

”As much as I would love to see you in a fireman’s uniform, I’ll have to pass.” You squeaked as his nipped your neck and let his hand run over your ass when he continued on past you to continue looking for costumes. 

“Your loss babydoll.” He clicked his tongue, glancing over at you as you pulled a skimpy fairy costume from the rack.

”No ma’am.” He scoffed, taking it from you and putting it back, “That’s a single girl get-up. You can’t go out like that.”

”Oh c’mon I was just lookin’.” You rolled your eyes and patted his cheek with a little smirk, it was nice having someone like Anakin be so protective for the right reasons. 

“Should we do something like as a couple?” You asked, looking at the back wall where a large collection of duo costumes were on display.

”I don’t know darlin’… wouldn’t make much sense for half a sandwich to be behind the bar and the other half roamin’ around with dumb and dumber.” He flashed you a grin, nodding toward the other side of the room where Luke and Han were piling on an unnecessary amount of ugly costume accessories just for shits and giggles.

”Oh my god, we are never getting out of here if they don’t start actually looking!” You said, progressively getting louder until Luke’s head turned on a swivel and his face revealed a startled ‘oops’ expression.

”Why do you think we drove separate?” He snickered, squeezing the back of your neck affectionately. 

“You’re awful.” You snorted, pulling him along to another rack of costumes.

”Let’s just do these.” He said, plucking two of the thick plastic bags from the rack, flipping them around to show you the old timely baseball uniforms. 

“I’ve never played baseball a day in my life.” You giggled, taking it from him and glancing over the items listed inside. A dress, long socks, a belt, and a baseball cap. 

“I played at camp.” Anakin said, toying with his lip ring using the tip of his tongue. “For like three games.”

”Really?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. “What happened?”

”Summer before middle school, Mom wanted to go on a girls trip so she shipped me off for a week. It was pretty fun actually.” Anakin said, taking the package back from you and laying it over his arm. “I was good at it too, just… just swung my bat a little too hard and a camp counselor ended up with a chipped tooth.” He winced.

”Did it go flying out of your hands?” You asked, eyes wide as you tried to hold back a laugh. “Happened to me when I used to help Lauren practice for tennis.”

”Mmm, yeah somethin’ like that.” He snorted, pulling you into his side to plant a kiss to your forehead. “So this is what we’re going with?” He asked.

”Yeah, i think those will be fine.” You hummed, walking beside him. “We’ll be matching but we won’t have to be standing right next to each other for it to make sense.”

”Good girl.” He nodded, his hand rubbing up and down your back soothingly.

“I can’t believe girls wore dresses to play baseball.” You commented, tapping the plastic bag.

”Why?” Anakin asked, guiding you up to the register and tossing the two packages down on the counter for the woman at the register to ring up. “Girls used to only wear dresses. Why wouldn’t they wear ‘em to play ball in too?” 

“Cause what if they flipped up and flashed everyone?” You laughed.

”That’s why they wore spanx you goof.” He snorted, handing over his debit card to pay for the costumes.

“I don’t think spanx was a thing back then.” You shook your head with a little frown.

”Well then I guess they just wore their ugliest granny bloomers and hoped no one looked.” He grinned at you, taking the bag from the cashier and pocketing his wallet. 

You shook your head at him, dragging him along by his shirt sleeve as you walked past the counter and through the store. You pulled out your phone, shooting off a text to Luke to let him know you were leaving the Halloween store and going to roam about the rest of the mall before meeting up again for lunch together. After a minute or two your phone buzzed while you were waiting loyally by Anakin’s side as he filtered through posters, records and cd’s. 

“Oh god.” You gasped, looking down at your phone as you burst into laughter. “Oh my god, the only costume big enough for Han is a ketchup bottle.” 

“What?” Anakin spun around, looking at you as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

”Look.” You giggled, showing him the picture of a very unamused Han in a giant ketchup bottle and a much shorter, giggly looking Luke in a hot dog costume.

”No fuckin’ way.” Anakin laughed, zooming in on Luke’s costume. “Dude gross, his hot dog has relish on it.” 

“No, it’s gross they went to the changing room and tried the stuff on.” You shivered, remembering how you’d peeked your head in earlier to see the trash and discarded costumes that hadn’t fit other customers.

”Have you seen the size of that guy? He can’t not go to the dressing room.” Anakin retorted, shaking his head in amusement. 

“No shit.” Snorting as you thumbed through a very thick stack of discount records with damaged sleeves. “Hey, do you have this one?” You asked, holding up a brand new record of the Pain Remains trilogy by Lorna Shore, the only blemish you could see was a long straight line down the back of the sleeve, presumably from a box cutter when the workers were unboxing the shipment.

“Oooh no ma’am I do not,” He grinned, plucking it from your hand and inspecting it to make sure the record inside was still intact. “Oh I just love you, I’ve been looking for this one.” He squeaked, tossing his arms around you from behind and kissing the nape of your neck. 

“You know, you could just order th-“

”Mmm, no. Stop right there.” He silenced you with a finger to your lips, his breath hitting the back of your neck. “I will never order a record **or CD. That takes all the fun out of my little treasure hunt.”

“Treasure hunt?” A smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you tilted your head to kiss his cheek while you clumsily walked as he shuffled along behind you, not letting you out of his embrace. 

“Yeah, that’s the best way to collect stuff.” Anakin nodded seriously. “It’s no fun if you don’t have to work for it.”

You laughed, not understanding the appeal of having to wait for something you desperately want, when you could order it and have it in your hands the very next day. Whereas Anakin could have to wait weeks, maybe months to find the one thing he was searching for. 

“Don’t knock it til you try it.” Anakin said, nipping your shoulder as he finally released you to jog down the aisle in front of you with a giddy laugh, skipping for the last few steps to the back wall. Doing his very best extra exaggerated Vanna White impression as he gestured to a CD before picking it up excitedly.

”See?” He jumped in place, tapping the case rapidly with one finger. “It’s the very last one! That makes it even better, knowing I’m now the proud owner of the last new Angelmaker album.” His mouth dropped open in exaggerated shock. “At least until they restock.” He added with a shrug.

”I’ll admit it’s very cute to see you get so happy over some plastic.” You teased.

“Did you hear that? She thinks I’m cute.” He whispered shouted from behind his hand at what you assumed was an imaginary person until they appeared near Anakin. A random guy around your age, with an extremely thick septum ring, appraised your appearance.

”I think she’s cute.” He stated very boldy as he flashed you a bright smile and stuck out his hand toward you. 

“Seriously?” Anakin huffed, flicking the guy on the forehead. “That’s my girlfriend you little shit.”

”Oh, oops.” The guy turned beet red with embarrassment and profusely apologized. “I had no idea, I just assumed…”

”Yeah, yeah.” Anakin grumbled, possessively putting his arm around your shoulder, grabbing your face to very sloppily kiss you in front of the guy. Making it very clear that he was enjoying every second of it while he tongue fucked your mouth. 

“Anyway.” He sighed, pulling back from the kiss to show off his devilish grin, complete with his dimples on display, obviously very pleased with himself not only for his display but also for the way you responded to it with buckling knees and immediate submission. 

“Ring these up will you Ferdinand?” He glared, shoving the record and CD into the guy’s hands, only then did you notice he was wearing a name tag and a lanyard with a set of keys attached, marking him as an employee at the store.

”I hate it when you call me that.” He grunted, taking a step back from the force that Anakin used to thrust the items at him. 

“I hate it when you hit on my girlfriend.” Anakin retorted in a mocking tone, muttering something under his breath as he watched him walk toward the register.

”You know him?” You asked awkwardly. 

