#but taking the first step fills me with such dread and terror

[skitterjitter]

see, the thing is, I do like engaging is discussions with people. I like talking about mythology, history, literature and media. I like pulling a piece of media apart, examining it, then having a discussion with someone about it

the problem is that I have social anxiety so severe, I physically cannot make myself start a conversation with people I don't know. even with people I DO know, I don't want to be a bother, therefore it is best to not say anything and wait for someone to engage with me. I promise I'm not trying to avoid or ghost you, I just don't want to be annoying

at least I've gotten a bit better within the academic setting. I'm still not great about starting and maintaining a conversation with my classmates, but I can and have done it, so it's a bit easier

[bettysupremacy]

idk if you write for finnick.. but could you write something where it’s the beginning of the quarter quell and he can’t find her? Just pure panic as he runs around the cornucopia?

I’ve never written for him before but I love him! idk how I feel about this but I hope truly that u like it.

Icy hot terror is all Finnick feels when the timer hits one. Loud and disorienting, the bang ripples against the water in vibrations that rumble under his feet.

Where are you?

The sun blares disgustingly into his eyes and skin, an obvious manipulation of the gamemakers sick amusement, but he ignores it, plunging into the only water he’s ever dreaded to tread. You’re not in sight. He’d told you to stay away, to swim, to run as far away from the cornucopia as you could. Don’t risk it, he’d shaken your shoulders, listen to me I’ll find you.

The water is warm and gross against his skin. It’s not as refreshing as the district four that he’s familiar with. It’s hot and fake. He comes up gasping for air, letting the terror settle into his bones as he pushes against the current of a manipulated riptide. Katniss climbs the stone so he does too; pushing his feet deeper into the ground with every step he takes. His breathing is labored, jagged as he runs. He can’t find you, but he will. He can’t find you, but he can find a weapon.

The cornucopia glistens in the sun, never lacking the weaponry he’d expected from it. Bows, arrows, knives, he eyes a backpack stuffed with supplies. Could he lug it with him? Probably not. He diverts his eyes to the trident beside him. Perched in its stand, it gleams in artificial sun as the grip molds to his fingers. He squeezes the deadly lifeline.

The sound of metal on metal scrapes behind him. Katniss. He turns quick, flashing the bangle around his wrist tauntingly. “Good thing we’re allies, right?”

She breathes hard in front of him, eyebrows pulling as she pauses in bated confusion. The weapon doesn’t lower. “Where did you get that?”

“Where do you think?” He gravels, quick enough to be considered panicked. “Duck.”

She listens, dropping to the floor hard enough to sting the weeping palms she balances on. The sick squelch of his trident in the fallen tribute is covered by her hands tight over her ears as she waits for the boom. The gong sounds, and then a scream. An unmistakable scream. It settles in his stomach and throat thickly, sweating his already wet hands. You didn’t listen.

“Finnick!” The voice screams. Sobs. “Finnick! Finnick!”

The sound is nightmare-ish. Something the gamemakers could never manipulate that accurately, and deep down he knows it’s the sound you’ll wake him up from if you ever gets out of this arena alive.

“I’m coming!” His feet hit hard against the gravel as he sprints. His breathing dries his throat quick. “I’ve got you!”

“Finnick!”

“I’m coming-“

The moment skids to a halt as he finds you. Trapped in the arms of a larger, broader tribute, you struggle for air as he headlocks you. He considers doing something rash, but Katniss behind you shakes her head. Like she can see it in his eyes. It’s a slow, quiet moment, hunter quiet as she stalks closer. Finnick eyes her wary to give her away.

“We can talk about this.” Finnick rationalizes slowly. “It’s the beginning of the game.”

“So?” His arm tightens around your neck. Your squeak breaks Finnicks heart.

“Finnick.” You strain.

“Give the viewers what they want.” Finn pleads. “A show. You can’t kill her so quick.”

“I don’t see a bargain being made.”

A bargain? It’s the first ten minutes and he stands next to a gleaming cornucopia filled with sharp armory. He could get something better than a simple metal trident. Throwing knives, poison, a machete. Finnick suspects the victor is doing what he pleaded. Giving the audience a show.

“Take my trident!” He nearly crashes, cool demeanor dropping as he watches you tap the man’s arm in panic, your air slowly constricting. “Give me her.”

It sickens Katniss; the ability to kill someone for views. To feed into the capitals agenda. This is a necessary kill, she reasons, this isn’t for her own survival. This isn’t a selfish homicide; this is Rue in the net, Prim on the stage. This is the girl she could save. Katniss’ fingers loosen, letting the elaborate metal fly from her grip. It hits the nameless career in the back. Her target.

The moment slows in Finnicks eyes. Katniss stands far, arms hanging limply at her sides. She stares at him, grateful for the thankfulness in his eyes that eases her burdened chest.

“Y/N.” He gasps as the man falls hard on you. He runs, helping you from under the heavy weight. “I’ve got you now.”

“Finn.” You weep, hands in his as he lifts you. You stumble, crashing into him hard. He hears a sob in his tribute suit. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you to listen to me.” He doesn’t anger, but this feels close to it as he grips you tightly. “I told you to run.”

You heave, greedy for fresh air, but your lungs are infiltrated by the heady scent of salt water. His hand calms the coughs that rake through your chest, guilty for his scolding. It’s a quiet moment in the calamity of the bloodbath, a stolen moment that he can’t afford to prolong another second.

“Cmon,” He eyes you, hands cupping your face, then falling as he looks up to Katniss. “Let’s go find Peeta.”

[jobean12-blog]

His to Keep

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 3,626

Summary: You've been working for Bucky for almost a year and although you know there's so much more to him than just owning the club, you can't help but be drawn to him as he's drawn to you.

Author's Note: Just more mob!Bucky because I love him so! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: light mentions of v-i-olen-c-e and angst, but mostly sweetness and softness, tension and flirting, and d-o-m and obse-ssi-ve Bucky.

The piercing shot rings out, and before the echoing sound even dies, Bucky’s running. Your high-pitched scream pierces the air and he silently prays for your safety, his long legs moving so fast time seems suspended.

When he reaches the hallway, there’s a small group of employees gathered by the doorway, their expression filled with shock and horror.

They part without question as he approaches, rushing into the room and ignoring the violence that so blatantly fills it. His blue eyes search for you and finally his heart starts beating again when he sees you unharmed.

You’re crouched in the corner, eyes wide with terror as you take in the slumped over man in the chair, his tailored and expensive suit now stained red.  

Bucky’s men immediately follow his orders to handle the situation but his attention never leaves you.

With slow steps he approaches you, holding his hands out and speaking your name softly. When your eyes lock with his the first tear slides down your cheek and he nearly crumbles to his knees, his heart shattering.

He gathers you into his arms with such a gentle grace, as if you’ll break and ushers you toward his office. With a nudge of his toe he opens the door and sets you down in his large leather chair. Carefully he takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over you, tucking it above your shoulders.

His eyes are laser focused on you as he fills a crystal glass with whiskey and forces it into your shaky hand.

“Drink this.”

You glance at it unseeingly, lost in your head, replaying what you just witnessed over and over.

He lifts the glass with a gentle touch and when it reaches your lips you drink reflexively. He waits until you finish all of it.

Taking a silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket, he kneels down in front of you, his hands moving with slow trepidation, but still you try to intercept it.

“Let me,” he orders. “Please doll.”

The second set of words come out softer and your hands fall to your lap.

He cleans your face of tears, his touch delicate and reverent and you can feel his warm breath fan your cheek as his thumb chases a stray tear that slips toward your mouth.

“Doll,” he whispers roughly, emotion clogging his voice.

Your wet lashes lift and you meet his eyes, your breath catching at what you see. You’ve never seen him look so vulnerable. His usual façade of unrivaled power and unrelenting dominance gone, replaced by a haunting look of dread.

“James?”

At the sound of his name on your lips his jaw clenches, his controlled restraint slowly slipping away with his mask and every moment he spends so close to you. He needs you to feel you. Your warm and soft skin, your pulsing heartbeat, your lips, every curve…

But he would never take advantage of you, especially after what just happened.

“Let me take you home.”

You nod and easily fall into his embrace, resting your head against his chest as he escorts you toward the exit.

When your soft sheet hits your shoulder you sigh, snuggling closer to your pillow as Bucky tucks you in. You had argued lightly when he told you to shower but now that you’re warm and clean you feel marginally better.

He pauses at the door as you fall asleep, knowing he can’t leave you here alone, instead sinking into your make up chair in the corner of the room, watching vigilantly as you succumb to slumber.

A week later you’re determined to leave your house, wanting to get back to work, even if it means facing the demons of that night. And you want to see him again. You’ve missed him, even though you know he’s never very far away.

He watches from his hidden vantage point as you close your car door and start the engine. He doesn’t need the GPS tracker he had installed on your car to tell him where you’re headed, but he turns it on anyway.

His own car starts, black and sleek in a nondescript way. He easily catches up to you, maintaining a safe distance behind you so you don’t notice him.

He phones Steve who’s working the back door of the club. “She’ll be arriving soon. Escort her in.”

Steve makes a small sound of acknowledgement and hangs up, promptly moving outside to wait for you.

Once Bucky is satisfied Steve has you covered he makes a sharp turn off the main road and takes the back streets toward his club. He needs to be there before you. Ready and waiting.

Before you even turn your car off, Steve is at the door, opening it and guarding you with his body.

In his office, Bucky waits, checking the crowd through the one-way glass that overlooks the floor. Security has been upgraded, covering every inch of his club to ensure nothing like what happened last week ever happens again.

Everything in the club looks to be running smoothly…not that he would have it any other way. All his endeavors are done with the utmost care and cunning precision. He wouldn’t be able to run this club any other way let alone the whole damn city.

He scans the floor until his eyes land on you and as if you can feel his gaze, your eyes glance up to the window where you know he’s standing.

The connection that’s been growing between you two for the past year has only been solidified since the unfortunate event that took place last week. He knew in that moment that he would do anything for you. Die to protect you.

Since the instant you walked into his club to apply for the job as manager he knew you were special. And having you work for him has been the sweetest torture. Day after day he watches you excel at your job, handle everything thrown your way with ease and professionalism, even the scummy clientele that try to lay hands on you.

No one touches what belongs to him and only the ones that don’t know who he is try. But they soon find out how big of a mistake they’ve made.

Steve alerts Bucky that you’re on your way up to his office.

The knock on his office door makes his heart skip a beat and even though he’s dressed impeccably he smooths his hand down his chest, adjusting his tie in the process.

“Come in.”

You crack the door open and peek in.

“Hi James. Steve said I could come up?”

At your questioning tone, Bucky smiles.

“You never have to ask to see me doll. You’re welcome to anytime.”

You smile softly and walk in, shutting the door behind you. With a slow saunter you move toward his desk and perch yourself on the edge near his chair.

He finds it hard to concentrate the moment you’re close. Even though you try to keep a cool demeanor, your body is inviting in its posture and your eyes devour every inch of him.

“Thank you for seeing me James,” you start. “I wanted to…”

Before you can finish he leans closer, a gentle interruption with his consuming presence.  “First of all, call me Bucky. I’m only James to everyone else. And as I said before, I would love to see you anytime you want doll.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning toward him as if you’re pulled by some invisible string. “That’s actually why I’m here. I wanted to thank you.”

“For?” he asks, his eyebrows raised as a small smile pulls at his lips.

Your eyes drop to his mouth before your lips part to speak again.

“Taking such good care of me last week and rescuing me.”

“I hardly rescued you doll. I’ll never forgive myself for putting you in that situation and the fact that I wasn’t there to protect you will haunt me forever. I never wanted you to see this side of my…business.”

You pull your gaze away from his mouth and study his face. He’s beautiful. His large blue eyes framed by dark and long lashes and his perfectly shaped jaw surrounding a mouth with lips you dream about tasting.

“It’s ok…”

“No.” he says, his tone harsh.

His face crumples when he sees your eyes widen at his gruffness.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly recovers. “That’s not meant to be toward you…if anything had happened to you…”

You tentatively reach up to cup his cheek, your thumb softly brushing over the dark stubble that lines it.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I know you would never hurt me.”

His eyes are locked on yours, the tension between you palpable. You unconsciously trace your lips with your tongue, drawing his attention. He moves closer, closing the distance and resting his elbows on his spread thighs.

“Anything you want from me. Anything at all. You need but to ask and it’s yours.”

“Jame…Bucky, thank you.”

He visibly preens when you say ‘Bucky,’ and it makes you smile, triumph alight in your eyes.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do…?” you ask, looking at him from under your lashes.

“Nothing. You’re perfect. However, I’d like to ask you something.”

His words peek your interest and you inch closer, knowing after today there’s no turning back from this. From him.

“Dinner. I want you to have dinner with me doll.”

“That wasn’t a question,” you say teasingly, even as you drag your teeth over your bottom lip. “More of an order.”

“Mm, you’re right,” he winks. “Either way, I think your answer is going to be yes.”

“Like a date?” you question, your grin widening.

“Yes. A date.”

“What will everyone else say when they find out you’re dating your employee?”

Your question has his features hardening ever so slightly, but not at you.

“No one will say a word about it. I can assure you of that.”

You audibly swallow as you take him in, focusing on the way you feel about him, not what he’s capable of.

“I’d love to have dinner with you Bucky.”

He visibly relaxes and a genuine smile graces his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes in such an endearing way you nearly swoon off the desk.

“Good. Then let’s eat.”

You giggle. “Now? I thought you meant you were going to pick me up, you know, I’d get all dressed and then you take me out.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to give you time to reconsider.”

Reluctantly, but with a smirk, he pushes on his heels and rolls his chair away from you, grabbing his cell. He orders a spread of food from one of his restaurants, then sits back down.

“Sit,” he says, motioning to the chair across from him.

When you do he slides closer, framing you with his spread legs and caging you in with his thighs.

“So now that this is dinner, tell me something about yourself that I don’t already know.”

“Hmm,” you muse, tapping your chin.

You fall into easy and comfortable conversation, sharing more about your past. Bucky listens intently, hanging on to every word and prodding gently with well thought out questions.

A knock at the door surprises you both and you can see Bucky’s body tense. He was so immersed in you he lost sight of any possible dangers, forgetting his surroundings. He mentally berates himself, tucking that away and vowing to be more mindful, if only to keep you safe.

Thankfully, it’s only the dinner delivery.

He takes the food and moves to the casual seating area of his office, placing the food down on the coffee table. You follow him and sit on the floor.

He stares at you for a moment, his eyes wandering over your form before he follows suit with a light shrug.

“Have you ever sat on the floor to eat dinner?” you ask playfully.

“Not that I recall,” he answers, serving you food.

You both laugh and dig into the delicious dinner.

After your impromptu dinner date you and Bucky continue to dance around each other at work.  The connection is strong, the pull between you taut with intense heat and longing. You can always feel his presence, his eyes on you, but it’s not uncomfortable at all, in fact, it makes you feel safe.

Later that week as you’re leaving your yoga class you feel someone following you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end but when you hear the instructor’s familiar voice you relax slightly and turn to say hello.

“Hi Matt.”

He greets you warmly and falls into step next to you as you walk toward your cars. The conversation is light at first but then he starts to complain about his girlfriend and how their relationship is failing. You begin to feel uncomfortable and as if sensing it, Matt drops his head.

“I’m sorry. Enough of my drama. I just need to move on I think.”

You take that as your cue to leave and start to say your goodbye but he keeps talking, chasing after you as you move toward your car.

“Hey, how is work going?”

“Uh..good, really good, thanks.”

Matt continues firing questions at you and your eyes dart around the darkened parking lot, quietly searching for Steve or one of Bucky’s other men.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” Matt says, the words pulling your from your spiraling thoughts.

You step back to gain space and before you can answer, there’s a loud clanging noise as the door of the gym next door slams shut.

A big and broad silhouette comes into view and both you and Matt automatically look over.

Steve’s large frame moves closer and you sigh in relief.

“Hey Steve,” you chime, taking a step toward him.

Steve respectfully keeps his distance while also always keeping you protected.

“Ready to go?” Steve asks as he glares at Matt.

“Yes,” you answer, waving at Matt.

Matt blinks several times, clearly confused at Steve’s arrival but grudgingly says his goodbye and shuffles off to his car.

“I was looking for you Steve,” you say once Matt is out of ear shot.

“I’m sorry it took me longer than usual. I was on a call,” he apologies.

“It’s ok,” you say with a soft pat to his shoulder. “Just glad you’re here.”

“I always am.”

When you look at him with curious eyes his own go wide. “Well…not always of course. Bucky would have my head, but I just meant…”

You throw your head back with laughter. “I know Steve. The first few months I thought I was just crazy but when I realized it was just you trailing me and keeping me safe I felt better.”