“Used to think he was pretty alright. Name’s Eric, I talk to him just about every time I’m in here.” He said, glaring over at him as you both slowly gravitated toward the front of the store. The look in his eyes bringing a chill to your flesh, that look you hated, the one so icy cold you’d swear it could freeze over hell. As always, the moment he blinked, it was gone. The warmth returned to his sea-blue eyes.

”It’s alright though, he didn’t know. He’s a hopeless flirt anyway.” Anakin chuckled, patting your ass as he pulled out his wallet, his pants chain jangling as he dug around in his deep pockets. “The guy’s type is ‘anyone who will pay attention’.” 

“Well that’s just sad.” You snickered under your breath, quieting yourself when you reached the register. 

“I know.” Anakin smirked. “Isn’t it? A real shame huh?” He prompted Eric without giving him context. 

He looked up from the magazine he had laid out in front of him, sliding a paper bag across the counter in exchange for Anakin’s cash. It struck you as odd considering how he’d used his debit card at the last store. But you didn’t think too hard on it, you were too busy trying not to laugh when Eric blindly agreed with Anakin.

”Huh? Oh yeah, I know right?” He nodded nonchalantly, in that all too common way that retail workers do when they weren’t listening to a lick of what was happening around them, continuing to fish change out of the cash drawer. 

“Thanks man.” Anakin grunted, taking the cash and stuffing it messily into his wallet. While he was distracted with that, Eric handed you the receipt. You accepted it without a second game and tucked it in your back pocket. Ready to leave, Anakin looped his thumb through the back belt loop of your pants and steered you to the door. 

“Luke and Han are going to BoxLunch,” You said, stooping down to pick up the receipt that fell from your pocket when you checked your phone. “They want us to meet them there, then we can go to Charley’s for lunch.” 

You handed the crumpled receipt to Anakin as you spoke, continuing to walk after shoving your phone back in your pocket. Suddenly you felt Anakin’s hand fall away from it’s comforting resting place, turning your head to the side to see what was the matter. You saw Anakin standing still, his phone in his hand, furiously typing as he held the receipt. 

“Ani?” You asked, reaching out for his elbow to prompt him to follow you. 

“Just a sec.” He mumbled, eyebrows furrowed as he tongued his labret. “Sorry darlin’, all good to go. BoxLunch?” He asked, slipping his hand into your back pocket as he walked beside you in the direction of the shop. 

“Uh, yeah.” You nodded, giving him a second glance that he must’ve picked up on because he gave you a ‘hmm?’ in response. “What was that?”

“What? Oh, I just needed to scan that receipt for the shop rewards or whatever.” He shrugged, his free hand coming up to scratch the side of his nose. “Had to do it before I forgot, gives me discounts n’ all that.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize.” You said, leaning into him. “ Well I'm glad I didn’t toss it.” You chuckled, hearing him let out a humored puff of air. 

“Me too,” he whispered, turning to press a soft kiss to your temple. “I would’ve hated to miss out on this week’s perk.” 

“Oh?” You smirked, hearing the sarcasm in his words oozing out. 

“Mhm,” pairing a short nod with a snicker, “shit’s killer.”

Diary Entry: October 11th

You know what I can’t fucking stand? Misjudging someone. I hate being wrong, especially when it comes to a person’s character. I’ve spent so long, so many hours watching, researching and practicing mannerisms and expressions. I’m practically an expert. 

Or I thought I was an expert. Dead fucking wrong about Eric though. I even gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking maybe it was truly just an accident. He seemed apologetic enough, but I regret not being able to see his face when he expressed his ‘apologies’. 

I hadn’t ever looked into Eric before, I felt no reason to, he has always just been the hollow, depthless NPC type of person in my eyes. He didn’t exist outside of that record store, kind of like how when you’re a kid and you see your teacher out in public and you’re like ‘Oh my god? That's a real person with a life outside of the classroom?’. 

Yeah, Eric was that. Until he used his grubby little hands to scrawl out his mother fucking phone number on my goddamn receipt and hand it to my fucking girlfriend. You were too stupid to even notice! Once again I’m asking myself how the hell did you survive this long without me around to protect you? He could’ve handed you a giant manilla envelope labeled ‘ANTHRAX’ in bright, bold letters and you’d have just bobbed your ditzy little head and tucked it under your arm. 

It’s not your fault, don’t think i’m mad at you. I’m not, I’m just frustrated because Ghost has taught you better than that. I have taught you better than that. You should know to be more aware of your surroundings. But then again, that’s my fault too isn’t it?

While I’ve taught you that valuable lesson, I’ve also gone right ahead and deconstructed it for you too. 

Because I love you. I care about you and I will always and forever do everything in my power to make sure you are as healthy and safe as humanly achievable. And because you are well aware of that fact, you become a small, frail, pocket mouse when I’m around. You know good and damn well that you don’t have to pay attention to a thing when I’m with you. You’re safely tucked in my pocket. 

Both Ghost and I have made it so fucking easy for you to be at peace, while I’m so glad you feel so secure in my presence (and in my absence as we both know, Ghost is always there in some capacity) its also mildly irritating that you rely on me and my observation skills so much that you missed the red ink on the nearly translucent receipt. Like, come on baby. It was in your hand.

You’re so lucky. So lucky that I love you more than life itself. I’m so lucky to love you that much. Although it’s proven to be a right fuckin’ mess on the rare occasion, it’s all worth it. You’re worth it. 

How many girls can say that their man would kill for them and mean it? 

I’m back on my meds and feeling so much better, the busy little office guys in my head have reorganized all those filing cabinets. Not to brag, but I think they’ve really outdone themselves this time, I feel so put together. I think they may have even upgraded to a nice conveyor belt to avoid lugging all the unwanted files to The Pit. Isn’t that neat? 

Or maybe I’m just more comfortable with myself now. After all, you do love me. Both of me. If I have the love of my very own goddess, why shouldn’t I accept more of myself? Even the undesirable bits. A dash of unconventionality is healthy. Everything is healthy in moderation.

It’s most definitely the latter, but it’s fun to think that those little office guys are putting in overtime, maybe even the janitor too. 

I think I need a bit of fun, one last yeehaw before I finish this shit, you know? I thought maybe that I'd be done after those frat assholes. But it just wasn’t satisfying. Not like with the delivery guy. He was fun, those frat bros just made shit difficult and sucked the fun out of what was supposed to be a nice night with you and I'll never get over it. I still feel bad about it occasionally, poor girl. But, I'm just rambling so I’ll shut up about them. 

So, like I said, one more. Last time, I promise. Then it’ll just be me and you alright? I swear. I’ll bury Ghost with this, I’ll combine the best bits of me and him and get rid of the rest. Taking out the trash as I take out some trash. 

—------------------------

Diary Entry: cont.

I cannot believe how shit the security at the mall is. That Paul Blart looking ass doesn’t even have a taser or anyone else to help him. It took me three minutes to make my way into the security office, checkout camera feeds and video the entire room to look over again later, then get out and back to you before you even realized I wasn’t in that Lunchbox place. By the way, that’s my new favorite things and stuff store. Back to business, there’s only one working CCTV camera in the record store and it doesn’t stream a live video, it takes pictures every thirty seconds and my phone is now set to alert me of that (for later I have it silenced for now). 

I have the whole store memorized by now anyway so I don’t have to worry about that. Plus I know that Eric never fucking locks the back entrance, all i have to worry about on that matter is that the CCTV outside actually does work and streams a live video. But I’ve got a plan, not to worry.  

Date: October 12th

“You gonna come over when you get off?” Anakin asked, dropping you off at The Bluebird. “I can come pick you up, I really don’t like it when you walk home in the dark sweetheart. Makes me nervous.”