Steve gives you a more relaxed smile and opens your car door.

“Um Steve,” you say softly as you sit. “Do you think maybe…we could keep this just between us? Matt’s not really a bad guy. I think he’s just having a rough time. I’m sure everything would have been just fine.”

Steve’s mouth turns down in a frown. “You know I can’t do that.”

With a sigh you reply, “I knew you were going to say that.”

Steve’s lips lift into a wry smile. “When it comes to his girl he wants to know everything.”

“Is that so?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “Should I start keeping a diary so I can report in every second of every day.”

“Well, you probably don’t need to go that far, but…”

Your lips purse but when you see his expression morph into one of sheepishness for the second time that night you decide to let it go and take it up with Bucky himself.

Back home, Steve walks you to your door.

“Do you want to come in? Need a snack or drink?” you ask.

He doesn’t take a single step closer and shakes his head once.

“He’s on his way now.”

“Bucky’s on his way?” you squeak. “Shit. I need to change and tidy up!”

At your use of ‘Bucky’ Steve genuinely grins. The action catches you off guard but you realize that Bucky wasn’t lying when he said no one calls him that but you. With another flurry of thanks and goodnights you bid farewell to Steve, even though you know he’ll just be sitting outside in his SUV until Bucky arrives.

You prepare for your shower, determined to keep your head once he gets there and get some definitive answers from him.

At his knock, you open the door with a tentative smile.

“Doll face,” he greets, his voice deep and intense.

“Bucky,” you echo. “Would you like to come in.”

“Please,” he answers and brushes past you.

Just the delicate touch of his hand as he walks by sends goosebumps skittering across your skin.

“I’m sure you already know about what Steve did tonight,” you say as you walk into your living room.

“Of course,” he answers.

You look over your shoulder and narrow your eyes.

“Want something to drink?”

“Do you have whiskey?” he asks.

“No whiskey, just red or white wine and water. Take it or leave it.”

At your sassy tone his eyebrows raise every so slightly.

“Water is fine, thank you. And want to tell me what that sassiness is about.”

After you get two glasses of water you sit on the couch across from him, leveling him with your best glare.

“How long have you had Steve following me?” you ask him.

“You’re very observant,” he states.

“That’s not an answer,” you continue with sass. “And I’ve been paying attention. You know I have. But mostly to you.”

Your confession satisfies him. You can see it in the way he lifts his chin and his eyes glitter.

“I want you to fill me in Bucky.”

“On?” he asks as his arm falls over the back of the couch and his fingers ghost over your shoulder, mostly bare in your thin tank top.

“Bucky.”

You mean it to come out more demanding, but it’s breathy and your body shivers at his touch.

“Are you sure? You were pretty freaked out by what you learned last time you got a glimpse behind my curtain. And rightfully so.”

“Tell me. I trust you and I want to give us a chance.”

He takes a deep breath and shares as much as he can without putting you in any more danger.

“Why do all of this though? Do you have men following everyone that works for you? Why did Steve call me your girl?”

“Two of these questions have the same answer. From the moment I saw you I wanted you to be mine and after the incident earlier this month and I almost lost you, it became an overwhelming feeling.”

His fingers press into your skin as he glides them down your arm.

“And no. I don’t have men on anyone else that works for me. I keep them safe of course. But just you. Always you.”

His hand leaves your arm and he strokes his thumb along your jaw. You lean into his touch and sigh out his name.

“I’ve been patient,” he murmurs. “Fuck doll, I’ve been so patient.”

He presses the pad of his finger to your lips, tracing their softness.

“But with every breath I take, I think of you. Every beat of my heart, I want you.”

The moment stretches in sweet torture before you place a hand on his cheek.

“I want you t…”

Before the words are fully out of your mouth he’s on you, dragging you into his lap and grinding his hips up as he grabs the back of your neck and steals your breath.

You press closer, needing to feel every inch of him. Your arms wrap around his neck and you lightly scratch your nails over his scalp before your hands fall to his chest and you start to tug at his tie.

Your lips leave his and you trail kisses along his jaw, stopping just below his ear before tracing the muscular column of his neck.

He hisses out a curse and tightens his grip. You smile into his skin and loosen his tie. You’ve barely gotten it undone when his large hand lands on your ass cheek. The sting makes you moan and rock your hips but in a flash your eyes are on his, your chin caught between his thumb and forefinger.

You take in his appearance as he stares at you. His usually pristine shirt now wrinkled, the buttons at the top hanging open and his loose tie dangling messily. His normally untouched hair is tousled, wild from your fingers and his control is clearly wavering with every heaving breath he takes.

You don’t waste another second and this time you kiss him, pressing your softness against every hard plane of his body, maximizing every bit of contact as you try to pin him to the back of the couch. You nibble into his bottom lip and then swallow the sound of his satisfied growl.

“Doll,” he starts, and you hear the questioning tone of his voice.

“Fuck me, Bucky. Fill me and make me yours.”

For a split second you see surprise flash across his features but he instantly recovers with a smirk.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for his, how many times I’ve dreamed of you saying those words to me,” he murmurs, his body rigid with his restraint. “And remember, you asked for this. I’m going to give you everything.”  

His words are a dark promise, one you hold onto with every fiber of your being.

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @littleseasiren @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife

[k0juki]

It's waiting outside

Tyler Harrison x fem!reader

Summary: instead of Kay, it's you who the Xenomorph takes.

Warnings: One f word, but that's it i guess? If I missed anything let me know :)) also Kay is not mentioned here at all...sorry.

English is not my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors! Also the picture is not mine! Credit goes to owner!

Wc. 869

---

The corridor was a dim, oppressive tunnel of steel and shadows, lit only by the weak, flickering lights overhead. The walls were damp, slick with condensation, and the air was thick with the scent of fear. A reinforced glass door stood between Tyler and you. You were trapped on the other side, face pale and streaked with tears. You pressed your hands against the door, eyes wide with terror as you stared at Tyler, Rain, and Andy on the other side.

“Please! Andy, open the door!” Your voice full of panic, the sound barely audible through the thick glass door. Your eyes darted to the shadows behind you, where something huge and dark moved just out of sight, lurking in the edges of the dimly lit chamber. "Open that door! It killed Bjorn and Navarro."

Tyler’s heart hammered in his chest, a sickening rhythm that made him feel like he was about to explode. He pressed his hands against the door, his brown eyes locked with yours. “Andy, we have to open it! She’s right there!” he pleaded, his voice shaking with desperation.

Rain was beside him, her hands also pressed to the glass, her expression stricken with fear. “Andy, please,” she begged, turning to the man standing at the control panel. “We can’t leave her in there! We can get her out before it’s too late!”

Andy stood back, his hand not moving to the control panel, a grim look on his face. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, his eyes fixed on the dark shapes moving behind you. “We don’t know what’s in there with her,” he said, his voice strained, filled with emptiness. “If we open that door… we might be opening it for that thing too.”

“I don’t care!” Tyler shouted, slamming his fist against the door, making you jump. “We can’t just leave her to die! That thing is going to take her, Andy! We have to do something, anything!”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you looked at Tyler, eyes pleading. “Tyler, please, please, help me! Don’t leave me here!” Your voice cracked, the fear in your words breaking his heart.

Rain’s voice trembled as she reached out, grabbing Andy’s arm. “She’s right there, Andy. We can’t let it get her. We have to open the door. We can’t let her die too!”

But Andy’s eyes were locked on the shadows, on the faint, sickening movement of something massive, alien like shifting behind you. The Xenomorph loomed in the darkness, it's eyeless gaze fixed on them through the glass door. It was waiting, waiting for them to open that door, to be let inside.

“We can’t,” Andy whispered, his voice filled with dread. “If we open that door, it’ll come through. We’ll all die.”

Tyler’s fists clenched, his entire body trembling with rage and helplessness. “Y/N!” he shouted, his voice hoarse. “We’ll find another way! I promise, we’ll get you out!”

But you were sobbing now, fear overwhelming you whole. “No, no, no please, Tyler don’t leave me here, don’t-”

Before you could finish, the Xenomorph surged forward with terrifying speed, its long, skeletal fingers wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you back into the shadows. Your scream filling the room all around you. It was piercing Tyler’s soul as he watched you get dragged away from the door, disappearing into the darkness.

“NO!” Tyler screamed, his voice breaking as he pounded on the door, his heart shattering in his chest. Rain gasped, covering her mouth as tears filled her eyes.

“Y/N!” Tyler cried out, his voice filled with pain.

“I'm sorry Tyler, but there wasn't anything I could do to help her." Said Andy.

"No, you could save her, but you didn't! You didn't!" Tyler shouted and took a step closer to Andy, ready to punch him. But Rain stepped right in front of him, holding him back. "It's your fucking fault!"

“We couldn’t do anything,” Andy said quietly. “If we had opened that door… we would all be dead.”

Tyler slumped against the glass, his forehead rested against the cold surface, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He felt like the world had just ended, like everything had been ripped away from him in one horrible moment. Your cries echoed in his mind, a sound that would haunt him forever.

"She’s not dead. She's all right." Tyler mumbled all over and over again. Trying to remain clam.

He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of Y/N’s scream, the scream that had been cut short too soon, the scream that would stay with him, echoing in the dark corridors of his mind.

Rain put a hand on his shoulder, her own tears falling silently as she whispered, “We’ll get her back, Tyler. We’ll find her.”

But as they stared into the dark, empty room beyond the glass, where you had been moments before, the hope in their hearts felt as fragile as the glass that had separated them. The corridor was silent now, save for the distant, ominous hum of the ship’s machinery, as they were left to grapple with the terror of what had just happened.

And the knowledge that the nightmare was far from over.

---

A/n: Archie was so fine in the new Alien...I had to write something for him. Lemme know what do you think!

Also! Request are open for him too! So send one! <3

Don't copy or translate any of my work!

[a-court-of-mischief-and-madness]

Midnight revelations

Part 1 ----------- Part 2

Eris Vanserra x rhysand sister reader!

Summary: rhysand's sister has always felt lonely considering all the demons and skeletons from her past make her heart ice cold. What happens when she meets someone who has enough fire to warm her heart and unravel her?

Note: hi everyone this is my first time ever posting a story, I have always been addicted to writing but I have never publicly showcased my work. Therefore I urge you all to enjoy this. Feel free to leave a comment about what you think :)

♧------------------------------------------------------------♧

You clutched the fabric of your dress, a breathtaking gown that shimmered with every subtle movement. The deep, royal blue material cascaded down to the floor in luxurious folds, catching the light and creating a mesmerizing array of sparkling reflections that mimicked the starry night sky. The bodice was meticulously crafted, hugging your curves with an almost ethereal grace. Tiny, delicate crystals were sewn into the fabric, forming intricate patterns that danced along the neckline and down the fitted sleeves. These sleeves, adorned with intricate floral patterns, exposed just a hint of skin, creating an alluring contrast against the otherwise modest design.

The slit of the dress was daring, extending provocatively up to your upper thigh. With each step, it revealed a tantalizing glimpse of your leg, adding an element of sensuality to the otherwise elegant ensemble. The cool night air whispered against your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Despite the chill, you felt a surge of confidence wearing the dress, its beauty giving you a sense of empowerment.

The Night Court had always been your sanctuary, a haven with your brother Rhysand and his mate, Feyre, after the harrowing events under the mountain. You silently cursed Amarantha for ever laying her hands on him, for the ball of trauma she had inflicted, now masked by his composed exterior. Tonight was a reunion for all the High Lords and their families, celebrating Amarantha's defeat. The meeting was to take place in the Court of Nightmares, a place you dreaded—not only because of Keir, but also because of the lecherous behavior prevalent there. Everyone had to mentally prepare to ensure nothing went wrong. You hated that daily routine of donning a cold mask, a habit that began over a hundred years ago...

"Kill the woman first," Tamlin's father barked, his voice cold and merciless.

"No, please, no. I'm begging you, please don't," you pleaded, your throat raw from weeping. Blood coated your arms and legs, seeping from the wounds on your back where the High Lord of the Spring Court had tried to clip your wings. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the terror you felt for your mother. Your wings had vanished when he tried, baffling him and fueling his rage. In his anger, he slapped you, the sting of it radiating from your cheek.

"It's okay, please do it to me but let her go," your mother sobbed, her voice trembling with fear and desperation. You tried to protest, but your mouth was clamped shut by some unseen force, preventing you from speaking or moving. You were helpless, forced to watch as the nightmare unfolded before you.

The High Lord of the Spring Court approached your mother with a knife, its blade glinting ominously in the dim light. Your mother looked at you with tear-filled eyes, her face etched with sorrow and resignation. "I love you," she mouthed, her lips trembling.

You screamed against the spell that held you, your heart shattering with every step he took. The knife glinted in the light, each reflection a dagger to your soul. He reached your mother, and without hesitation, he slashed her neck. Blood spurted from the wound, staining the ground crimson. Your mother crumpled to the floor, her eyes wide with shock and pain.

A guttural scream tore from your throat, louder and more primal than any sound you had ever made. It broke the spell that bound you, and Tamlin and his father staggered back, their faces painted with agony and shock. You rushed to your mother's side, falling to your knees beside her lifeless body.

"Mother, no," you sobbed, cradling her head in your hands. Blood seeped between your fingers, warm and sticky. Her eyes, once so full of life and love, were now empty and glassy. You rocked back and forth, your cries echoing through the cold, heartless chamber. The world around you seemed to blur and fade, your vision clouded by tears.

Suddenly, a familiar presence enveloped you, a comforting darkness that wrapped around your soul. Your brother Rhysand appeared, his power crackling in the air, but it was too late. The light in your mother’s eyes had already faded, her body growing cold in your arms. Rhysand's eyes widened with horror as he took in the scene, his rage palpable.

"She’s gone," you whispered, your voice broken and hollow. "She’s really gone."

Rhysand knelt beside you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. "I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with grief. "I’m so, so sorry."

The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that consumed your entire being. You clung to your mother’s lifeless form, your sobs echoing in the silence. The room around you seemed to spin, the walls closing in as darkness began to creep into your vision.

And then, everything went black.

When you awoke, the memory of your mother’s death was etched into your mind, a scar that would never heal. The image of her lifeless body, the blood, the pain, all of it haunted you. It was a nightmare that you relived over and over, a wound that time would never mend.

Tears sprang to your eyes, but you held them in. "Are you all right?" Azriel asked, his voice soft but filled with concern. His eyes searched yours, a hint of worry flickering in their depths. You smiled, stood from your seat, and quickly brushed away invisible stains on your dress, avoiding eye contact. "If you need to talk, I'm here, you know," Azriel spoke softly. You glanced up at him. Azriel wore a tunic of deep, rich purple that seemed to complement his dark, mysterious aura perfectly. The fabric clung to his muscular frame in all the right places, accentuating his strength and grace. It was clear that every detail of his outfit had been carefully chosen, from the intricate stitching along the seams to the subtle shimmer of the fabric in the candlelight.

The tunic was adorned with subtle embroidery, delicate patterns that seemed to dance along the fabric like shadows in the moonlight. The designs were understated yet elegant, adding a touch of sophistication to Azriel's otherwise simple attire.

His hair was freshly combed, the strands falling in dark waves around his face. Each lock seemed to catch the light, creating a halo of darkness that framed his chiseled features. There was a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself, a sense of power and authority that was impossible to ignore."You look handsome tonight, Shadowsinger," you said with a deflecting grin. He sighed, not appreciating the change of subject.

Just then as you stood there, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, a gentle hand touched you from behind .You turned and your heart swelled with warmth as you beheld Feyre, her eyes sparkling with affection and admiration. She wore a gown as resplendent as your own, adorned with jewels that seemed to catch the light and reflect it back in a dazzling display of beauty.

"Feyre," you breathed, a smile spreading across your lips. Her presence was like a balm to your soul, a reminder that you were not alone in this world."You look stunning," Feyre said, her voice soft and full of sincerity. She reached out, taking your hands in hers, her touch gentle and reassuring. "Truly, you take my breath away."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, moved by her words and the genuine love that shone in her gaze. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "You look absolutely radiant yourself."

Feyre's smile widened, and she pulled you into a warm embrace, holding you close as if she never wanted to let go. The scent of her hair, mingled with the subtle perfume of flowers, enveloped you in a sense of comfort and belonging.

"I'm so glad you're here," Feyre murmured against your hair, her voice filled with emotion. "Tonight is a celebration of freedom, of hope, of new beginnings. And I couldn't imagine sharing it with anyone else."

You squeezed her hand, feeling a surge of gratitude and love for this woman who had become not just a friend, but a sister to you. "I'm glad to be here too," you replied, your voice steady despite the tears that threatened to spill over. "With you, by my side, I feel like I can face anything."

Feyre pulled back, her eyes searching yours with an intensity that took your breath away. "You're stronger than you know," she said, her voice soft but filled with conviction. "And tonight, we'll show the world just how powerful you truly are."

As you shared a tender moment with Feyre, a familiar presence approached from behind. You turned to find Rhysand standing there, his eyes shining with pride and love. His gaze swept over you, taking in every detail of your gown with a mixture of awe and admiration.

"Wow," he breathed, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You look absolutely breathtaking."

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips at his words, feeling a swell of warmth in your chest at his sincere praise. Rhysand had always been a pillar of strength and support, and his approval meant more to you than words could express.

"Thank you, Rhys," you replied, your voice soft but filled with gratitude. "It means the world to me."

Rhysand stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, yet electric, sending a shiver down your spine. "You deserve all the happiness in the world," he murmured, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "And tonight, I hope you find it."

"I'm just grateful to have you both by my side," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "You and Feyre mean everything to me."

Rhysand smiled, a soft, affectionate smile that reached his eyes. "We'll always be here for you," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "No matter what" you gave him a small smile.

"I suppose Nesta and Cassian won't be joining us tonight," Rhysand remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. Feyre chuckled, shaking her head knowingly. "I believe they've found a different way to celebrate," she said with a teasing smile. Rhysand groaned theatrically, rolling his eyes. "Let's just hope they don't add to the drama with some new trauma," he quipped, his tone filled with mock exasperation.

Feyre giggled, her laughter ringing with warmth and affection. She nudged Rhysand playfully. "Oh, come now. They're just taking advantage of the freedom we fought so hard for," she said, her eyes dancing with mirth.

Rhysand sighed dramatically. "Well, let's hope they remember their manners this time," he said with a smirk, earning a laugh from Feyre.

You linked your hands with Azriel and shot Rhys a wink and a smirk. "Not like you were any different, brother." Feyre laughed, and Rhys nudged her playfully before Azriel winnowed you away.

The ballroom was opulently decorated, the light casting a warm glow on the throng of guests. All the High Lords were present: Tarquin, Tamlin—who you barely glanced at—Kallias and Vivien, looking regal as always, and Beron with his son Eris. You despised Eris for what he did to your cousin Mor, the reason she couldn't attend tonight.

For a moment, your gazes locked. Eris's amber eyes roamed over you, lingering on the delicate embroidery that adorned your gown, the way it hugged your curves with subtle grace. There was a glint of curiosity in his gaze, an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His smirk deepened slightly, a knowing glint flickering in his eyes as he took in your appearance.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks under his unabashed scrutiny, a mixture of annoyance and a strange thrill. With a subtle shift, you turned away but his amber eyes seemed to catch yours at every turn despite your efforts to avoid him, a smirk forming on his lips as he assessed you. You blushed, heat rising to your cheeks as you took your seat next to Azriel.

Rhysand began briefing everyone as each High Lord took turns expressing their joy at being free.

You looked down as Feyre spoke, "Please enjoy this party, take it as a new beginning." All the High Lords rose and began to mingle. You stood, but Azriel caught your hand. "Where are you going?" he asked, worry in his eyes. "Relax, Azriel, I'm just getting a drink," you said, and he nodded, releasing you. Rhysand seemed to have noticed and looked at Azriel; you knew they were communicating silently. As you moved gracefully through the crowded ballroom, the delicate fabric of your gown rustling with each step, you made your way towards the wine table. The air was filled with laughter and music, the chatter of High Lords and Ladies mingling in a harmonious symphony of celebration.

Just as you reached for a glass of wine, a sudden commotion broke out nearby. A drunken couple stumbled past you, their unsteady steps threatening to knock into you.

You stumbled, your balance faltering as you teetered on your heels. In an instant, you felt a pair of strong hands grip your waist, steadying you before you could fall. Heat surged through your body at the contact, your heart pounding in your chest. You looked up, breath hitching, and met those familiar amber eyes. Eris. His gaze was intense, filled with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken. The smirk on his lips was infuriatingly confident as his hands lingered on your waist, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive drawl that sent shivers down your spine. "Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

His words were laced with a teasing edge, but there was an underlying sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. You tried to step back, to create some distance between you, but his hands tightened slightly, holding you in place. The room around you seemed to blur, the noise of the party fading into the background as your senses narrowed to the man standing before you.

"You should watch where you're going," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. "This place can be dangerous."

"Thank you," you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to appear unaffected. You cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. "But I can take care of myself."

He chuckled softly, a rich, melodic sound that sent another wave of heat through you. "I'm sure you can," he replied, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The touch was light, almost tender, and it took everything in you not to lean into it.

You finally managed to step back, his hands reluctantly releasing you as you put some much-needed distance between you. "Is that any way to thank someone?" Eris drawled, the smirk never leaving his face.

You took a steadying breath, trying to ignore the lingering warmth from his touch and the way your heart was still racing. "Thank you," you said again, more firmly this time. "But I don't need your help."

"Of course," he said, inclining his head slightly. "But the offer stands."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your mind swirling with a mixture of irritation and something else—something you weren't quite ready to acknowledge. You watched him go, his confident stride and the way the light caught his hair making it hard to look away.

Finally, you took a deep breath and made your way back to your seat, trying to ignore the way your skin still tingled where he had touched you. You sat down next to Azriel, who gave you a questioning look. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," you replied, offering him a reassuring smile. "Just ran into an old... acquaintance."

Azriel's gaze flicked briefly to where Eris had gone, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "If you need anything..."

"I know," you said, cutting him off gently. "Thank you, Azriel."

As the night went on, you tried to focus on the celebration, on the laughter and the music and the sense of freedom that permeated the room. But every now and then, your thoughts would drift back to Eris, to the way his hands had felt on your waist and the look in his eyes. And you couldn't help but wonder if there was more to him than you had ever realized.

[jo-harrington]

Longevity (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Longevity (noun) - continuance; durability; permanence

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.06

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. (For now.) Fluff, a little angst, discussions of the future, vignettes/time jumps, smut, HEA.

Note: Alright here it is, and it is a HONKING CHAPTER. But how could I break it up into pieces when it's The End? I'm tucking my little babies into the dollhouse and closing it up so they can live on the rest of their lives. To Eddie and Store Manager, I love you both dearly and you were the thing that brought me back to writing and into a wonderful community of writers and readers. To everyone reading, thank you so much for your endless support. You will never know how much it's appreciated.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing. Seriously, go read it.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

April 1986

"Ope, if it isn't the man of the hour, Mr. Edward G. Robinson himself. We were just talking about you."

That was the greeting that found Eddie as he walked into Claire's after school on a lovely Thursday afternoon, ready to share some good news before his closing shift.

Great news, actually, if he was being honest. Life-changing news that he was sure would earn him a ton of kisses that he'd been craving after a long week of assignments and standardized tests.

Imagine his surprise then, that instead of finding you and Mindy behind the counter, chatting after a supposed "big visit" you'd told him that you had today, you still had company.

He skidded to a halt at the sight. Your guest smiled up at him with her hands on her hips.

Short in stature, blonde hair in pristine victory rolls, bold makeup that consisted of layers of glittery eyeshadow, and wrists adorned with stacks of multicolored scrunchies.

"It's nice to see you again Jen," he greeted your old Store Manager.

He'd only met her in person once, but had heard countless fond and semi-unbelievable stories about her from you--and apparently she'd heard the same about him, having greeted him with a bone-crushing hug the first time they met—so there was a familiarity and fondness there that they both indulged.

"What are you doing here?" he asked casually and crossed the distance to throw an arm over your shoulder and press a kiss to your temple. "I thought you said that you wouldn't be caught dead in Indiana."

You, Mindy, and Jen all broke out in a fit of giggles and Eddie felt a sudden sense of instinctual dread.

"Well then get ready to start planning my funeral kid," Jen announced. "Because you're about to start seeing a lot more of me."

"Jen just got promoted," you interjected finally.

"Oh yeah?"

"To District Manager. So she's gonna be my boss. Again."

"Oh, shi--shoot," Eddie felt like he'd been doused with cold water at the revelation. He peeled his arm from around your shoulder and took a wide step to put distance between the two of you. "That's...wow. Congratulations."

He'd been through a handful of DM visits at TapeWorld, never on his own, always under Kyle's cool guidance; however, he'd come to realize that the stiff authority figure of his District Manager Jeff was something to be feared.

So even though he was excited for Jen--your friend--on her promotion, the sudden realization that Jen--your boss--was standing here watching him make an idiot out of himself and possibly put your job at risk...

"Oh my god," Jen broke down in a fit of laughter. "Look at him, he's about to shit himself. Take a chill pill Ed, Jesus. I’m not gonna be a hardass until next week. If that.”

Once everyone had their fill of laughter, and Jen promised that she wasn't going to hold your relationship over your head--

"So long as you're not in here interfering with the business or making out on the sales floor or something."

--Eddie pulled you to the side and finally revealed his big news.

"So," he began excitedly. "It, uh, looks like I'm on the road to graduation. Like really graduating. Not just 'if I don't fuck it up in the home stretch' this time. I'm actually gonna graduate."

"Oh my god," you grabbed him by his jacket and shook him as joy bubbled in his chest from your reaction. "Eddie that's amazing!"

You asked him a few questions and your eyes sparkled proudly as he recounted his talk with his guidance counselor, and he couldn't help the smile that stayed on his face the entire time. Especially when you let out a shriek of joy and jumped around.

"We need to go and celebrate!" you insisted.

"I mean," he suddenly got bashful. "I haven't graduated yet."

"Still, it's big. You worked so hard." You looked back over at Jen and Mindy who were talking at the cash wrap. "I know you're closing tonight but I'm taking Jen out for drinks a little later. When you get out of work, meet us at the Hideaway. I'll get you the Wayne and a beer. And then afterwards, uh...if you wanna come back to my place? Like...actually celebrate?”

He grinned and nodded eagerly; you'd taken the words right out of his mouth.

---

His shift had gone by quickly and he’d joined you and Jen at the Hideaway with Kyle in tow. Kyle who was not only proud of Eddie and wanted to treat him to a beer for his efforts, but also intrigued at the possibility of schmoozing a pretty new face in town.

“Sometimes,” he announced with a flourish when he returned to StarCourt right before store close, dressed in the nicest clothes Eddie had ever seen him wear. “You need to take a chance. How many times did I tell you that kid? You miss all the chances you don’t take. That’s why it took you so long to get a girlfriend.”

Jen, unfortunately, laughed right in Kyle’s face when he kissed her hand upon introduction.

“I’m engaged, Romeo,” she informed him. “Sorry.”

“I don’t see a ring. You can let me down Jenny. Tell me the truth, I won’t be hurt.”

“You’re sweet. But it’s the truth. I just don’t wear the ring to work.”

“Alright, alright,” He sighed, then got a sly look. “Any chance you have a sister? Or a brother? I’m an equal opportunity man looking for true love.”

The night was filled with hearty food, rounds of beer, fantastical stories of retail hell and 4th Quarters past, and accomplishments on everyone’s part.

Kyle bragged about a new car he had just put a down payment on.

Your store had hit some Diamond Earring milestone that only you and Jen seemed to understand but the excitement was contagious.

Eddie got a round of applause from the table when you urged him to announce his big news to everyone.

Honestly he couldn’t care about Kyle or Jen’s reaction, it was seeing you look at him with all the pride and affection in the world that he basked in. He couldn’t wait for the actual graduation ceremony, for you to be front and center with Wayne and Rick and all of his friends. There to witness his hard work come to fruition…and for him to flip Principal Higgins off.

And then Jen stood up and announced her own accomplishment right before last call.

“So,” she cleared her throat and held up her glass and pulled something out of her coat. “I know I already celebrated back home and I don’t really know either of you, Kyle and Ed, but I know my little protégée here would be happy for me.

”Alongside my wonderful and well-earned promotion to DM, I also received my Longevity pin.”

She opened a little velvet jewelry box and showed off a tiny glittering purple pin with a tiny little diamond chip in place of the dot of the “I” in Claire’s.

“Ten long years,” Jen announced after a swig of her beer, “with the Purple Glitter Factory. And all I have to show for it is a pin, a little more money, and a lot more responsibility. God. Growing up sucks. But I’m very proud. And you’re next kid.”

She laid a hand on your head and you waved her off with visible embarrassment then disappeared to go and close out your tabs.

Later that night as you and Eddie settled into bed to sleep after some celebratory activities, Eddie laid awake and stared at the ceiling. Thinking.

“What are your plans for the future?” He asked after a beat.

“Uh,” you shifted your head on his shoulder so you could look at him. “Is this because of all of Jen’s talk of careers and stuff?”

“Yeah. And graduation. And all of that stuff. So? What do you wanna do…where do you wanna be…when you’re older?”

“God, I dunno. I got my associates in business because I was hoping it would help me get my own store. And I did. It also was so boring, I don’t want to go back to school. I guess the next thing is…actually take a vacation day now that I’m earning them. What about you?”

“Music legend,” he answered immediately.

“Uh huh.”

“Guess that’s gonna take some work though, huh?”

“No shit.” You rolled your eyes and then sighed as you settled against him once again. “There’s a reason you asked, Ed. What’s going on in that big head of yours?”

He ran his tongue along the seam of his lips repeatedly as he considered…everything that was laid out in front of him.

Corroded Coffin.

Tape World.

What about Hellfire? Damn, he knew Dustin and Will were the future of the club but…a few years down the line. What about next year? He was gonna have to pass the torch to Gare or Dave after he left. They weren’t ready yet.

And what was he gonna do after school was over? Could he see himself taking a class at TCCC? Maybe. Jeff had been showing him the Catalog at lunch the other day. There was a Creative Writing course that looked cool.

10 years.

That was half his life away. Impossible to imagine. Would there be flying cars by then? Space travel? He could enlist in Starfleet, meet Captain Kirk. Ok maybe that last one was stupid.

"10 years,” Eddie whispered into the top of your head as he rid himself of the fantastical thoughts. “That’s an awful long time.”

“Well it’s a good thing we have all that time to figure it out.”

We…

“Yeah. Yeah we do.”

He could only hope you’d still be there with him. One way or another.

---

July 1987

The spot lights were blinding and the air thick with humidity; his throat was dry and his fingers ached from how hard he was on the fretboard.

But the crowd was cheering and that’s all that mattered right?

No, what really mattered was the music.

And the band.

That's why he was up here with his friends, demolishing the bridge of The Sentinel, laughing and jumping and barely giving a shit when he missed a note or Jeff’s fingers fumbled or Gareth lost the beat for a second. He didn't even mind that the County Clerk had them censor out the "cuss words" of the songs they'd chosen.

It was exhilarating just to be able to play on an actual stage.

It had taken 2 years but they were finally playing at the Roane County 4th of July Festival. An actual gig. And not the first one they'd played, but certainly the biggest so far. Big enough and successful enough that Eddie expected it to be a standing gig for the foreseeable future.

The Polka Band from Kenosha hadn't gotten nearly half as many people and they were, by far, the most successful act of the night before Corroded Coffin.

There was a sea of friends, neighbors, families, and out-of-towners just below the stage, snacks and drinks in-hand, as they danced and jumped and headbanged to song after song. Rick and Wayne were out at Benny's getting all set up for the next stop on Corroded Coffin's "Independence Day Tour" but you were out there in the crowd with Mindy and her family, singing along and cheering louder than everyone whenever a song ended.

Which was why Eddie didn't hesitate to dedicate the final song of the set to you.

"This next one isn't our usual sound," he spoke into the microphone, words a little muffled as his lips brushed against it. "It's a little slow. Something you can dance to, so gentlemen please grab your ladies, tell them how much you love them. But before we begin...did you all know...it's almost Back to School time."

There was a series of boo's from the crowd.

"Now now, maybe yet not for you all, but definitely for a special someone out there," he shushed them and traded Sweetheart for his mom's old acoustic guitar. He plucked a few notes and then continued. "A special someone...who leaves me all alone every once in a while. Late nights. Lonely nights while I wait by the phone, as she and her team make magic happen and she forgets all about me. See I'm saying all of this because she's about to leave me high and dry this coming Sunday night, so I have to guilt her a little otherwise she won't let me surprise her with hash browns and coffee when she gets out of work.

"Queen of Glitter Kingdom," Eddie squinted and looked around the crowd until he found you standing there holding your hand over Mindy's mouth as she looked like she was about to cry. He pointed right at you. "My life, my world, my cheeseburger. This one's for you."

He and Jeff then began to harmonize their guitars for the opening of Beth.

---

"You're a shithead, you know that."

"Mmm...but I'm your shithead, sweetheart."