“Why don’t we go to my place after?” Eyes flicking up to look at his furrowed eyebrows. “Boogs gets sad when I don’t stay home.”

“Alright, I can do that baby.” He nodded with a soft smile. “Maybe I can go sit with her while you’re workin’.” He offered with a shrug.

“Oh, yeah I’m sure she’d love that. Just… The kitchen is a mess right now so-”

“Don’t fret, I’ll get it.” He cut you off with a chuckle, walking with you up to the doors of the restaurant. 

“No, don’t do that.” You shook your head, turning to face him with a hand on his chest. “I’ll get it when I come home.”

“It’ll be late and I’ll be there with nothin’ to do.” Anakin insisted, giving you a raised eyebrow as if to say he would do it regardless of your wishes.

“I’ve made a big wreck of the kitchen. I- the dishes have all piled up so quick.” You said, shaking your head again with a slight frown. “I’ll do ‘em.”

“Hush, I’ll do it-” Anakin started, seeing you open your mouth to interrupt him he paused and curled up the corner of his mouth disapprovingly. “Thank you, that’s much better.” He chuckled, leaning against the side of the building when you sighed, admitting defeat and letting him take over the chore that had suddenly become so daunting. 

“Yeah, yeah.” You mumbled, smiling slightly even as you did. 

“Good girl, that’s more like it.” He grinned, pulling you into his chest for a tight squeeze. “I’ll take care of all the scary dishes, don’t worry.” He teased.

“Doing the dishes is just so gross.” You complained, “I was doing so good at keeping it picked up, I guess it just got out of hand. I hate touching food bits.”

“Got out of hand, hmm?” He snickered, kissing the top of your head. “No big deal, I’ll reign it in for you. Maybe get all the dust and cat hair while I’m at it.” 

“Hey!” You huffed, trying to pull back so you could chide him to his face, but he kept you held against him as his chest rumbled with a laugh. “Not my fault, I just don’t vacuum as much as… well I just need to clean more I guess.” You sighed, not realizing how much you’d fallen behind until having this conversation. 

Ghost had been keeping things tidy for so long and now that he’d stopped it was as if you had completely forgotten how to take care of the place on your own. You’d gotten used to only being tasked with your laundry and the occasional few dishes. Only vacuuming once a week and mopping even less. It was astonishing really, seeing how quickly your daily life had begun to unravel without him.

You were honestly shocked that Anakin hadn’t keeled over last time he was at your apartment, you’d been staying over at his rather than yours. Even on nights that he worked. You didn’t like being alone in your own home anymore, it felt all wrong, uncomfortable. Unsafe. There wasn’t someone watching over you every hour of every day anymore and it left you feeling vulnerable. Yeah of course he still looked out for you, you knew that. You knew he had audio access to your phone, but it wasn’t the same, it felt so… impersonal.

You didn’t catch the smirk on Anakin’s lips while you spoke, too caught up in your own thoughts. He was enjoying seeing you realize how much you’d come to rely on Ghost. He was happy to step in and take over that role as himself, he had always helped out, just not to the extent that Ghost did.  

“Vigo has been eyeing you ever since we came up to the door.” Anakin tipped his head toward the kitchen where you could see Vigo peeking around the corner. “If you don’t get in there soon he might blow a gasket.” He snickered.

“He’ll be just fine.” You snorted, leaning in close to plant a sweet kiss to his cheek, he turned his head to give you his other cheek for the same. “I love you.” 

“God, you don’t know how good it feels to hear that from those pretty lips,” He sighed, beaming brightly at you as he brought you closer. “Give ‘em to me.” He teased, giving you a soft and tender kiss, his hand tucking you hair behind your ear as he did. 

“I love you too darlin’.” He hummed against your lips, releasing you with a little swat to your ass to get you moving toward the main entrance. He watched through the window to ensure you made it back to the kitchen to clock-in before he pushed off the wall and strolled back over to his car.

—------------------------------------------

October 12th 5:54pm

Anakin had the perfect amount of time to enact his plan. Thanks to his newly revisited obsession with pre-planning and prepping for his actions, he’d devised a fool proof way to make his entrance and exit into the mall nearly undetectable. He’d even solidified the perfect way to get a concrete alibi, complete with photo evidence and time stamps.

He was on camera at 5:27pm in front of The Bluebird, having a cutesy goodbye with his sweet, innocent girlfriend. He drove the regular route back to the apartments, stopping at the gas station for cigarettes and gum, paying with his card and making sure to store his receipt in his wallet, then he continued home. He rarely used the sidewalk beside the parking lot, usually opting to weave through the parked cars until he reached the front doors, though this time he seized the opportunity to be seen on camera again. The lamppost outside the parking lot, which had been recently updated to included CCTV picture, would snap a photo of him doing his duty as a civilian to pick up a stray piece of trash that a no-good litterbug had dropped and tossed it in the trashcan near the lamppost.

He’d been so careful in the past and it had always worked out for the best, so he was more careful this time, taking mental note of the back roads to the mall, luckily it wasn’t too far, he could walk there and stay relatively out of sight. Win-win kind of situation in his opinion. So Anakin made his way up to his apartment instead of yours and quickly got changed into his self imposed criminal activity uniform. All black everything. The same clothes he used to play Ghost, sans mask of course. He can’t go traipsing about the city in the afternoon like that, he’d be spotted within seconds. 

Anakin stood in the bathroom, taking out all of his facial piercings, as well as removing his gauges and other earrings. He planned to leave his phone in your apartment along with the Tv playing something on Netflix, should it come down to anything serious and he might need to prove himself. That gives him 90 minutes before Netflix gives the ‘Still Watching?’ notification, hopefully, plenty of time to do what he needed to and return. If not he had around 30 minutes before the Tv shut itself off because the remote hadn’t been touched. It’s easy enough to say he fell asleep, the poor guy is a bartender, he takes a little nap whenever he can. Working nights is rough stuff. 

He’ll have his alibi back on track when he goes to pick you up after all, he’ll even drive through your favorite take-out place and make sure to pay with his card. He can prove his whereabouts and take care of his hungry girl at the same time. 

After grabbing his bag, he set up your apartment as it should be, returning to his quickly to hurry on with his plan. Anakin slipped out his living room window and left down the fire escape, making the trek on foot to the mall via his pre-ran route. Keeping his head down, his empty phone case in his hand to appear busy as he passed a few people on the sidewalk. Making a speedy right turn into the alley between two office buildings, jay-walking across the street when he came out the other side. 

He kept an eye on his watch, making sure he was well within the timeframe he’d given himself. Finally arriving at the mall he swung wide, staying out of the 100 foot radius of the high-positioned CCTV cameras outside the mall, perched atop the corners of the buildings. They were pointed to conjoin and overlap in the middle of the back parking lot. Unfortunately that made his life a little harder and he had to do a little more math.

His research and his calculator proved pertinent in his carefully determined path to the staff entrance of Revival Records. Providing him an almost eight foot wide straight line of a blind spot if he were to come in toward the middle of the building’s left side, exactly what he was doing at that very moment. Tucking himself against the brick wall, he made his way through the blind pathway beneath the cameras along the side and back of the building. Skipping one, two, three, and stopping at the fourth, thick metal door. 

He took a deep, calming breath as he pulled up his hood. Then tied his bandana securely around his face, tugging it until it sat just beneath his eyes. Anakin checked his hoodie pocket, taking his knife from it and placing it beneath his bandana, biting down on the silicone covered handles so he could easily use both his hands, then pulled the can of black spray paint from the side pocket meant for water bottles on his bag.

Prepared and mostly confident in his ability to spray the camera lens positioned next to the door that had a perfect view down the service hall without looking, he tugged on the door handle, a sense of relief washing over him when it turned and opened easily. 