It was late. Wayne, Rick, and the guys had all left. You and Eddie were sitting across from each other in a booth at Benny's, as the last few fair-goers trickled in for a late night snack. Your own dinner sat half-eaten on the table between you--patty melts and an apple pie shake to share--as you talked and laughed and played footsie.

He and the boys needed to rush across town after their set was over so they made it in time for Ben's advertised happy hour, so he hadn't gotten the chance to get an earful or a kiss from you after his little spectacle.

Fortunately, you were giving him hell for it now, and although he was wiped, he gladly accepted your teasing wrath.

"Is Wayne still around?" You turned in your seat and looked at the sparse group of customers. "I'd like to make a return."

"Mmm...well I moved out in January so I think it's after the 90-day return policy," he said matter-of-factly.

"God damn it," you laughed and snapped your fingers. "And I think I lost the receipt too."

"Stuck with me forever," he teased in a sing-song. There was a beat and he straightened up in his seat and drummed a rhythm on the table with his knuckles. "So...I think it went well."

"I think so too," you agreed brightly.

"You know, Jeff found some...Septemberfest thing out in Jasper..."

Your eyes sparkled at Eddie's words, and he felt the flutter of butterflies deep inside of him that always kicked up when you gave him your excitement and encouragement.

“It’s not a competition or anything but there’s a prize for most popular act of the weekend. Audience ballot and everything. I think it would be cool.”

"That's great!" you grinned. "You should go for it."

"But it's Labor Day weekend."

"So?"

"Paulie's going for a promotion," he shrugged. "Kyle's gonna want us all there in case Jeff comes for a visit."

"And? I didn't know Paulie was planning on opening for Corroded Coffin. What's he playing? The kazoo?" you joked.

"Well no," Eddie shook his head. "But if he leaves...I mean, I'm the best bet for FTASM. I don't want to lose out on that for the future. That'd be...the money would be nice. Can do some repairs on the van. Maybe I'd get my own store someday too."

Your face crumpled--brows furrowed and lips pursed--and you didn't hesitate to shuffle out from your side of the booth and kneel beside him on his. You placed a hand on his forehead for a moment and then tilted his head back and forth.

"Uh, sweetheart," he placed a hand on your waist to steady you as you shuffled closer to pull the back the neck of his t-shirt to look for something. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to see if my Rockstar Eddie Munson action figure is broken," you explained.

"Uhhh."

"Or at least if I accidentally left him at the fair and picked up a Corporate Shill Eddie action figure instead?"

"What?" he laughed.

"How about Suburban Dad Eddie?" you asked. You straightened your posture, pulled on non-existent suspenders, and lowered your voice comedically. "Gotta prepare for tax season. Cut the grass. Do some repairs on the van."

"Stop," he pulled you down to sit beside him in the booth. "I just...don't wanna take the chance on that when I know the full time position is a sure thing."

"Ed," you shook your head at him. "I know you like Tape World but...promotions always come around, music is your dream."

"I know."

"Why did you tell me about this Septemberfest thing if you were not gonna go through with it anyway?"

"I dunno," he turned away from you and went to grab the shake. "I guess I just wanted to pick the thing...that you'd be most proud of."

"Listen here mister," you grabbed him by the chin and made him look at you, Apple Pie Shake be damned. "I'm always gonna be proud of you and support you in whatever path you want."

He nodded for a second and then stole a kiss from you with a soft "I know, thank you." You let yourself get lost in the feeling for a second, but Eddie knew that you weren't gonna let him distract you from the discussion at hand.

You put a hand on his chest and pushed him away, then stared him directly in the eye.

"So?" you asked. "What kind of future do you want?"

His eyes darted between yours--your gaze hard and challenging but nonetheless filled with hope and affection--and he had his answer.

---

May 1989

You could feel Eddie fidget in the seat beside you.

"Calm down," you muttered to him.

"Can't help it," he whispered back; you could tell he straightened out his posture, but his knee still bounced. "Too excited."

A name was called over the loudspeaker, then another, then another.

"Eddie seriously," Gareth was the one to give it a shot this time, leaning across you to put a hand on Eddie's knee and get him to stop fidgeting. "You're gonna shit yourself if you don't stop."

"Shit, sorry, this is only like..." he shook his head. "The most important thing I've ever done in my life."

You, Gareth, Jeff, and Dave all shot him skeptical and unamused looks.

"I don't have time to argue right now," he scoffed at the rest of you. "Shut up, here it comes."

"Peter Halliwell...Dustin Henderson..."

All five of you jumped to your feet and cheered and clapped, along with another group a few rows up that consisted of Dustin's mom, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and their respective partners.

It was a repeat occurrence several times over that afternoon, as you witnessed the Hawkins High Class of '89 cross the stage and receive their diplomas.

"That's my kid," Eddie wiped a fake tear as each of his former Freshman Sheepies were called on stage, but he was especially emotional with Dustin. And when the newest DM of Hellfire flipped Higgins off before running off stage? Eddie stood on his chair and whooped and whistled. “That’s my boy!”

“Sit down Munson,” Higgins spoke into the microphone, over an audience that had become uproarious with laughter.

“It’s tradition now, Higgy,” Eddie shouted, words amplified by the hands he’d cupped around his mouth; still, he jumped down and took his seat so the rest of the ceremony could continue.

“You’re unbelievable,” you giggled at his antics. “You do know that right?”

“I’m unbelievably loveable,” he replied, quickly accompanied by the scoffs and mocking fart noises of his friends. He leaned closer and whispered in your ear. “Unbelievably in love with you.”

“Uh huh.” His tongue snaked out and he licked into your ear obnoxiously. “Fuck off!” You pushed him away from you with a shrieking laugh.

It wasn’t long before that the real reason you were in attendance at the graduation walked across the stage. Because yes, the kids were your friends but you wouldn’t miss this for the world.

“Jane Hopper,” came the announcement and you, once again, got to your feet with a cheer, along with her family and friends in the next aisle of seats. Chief Hopper had his camcorder out and his shoulders visibly shook as he sobbed for his daughter, and you couldn’t help but feel your heartstrings pull.

If Dustin and the boys were Eddie’s little sheepies, you supposed Janey was one of yours. From a shy girl whose ears you’d pierced for the first time in your early days at StarCourt, to one of your die hard regulars who looked up to you over the years trying to emulate your style, to one of your associates when she came in for her first summer job at 16; you’d watched Jane grow and gain confidence and really come into her own.

That was the high point of your career as a Store Manager, and something you happily shared with Eddie: seeing the kids you took under your wing flourish.

“All the birds have flown the coop Mom,” Eddie teased as you sat down and actually wiped a tear from your cheek.

“I think you guys can cut the Mom and Dad bit now,” Jeff said matter-of-factly. “Until you guys have your own kids someday.”

That was something you and Eddie happily shared too.

The two of you looked at each other for a moment…before making the most exaggerated vomiting and gagging noises, unfortunately getting looks from the people around you.

“Pass,” you and Eddie announced in tandem.

---

After the ceremony was over, Chief Hopper invited everyone to the shared Hopper-Byers abode for a barbecue. And by everyone, it seemed like he literally invited the entire town to the lakeside cabin the family called home.

All of the kids and their friends and families, Benny was somehow there—had he closed the diner for the day? Good, he deserved a day off—a handful of Hop’s coworkers and friends, including Wayne and Rick.

There were hamburgers and beers, conversation and music overlapping one another.

Eddie was in his element though, and it warmed your heart to see him talk and spiel and be accepted by such a big group when, not so long ago, it seemed like he’d been shunned by them. Even now, you could see some hesitation as he stiffly talked with douchebag Callahan and Mike’s asshole dad, but he wasn’t sweating bullets or falling back on the pricklier parts of his personality. He even cracked a smile once or twice.

What would his life had been like if he’d had this all along?

It was silly to think about after you’d been dating for years but…would he have asked you out sooner? Would you even still be together now? You thought about the ways that the kids had grown into their own…but it wasn’t hard to also appreciate how much the two of you had grown side by side as well.

Especially when you considered the next step you were about to embark on together...

“You’re thinking too loud,” Eddie startled you as he snuck up behind you and dangled a fresh beer in your face. You shot him a scathing look but he easily recovered, back into your good graces, as he swooped an arm around your shoulder and pecked a kiss to your temple. “What’s got you all sour?”

“Not sour,” you shrugged and picked at the label on the beer bottle. “Just…I don’t know. Thinking."

"Always a bad idea."

"Reflecting.”

“Well you look like you’re about to tell someone to get fucked so…”

"Maybe I am," you grinned at him cheekily.

"As long as it isn't me." He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "But you know it gets me going either way."

You slapped the back of your hand against his chest just as a gaggle of voices called your names.

Jane was the first one to run your way from across the yard, with Dustin and Lucas hot on her heels. They were all talking over one another, and Jane especially looked like she was about to burst into tears.

Eddie was the one to try to make sense of them, and he yelled a bellowing "shut up" that got them to stop their barrage.

"You're leaving?" Jane asked, looking directly at you. "Leaving Hawkins?"

"Uh," you paused and looked at Eddie, who held his hands up innocently.

"Gareth's got a big mouth," he reasoned.

"Of course he does," you rolled your eyes and then turned back to the kids. "Uh...yeah we are. At the end of the summer. I’m opening a new store. Again."

"What about you?" Dustin demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at Eddie.

"Where my lady goes, I must follow," he stood tall and held a hand over his heart for a second, chivalrous as ever, before he took a sip of his beer and slumped back into his usual posture. "Besides, Corroded Coffin has a better chance in a bigger city. We're big fish in a small tank in Hawkins. Gonna pack up the van; give Chicago a chance to chew us up and spit us out."

Eddie and the boys bickered back and forth--gathering a small crowd of onlookers the longer it went--about the trip and the plans about where you'd all live and work while you stood there with Jane.

"How could you just leave?" she asked.

"Oh, honey, that's just...how it is," you reassured her. "I get a new assignment, Mindy takes over. And I'll be back to visit. Maybe you and Max will take a drive up for a weekend in the city."

"That'd be fun."

"It isn't goodbye."

"I know," she nodded somberly.

"Besides, you're going off to school in the fall," you reminded her. "You weren't meant to stay at StarCourt Mall forever, and I wouldn't want you too. You have a bright future ahead of you. I know it's scary, but it's all gonna work out. One way or another."

They were the same words that Jen had said to you before you embarked on your big adventure to Hawkins, and you were happy to pass the sentiment along to Jane.

"What about you?" she asked after a minute. "Your future? Are you afraid?"

That was the question, wasn't it? A new adventure, maybe in a more familiar setting but...a new challenge nonetheless. But you looked over at Eddie, who had both Dustin and Gareth in headlocks; his head was thrown back in obnoxious laughter and he gave you a shrug that said "how could I help myself" when he noticed you looking at him.

He was an idiot. But he was your idiot. And he'd be by your side for this next adventure, just like he promised he would be.

"No," you told her honestly. "I'm not afraid at all."

---

September 1990

"Alright, here's a question?"

"Shoot."

"When…is our anniversary?"

"Uhh...Ed..." You let the question hang awkwardly in the air, unasked, but Eddie could read your mind.

The two of you were symbiotic at this point; still, he was happy that you had no idea what he had in mind for the day.

"No hear me out," he took a few steps ahead and turned to walk backwards so he could look at you. "Because I really put some thought into it. If we're going by first dates, it's in January—”

“Like it has been for the past 4 years.”

“—but, if we're going by first kiss..."

"If we're going by first kiss, that was last week," you laughed and rolled your eyes. "So you’re late."

“Yeah,” he agreed wickedly wistfully. “I guess I am.”

Of course you remembered.

The two of you were walking. Exploring, actually, around the cemetery where your Papa enjoyed his eternal rest.

5 years and it was a lot easier now.

You still cried sometimes but the initial guilt was gone and you found enjoyment in spending the day traversing about the sprawling cemetery grounds, visiting this great uncle and that distant cousin, just like you did with Papa when he was still alive.

“Did he make sure he bought flowers for everyone he ever met?” Eddie had asked as you piled bunches and bunches of flowers into his arms at the florist that first visit after Papa passed, when you told Eddie of the tradition. “Aren’t they just gonna die?”

“This is why I don’t like flowers,” you explained. “They die. At least when they die here, the dead can still enjoy them.”

“Well shit, that’s a pretty metal thought baby,” he cooed softly and shuffled the bunches to hold them with some more care. “Can I put that in a song? I’ll dedicate it to you.”

He had and you’d cried when he first sang you the haunting ballad in the privacy of your living room.

Today, though…well you’d already made the rounds today. Only one stop left; the most important stop. Eddie had suggested taking the long way through the mausoleum—down hallways lined with plush red carpet and dated sofas and marble walls filled with the dead—partially for his own curiosity, and partially so he could build up the courage.

You were doing quite a good job distracting him from his nerves as you conversed easily—whatever thoughts popped up in either of your heads—and explained the differences between this Saint and that one as you passed their statues and depictions in stained glass. They all looked at him with serene eyes and he thought that meant this journey would be a successful one.

There would be no crying, if he could help it.

Maybe tears of joy? He could settle for that.

“So what has you thinking of anniversaries?” you finally asked as you sat on the tufted velvet ottoman in front of your grandparents' epitaph.

Eddie shrugged and looked around, absorbing the names and dates inscribed on the marble walls that surrounded him.

“Been a lot of milestones lately. It’s been a couple years since graduation, 5 years since your grandpa passed…” He trailed off for a moment. “Been a year since we moved…since we’ve both been at new stores.”

You gasped and he felt his heart stop in his chest.

“Is…are you thinking of quitting?” You asked with big eyes.

“What?”

“That new Hot Topical store they’re opening? Or whatever it's called? I saw you chatting with that District Manager in the food court the other day. Are you leaving TapeWorld? Eddie, that’s so exciting. You should…”

“No I’m not quitting,” he announced with finality, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“…nevermind then. Then what’s going on? You thinking of breaking up with me or something?”

“No.”

“Well I know you’re not proposing; you literally just wrote a song called Marriage is a Death Sentence.”

Your laughter echoed through the mausoleum but you stopped abruptly when Eddie didn’t join you.

He watched your expression change as you processed the thought. And when you looked back at him again he smiled nervously.

“Eddie…” you said hoarsely and then cleared your throat. “Eddie, you just wrote a song called Marriage is a Death Sentence.”

“About my parents,” he explained. “And how they did everything wrong.”

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “A lot of people get it wrong. Marriage is a Death Sentence. Those are literally the lyrics. You’ve been singing it when you wash the dishes.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s catchy.”

“It is, isn’t it? But...while I was working on it...it got me thinking that…I mean…just because they got it wrong, and a lot of other people do, doesn’t mean we will.”

You said his name almost desperately now.

"A-and," he continued. "W-we don't have to get married but...I don't know. Spending the rest of my life with you sounds pretty great."

He pulled one hand out of his pocket casually and with it came a small ring box. He shook it a few times and held it out to you.

There were a bevy of emotions cycling your face, all of them undecipherable, until you settled on shock.

Good shock...hopefully.

“You’re supposed to get down on one knee I think,” you whispered again.

Yeah...good shock.

He let out a sigh of relief.

“Yeah but what if it isn’t a ring? What if this is all just a red herring? What if I had to get one of my teeth pulled and it's in here?”

You let out a shocked laugh and your brows hitched together in question.

"Did you put a tooth in there?"

"I don't know...seems as likely as any other potential surprise."

“Is it another cootie catcher?” you guessed.

“Only one way to find out.”

He shook the box again.

You slowly took it from him, fingers deliberately brushing against his which caused his heart to race.

He felt lightheaded when you opened the lid.

You smiled so brightly, he swore you rivaled the sun.

“Oh…Eddie…”

---

December 1992

"So what'd you do?"

"What makes you think I did something?"

"I love you son," Wayne sighed and leant against the counter. "But you always do something."

It was Christmas. The worst time of year for both you and Eddie. Long shifts, angry customers, restless coworkers...but a standing promise to make it back to Hawkins for the holiday had been the light at the end of the tunnel. Especially since Wayne and Rick had come out to see you for the past few years.

It was tough but you and Eddie made it work; hit the road right after your Christmas Eve shifts had ended, fallen into bed as soon as you'd arrived at Rick's close to midnight.

And you didn't need to be back to work until the 27th.

It was a perfect little getaway.

Except it hadn't been perfect.

Because you hadn't been talking to each other past the standard "good mornings" and "see you tonights" all week. The drive had been made in silence. And you chose to sit as far as you could from him during Christmas dinner, opting to sit beside Wayne and chat all night, instead of right next to him like you always did.

And unfortunately, yeah...it'd been Eddie's fault.

Eddie knew that, and usually he could admit it easily. Fights between the two of you were few and far between, and you had a good track record for recovering from them. For some reason though, this time was different, and it was hard for him to admit how badly he'd fucked up.