Shoving his arm in through the cracked door he angled the can upwards, pressing down on the nozzle and smiling when he heard the aerosol can hiss. He covered his eyes and peeked through his hands, not wanting to look directly into the camera–-cameras if he’d missed it completely. Thankfully he checked and saw that there were two, side by side and pointed in opposite directions.

He huffed and sprayed the left corner lens to make sure it was covered as well, only part of the lens was obscured from his original paint job. After surveying the hall and determining the other cameras in the hall would be pretty much useless considering they were so far away, and angled straight down the hall. He figured there was a reason they had the double camera in the middle of the hall like that, the other two must not reach that far.

He crossed the hall in one long step, carefully and quietly opening the second door in front of him. This one would lead directly into the storage room, which housed the very tiny office and staff bathroom as well. The sound of Bolt Thrower filled the space, playing as background noise while his target cleaned and closed up shop for the night. 

Anakin could do this quick and easy if he wanted. The breaker box was right there on the wall, just within reach. It’d be easy enough to pop it open and flip off all the lights to lure him right where he needed him. A nice clean slice of his throat from behind… But that was too easy. If this was to be his very last, he wanted it to be his very best. 

So instead, he grabbed the key ring off the hook beside the office door, flipping through them and inspecting the labels. He turned and flicked the lock closed on the hall door. Entering the office he looked over the various items. His eyes pausing over the computer screen where he could see the employee registry, shipment details… he could just stay right there and wreck Eric’s life just by using this information. He could tap into his boss’s social security account, steal the banking information from whoever the hell Amanda was, then slip right back out. No one would know or even suspect him. It’d be the stupid little toad he’d come to visit who’d get shipped off to federal prison. 

He licked his lips, shaking his head with a scoff. Returning to his plan, he went ahead and pulled the phone jack from the wall and disconnected the emergency button that would notify security if pushed. Then, he found the right key to lock the office door, just as a precaution. Maybe Eric would be slimy enough to slip through his fingers, but he was really only doing it for peace of mind, checking off his mental to-do list. He knew he didn’t have a damn thing to worry about.

He moved carefully to avoid the boxes and various crap laying about the floor, silently thinking of the monstrous lawsuit that waited for Revival Records if their next hire slips and breaks their back on some of that slick packaging plastic. He shook his head, reminding himself to focus because this needed to be perfect, so perfect. Near impossibly perfect for it to work. As he reached the inner door, his final one before facing his acquaintance turned enemy, he cracked it open and peeked inside, watching Eric close the cage and lock it down at the front of the store. 

Anakin’s ‘ugly’ analog watch was coming in handy as it ticked rhythmically, every thirty seconds. It took a few tries but he finally synced it perfectly with the pattern of the store camera’s timed pictures. He’d clicked those two tiny knobs so many times that he’d considered going out to the store just to buy a new watch just for this, but his old one had never failed him before. Cliegg always said something about ‘never changing your technique’ before a big game when Anakin had briefly entertained his stepdad’s wish for him to join the delinquent school’s baseball team after he’d enjoyed it during summer camp. 

This might not be baseball, but it required a refined technique, so he assumed the sentiment translated. 

He crouched, watching Eric saunter back and forth through the store, reorganizing the shelves and doing some very poor cleaning. Not only was he protecting you, he was keeping disease off the streets as far as he was concerned. After a few more agonizing minutes of watching him play janitor, finally he made his way behind the counter. Time for him to count the cash drawer, time for Anakin to make his move. 

Hugging the wall, Anakin moved slowly, keeping low to the ground, pulling out his butterfly knife and flicking it open loudly, the handles clanking together as he spun it in his hand. Eric whipped his head around, not seeing anything, he assumed it was just the store settling, maybe one of the employees from the neighboring stores making a bit of noise.

Anakin rose from behind one of the displays, keeping in line with the very edge of the shelving unit that stored all the newest releases. He would be out of sight from the camera and close enough to the counter to properly intimidate Eric. The store was very poorly planned out, save from that one unit. It made sense to keep the new releases near the register to deter theft. 

Just a shame for them that Anakin was using the layout for something far worse than simple theft. 

Using his knife blade, he tapped the shelf beside him, making a sharp metallic *ping ping ping*, that caught Eric’s attention. He turned his music down, as if he were trying to hear it more clearly. So Anakin repeated the motion, grinning behind his bandana as Eric started to slowly turn around. 

“Stay.” His voice stern and commanding. “Don’t turn around.”

“I’ll call the cops.” Eric said, trying to fight his curiosity to peek over his shoulder, lifting his hands slowly.

“Put your hands down. Keep doing your job.” Anakin said harshly, his tone cold. “I won’t hurt you. I just want you to listen to me. Very carefully.”

“Y’know there’s a Zales just a few doors down. Y-you’ll get better shit there man.” Eric said shakily, returning to his calculator and recording receipts. 

“You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to rob a record shop if I was only after money, do you?” Anakin snarked. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

“If you don’t want money, what do you want?” Eric squeaked, wetting his lips nervously. 

“I want you to take a little break. Have a seat.” Anakin said, leaning against the shelving unit and crossing his arms over his chest.

He watched as Eric blindly reached behind him and pulled the stool up. Sitting slowly like he was worried it might be some sort of trap. It was. Eric got out the key from the drawer beneath the counter, unlocking the register and rapidly tapping the emergency button hidden just under the lip of the formica tabletop. Nothing happened, no red light flashed beneath his fingers and no beep was heard. 

“Too bad.” Anakin sucked his teeth. “I bet Paul Blart could’ve used the exercise.” *Tick*

“Feet up on the rest there buddy.” Anakin shrugged off his backpack and grabbed a package of saran wrap and a roll of duct tape. Unrolling and ripping off a good size of saran wrap, he waited. 

*Tick*. He stepped forward and wrapped the plastic around his lower legs and feet. Anakin stayed kneeling, his leather gloves sticking to the adhesive as he picked at the tail end of it, the *Scrrriipt* of him pulling out a nice length of tape made Eric wince.

“What are you doing?” He asked quietly, Anakin could practically smell the fear coming off him and it made him feel… annoyed. 

“Introducing you to my second favorite hobby.” Anakin sneered back, before duct-taping his feet and legs to the stool, over the saran wrap.

“Take off your jacket.” Anakin demanded, staying crouched down as Eric awkwardly unzipped his jacket and tossed it on the counter. *Tick*. “Hands on the counter.” 

“Listen, I can help you out.” Eric pleaded, laying his hands flat on the counter. Anakin rolled his eyes as he saran wrapped and taped his wrists together, shoving them into Eric’s lap. If only he had a dollar for every time someone tried to use this trick on him he would have enough to buy you a Venti Cold Brew from Starbies on his way back home.

“All I need you to do, is shut the fuck up and be still.” Anakin grunted, pulling out another long length of tape and a roll of garbage bags from his backpack, *Tick*, he secured the plastic to the floor, wrapping the chair legs in saran wrap, as well as Eric’s thighs, then waited for another *Tick*. 

“Who are you?” Eric asked, attempting to look down but Anakin’s hand shot up and smacked him for interrupting his task of taping his arms to his torso. “Ow! Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t recognize me?” He asked, faking a pouty voice. “C’mon you know me Ferdinand. Thought we were pals.”

“Fer-Ferdinand? Anakin?” He gasped, *Tick*.

“Can you just sit still please? Be quiet.” Anakin huffed, jabbing him in the side with a fist.

“What the hell are you doing man? What the fuck?” Eric squeaked, suddenly even more freaked out now that he knew his attacker. 

“I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt Ferdie.” Anakin sighed, grabbing some brand new, dollar store microfiber towels and setting them on the ground, *Tick*, Anakin reached for his bag again when Eric turned and yanked at his hood. 

“Touch me again. I’ll cut off your hand and shove it up your ass.” He growled, springing up into a standing position and fixing his hood. Anakin took a calming breath and shoved one of the microfiber towels into Eric’s mouth before crouching down again. *Tick*.

Anakin moved a few random items on the counter and shifted Eric in the chair, then returned to kneeling as he cut strips off one of the microfiber towels, slicing them up smaller and wadding them up. *Tick*. 

“Quit fuckin’ around. You’re making this difficult.” Anakin grumbled, rising up to grab his large septum ring and hold him steady so he could stick those microfiber wads in his nostrils, dropping to the ground again for the next *Tick*. 

He rose again slowly and stood in front of the mostly helpless man, anchoring the chair in place with his foot on one of the rungs, he reared back and punched Eric square in the face, then dropped to the ground, holding his wrists down so he couldn’t try to instinctively bring them up to his face. *Tick*. 

“Man, that’s my favorite way to make sure no one can hear a pig like you squeal.” Anakin smiled.

As Eric groaned, Anakin’s grin grew, enjoying the fact that his gag was effective. Although he was unsure if he’d actually punched him hard enough to break his nose, so after the next *Tick* he did it again, snickering when he heard and felt the cartilage crunch. Eric tried to suck in a breath, his eyes welling up with tears from the pain as the microfiber towels soaked up the blood that spurted from his nose. Only a trickle or two escaped down his lip, no problem, Anakin didn’t care, he’d clean it up. 

“So, you’re probably wondering why I’m doing this.” Anakin sighed, sitting crosslegged in front of the stool, staring up at the man before him. “I love a good villain speech. But you’re no hero and I didn’t plan on letting you trample around the room while I beat you to a pulp, so I didn’t prepare one.” 

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just give you the short and sweet.” Anakin tilted his head to the side, excitement flashing across his eyes as he pulled the bandana down to bare his beaming smile to Eric. “Well?” He prompted, smacking his leg and getting a nod in agreement along with panicked eyes. “Good, long and detailed it is.” He chuckled.

“I love my girlfriend, she is just… man I almost feel bad for you. You’ll never experience a love so pure.” Anakin said, feigning wistfulness. “Not that you’d be lucky enough to coerce a girl into loving you anyway, even if I did let you live.” He shrugged, laughing to himself.

 

“Nope, you’re shit when it comes to that aren’t you?” He smiled. “So shit that you decided to give my girlfriend your phone number, on the receipt for items that I paid for, after I so graciously gave you a bit of leeway for your ‘Oopsie I didn’t know she was yours’ flirt.” Anakin’s face dropped, the smile wiped from his expression. 

“I’ve killed for less.” Anakin said flatly. 

“You’re gonna be my last.” Anakin said, curving up the corner of his mouth but leaving the rest of his face unsettlingly expressionless. “So take pride in knowing that you will be my best work.”

“The police around here are shit.” Anakin shrugged, “They’ll be trying to figure this out for years.” Anakin grinned, *Tick*.

Anakin hummed along to the music still playing quietly through the speakers while he moved Eric’s chair to make him face the wall with his back to the camera and moved the mouse on  the computer to prove Eric was still ‘active’. Then remembered he needed to move a few things on the counter again after the *Tick*. 

“Remember when I said this was my second favorite hobby?” Anakin asked, not expecting an answer. “My favorite is fucking my beautiful girl.”

“Something you will never, ever have the privilege of thinking about doing again.” Anakin sneered. “The way you looked at her made my skin crawl. You’re creepy, you know that? That’s why you’re alone.”

“I could see it in those shifty, beady eyes of yours Ferdie. You were thinking of all the ways you’d like to get her beneath you.” Anakin’s face grew red, the vein in his forehead beginning to thump against his skull. 

“Disgusting.” He spat, taking off one leather glove and shoving his left hand down into a surgical grade glove. *Tick*.

“This is gonna hurt.” Anakin stood, gripping Eric’s skinny neck tightly as he dug his nitrile covered fingers beneath his left eye lid and and pulled, kneeling again as he shoved Eric over, letting him fall while keeping a grip on the slippery organ in his palm. He grinned down at him, dangling the eye over his face by the stalk. 

“So, I’ve heard you can still see for a second, as long as the stalk is still attached to the eye socket. Is it true?” Anakin asked, plucking it out, severing the connection as easily as one might pop a grape off the vine. “Simple yes or no.” He asked, an exasperated look on his face when Eric wriggled and fought against his bindings, sobbing, trying to multitask remembering to breathe and trying to get away. 

“God, why is it that people are so fucking useless?” Anakin grumbled, smacking him across the face to shock him into paying attention. “Could you see or not?” A small shake of Eric’s head gave Anakin his disappointing answer, then he promptly passed out.

“Well that’s no fun.” Anakin huffed, shoving a microfiber towel into the eye socket to staunch the bleeding while he went ahead and scooped out the other eye, repeating the process before dropping the eyes into a ziploc bag for later.

“Arts and crafts aren’t meant to be done alone.” He snickered to himself as he prepared his neck task, wrenching out each of Eric’s teeth. Literally. 

With an old wrench he stole from someone’s work truck, he pulled the entire top row of teeth while Eric flitted in and out of consciousness, his victim only managing to moan and cough from the saliva and blood soaking the towel shoved into his throat. Anakin tied the teeth together with floss and sat it aside for later, needing to sit Eric upright for a few *Ticks* and move a few things.

He propped Eric up by duct taping a broom to the backless stool and resting his back against it while he wiped down the wrench with alcohol and lysol wipes. Placing it on the counter in plain view of the camera before removing it again. 

“You are no fun.” Anakin grunted, pulling Eric back down to the ground. “I’ve never had someone stay passed out like this. You might as well be dead already.” 

Anakin hummed to himself, pursing his lips together in thought. Thinking on his feet, Anakin needed to change his plan. He hadn’t expected Eric to be so weak that he’d be unconscious for the entire time. It put a damper on his original plan but he thought up something just as good. All he needed was something tube like.

After taking off his gloves and changing into a fresh pair, he dug through a few drawers until he found just the thing he needed. A marker. Popping off the lid, Anakin made the hole at the top of the lid a bit bigger with his knife, then pried open Eric’s mouth, pulled out the wadded, blood soaked towel and shoved his fingers down his throat.

Feeling around for the right flap of skin before finding it, the epiglottis. He grimaced, feeling Eric choke and gag around his fingers, before quickly removing them and trying not to gag as well. He shivered, rolled his shoulders and got back to work by quickly shoving the marker cap beneath it, effectively propping open the airway. Keeping Eric flat on his back, Anakin took a pair of scissors from the same drawer and grabbed the tip of his tongue, cutting through the thick muscle and mutilating the floor of his mouth as best he could. Performing a purposely sloppy Glossectomy.

Eric roused as the steel blade sliced into the tender muscle of his tongue. Anakin pinched the tip of his tongue harder, making sure to keep hold of it as Eric instinctively bit down, accidentally biting his own tongue.

“I swear to god if you bite your tongue off before I cut it…” Anakin grumbled, having a mental flashback of the blubbering idiot at the lake house. 

Eric tried to scream, but the marker cap in his throat pressed against the top of his vocal cords, lodged in place in a painful way, the pressure only allowing a pathetic squeak to eek out. Anakin smiled down at him, scrunching up his nose as he laughed. 

“Try it again.” He taunted and was pleasantly surprised that Eric indulged him. He desperately tried to make noise, but it was muted, sounding far away and scratchy despite their close proximity. 