Wayne could see right through the two of you, though. Especially through his nephew. No matter how good you thought you were at hiding it.

"There was this...big opportunity we could have had," Eddie began his explanation calmly. "But it wasn't a sure thing."

"Oh yeah?" Wayne hummed. "How big?"

"Big. Like...a once-in-a-lifetime thing. An underground show a buddy of mine heard about it through the grapevine. Said they were looking for an opening act. Wanted to throw me a bone." He hit the counter with his fist gently. "But...he got his wires crossed. Told me it was tonight. So it meant we'd need to miss Christmas. But it's really next week."

"Hmmm..." Wayne nodded sagely and kept listening.

Eddie suddenly felt uncomfortable at the tone though, and became desperate for his uncle to understand.

Understand that he hadn't meant to hurt you.

"Work's been hard this season Wayne," Eddie continued with an edge to his voice. "Made me realize that I don't wanna do this forever. I wanna make music. You know that. It's been my dream forever."

"I know it has."

"Me and the guys. Our dream."

"What'd you say to her?" Wayne asked suddenly, as he lifted the mug of eggnog to his lips.

His knowing gaze made Eddie fidget and harsh words echo through his memory.

"Why can't you understand? This is huge for us. How can we say no?"

"I didn't say you had to pass it up, I just said it was a shame that we'll miss Christmas."

"You don't have to miss Christmas, you can just go to your aunt's if you don't want to go to the show."

"You know what I mean. You know Wayne and Rick look forward to seeing--"

"Wayne and Rick would understand how big this is. Why can't you? Why the fuck do you care anyways? It's not like they're your family!"

Wayne swallowed a mouthful of eggnog and then his lips pressed together tightly with a long exhale. Eddie turned to watch you and Rick chatter while you organized the gifts into neat little piles; even though you were avoiding each other, seeing your smile made him feel a lot better than his uncle's intense stare.

"I fucked up," he croaked. "I know."

"How're you gonna fix it?" Wayne asked.

"That I don't know."

Wayne sighed and clapped a hand on Eddie's shoulder.

"I would suggest," he leant in close and his voice rumbled, the same way it always did when Eddie would get in trouble growing up. The few times Wayne needed to intervene at all. "I would suggest you start with I'm sorry."

---

Eddie stared up at the glow in the dark stars that were stuck to the ceiling of the old guest bedroom that used to be his designated room at Rick's once upon a time.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

He couldn't sleep.

He might have spent most of his life in Hawkins but a few years in and around Chicago and he'd gotten used to the sounds of traffic and trains and people walking around late at night.

And it might've been easier if you were closer to him than you were, if the sounds of your sleep-deepened breathing and the soft snores you always denied were in his ear. Instead you were lying on your side at the edge of the full bed, as far from him as you could get, equally as awake as he was if your near-silent breaths were any indicator.

He turned his head and watched you for a moment before he took a breath of courage.

"Sweetheart," he whispered. When there was no response, he said your name, a little louder this time. "You awake?"

There was silence...heavy silence...and then you responded.

"Mmmhmm." You shifted to look halfway over your shoulder at him. "It's too quiet."

"I was just thinking that."

"Hmmm."

"I've got...a lot on my mind too."

"Yeah?" you turned fully now, lying on your back just like him; your shoulders touched but you refused to look at him. "What about?"

"I was thinking..."

What was he thinking? A lot of things. How to start an apology, how to fix this. How to make tomorrow better so your Christmas wasn't ruined.

"...that at least when we fight fight, we still talk to each other afterwards."

You scoffed and he closed his eyes, cursing himself and his big mouth.

"That...wasn't the right thing to say."

"No it wasn't," you sassed him immediately.

"It wasn't what I wanted to say either," he quickly added. "I wanted to say...that I'm sorry."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Aside from the fact that I know you too well," you began. "Rick was trying to get me to forgive you all night."

"Why did he think I did something?" Eddie asked incredulously.

"Because you always do something."

"God damn it, did Rick say that? Wayne said the same thing."

The two of you laughed together for the first time in days, and as you settled down, Eddie reached over and took your hand in his. He threaded your fingers together and rubbed his thumb back and forth to soothe you.

"I'm sorry that I...that I was a thick-headed, stubborn, big-mouthed idiot who hurt your feelings," he apologized. "I know that we've both been under pressure but there's no excuse. I could've been more level-headed, but I wasn't and I hurt you."

"Yeah well," you squeezed his hand tightly as you responded, "I guess I'm not innocent here either. I could have...been more excited for you, supportive. Instead of trying to make it about Christmas. I was thinking about how desperate I was to get away from work, excited to be back here. And it's no excuse. I'm sorry too."

"Yeah but I told you Wayne and Rick weren't your family."

"Well I told you--"

"Are we gonna fight again?" Eddie stopped you before you could get ahead of yourself. You huffed a soft "no" and melted into the bed, all tension in your body gone. "Did you like your Christmas gift?"

"Jesus." He could hear you rolling your eyes.

"Well did you?"

"Duh," you deadpanned. "Did you like yours?"

"Uh, duh," he parroted, a little more exaggeratedly. "You didn't give me a kiss though."

"Well you didn't give me a kiss either," you retorted, but you were already rolling over so you could close the distance and seal your lips against his.

The two of you showered one another with more whispered apologies and words of devotion before you got ahead of yourselves.

Clothes were shed, soft caresses shared, and lips lavished over the most sensitive parts of you.

You still liked it when you dragged your teeth along the shaft of his cock a little and got him to beg, and then Eddie returned the favor when he sucked a bruising hickey to your nipple that made you squeal and call him a god.

The two of you had lived on your own for so long that it was good fun trying to keep your voices down, or make sure the bed didn't slide across the hardwood floors with your passionate fucking.

And all slights were soothed when you reached the height of pleasure together, and whispered sweet words of affection and forgiveness as you descended back to earth.

Come morning, Wayne obnoxiously asked when the two of you were planning to hit the road back to Chicago.

"It's been a good while since I lost sleep thanks to your spirited activities," he noted, embarrassing the two of you in front of Rick. "No more fighting when you come back to visit in the future alright? I miss you dearly, but I can't say I miss that at all.”

---

April 1993

"It took you guys long enough," Dustin announced as he threw open the door.

“You know what, you try sitting in a rusty old shitbox with a bunch of musicians that still act like they're teenagers for 10 hours," you deadpanned and then pushed past the guys as they protested to pull Dustin into a hug. "Happy housewarming, congratulations."

It was Spring Break.

Well for the kids it was--although, they weren't really kids anymore were they--but for you and the guys, it was more like a long weekend. You'd scheduled yourself off for a few days, Eddie'd requested the whole week off, Jeff and Dave had traded shifts with coworkers, and Gareth simply quit his job.

"I'll find a new one," he reassured everyone, including his girlfriend, on St. Patrick's Day when he announced his departure before he and the guys had gotten on stage to play for a crowded pub in the suburbs.

It had been a headache and a half to get everything in order and everyone in the right place at the right time, but you were all here for one thing and one thing only.

Dustin's first apartment.

A Hellfire Club Reunion.

And a special one-shot that Dustin and Eddie had spent hours on the phone planning for the past few months.

Months.

You didn't think you'd been invited at first, but when Dustin told Eddie the full guest list, Eddie volunteered your attendance immediately.

Your forays into Dungeons and Dragons were few and far between; never a big campaign, only the one-shots that Eddie had put together here and there for the guys or a few coworkers who were interested. And this would be the first time that you played with such a big group. Or such an experienced group.

You were nervous.

"You'll do great," Eddie reassured you as he plucked snack cakes and sodas off the gas station shelves for snacks on the road. "I know the roleplaying is not your strongest suit, but it's just Henderson and the gang."

Now you were here and your nerves melted as you slipped further into mother hen mode the longer you looked around at what was obviously the apartment of college students. It was a familiar sight; you, Eddie, and the guys had all crammed into a duplex when you'd moved to Chicago and you'd had your fair share of pizza boxes stacked in the corners before garbage day and underwear of questionable origin and cleanliness tucked into the cracks of the sofa.

But that was a time long since passed and seeing it now made your fingers itch.

And your ears ring.

"...be here soon and I figured that you'd be here first to help me set u--Mom you ok?" Dustin stopped his chattering when he noticed you were frozen in the door of the living room. He glanced around the space that would soon host all of his friends. "Oh...yeah I should probably clean up a little more. To be fair, most of this isn't my mess."

You felt your eye twitch at his dismissive laugh.

"Jesus Henderson, didn't you just move in January?" Jeff asked when he saw the sorry state.

The boys all started giving Dustin shit, and Eddie had the foresight to put a hand on your shoulder and steer you back towards the door.

"We're gonna go take a quick smoke break; why don't you four nerds try to get this place looking a little more Hellfire appropriate in the mean time, m'kay?" he ordered them with faux sincerity. "We brought those props you asked for Dustin."

You heard the faint, sorry Mom, come from the boys as Eddie got you outside.

---

Eddie was extremely attentive and was quick to take charge of the ragtag group, running back and forth between the little stoop where you'd essentially set up camp right outside of the building, and back up to Dustin's apartment to make sure the cleaning and setup were underway.

"Hey listen, you boss enough people around at work," he reassured you when you insisted that you'd be alright to go back in. "You don't need to do it on your day off too."

You proved to be useful enough as the other started to arrive, little by little.

Max and Lucas had flown in from California and arrived via cab.

"It kind of sucks when the place you live is the place everyone else goes on vacation," Lucas laughed good-naturedly.

His younger sister Erica, who you remember from her days of buying scrunchies and glitter makeup, was now grown up and toted an entire kit filled with binders and notebooks and dice.

"It's my first ever Spring Break," she sniffed. "I could have been in Miami with my friends. But...I wouldn't miss this for the world, so it better be worth it."

Mike and Will drove up in the Wheeler's old station wagon, their siblings in tow in the backseat; Nancy and Jonathan had apparently been broken up for some time now.

It apparently had been an awkward drive for all of them.

Jane unexpectedly arrived with a new love interest friend and was beyond ecstatic to see you, barely letting you get a question in as she told you about everything she'd been up to.

Robin was unfortunately absent, but sent her regards along with the last person to arrive. Someone who you honestly didn't expect to see at all, but who had pulled up in a shiny new car, sporting a wedding band and a mustache: Steve Harrington.

"Look what the cat dragged in," you greeted with a smile. You pointed at the wedding band. "Seems like you don't need my relationship advice anymore."

"Same relationship," he chuckled and shrugged, suddenly bashful.

"No shit," you laughed. "Congratulations."

"Congrats to you too," he pointed to the ring on your own finger but you waved him off dismissively.

"Marriage is a Death Sentence. This is just...symbolic more than anything. We both know we're not going anywhere."

"Get more of a deduction on your tax return if you guys do tie the knot."

"Alright Ned Flanders," you rolled your eyes. "Taxes are a death sentence too. I'll ask Ed to write that song and dedicate it to you."

"By all means, I'm actually an accountant now. Maybe it'll get me some more clients."

You cackled.

You and Steve made some casual chit chat as you walked up to join the others now that everyone had arrived.

The apartment looked worlds different, especially with the abundance of candles that surrounded the table you all crowded around.

Dustin was taking the lead with this one, his DM screens in ominous abundance as he sat at the head of the table and filed through stacks of papers.

You looked around at all of your friends...really all of Eddie's friends who had become your friends, your family. It was nice to see them all in one place again.

Then you looked at Eddie himself, who looked right at home surrounded by them all. Laughing and spieling and picking on them with bright, glowing fondness that radiated off of him. You didn't think you could feel any more love for him, but suddenly in that moment, your cup overflowed.

He deserved this; deserved all of this...all of the love you all had to give and share with him because he loved you all so hard in return.

You took your seat beside him and grinned and patted your knee encouragingly.

"Perfect timing, sweetheart," he announced. "Hope you're ready to get absolutely obliterated."

Dustin hit a button on the stereo he'd set up beside him and everyone started to cheer as music and sounds created the ambiance of the adventure you were about to embark on.

"Welcome friends as we revisit a grand adventure of old tonight," Dustin began. "As we venture deep into Greyhawk and come face to face a great evil once defeated. Timelines have shifted, and what you might remember from the past is no longer what it seems; it will take great courage and strength to overcome challenges that you'd previously faced with ease. Are you up for the challenge?"

Everyone cheered again."

"Good," he said with a guttural groan, eyes rolling back in his head dramatically. "Then let us begin on our quest to face...The Cult of Vecna."

---

May 1995

It was like deja vu.

Maybe because he'd done this a thousand times, just not recently. It'd been years since he'd worked at the Mall, after all, and the muscle memory might have been a little out of practice, but it was still there.

He ran up the stalled escalator, long legs skipping every other step, until he reached the top, out of breath.

"Fuck," he bent over with his hands on his knees, panting. "Fuck. This is why I gotta quit smoking."

He'd taken the day off to surprise you; he and the guys were supposed to be recording today--their first album; it'd taken long enough--but this was bigger and he wanted to be there for you.

Needed to be there.

It wasn't every day that his best friend and beloved--the love of his life--his dear Store Manager...wasn't going to be a Store Manager anymore.

You'd both broken the news to each other on the same day. For weeks you'd only mentioned small developments in passing, never letting your hopes get too high just in case of a let down.

"We're getting signed," he announced as you'd collided into one another outside of your apartment building. "It's happening we're getting signed and we're gonna make a whole fucking album sweetheart!"

"Oh my god!" you shrieked. "Holy shit Ed!"

"No more weird touring schedules for fests, no more begging to get a song on the radio during the 3am broadcast, it's happening!" He cupped your cheeks and peppered kisses around your face.

"It's happening for me too," you laughed and tried to shake him away. "I got the job."

"What?!" he squished your cheeks harder until you jabbed him lightly in the stomach to get him to let you go.

"I got the job," you laughed, head tilted back as you announced it to the world. "Eddie, baby...you're looking at the new associate manager of Visual Development."

You'd spent the night indulging on a deep dish pizza, fucking making love, and talking about the future.

Maybe you could buy a house...maybe you could get a puppy...take an actual vacation someplace and not just a weekend trip to the Dells or wherever Corroded could find a gig...the possibilities were endless...

But from that moment on, it was a whirlwind.

The band had gotten started right away, signing contracts and working with the small label that had seen their potential and believed in them.

And now, a few weeks later, it was here. Your big day. Your last day as a Store Manager at Claire's, before you went off to their home offices to tell people what color scrunchie was gonna be big for the season.

There were a bunch of purple and pink balloons tied to the sandwich board outside of your store, and as Eddie got closer, he could hear snippets of conversation as your associates asked you about your new position.

"Have you seen your office yet?"

"Yeah, I have," you laughed.

"Is the desk pink?"

"No but the walls are."

"Do you get your own cell phone?"

"Probably not. I'm not the CEO guys. I'm just a manager."

"Are you gonna have to wear business suits?"

"No," Eddie answered for you as he quickly snuck up behind you. You jumped as his arms wrapped around your waist, but you quickly melted into the embrace. "But she's not gonna have to wear clothes from Seventeen Magazine anymore either."

"Yeah," you sighed. "It really sucks to wear clothes from the juniors department once you're past 30. They're just not made the same way."

"Gotta take your word for it sweetheart, I'm not 30 for another few months," he blew a raspberry against the side of your neck and squeezed you tightly in his embrace.

Your associates all sighed dreamily at the sight of the two of you canoodling—power couple who?—and Eddie was thankful for this once-in-a-lifetime chance that you wouldn't just swat him away for PDA while you were on the salesfloor.

"I'm sorry this is coming from the man who still dresses the same as he did when he was 17," you laughed and reached back to pluck at his battle vest that had only accumulated more pins and patches over the years.

"I'm very sorry that I'm not trendy, sweetheart." He kissed your cheek. "But I'm what you would call timeless."

"I'd like a divorce." You pulled his left hand away from your torso so you could attempt to pull the band off his ring finger. "Effective immediately."

"We're not married," he murmured teasingly in your ear. "Or did you forget?"

"You finally gonna seal the deal Munson?" you whispered back. "It's only been 10 years."

"Just so you can file for divorce? I don't think so."

"What if I trade you my longevity pin? I think it would look nice on your vest."

"How about...I take you to lunch first?" he asked, voice back to its normal volume. "And we negotiate the terms and conditions? She's got her big corporate lady pants on, trying to get me to sign a contract."

"I guess I could pencil you in," you feigned annoyance and then looked to your assistant manager. "Let me ask my secretary."

Both you and Eddie stared at them expectantly.

"Get out of here," they laughed at your antics. "Before I kick you out; so sweet, you guys make me gag sometimes."