“Aw, too bad.” He shook his head, looking down at Eric for a moment. The emotion devoid in his eyes as he had to adapt his plan to fit the circumstances once again. 

He huffed and resigned himself to the easiest choice, continuing with his previous modified plan. He didn’t want to fish around in his throat while he was conscious, Anakin liked having all ten of his fingers. So he pinched the bridge of Eric’s broken nose, pressing down on it and watching as more blood oozed down into the wadded up towel pieces.

He was equally delighted to realize the muscles in the empty eye sockets were twitching beneath the towels as though the eyes were still in place, like Eric’s tiny brain hadn’t realized it couldn’t roll those eyes back in pain. Anakin pressed harder until the panicked, whistling of his victim’s breath through the marker cap evened out. Now that he was unresponsive again, Anakin was free to continue his work. 

The mouth bleeds a lot and Anakin had always wanted to kill someone using only internal injuries. The lungs only need about half a cup of liquid to cause drowning, the body has around five liters of blood and the average pair of human lungs can hold six liters of fluid. No matter what, Eric was going to die and Anakin was thrilled that not a drop of that crimson liquid would be misplaced. Save for what he’d already spilled, technically still contained via three microfiber cleaning cloths, and the little bit he’d gotten on the trash bags and gloves. 

He clamped Eric's mouth shut, leaving the fully dismembered tongue inside the mouth. Ripping off a new piece of tape, Anakin temporarily held his mouth closed with it while he super glued his lips together. He scooted back, watching him seize and convulse. Getting a sick satisfaction from watching the struggle, Eric was already unconscious, so it was more like a slug being salted, rather than a fish flopping on dry land. A bit anticlimactic but the end result would be worth the lackluster performance. 

It didn’t take too long for it all to stop, Eric was now just another inanimate object in the room. An inanimate object that was very uncooperative while Anakin tried to put his jacket back on after cutting off the bindings on his wrists.

Anakin got out a new trash bag and began the clean up process, starting with clean gloves before pulling out the towels from the bloodied eye sockets and super gluing the eyelids closed. He couldn’t help but laugh at how odd it looked. Strangely full mouth and awkwardly empty eyes. After letting himself have a giggle, he started wiping down the corpse’s paling skin with an alcohol wipe, getting every last speck of blood and then doing it all over again with a lysol wipe just to be sure he’d gotten it all. Then he went about peeling up the spattered plastic he’d taped to the ground.

*Tick*. Anakin hefted the limp body back into an upright position on the stool, pushing him up to the corner of the counter before he cut off the saran wrap and tape, leaving him sitting slumped somewhat naturally against the counter, his head propped up on his hand. Anakin stood, quickly tying on Eric’s brand new bracelet, then dropping back to the ground before the next *Tick*.

He surveyed the area over and over again, striving for absolute perfection with his clean up and his staging. He felt the need to make up for the chaos of the last scene he’d caused. At least with the physical aspect of it all. The mental gymnastics the cops would be doing would be more than enough chaos for Anakin to enjoy for years. With a satisfied smile, Anakin repositioned his bandana and zipped up his bag for the last time. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

October 12th 8:56pm

Now that Anakin had showered, put his jewelry back in, disposed of anything incriminating and changed into suitable clothes, he went about your apartment, shutting off the Tv and giving the cat a quick pat on the head before retrieving his phone from the kitchen counter. Clicking it on he was surprised to see that he had a text from you. But it wasn’t for him. 

He sighed, contemplating his options before he shoved his phone back into his pocket. He would have time to think about that later, right now he needed to get down to the Bluebird to pick up his girl. He jogged down the steps of the apartment building and strolled out into the parking lot, he noticed someone standing near his car as he approached it. With it being so dark, he wasn’t sure if it was a man or a woman, nor was he certain of what they were doing.

“Hey.” He barked, watching the person straighten up in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Is… is this your car?” A girl’s voice asked nervously.

Anakin turned on his phone flashlight and shined it over toward the young woman, taking in her appearance. He hung back, wondering if he should just walk away. He didn’t like being questioned like this, especially right after what he’d done. 

“Yeah, sure is.” He nodded, his voice casual enough to convey innocence. 

“I’m really, really sorry.” She said quietly, looking like she was on the verge of tears. 

“You okay?” He asked cautiously, taking a slow step backward. 

“I’m okay, sorry.” She sniffled. “Um, it's just… I really fucked up the side of your car.”

“Oh,” Anakin chuckled, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt. “you’re okay though?” He asked again.

“Yeah I’m okay. I just dinged the bumper of my car.” She said, thumbing over her shoulder at the red SUV behind her.

“Alright, as long as you didn’t hurt yourself.” Anakin said, moving closer and peeking around the end of his car to see the damage.

“Uh, can you turn on your flashlight too?” He asked, not feeling very comfortable being alone in a dark parking lot with a strange female. 

“Oh, that's not so bad.” He shook his head, assessing the side of his car. The paint was scraped and there was an obvious dent in the back door but it was only cosmetic. “Let’s see yours.”

He tipped his chin toward her vehicle and snorted, shaking his head. Her car barely had a scratch on it, just a bit of his car’s paint had transferred onto the chrome bumper, and there was a small dent, much less severe than the poor kid had made it out to be. 

“I thought you were about to show me a fuckin’ hole in the door.” He laughed, flicking his eyes over to the younger girl. “It’s no big deal hon’. What’s your name?”

“Lacey Diggins.” She said, sticking out her hand for him to shake.

“Alright Lacey, I’m Anakin Skywalker. You live here or something?” He asked while taking a mental note of her name, gesturing toward the apartment building as he fished out his keys from his hoodie pocket to jangle in his hands while he talked. 

“No, I’m just here visiting.” She shook her head, shifting on her feet. “I’ve never been in a car accident before, what exactly am I supposed to do, since it’s my fault?”

“Is this your car or your parents?” He asked, recognizing that she must’ve been highschool age. 

“My mom’s, she’s gonna be so pissed at me.” She let out a humorless laugh, wiping beneath her eyes. “You know car insurance is more expensive for red cars? Now it’ll go up even more.”

“No it won’t.” He shook his head. “Look… that’s barely noticeable, don’t get all worked up. I can get my car fixed pretty cheap, I know a guy.” Anakin brushed it off casually, knowing that it could easily be fixed in the matter of a day or two. 

“But-” She started to speak but Anakin cut her off. 

“Go to the dollar store, grab some WD-40 and some magic erasers.” Anakin said dismissively as he pulled a twenty dollar bill from his wallet. “Spray some on the bumper and scrub it off, they’ll never know. As for the dent… I wouldn’t worry about it, I doubt your mom will notice. Let her think someone at the grocery store did it.” He snorted.

“What about your car?” She squeaked, unsure as to why he was trying to hand her some cash.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like you backed into it on purpose right?” He asked with a smirk.

“Well, no of course not.” She shook her head, “What’s that for?” She asked confusedly as Anakin shoved the twenty dollar bill into her palm.

“Alright, then.” He shrugged, patting her shoulder. “That’s for your clean up stuff.” Anakin said plainly as he walked around to the drivers side of his car and unlocked it. 

“No, no it’s alright.” She insisted, trying to give it back to him. “This is all my fault, y-you’re being like way too nice about this.”

“Would you rather me be angry?” He asked with a laugh, shoving his hands in his pockets to discourage her from trying to give the money back. “It’s twenty bucks. You’re just a kid and I’m not the kinda guy who gets mad over little stuff like this. All that matters is you’re not hurt and you did the right thing by telling me what happened.”

“Well, be careful alright? I gotta go get my girlfriend.” Anakin said, giving Lacey a curt nod before getting in his car and starting it up. 