---

The rest of your final shift was eventful, and Eddie sat in the chair of the Ear Piercing station while you chatted with your regular customers and received one visitor after another.

Old employees and coworkers, your mom who made you take a picture with the whole team, and then a very cheesy one with Eddie who dipped you for a kiss at the very last second.

Jen had come around close to 5 to bring even more balloons and a cake, and had made jokes that she was gonna have to haunt the corporate offices even more now.

"So we can talk shit, obviously," she joked.

Eddie had called Kyle up, who was now managing a store in Milwaukee, to tell him both bits of good news and Kyle had made the drive down to bring a sentimental gift to both of you on your last day.

A picture frame with a collage of polaroids from your years at StarCourt. There was a filmstrip from one of the photo-booths that depicted a younger you and Eddie, making funny faces and staring longingly at one another.

"You left this in the stock room once upon a time," he told Eddie as he pointed it out specifically. "That was before you were dating too. I squirreled it away and forgot about it but was gonna keep it in case you never got the courage to ask her out. And look at the two of you now."

"Yeah, Eddie watched you as you caressed the glass. "Look at us now."

"I still think I should have won the bet," Kyle sniffed bitterly.

You had scheduled yourself to close, and you were expertly restocking the scrunchie wall as the last few customers shopped.

Eddie kept snaking his arms around you and switching this scrunchie here for that one there, and you'd whine and complain about him messing up the color flow. Still, you never made any effort to stop him, and each time you stomped your foot petulantly, he would drop a smooch right on your cheek to "earn" your forgiveness.

"You know, this is what I was doing when we first met," you recalled after a few kisses. "Officially met."

"What?" Eddie asked.

"Restocking scrunchies."

"You sure?" he frowned and tried to think back. He vaguely recalled...bracelets of some sort...or had he just been looking at the jewelry. He'd been so nervous to ask you out back then...it was all a blur.

And he hadn't really even asked you out at that time either. Jesus Christ, what a loser he'd been.

Where would the two of you be now if only he hadn't fumbled on that first not-date? Right where you were now? Maybe broken up? A lot of the growing the two of you had done had been done with the soft buffer of friendship first...it almost caused his heart to ache to think that they might have caused an end to a relationship if things had been different.

Because now he couldn't imagine what his life would be like without you.

"You still haven't let me pierce your ears," you leaned in close to him, nose brushing against his, and teased him.

Eddie froze and then backed away.

"Well," he licked over his bottom lip pensively. "It is your last day...the last hour of your shift too...I think I could be persuaded."

You squealed and ran to get the forms ready. You didn't even let him fill them out, you just pushed him back into the seat he'd been occupying all day as you got it all ready.

"No more being afraid of needles babe," you cackled, the kind of cackle he'd only ever heard when you were being especially devious or evil.

"I have tattoos," he argued, trying to stand from the chair in protest, but you pressed your hand to his chest to get him to sit back down. "I have a ton of tattoos; if I was afraid of needles I wouldn't. Your logic is flawed."

"Yeah ok Spock," you dismissed his reasoning. "This one takes a chunk out of you though, so it's different."

"What argument are you trying to win here baby? Are you trying to get me to get my ears pierced or are you trying to get me to admit I'm afraid."

"Dealers Choice."

"You're lucky I love you," he grumbled.

You were silent for a while as you marked his ears, as you snapped on your gloves, and readied the piercing gun.

Was he afraid? No. He trusted you. But damn if the anticipation wasn't making him sweat a little.

Eddie closed his eyes as he prepared himself for the next step, but you paused and made one quick run across the store before returning.

"Alright I have one last important question to ask you," you began, and he peeped an eye open to see you standing there with your hands behind your back. "It's the age old question and I don't think we ever got a solid answer."

You revealed your plunder and then stared at him expectantly.

"Take your pick: broken hearts or gummy bears."

Eddie went soft as he stared at the two sets of studs backed by purple carding: little black broken hearts and the neon green gummy bears.

It was the age old question wasn't it? The first question he asked you before he even asked you out.

"See, if it was still 1985," he tilted his head back and forth, "I think this would be a hard one to figure out."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. But uh," he reached out and pointed to his choice. "Now it's a no brainer."

"Seriously?" you laughed.

"Seriously."

"And why are you, Eddie Munson, lead singer of Corroded Coffin, the most metal band on Earth, picking the Gummy Bears?"

"Sweetheart," he singsonged, pausing for dramatic effect. "I think you know."

"I don't think I do," you parroted.

"Ugh," he scoffed and turned his head. "I guess I am the more romantic of the two of us."

"Answer the question, Cassanova."

"Sweetheart," he turned back to you, hand over his heart. "It has to be the gummy bears."

"Has to be?"

"Must be."

"Because..."

"Because I can confidently say that my heart is never gonna be broken if I have you around."

Your challenging gaze softened and Eddie swore that he saw tears at the corners of your eyes. For a moment he didn't know if you were gonna kiss him or start crying.

"Shut the fuck up," your associate shouted from across the store, ruining the sweet moment. "That was so adorable. Oh my god."

"Language Chels!" you scolded her good-naturedly.

And then, in those last few minutes of your career as a store manager, you kissed Eddie softly on his forehead...on his lips...and then punched holes right through both of his earlobes in rapid succession.

"Fuck!" He screamed. "Fuck!"

"I love you," you chuckled at him.

"Yeah. Love you too..." he grimaced. "Fuck! I love you."

---

Thank you for reading The Store Manager Verse.

[muiitoloko]

11 o'clock girl

Summary: The sheriff notices you and makes you the 11 o'clock girl.

Pairing: Sheriff of Nottingham × Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, questionable consent, degradation.

Author Notes: Hey folks! First off, a big shoutout to all 150 of you wonderful followers! *pops open a bottle of budget-friendly champagne* Now, let me tell you about my recent dive into the cinematic masterpiece that is "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves." Can we just take a moment to appreciate Alan Rickman's brilliance in that movie? He practically swiped the spotlight from Costner like a pro pickpocket!

So, I decided to scribble down a few thoughts about the character, but fair warning, I might have taken some creative liberties here and there. So, if the Sheriff of Nottingham ends up doing something completely outlandish, just roll with it, okay? Oh, and I should probably mention that I didn't bother proofreading this gem. Hey, blame it on my laziness! But I promise I'll clean up the mess later. Cheers to that! 🥂

As a lowly servant in the castle of Nottingham, you've always known the dangers of catching the Sheriff's eye. His reputation for cruelty and ruthlessness precedes him, and you've seen firsthand the consequences of crossing him. But when the Sheriff notices you, it's not fear that grips your heart—it's a chilling sense of dread mixed with a strange fascination.

At first, it's just a fleeting glance, a passing acknowledgment of your presence as you go about your duties. But soon, those glances turn into lingering stares, his piercing brown eyes boring into your soul with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine.

You try to keep your distance, avoiding him whenever possible and praying that he'll lose interest and move on to someone else. But the Sheriff is relentless, his obsession with you growing with each passing day until it becomes impossible to ignore.

One night, as you're tidying up the Great Hall after a banquet, you feel his presence behind you, his breath hot against your neck as he leans in close. "You have a name, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice sending a chill down your spine.

You nod nervously, unable to speak as fear grips your throat like a vice. But the Sheriff doesn't seem to notice—or perhaps he just doesn't care—as he continues to hover close, his gaze burning into your skin with an intensity that makes you squirm.

"I want you," he said abruptly, his words sending shockwaves of terror through your body. The implication hung heavy in the air, leaving you trembling with fear at the thought of what he might do to you.

But before you could respond, the Sheriff gave you a chilling command. "Come to my quarters at 11," he instructed, his voice dripping with authority. "And don't be late."

You nodded numbly, too terrified to refuse as the Sheriff smiled contentedly to himself before leaving, leaving you shaking in his wake. As you stood alone in the Great Hall, the weight of his words settled over you like a suffocating blanket, filling you with a sense of dread and helplessness.

The thought of what awaited you in the Sheriff's quarters made your stomach churn with nausea, but you knew that disobeying him was not an option. With a heavy heart, you resigned yourself to your fate, knowing that you had no choice but to obey his command.

As the clock struck 11, you found yourself standing outside the Sheriff's quarters, your heart pounding in your chest as you knocked on the door with trembling hands. The seconds stretched into eternity as you waited, the anticipation building with each passing moment until finally, the door swung open, revealing the Sheriff standing before you.

He was dressed only in his pants, his black hair tousled and his brown eyes gleaming with amusement as he greeted you with a sly grin. "Ah, the 11 o'clock girl," he purred, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Right on time, as always."

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry with fear as you stepped into his quarters, your eyes darting nervously around the room. But before you could utter a word, the Sheriff turned away from you, his attention drawn to the woman lying in his bed.

"Time to go, darling," he said casually, his tone dismissive as he addressed the woman who lay beside him. "You were the 10:45 girl, weren't you? Off you go now, before I lose interest."

The woman scrambled to get dressed, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she hurriedly gathered her belongings and fled the room, leaving you alone with the Sheriff once more. As the door closed behind her, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease wash over you, the realization sinking in that you were not the only one he had summoned tonight.

But as you looked at the Sheriff, his gaze lingering on you with a hunger that sent a chill down your spine, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. You had been summoned here for a reason, and now it was time to face whatever fate awaited you.

But as the Sheriff approached you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, a wave of doubt washed over you, your mind reeling with questions and uncertainties. Did you truly want this? Did you have any choice in the matter?

As he drew closer, his hands reaching out to touch you, you couldn't help but flinch, your body recoiling instinctively from his touch. But the Sheriff paid no mind to your hesitation, his eyes blazing with desire as he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a rough and possessive kiss.

As the Sheriff pulled you into his embrace, his hands roaming over your trembling form, a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine. Despite your fear and uncertainty, there was something undeniably thrilling about being in the presence of such a powerful and commanding man.

"You're trembling, my dear," the Sheriff remarked, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "Nervous, are we? Or perhaps just excited to finally be in my arms?"

You couldn't help but blush at his words, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you struggled to maintain your composure. But the Sheriff only chuckled darkly, his hands wandering lower as he pulled you closer, his touch sending sparks of desire coursing through your veins.

"Tell me, darling," he murmured, his voice low and husky as he trailed kisses down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Do you know why I summoned you here tonight? Or are you content to let me take what I want without a word of protest?"

His words sent a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through you, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find your voice. But before you could respond, the Sheriff silenced you with a searing kiss, his lips hungry and demanding as he claimed you as his own.

As his hands roamed over your body with a possessive urgency, you surrendered yourself to him completely, your mind clouded with desire as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment. And as the Sheriff guided you towards the bed with a predatory gleam in his eyes, you knew that there was no turning back now.

He paused for a moment, his fingers caressing your thigh with a disturbing mix of possessiveness and curiosity, he posed a question that made your heart race with apprehension.

"Are you a virgin?" he asked, his voice laced with a cruel edge as he studied your reaction.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry with fear as you stuttered out a nervous "no." The truth was that servants like you were rarely virgins, your station in life leaving you with very few options and even fewer expectations of finding a husband.

The Sheriff nodded, his fingers trailing under your servant's dress, which was little more than a rag draped over your body. "How many men have you been with, then?" he inquired, his tone mocking and derisive.

You lowered your gaze respectfully, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks as you admitted, "Only one, milord. A stable boy here at the castle."

The Sheriff's brow quirked in amusement, a sardonic smile playing on his lips as he considered your response. "Ah, a stable boy," he remarked dryly. "Is he your betrothed, then? Your one true love?"

You shook your head quickly, your voice barely above a whisper as you denied his assumption. "No, milord. We were... merely acquaintances."

The Sheriff chuckled darkly at your response, his fingers continuing to roam over your trembling form as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Well, my dear, it seems you and I have something in common," he murmured, his voice dripping with malice. "Neither of us is meant for love, only for pleasure."

You shuddered at his words, a chill of dread creeping down your spine as you realized the true nature of your predicament. With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you knew that there was no escape from the Sheriff's clutches—that you were nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game of power and desire.

And as he pressed his lips to yours once more, his touch hungry and possessive, you resigned yourself to your fate, knowing that there was no turning back now.

As the Sheriff of Nottingham stripped away your meager garment, revealing your naked form to him, a predatory grin spread across his lips, his brown eyes gleaming with a cruel hunger. His gaze lingered hungrily on your exposed body, savoring every curve and contour as if he were appraising a prized possession.

"You're beautiful, my dear," he remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he traced a finger along the curve of your hip. "Almost too beautiful to be a mere servant."

You flinched at his touch, feeling a chill of dread wash over you as you realized the true extent of your vulnerability. But before you could protest or beg for mercy, the Sheriff's hands were already moving with purpose, stripping away your last shred of modesty with callous disregard.

As he tossed your underwear aside, leaving you completely exposed before him, you couldn't help but tremble with fear and shame, your heart pounding in your chest as you braced yourself for what was to come.

The Sheriff's smile widened at the sight of your nakedness, his eyes devouring you with an insatiable hunger that made your skin crawl. He wasted no time in making his intentions clear, his movements rough and commanding as he positioned himself between your legs, his erection throbbing with anticipation.

With one hand gripping your thigh possessively, the Sheriff used his other hand to guide his throbbing member towards your entrance, his touch sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body.

"No, please, wait," you pleaded, your voice trembling with desperation as you tried in vain to reason with him. But the Sheriff paid no heed to your protests, his lustful desires driving him forward with relentless determination.

Ignoring your cries, he thrust himself into you with brutal force, causing you to cry out in agony as he stretched you beyond your limits. You were not ready for him, not prepared for the searing pain that tore through your body with each merciless thrust.

But the Sheriff showed no mercy, his movements relentless as he claimed you as his own, his grunts of pleasure mingling with your cries of pain. He was rough and demanding, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he pounded into you with a primal intensity.

"Ah, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice thick with lust as he reveled in the sensation of your warmth enveloping him. "That stable boy clearly didn't know what he was doing if he left you like this."

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you struggled to endure the agonizing pleasure, your mind clouded with a dizzying mix of pain and arousal. The Sheriff's thrusts were relentless, each one driving you closer to the edge of oblivion as he claimed you as his own.

And as he pressed your hand against your lower stomach, forcing you to feel the full extent of his penetration with each thrust, you realized with a sickening sense of despair that there was no escape from his clutches—that you were nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game of power and desire.

As the Sheriff continued to thrust into you with a relentless determination, his words became more cutting, his voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain.

"You like this, don't you?" he taunted, his breath hot against your ear as he reveled in your helpless submission. "A filthy little servant like you, enjoying being used like a common whore."

You whimpered at his words, a mixture of shame and arousal coursing through your veins as you struggled to reconcile your conflicting emotions. You knew you shouldn't be enjoying this, shouldn't be responding to his cruel words with such eagerness, but you couldn't help yourself.

With each thrust, the Sheriff seemed to find new ways to demean and degrade you, his words like daggers piercing your already fragile sense of self-worth.

"You're nothing but a plaything to me," he sneered, his tone laced with contempt as he continued to pound into you with a punishing rhythm. "A worthless little whore, good for nothing but spreading your legs and taking whatever I give you."

But instead of recoiling from his words, you found yourself growing more aroused with each insult, your body responding eagerly to his dominating presence. With a newfound sense of confidence, you reached out and grabbed the Sheriff's back, pulling him closer to you as you urged him to intensify his thrusts.

The Sheriff's eyes widened in surprise at your boldness, a dark grin spreading across his lips as he realized the depth of your depravity. "Well, well, it seems our little servant has a bit of a backbone after all," he chuckled, his voice tinged with amusement. "I like that. Let's see how much you can take, shall we?"

With a renewed sense of purpose, you gripped the Sheriff's ass firmly, urging him to thrust into you harder and faster as you surrendered yourself to the pleasure of the moment. Despite the pain and humiliation, there was something undeniably exhilarating about being dominated by such a powerful and commanding man.

And as the Sheriff chuckled darkly at your eagerness, his hands roaming over your trembling form with a possessive urgency, you knew that there was no turning back now—that you were his to command, body and soul. And strangely, in that moment, you wouldn't have it any other way.

As the Sheriff took your hand off his ass and pinned it to the bed above your head, you felt a surge of excitement coursing through your veins. His touch was rough yet electrifying, sending shivers of anticipation racing down your spine as you surrendered yourself to the pleasure of the moment.

Leaning down, the Sheriff pressed his lips to your neck, his kisses leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he trailed down to your collarbone. With effortless strength, he took your other hand and pinned them together above your head, his large hand easily holding them in place against the mattress.

You moaned with pleasure, the sound music to the Sheriff's ears as he reveled in the intoxicating power he held over you. With each thrust, he drove you to new heights of ecstasy, his movements relentless and commanding as he claimed you as his own.