As he pulled away from his parking space he watched as the girl walked into the apartment building through his rearview mirror. He clicked his tongue, smiling to himself as he hit the road on his way to pick you up. How convenient that he’d managed to get in a little good deed after the mess he’d made earlier. He knew something like this could really work in his favor, not only to corroborate his timeline just incase he might need to do so. But he doubted he would. After all, how could such a nice guy do something so… heinous.   

TWENTY

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[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt: Billy and Damian and the whole soulmate thing.

“That could be considered a security concern,” Batman says very, very neutrally, which is when Billy realizes Batman hasn’t actually said anything to him since he said “Shazam”. 

Shit. 

“So what?” he says, edging a little bit away from Batman as he eyes him warily and debates “Shazam”-ing himself again. Like. No reason. Just this might be an easier conversation to have on eye-level, that’s all. 

Also it’s Batman, so . . . 

“It’s true,” Superman says, wincing slightly. Billy shoots him a dirty look. He still hasn’t forgotten that Superman apparently thinks he shouldn’t be allowed to risk his literal life and soul, like he thinks he’s bad at this or something? He’s really good at risking his literal life and soul, actually! Like, he’s really good at it, and it’s his whole literal thing. Superman didn’t even get hired to do this, he just showed up one day and started punching people! Billy at least had a job interview! 

Such bullshit. 

“Seriously?” he says with a scowl. “I’m good at secret identities. Nobody knew mine ‘til I told you! That’s the same track record as Batman!” 

“It’s technically superior,” Robin says. “Red Robin and Black Bat both deduced Father’s identity as children. And also–” 

“That’s unnecessary information at this time, Robin,” Batman cuts in while Billy’s still appreciating having a supportive soulmate. Robin rolls his eyes. Or Billy’s pretty sure he does–he can’t really tell through the mask, but Robin moved his head like he was rolling his eyes. 

“The list would require some time to go over,” Robin says like he’s agreeing. Billy hides a snicker in his hand. Batman eyes him. 

“. . . you do realize I'm going to be taking you in now, right?” he asks. 

“Dammit,” Billy says. 

“Holy crap, Cap swears?!” Flash yelps. 

“Oh yeah, it’s actually like a magic thing,” Billy says. “I literally can’t say bad words when I'm Captain Marvel? So no, technically, but also yes and all the fucking time.” 

“My entire life is a lie,” Flash mutters as he buries his face in his hands. Green Arrow pats him on the back. 

“You can’t ‘take me in’,” Billy says, scowling up at Batman. “I've gotta protect Fawcett. And you’ve got like, so many kids! There’s no way you have space for another one! They wouldn’t even let you, anyway, as soon as somebody noticed I was there I’d just end up in the stupid system again.” 

“I’m a licensed foster parent and there are seventeen bedrooms in my house,” Batman replies dryly. 

“Bullshit!” Billy sputters. “That’s not a house! Nobody’s house has seventeen bedrooms!” 

“Technically that count includes the servants’ quarters and guest wing, but it is accurate,” Robin says. 

“Guest wing?!” Billy demands. “Why do you have a guest wing?!” 

“For guests,” Batman replies matter-of-factly. Billy scowls at him again. Just because Batman’s funny doesn’t mean he’s gonna laugh. Or get stuck in the system again. 

Like, he’ll just run away immediately, obviously. But getting to the point where he can run away is gonna be a pain, and the League is obviously gonna be a pain about it too.

Ugh. This is so dumb.

[scoops-aboy86]

By The Heart (Secret Admirer pt 2)

Steddie Week 2024, July 2: Hands / touch starved / Invisible Touch by Genesis

wc: 2136 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

After the world fell apart a second time in November of ‘84, Steve had finished out the rest of his senior year in a daze. Partly because Billy Hargrove had broken a fucking plate over his head, giving him a small scar by his hairline that the doctor said would fade and recurring headaches that the doctor said might stick around anywhere from a few months to forever. 

It’s been more than a few months and the headaches are only slightly less frequent and a tiny bit less severe. 

He graduated, barely. His dad keeps dropping pointed comments about how his parents let him stay in their house rent-free after high school, how he’d saved up while attending a nearby college by not having to worry about the cost of a dorm or basic meals, and that it is his gratitude towards them that has moved him to offer the same to Steve. Usually said comments come after Steve tries to sidestep some sort of menial task, and it always feels like a threat.Steve just grits his teeth and takes it—refills his dad’s drink when the bottle is already literally right by the man’s hand, washes the family car after dinner when both his parents know that Steve has a shift at Scoops first thing in the morning, whatever. He can’t afford to get kicked out right now. 

His job at Scoops Ahoy is shit, all bright fluorescent lights and kids screaming and everything getting sticky for a measly minimum wage, but that probably reflects the quality of the job application he’d submitted. 

He has no friends, no prospects, no one in his corner except a bunch of incoming freshmen and the only one who really seems to want him around is off at some sort of smart people camp that he’d never even heard of… Go figure. 

But he has Secret Admirer. 

Okay, what Steve has is a pen pal who has a PO box and prefers to remain anonymous, possibly because Steve is an embarrassing person to have a crush on these days. And it’s really stupid that he thinks of them as first name Secret, last name Admirer, but it’s not like he hasn’t tried to come up with better names! Unfortunately, there are so many things Secret Admirer has called him (sweetheart, darling, dearest, honey, baby) that he can’t really think of anything original with those constantly rotating in his head… He can’t use them, though. It’d be weird. 

The first letter had been shoved into his locker in the last few weeks of school, looking like someone either wrote it with their non-dominant hand or had also suffered a blow to the head recently, and he hadn’t known what to make of it at first. In fact, he’d considered the possibility that Tommy or Billy were playing some sort of prank on him… but he didn’t think either of them could write “To Steve, the heart of my heart” without bursting into homophobic flames, and if it was Carol she would’ve done her girliest handwriting with hearts dotting the eyes. And his Secret Admirer had mentioned things no one else in his life seemed to care about. 

Like, 

I hope you’re feeling better. Sometimes I notice you squinting or grimacing in the classes we have in common… Are you still getting headaches? Do you get enough rest? You probably already know this, but mental and physical rest are super important for getting your handsome self all recovered, big boy. 

And,

I had a concussion once, not a bad one but it really left an impression. Felt like I was trying to think through a head full of soup for weeks. It sucks that teachers didn’t seem to cut you much slack because, just saying, I noticed they used to do that a lot more when you were still on the basketball and swim teams. Jock privilege placed above consideration of an actual, serious injury? I’m sorry, but that’s the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril, sweetheart, and you deserve better. 

So, yeah. Clearly his Secret Admirer is a nerd who doesn’t necessarily have the best opinion of jocks… but still took the time to notice all those things and write kindly about them. It felt nice, knowing that at least one person out there noticed, maybe even cared. 

And when that letter turned out not to be a one-off, a few more letters in his locker and then one in his mailbox, postmarked and everything, after graduation? Steve was hooked, enough to start writing self-consciously back. 

Which has brought him to the point of wanting so badly to meet this person that he’s stooped to begging, and it’s not even getting him anywhere. 

It’s occurred to him that it could be a guy, of course it has. Steve might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he knows it happens. He’d had a friend in middle school, Todd Fischer, nice guy, totally normal kid—got caught kissing some boy in the next grade up behind the gym and turned out to be the worst sprinter of the two. The Fischers had moved out of Hawkins a few weeks later and Steve hadn’t heard anything from or about Todd since. They’d been halfway through reading Romeo & Juliet in English at the time, and Steve remembers thinking when they got to the end of the play that at least things hadn’t gone that badly for Todd and whoever the other kid was. He’s old enough now to know that it could have; between Todd being such a nice kid, Barb dying in his own backyard, and the threat of government agents coming out of the woodwork if he ever breathes a word about certain secrets, the thought leaves a bad taste in Steve’s mouth. 

Anyway, if it is a guy, that would explain why Secret Admirer keeps dancing around his pleas to meet. And the initially disguised handwriting—which had been dropped by the second mailed letter, along with a brief, sheepish apology. 

But it could also be a girl who’s really shy or something. Steve doesn’t want to assume and then look like a total idiot further down the road. Whoever it is, all Steve knows is that he doesn’t want to lose them. He has to play this smart, play it cool… because he knows himself, and already knows that they have him by the heart based on words alone. 

The latest letter is in his hands, crinkled a little at the edges, and Steve can’t help himself from rereading the fifth paragraph yet again. 

… those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off…

He’s not scared off. Doesn’t need to know exactly who put pen to paper to imagine hands and lips running up his legs, either, an invisible touch that sends shivers along his spine. 

Okay, maybe it’s been a while. Between striking out from behind the Scoops counter and not really trying all that hard anyway, the only action Steve’s seen is from his own hand… and this letter. He has thoughts, alright, but has a much better idea of how to translate them into action than words. And this is his problem with the whole pen pal only thing, his natural charm (if he has any left) is absolutely useless in this medium. 

The other problem is that he really, really wants to jerk off about this, except he’s got almost no details to fuel the fantasy. He knows that Secret Admirer had a concussion once, but not what color or length or texture or style their hair is; knows they’re on the fringes of popularity and not really into sports, but nothing about their height or build or how they might move against him. Hell, he doesn’t even know if they’re a girl or a guy, isn’t sure if he should try to imagine boobies and painted nails or stubbled cheeks and big hands. 

Secret Admirer has mentioned being a smoker though, of both tobacco and grass, and Steve is not exactly proud of how strongly this makes him want a cigarette just because it’s all he has to go on. He has work in under an hour and Robin hates the smell of cigarettes, will be extra vicious for their entire shift if he comes in reeking of smoke. 

He’ll have to figure out something else…

Dear Secret Admirer, Thanks for writing again, I was really glad to get your letter. I don’t sleep with them under my pillow because sometimes my pillow ends up on the floor and I don’t want to drool all over them. I keep them in a box in the back of my closet, because sometimes my parents have the cleaning lady do my bedroom without telling me and I don’t want her going through my stuff or putting it in weird places that I can never find again.  Sorry for laughing at you You must not have seen me last week when I threw a banana peel at my coworker for It’s not being humble if I don’t deserve Yeah, fuck high school.  Sorry for not rewriting this, I’m running out of paper and my dad’ll kill me if I break into his office to get more I definitely thought about what you said in your last letter. I thought about it a lot. It’s hard to figure out how to explain what though, because I wanted to picture you like you were probably picturing me when you were writing it. You obviously know what I look like, but I don’t know who you are so I had to get creative. (Which isn’t my strong suit. So if this is stupid maybe we could just never mention it again?) Since I don’t know what you look like and it’d be weird to try and picture you anyway, and then what if I’m not even close and that makes it seem like I don’t like you for who you are? I’m not sure if that makes sense. But anyway, since I don’t know what you look like I pictured you dressed like a ninja.  Hear me out, okay? You’re such a mystery. Ninjas are mysterious, and dressed all black to blend in with the shadows. You can’t see their hair or face and they wear gloves because you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. I guess what I’m saying is I imagined you sneaking into my room at night when the lights are off. Totally silent but with this powerful presence, you know? I think if I were in the same room as you it’d feel like that moment right before the whistle goes off at a swim meet, because that’s just like, holy shit it’s about to happen and your muscles are all tense but ready but you’re waiting, coiled like a snake. So I’m coiled like a snake and you’re still a ninja and I’m not very good at this. I’ve done it over the phone a few times but that’s different. I don’t know where I’m going with this just sitting writing this alone in my room with Genesis playing in the background so I’m going to stop. Just trust me, it was hot. If you ever want to exchange numbers I’d be happy to tell you all about it sometime.  It feels weird to end like that, so I’ll also tell you that I tried reading that Hobbit book you suggested and you were right, it’s a lot easier than the Rings book that the kids I babysit tried to bully me into reading. Bibo is freaking out about all these dwarves in his house and I can relate, it sounds like when those kids all show up and try to rope me into driving them around town. At least they haven’t tried to make me steal anything or try to take on a damn dragon yet. Hopefully this book won’t give them any ideas.  — Steve PS If that was so dumb you changed your mind about still writing to me, please let me down easy. Seriously it would be no hard feelings. At least I still have a great ass and great hair, so I’ve got that going for me.

Tag list (open): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

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@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @thetinymm

@practicallybegging @fuzzyduxk @greatwerewolfbeliever

[weird-an]

Harrington left a mark on his chest and it aches sweetly. Billy's skin tingles.

He stretches himself, all worn out and so exhausted he stops thinking about what's happening at Cherry Lane and that home is so far away it's something people only ever seen on television and postcards.

"Billy," Harrington is next to him, skin pressed against his. "Let's get burgers."

Harrington is as lonely as Billy. Always wants him to spend the night, wants to share his pizza, offered with huge brown eyes Billy can't say no to. Has a stupid big dick Billy can't get enough of, knows how balance kisses and bites and makes it hard for Billy not so scream his name.

Billy hates him, because it gets harder to leave every day. He hates him, because Harrington is the only good thing about Hawkins. Because Harrington will get bored eventually, will throw him away, because at the end of the day he's just a rich kid getting all the toys he wants.

"Cheeseburger with bacon," Billy still says, because Harrington is the worst drug he's ever been addicted to. "You're buyin'."

He lights himself a cigarette to distract himself from the beam on Harrington's face.

They sit in the living room, Billy in a bathrobe that says "Harrington Senior", because Harrington gets a kick out of fucking him in it. Another thing Billy tries not to like - behind polo shirts and expensive cologne Harrington is just as fucked up as Billy.

Daddy issues can't get fixed with money, Billy knows that. He prefers alcohol and fights to tell everybody that's where he got the scars from.

He's chewing on his burger when Harrington goes for the kill.

"Do you wanna be my boyfriend?" he asks, like he has any idea what that means. Like he has thought about it for a while.

Billy swallows slowly. "You don't want that, Harrington."

He rubs the red bite mark on his pec, because it's like Harrington's teeth are still there.

"I do." Harrington is used to get what he wants. "I really like you."

It hurts more than it should have.

"You know I like to suck dick." Billy snorts. "You don't know me."

Nobody knows Billy, not here. Harrington likes to look him in the eyes during sex, but Billy always squeezes them shut.

Harrington tilts his head. "I know you like to swim, you like to read but you always hide it, you don't like locked doors, you love to eat burritos, you're always up so early and watch the sun rise. I know you pretend to hate Max, but you'd always protect her."

It's like Harrington is stripping him naked, like he knew it be like that and came prepared, like he puts a fucking thought into it.

"I don't read," Billy says weakly. The room is fucking blurred and all he can see is Harrington's face, tenderness written all over it.

"Liar," Harrington whispers.

"I don't like you, Harrington." Billy's heart is in his throat.

"Liar." Harrington’s hand is on his.

Billy blinks the tears away. Men don't cry is what his old man taught him with a belt and his fists.

Harrington always gets what he wants.

"I'm not your girlfriend or shit. No one can ever know - or we're fucking dead." Billy can't look at him.

"I know." Harrington presses a kiss on his cheek. "Boyfriends."

Something in Billy uncurls and he feels like he drank half a bottle of whiskey.

"Boyfriends," Billy mumbles. It's scary. It's the best thing about this god damn town.