As he kissed down your collarbone, the Sheriff couldn't help but marvel at the scent of soap on your skin, a stark contrast to the other women he had been with. "You smell divine," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration as he praised you for your cleanliness.

But you were lost in pleasure, your eyes closed and face contorted in ecstasy as you surrendered yourself completely to the Sheriff's desires. With each thrust, your back arched and your body writhed beneath him, the sensations overwhelming your senses as you neared the brink of climax.

The Sheriff watched you with a hunger that bordered on obsession, his brown eyes dark with desire as he imagined what it would be like to see you cum on his dick. It was a thought that had never crossed his mind before, the idea of giving pleasure to a woman rather than just taking what he needed.

But as he gazed down at you, lost in pleasure and utterly vulnerable beneath him, the Sheriff felt a strange sense of longing stirring within him. He wanted to see your expression as you reached the peak of ecstasy, to witness the raw, unbridled passion on your face as you surrendered yourself completely to him.

With a newfound sense of determination, the Sheriff quickened his pace, driving you towards the edge of oblivion with each powerful thrust. And as you cried out in ecstasy, your body convulsing beneath him as waves of pleasure washed over you, he knew that he would stop at nothing to make you his own.

For in that moment, as you lay beneath him, utterly vulnerable and completely surrendered to his desires, the Sheriff realized that he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side—to possess you body and soul, now and forever.

[kedsandtubesocks]

be your hallowed ground

Demon!Ezra x F!Reader

summary: 1700’s. the journey home before you is long, weary, and you are alone… but not for long

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. colonial era inspired AU, inexperienced!reader, religiously raised reader, historical/societal period negative views of women, major supernatural elements, religious discussions along with Christian imagery & mentions of scripture, Ezra’s use of petnames, heavy corruption kink, possessive!Ezra, finger sucking, wound kissing and one small moment of blood consumption, Ezra lifts reader with his demon strength (reader has no physical description), intense kissing & spicy moments, f!oral receiving, light overstimulation, briefest mention of Ezra watching/stalking, sacrilegious themes, dark & spooky vibes

word count: 7.9k

a/n: so this is my first Ezra fic & i blame this AU on my ex catholic school kid roots along with playing too much cult of the lamb bcs here we are lol I wouldn’t be here without the ones who paved the way/inspired me to take the jump to write Ezra so thank you @morallyinept @julesonrecord & @lowlights for being true lovely guides, also to @pastelle-rabbit @haylzcyon & @ahauntedcowboy for letting me scream/cry about this lol I love each & every one of y’all - and to you, if you decide to take a peek and read, thank you so much ♡

The forest stretches out far, daunting.

Twilight glimmers on the last of her heels and you hope to return home soon. You can almost hear your father’s anger at your stubbornness for not staying at the inn for another night and for simply being on this journey in the first place. You should’ve saved up for a carriage ride home.

Now, alone in the woods, you fear the tree branches will soon reach down to claw you into their canopy cluster above.

Deeper and further you walk through the forest path. You haven’t prayed much recently. But you faintly remember words urging you to not fear the terror of night, nor the danger that prowls in the darkness, and you’re gently eased. You also think of the early spring blooms scattered among the town waiting for you.

Then a branch cracks behind you, the sound of someone stepping on it, and you stop.

The trek has been silent, eerily so. Not even bird chirps or the wind’s breeze has filled your space. Yet it now sounds like something approaches.

You whip around.

No one stands behind you. Only the dirt and dust linger in the air.

The woods must be clouding you with unnecessary dread. You’ve walked these roads alone before and you will walk them again even though the forest seems darker now.

Determined, and slightly frightened, you spin on your heels to quickly return on your journey.

“There you are, turtle dove.”

The voice startles you so suddenly you almost collapse. Strangely accented, the thick drawl flows heavy with a twang of someone from the wild southern territories.

Your heart beats fast like a petrified rabbit and your eyes snap towards the source of the voice.

Leaning against a large tree is the most exquisite man you ever believe to be crafted.

Dressed in a striking coat, a beautifully sharp nose and dark facial hair, he’s ethereal. You also spot the most interesting tuff of white blonde hair against his dark chestnut locks. What’s startling are his magnetic inky eyes staring at you.

“I don’t know you, good sir.” You politely reply.

The man smiles like a fox creeping around a chicken coop.

“Ezra is my given name, turtle dove. Now we’re no longer strangers.”

His name - Ezra.

Like his name suggests you wonder if maybe he’s here to provide aid, your personal blessing.

Yet his words flutter out duplicitous and heavy like something dangerous chains around them down.

“Then good day to you, sir.” You nod, a polite reply, and decide to withhold your name.

“May I accompany you on your journey?” He suggests surprisingly gentle, his words olive branch-like offers.

You ask him where he is even headed, and for what brings a well speaking, slightly suspicious, man as himself into these woods.

“The same as you, sweet bird,” Ezra replies simply. “We all have our journeys to be upon. Mine just happens to coincide with yours. A rather fortuitous blessing if I do say so myself.”

Your eyes narrow. Something scratches at the back of your mind urging you to keep walking and pay no heed to this man.

But then the wind picks up.

From a soft breeze it quickly transforms into the strangest howl, like a warning of the dangers lurking all around. In a slight panic your eyes survey your surroundings. This man might be a stranger, but having company might not be such a bad choice.

“Come now.” Ezra comments reassuring and steady even among the howling winds. “These woods are wild and deep, ain’t no place for a treasure such as yourself.”

He is handsome, the most stunning man you may ever see. And the glimmer in his eyes seems to beckon you.

After you quietly nod, your journey expands by one.

With a gracious bow of his head, the man from the shadows falls into step beside you.

The wind suddenly, but thankfully, settles. However, tension prickles against your skin and a strange warmth blooms from the center of your chest.

“So, what’s a lovely angel like yourself doing here, a babe in the woods?” Ezra begins.

Your fingers tighten against your cloak while the truth stays sealed tight.

The man chuckles.

“Don’t go shy on me now, sweet dove,” he teases.

You huff annoyed. However, seeing as how you will be traveling with him until you return home, you decide to engage with him.

Your dearest friend moved to the next town when you both became fully grown. She fell in love with a married man in a loveless marriage to a cruel woman. Because of that your friend was condemned to banishment. Now, she’s with child. Some even whisper the child was maybe even convinced due to witchcraft.

However, with the recent passing of your town’s relentless head clergyman, you hope this will help improve the situation.

Ezra listens patiently, letting you quietly explain everything.

“And so you traveled to visit your dear friend like a kind emissary.” He notes. “Your town must be in an uproar over you visiting her.”

“They are.” You answer stiffly.

Your father absolutely detests it. Even the governor’s son, who has shown interest in courting you, has made it known that your lenient position doesn’t help towards a marriage possibility. But you won't falter in your loyalty. Especially after your faith has been so shaken from seeing the harsh treatment given to your friend.

“A fair decision.” Ezra agrees. “All those upset are fools anyway. Seems they forgot the good book even mentions how cherished a gift it is to forgive others just as the lord forgives us.”

He quotes scripture so passively it surprises you. He doesn’t seem like a spiritual type. If anything, Ezra seems like a man who slinks around the shadows late at night among the thieves and brothels hidden at the edge of town.

“You’re right,” you agree with him. “Who are we to judge others on simple matters of passion compared to our lord, especially to condemn it?”

“Lust is considered a grave sin though, dear birdie, so I understand why.” He quietly answers while his words scurry over your skin. “After all, look at the predicament it entangled your dear friend in.”

“And don’t passions of the flesh wage war against the solemnity of the soul?” Ezra politely answers lightly referring to scripture and you wonder if he is a man devoted to the good book.

So you reserve your words again.

“Please… do not silence your song, biride.” Ezra coos.

“Now, tell me your thoughts,” he whispers low.

As you swallow hard, your skin feels tight against your bones. But you decide to speak freely, as dangerous as it may be.

“It’s true that my friend committed a terrible sin.” You begin with a shaky sigh. “I understand her punishment. But for others to be so cruel when faith says to forgive and embrace salvation feels hypocritical.”

“True indeed. And as you said, all this for the sake of condemning passion? There are worse commandments to shatter under heaven’s watchful eye.” Ezra drawls out.

“Exactly.” You agree with a firm nod more at ease with your new companion.

“Besides… isn’t the act of creation an offspring of passion?” He challenges and the thought stuns you.

The stranger is correct and his perception moves you.

You’ve never engaged in such discussions like this with anyone before, especially not with a man. You noticed he speaks to you like an equal, never diminishing your ideals or fully trampling on your opinions.

Something greedy urges you to slow down your step and spend as much time with your new companion.

“So, is there a husband of yours waitin’ at home to meet you with passions, dear dove?” Ezra asks with the curl of intrigue in his voice and you almost choke on a gasp.

“A rather forward question to ask a stranger.” You snap back sharply and glare at him.

Ezra keeps his abyss eyes drawn forward and doesn't seem bothering at your reply or the discussion matter he brought up.

“Thought we established we’re no longer strangers?” Your stranger mutters back.

“We’ve discussed religion, the ways of the hearts and their passions. Only good friends touch on such topics, yes?”

He’s unbearably confident, and he knows it. You want to storm off, maybe even demand him to leave. But you can��t do it. You almost can’t endure the thought of him leaving now.

So you reply stiffly. “No. I have no husband at home.”

“Truly?” He now squawks confused.

“Ain’t that a damn shame.” He purrs. “A creature lovely as yourself deserves to be worshiped every minute you’re here among this green earth.”

Your heart thumps erratic against its cage.

“Are you mocking me, good man Ezra, for not being married?” You deflect with a shaky voice.

“Never, turtle dove.” He reassures. “I believe the ultimate sin is to be denied any shade of passion.”

“Especially for a beauty marvelous as yourself.” He exhales and his voice dances devilishly.

An uneasiness settles into your legs, like your body could give out at any moment.

“What you say is blasphemy,” you manage to reply, however your voice wavers. “A heathen's words.”

“I could’ve recounted the same about you moments ago when you spoke your thoughts.” He mutters back.

Your heart drops. He’s correct. This man has your thoughts tied up in so many knots and you cannot find a path within yourself.

“No need to worry.” Ezra says. “Treading into heathen’s territory is never frightful when you have a companion.”

You don’t know how you feel about this conversation or where it seems to be heading towards. Your gaze turns to Ezra. He continues staring ahead composed.

He’s a strange unorthodox man, an anomaly, someone you never believed existed.

“Now tell me… have you tasted desire, my sweet turtle dove?”

His eyes now move to you, catching you staring red handed. Like an exposed thief, your gaze flies away from him.

His question, as if composed of thorns, constricts around your throat refusing to let you answer.

You’ve tasted it on the tips of your tongue. One of your old childhood friends became a courtesan at a brothel. During her nights off, you’d sneak out to visit her. She recounted with giggles about the various sexual escapades she’s experienced. It made your mouth water wishing for the embrace of a lover, to understand what it meant to be truly desired.

You’ve been tempted to fall into bed with the blacksmith’s brother but once you discovered his cruel treatment of the women in town you were soured by the thought. So during the late nights alone your fingers slipped under the quilts and you would find a sticky taste of passion.

Getting caught up in your thoughts keeps you quiet.

“When I was a younger man and lived in France.” Ezra begins with a sudden gentle musing, the voice of a storyteller almost. “Even when I migrated here to the southern territories, I learned of an interesting turn of phrase.”

“La petite mort.” The words flow from him beautifully, rolled with such finessed precision. Hearing him speak sparks a jolt up your spine.

“I’m not quite sure you know of it, but do you know what it means?”

Your eyes that had glazed over are now back on Ezra. His devastatingly beautiful face remains serene.

“The literal translation is ‘a little death.’” Ezra continues. “But what it speaks of is the little moment of feeling as if you’re dying when experiencing true orgasmic release, something that makes us see god.”

His words, hanging with a thinly concealed desire, rip through you and a slickness slowly pools between your legs.

Now his eyes flicker to you.

“A pleasure so rapturous we taste a little death.” He mutters looking so intently at you that you want to scurry and hide away.

But you can’t. You’re drawn into his gaze, a poor moth entrapped by his erratic flame, and you’re not quite sure if this fire is hellfire.

Rationale within you screams this man could be a robber or could be leading you into his sticky web to simply harm you. Yet it seems like he could vanish into smoke.

You also notice you and Eza have both stopped walking. Now staring into his eyes, you discover storms in them.

Until an oncoming storm arrives all around. The wind erupts into howls. It whips around fast and you tug your cloak closer trying to stay warm against the gales.

Your face even scrunches up at the drastic change in the weather.

A firm hand moves to your back pulling you closer until you rest within the shade of a firm body. Ezra has drawn you into his side, lifting his cloak to cover you, and your eyes become full moons.

“To keep you sheltered from this weather. Though, we may need to hunt for some sanctuary soon.” He mutters.

He smells of pine, like the forest itself gave him to you. However you also catch the smallest hint of something smoky, like he slept too close to a campfire.

But, his words confuse you.

“Terrible weather? It’s simply just bad wind.” You yell against the wind and glance around the forest.

That’s when you notice how terrifyingly dark it’s gotten. The tree branches now stretch above like monstrous limbs crawling along the darkness.

How long have you been out along the trail? You haven’t even reached the halfway point to town. The woods now loom incredibly dark like a chasm ready to swallow you whole.

Then the drum of thunder comes, and the skies open up, as if on command by Ezra’s prophetic words. The rain unleashes a downpour. You squawk like a petrified bird at how soaked you’re getting even being covered by his coat.

“Come!” He cries over the storm keeping you close. “I believe there is shelter close by.”

So through the darkness you go, led by him off the path and deeper into the thicket.

How did he know a shelter was nearby? Shouldn’t he have come here earlier and left you on your journey? Or did he maybe sense the storm was coming and wanted to keep accompanying you.

The rush of the rain along with how quickly Ezra moves you and him feels as if you’re flying through the forest like your feet never once touch the ground.

Your body stops and out from the darkness, among the rain, stands the faint shape of a building.

Ezra guides you inside and you exhale relieved you’re out of the storm.

The stale smell of dust greets you first and makes your nose crinkle.

Looking out to your new makeshift shelter, you find yourself standing in a very abandoned church. Dried dead leaves scatter the floor. Vacant pews hold a hollow ghostly emptiness. You didn’t even know this chapel was here.

“How did you know of this place-” you turn to ask Ezra but discover you’re alone.

So focused on soaking in the church you didn’t even notice his departure.

“Ezra?” You call for him and silence replies.

Where could he have gone?

“Worry not.” Ezra’s voice floats out an echo. From the side of the sacristy, beside the main congregation hall, he emerges.

How did he get there without you noticing?

In his grasp is a lit candle. The flames create interesting shadows upon his handsome face as his molten eyes stare at you.

“Apologizes,” he reassured you with the ease of a saint. “Went to scavenge for some light.”

“Seems you were unsuccessful.” You dryly tease, walking towards where Ezra stands at the front of the congregation.

A slight tug of amusement comes over his heavenly face.

“We shall make camp here until the storm quells.”

No better place to find sanctuary than in a chapel, even though this one has seen better days.

Outside the wind continues rattling the windows while the rain creates a soothing melody. Yet, there is an emptiness here, like you can’t sense any sacred spirit within these walls. You wonder if the Lord maybe has even abandoned this space.

“Come rest with me, turtle dove.” Ezra beckons to you as he sits casually on the floor up besides the altar.

“You can’t sit there!” You whisper urgent.

“Why? Who is here to stop me?” Ezra counters with raised eyebrows and amused crinkled eyes.

“This is sacred ground! You can’t simply sit in the sanctuary like it’s some sort of encampment!” You argue.

“Biride,” Ezra begins. “This momentary shelter is merely a building. The same way all buildings are just simple creations of stone and labor.”

“Not buildings like this, especially when our lord resides here.” You reply like a dutifully faithful follower.

Ezra now sits up from his lax position to glance around. His eyes survey every inch of the space.

“You say our Heavenly Father is here. But tell me, turtle dove, do you sense his presence here?”

He noticed it too.

Your tongue becomes metal, heavy and bitter.

“Come,” he urges again, kinder now. “Rest. Your legs need their strength for the rest of your journey. It will be much more comfortable than those stuffy pews.”

You narrow your eyes at him, still hesitant. Defiant, you try sitting in one of the vacant pews only to find clusters of spider webs creating a slightly unnerving barrier. And you didn’t want to check every pew for availability. You were too tired.

Refusing to meet Ezra’s eyes you step past the pews, into the sanctuary, and delicately sit a small space away from your companion.

“See? Not so hard, and you didn’t even combust into flames sitting here.”

You glare at him while Ezra grins triumphant. Silence settles. But with a man who readily embraces the gift and curse of gab, it feels dangerous.

A small gurgle of a noise rumbles out and your face heats up horrified. You didn’t realize you hadn’t eaten this entire journey.

“A bit peckish, dear dove?” Ezra chuckles a smokey thing.

You’re about to grumble under your breath annoyed until he again peers around the abandoned church.

“Rather unfortunate there doesn’t seem to be any source of subsidence here.”

You quietly reassure him as you shift your cloak to reach for your covered satchel. Thankfully, your morsel of a wrapped loaf was spared from the rain.

“I have this for us to share.” You quietly announce.

Ezra gasps small but surprised.

“Divine goddess, you are salvation.” He breathes out.

“I am no goddess. No one person is divine in such a way.” You correct him.

The man hums. “If the maker created man in his image does that not mean we are shades of god in our own ways?”

Midway unfolding the bread out of the paper, you halt.

You never thought of it that way. It made sense. Slowly, it feels as if a wagon wheel is turning in your head leading you towards something you cannot reach.

“Sweet turtle dove,” Ezra calls to you. “Would you be so gracious and let me consecrate our feast?”

You’re stunned by the heartfelt request. This man seems to be a never ending labyrinth confusing you with no end in sight.

You slide closer to sit fully beside him. Readily you hand him the wrapped bread and try not to jump at his hand brushing yours. His skin is soft, warmed, and your knuckles tingle from the simple exchange.

“Thank you kindly.”

Now holding the bread in one hand, Ezra moves the other to lightly hover above the morsel. Closing his eyes in prayer, Ezra begins.

However, he mutters low and so fast that you can’t even catch a word of his prayer. You wonder if he even is saying anything or is simply mocking the form of prayer.

You’re about to chide him until he quickly finishes. Dreamily opening his eyes Ezra then simply breaks the bread into two.

“To break communion with someone lovely as you is an honor.” With a gracious grin, your stranger hands you a piece. You thank him with a soft mutter.

The storm continues its wrath and you arrive at a bleak conclusion. Your night will be spent here in this eerie abandoned church with this strange mysterious handsome man.

Resigning yourself to that, you sigh and take a bite out of the bread.

The bread was a simple one you got from the neighboring town’s bakery. It’s nothing special. You’ve even thought it rather stale at times.

However, the bread you taste now is indescribable.

It melts in your mouth, wonderfully soft and warm. There’s even the sweetest taste like a whisper of a fruit that reminds you of apples. An uncontrollable moan of satisfaction escapes you.

But your eyes widen realizing how you just acted.

Embarrassment floods you fast and you anxiously gaze at Ezra who smirks at you.

Unable to stare at him long, you turn back down to your lap. The bread looks exactly the same as it always does.

Is your mind so exhausted it believes this stale morsel now tastes this heavenly?

You must be imagining things.

Besides you, Ezra shuffles. Out of curiosity your eyes lift towards him and find the man shrugging off his coat.

He even removes his waistcoat to reveal his simple white slipover. Rain still lingers on his skin allowing the pristine white cloth to stick to him. Without the coat you’re given clear sight of his glorious neck.

A thought flutters into your mind.

You imagine sinking your teeth into his beautiful flesh and lapping up all the rain droplets.

Dread fills you.

How could you think such thoughts?

“Turtle dove,” Ezra’s voice shatters the silence almost making you jump.

“If you could create a world of your own, what would it look like?”

The question stumps you, even brings in a twinkle of curiosity. What would bring on such a question? You suppose it must be a way to break the silence and pass the time.

In thought, you hum a small noise.

“I think…” you quietly utter and let your thoughts flow.

You think of a world built on compassion, one without hunger or war, of one filled with peace and justice.

“And without sin, I suppose.” Ezra gently comments and your eyes turn to him.

He stares towards the ground with a peculiar look shadowed over his handsome face.

“Yes of course.” You answer. Sin is the root of all evil and corrupted humanity’s souls.

“What if I told you some sins are not all evil? And that what you long for, dear turtle dove, is not a world void is sin, but one free of guilt from it.”

Your face scrunches up a bit confused over his nebulous words.

“Should we not all live in indulgence?” Ezra adds, clarified in his words.

“Indulgence leads to corruption.” You reply parroting all the countless sermons that discussed this.

“If our creator didn’t want us to indulge, then why did he indulge in creating such a world so lush as this one?” Your stranger offers.

You try gathering a reply, thinking of all the lessons about how this world is meant to be seen in awe and appreciated. Not to indulge in. But now all your arguments seem to fall short, not even sound correct in your head.

Before you can press the discussion further Ezra leans closer towards you. Your thoughts and body become completely petrified.

You should lean away, lean back from his casual intimate movements.

But you can’t. Or, within the deep terror of your heart you know the truth. You don’t want to.

His thumb moves towards the corner of your mouth and you transform completely into stone.

Ezra’s ink eyes haze over while his thumb gently swipes against your skin.

“Crumbs.” He mutters, answering for his actions. Yet, his hand doesn’t leave.

You don’t shove him away or demand him to go. The downpour rattling the windows becomes the church’s only noise while you and this man sit in the stillness.

Ezra’s attention falls to your mouth.

His thumb now strokes the corner of your lips. You believe it’s to wipe more bread crumbs away. Then his thumb swipes across your bottom lip and a sharp inhale escapes you.

His eyes and yours find each other.

“You deserve to live in indulgence,” Ezra whispers deviously rich.

Your skin feels ablazed and your throat dries. Out of instinct or perhaps something darker you wet your lips. In that movement your lips press against his thumb and your tongue manages to swipe at his skin.

You’re rewarded the faintest taste of him, a crumb of his salty golden skin, and it’s like a thread slowly catches fire.

You want more, need it.

Possibly possessed now, your mouth opens up and simply slips more of his thumb into your mouth.

The moment the salty taste of him hits your tongue your eyes close.

Feeling his finger in your mouth against your tongue, against your teeth, is divine. His flesh must be coated with ambrosia because your mouth waters aching for more.

Heaven, or this must be a slice of it.

Until horror strikes you and you realize what you’re doing. Terrified eyes now open, you’re about to pull away and yelp horrified.

Ezra’s hand rapidly moves to cradle your face firm and slide his thumb deeper into your mouth.

“Oh my sweet bird,” he coos now closer to you. “You’ve tasted the pleasure I can give, the magic I can conjure. Don’t deny yourself this.”

His beautiful nose presses into the side of your face nuzzling against your skin and your eyes close. Bliss overtakes you.

“Now” his voice drops a dangerous lulling whisper. “Hollow your cheeks for me, and suck in.”

You do as told and the groan Ezra lets out vibrates deep past your skin. You even let out a whine.

You’ve heard the noises men make in the waves of passion, but this was decadent. You never knew a man could sound this beautiful.

You wanted to hear him even more. And knowing you did this to him? A syrupy drunken pride courses through you intoxicating.

You suck harder, allowing your tongue to caress his skin and Ezra exhales heavenly.

Before you can indulge any further, a creature screeches into the church and shatters the sensual spell. You shriek in terror and scramble. Wings furiously flapping come and out of reflex you cover your head.

Then a solid body collides into you and your world falls over.

You hit the floor of the sanctuary with a soft thud. It would’ve been a harder fall if not for Ezra’s hand cradling your head to soften the impact. Your eyes look up to find Ezra covering you, protecting you from whatever flew in.

Your heart thumps loud in your ears, a horrible drum drowning out your thoughts. His broad shoulders, firm frame, he really is a man crafted out of pure beauty and desire now that you’ve tasted his skin.

“Blasted bats… must’ve been nesting in here.” Ezra comments with a mutter while his eyes stay watching out.

Now you faintly hear the familiar chirps of the creatures. You hope they all leave soon or move to another area within the church.

Slowly the rustling settles. Ezra does not move from his post above you, a shield keeping you safe from the interrupting creatures.

His large hand cradling your head holds you gently but with a firmness that speaks of his control.

The strangest clash of sensations arrives. Like Eve awoken out of her blissful sin, you’re keenly aware of the cold clothes sticking to you. Particularly your wet cloak weighing on you sends a chill crawling up your skin making you squirm.

Ezra’s eyes slip back to you. The candlelight highlights the shadows of his face and his eyes seem deeper than before. Candlelight doesn’t even reflect in their abyss.

Until his obsidian eyes go wide in a slight panic.

“Your wing, turtle dove.”

Now confused you shift to lift your arm up. A small cut has ripped through your cloak and blouse sleeve. You didn’t even notice or feel it. Must have cut yourself on the old wooden floor below.

The church didn’t seem this dilapidated to have rotten wood floors. However, without upkeep, it only makes sense everything begins to splinter and decay. Thankfully the cut isn’t deep but dark crimson does stain the cloth.

“Oh,” you even mutter a bit stunned.

Gently Ezra shifts to help you up while being cautious of your wound.

“Are you in pain?” He asks, concerned.

“No.” You shake your head, truthfully telling him you didn’t even notice the cut.

Ezra delicately moves towards your arm. “May I?”

You nod quietly.

Gingerly, your mysterious stranger places his hands on you to further inspect your wound.

“It doesn’t hurt.” You reassure him.

Surprisingly, Ezra stays silent. His eyes remain on your arm. As if you’re an injured sparrow, he folds up your blouse sleeve delicately.

The faintest touch of his thumb strokes your bare skin and your throat constricts tight. This unknown mystery of a man tenderly touching you clutches at your soul.

“My creator, so heavenly in his wisdom,” he suddenly speaks low, like his voice is dipped in sticky honey. “Taught me this is how we heal wounds.”

Then Ezra draws your arm up and he leans down. And in that swift moment, he presses his lips to your wound.

A tender kiss.

Your breath hitches, tripping over itself. You indeed had his finger in your mouth moments ago. But this opens a chasm in you. Especially as you watch him lick away your blood at his lips

Then his lips return to your skin, on your wound, and it feels like devotion.

There were saints that kissed the wounds of your lord and now how angelic, reverent, Ezra’s face looks, you imagine him as one.

However, his lips start kissing all across your arm, quickly becoming greedy. Like a silent thief, he continues kissing up your arm with deliberate nips.

If he is a robber, this thievery is divine. You even squirm, squeezing your legs together because a slick wetness leaks between them. You wish to quell this burning urge to be touched.

Your mind only focuses on Ezra’s lips that you don’t even notice he unclasped your cloak until the heavy cold weight drops off you like shackles unchained.

However, an awful breeze across your skin makes you shrink back from the cold and snaps you into awareness.

You can’t do this with a man like this, a stranger.

A fanged piece of yourself urges you to simply give in, especially with a man not known in town. The internal struggle vanishes when Ezra’s breath tickles against your exposed neck.

“Do you wish me to stop, my turtle dove?” He coo’s. “I believe you deserve to taste this indulgence.”

“I don’t know you.” You croak out. Yet your voice doesn’t even sound convinced of your own resolve.

“Oh but you do.” Ezra pleads, his voice drenched in gilded desire.

“You know me.” He urges. “This is what you wanted. Your heart summoned me. I heard your call and here I am.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice cracks, an unsteady foundation.

“The hidden truths in your heart,” Ezra whispers and his breath dances upon your skin a ghost’s hymnal.

“The festering jealousy of knowing your dear friend found adoration, even out of sin…you wished to know of such delights. And your anger of this world for damning you to such solitudes, of being so constricting - it all called to me.”

Fear captures your heart. This couldn’t be true.

“Oh but it is,” Ezra answers you.

You don’t even know if you spoke those words aloud or if this man has now slithered into your thoughts.

“All those nights you longed for a lover,” he mourns sympathetically. “All alone with just your fingers in your sweet sex.”

You choke on air, gasping for some sort of relief from this terror drowning you.

“Oh and I’ve watched you for so long, my bird.” He bemoans. “Ached for so long to claim you mine.”

“You…you’ve seen me before?” You stammer.

“Indeed I have. I know you’ve partaken in sin. And the guilt you hold consumes you. Let me be your redemption,” Ezra continues with a pure temptation crawling from his voice.

You should be concerned at how this man has seen you before. Yet…With his mouth simply a breath’s pace away from you nothing seems to matter. Because your mind only wants him to kiss you, ravish you.

“You must say it, my angel.” He mutters.

Do you dare jump off the ledge and plunge into this molten fire?

A light terror runs across your skin, like hearing the hiss of a snake yet not seeing it. Something is afoot with Ezra. You can’t pinpoint it…

But you also wonder if this doubt is born from the chains of your faith holding you back?

“Ezra.” You mumble his name, a choked noise.

“I await your command.” The man reverently responds as if in a mass himself.

“Please….” You whimper out.

“Please what?” He murmurs and his twang clouds his voice even more.

“Please….touch me.” You croak while your voice trails.

It unleashes a monster.

Ezra’s lips dive onto your neck, kissing upon your skin with a possessed fervor. Even while sitting, the sudden rush of his lips, the scrape of his facial hair against you makes your body collapse.

It only allows for Ezra to sweep you into his arms.

Yanking his face away from your neck, you’re about to mourn the loss of him against your skin until his lips swoop in to consume yours.

You’ve kissed others before. In the hidden shadow of buildings after dark, you’ve even recently shared a kiss or two with the blacksmith’s brother a handful of times. They’ve been wonderful but secret encounters.

This however sets your soul on fire.

His tongue swiftly maneuvers into your mouth and now tasting him from the source, you never want to know a day without this, without him.

You moan, yanking at him closer, and try to slide your own tongue against his now. It’s messy, wet, a clash of bone and spirit but it’s delicious.

Sliding his arms under your legs, Ezra lifts you up with ease as he stands. You squeak against his lips, but then your eyes roll back when the man suddenly begins sucking on your tongue.

Your body feels like it will crumble at any moment.

That’s when you notice you’re being laid upon something cold and flat.

Wearily you find you do rest high upon something.

And now, the church is lit.

You panic looking around. The torches lining the walls burn with warm flames and illuminate the space in amber light.

How? Ezra did not leave you for one moment. Was there another here? And if so, how did you not hear them?

A warm calloused hand moves to cradle your face and your eyes snap to Ezra who peers down at you with smoke filled eyes.

“Don’t fret, my dove. We are only here.” He reassures, leaning down to kiss you again and your eyes shut once more.

“And if you’re not simply focused on me, then I’m not doing this correctly.” He mutters against your lips.

A wanton drunkenness comes with how consuming he kisses, especially as his mouth pulls from your lips to lick against your jaw.

He hums a satisfied groan.

“Oh my darling turtle dove, you were born to be worshiped by me weren’t you? And I blessed to simply be your devout disciple.” A revered holiness oozes thick from his voice.

“Let me venerate at your holy temple.” Ezra exhales against your throat kissing your feverish skin.

This is more than you can handle. It’s tremendous. It’s too much, yet not enough. It’s building something just out of your grasp, a flame that can’t be extinguished and scorches so fierce.

Blinking out of the haze, you find instead of being beside you, Ezra, like magic, now stands by your feet.

His hands slide up your legs and yank you closer towards him.

A yelp of surprise squeaks out from you. Any other noise or thoughts get swallowed up when Ezra’s hands snake under your skirt and up your legs.

Your eyes close under the sensation of his calloused warm hands.

“Do you know what true sacrifice cleanses sins?” Ezra asks with gravel in his voice.

“Hm?” You mumble, unable to create a response with how wonderful his fingers feel caressing your thighs.

“It’s to offer up one’s life. That’s the ultimate form of sacrifice.”

His words terrify you. Is he insinuating what you think he is? Are you to be made a lamb to slaughter because of the desire consuming you?

“Shh…” Ezra notices your worry and soothes you, rubbing gentle circles on your skin.

“Fear not, my dove. For I shall bring you redemption just as you’ve brought me mine.”

Slowly, he hoists your leg up and your eyes widen. He shifts to stand between your legs. Keeping his gaze on you, the mysterious man kisses your calf, a calming balm that also ignites a heat brewing in you again.

“Tell me,” Ezra asks, speaking into your skin. “Has anyone tasted you…here?”

Suddenly his fingers graze against your sex and warmth floods your face at just the thought.

You heard of such a thing from your friend at the brothels. However it was a rare occurrence, almost seemed mythical.

“No.” You breathe out.

“Shame.” Ezra mumbles. “All for me I suppose. A wonderfully ripe peach, all mine to consume.”

His inky dazed eyes flicker to yours.

“Will you let me take you to heaven, my lovely? May I swim in your ocean and taste your pearl?” Ezra offers like a man asking for your atonement.

The terminology is not missed on you and lust crashes in a dizzying tidal wave.

Quietly, swallowing thick, you nod yes.

Pride grin tugs at Ezra’s lips and his eyes twinkle like a creature lurking out from the woods.

Softly closing his eyes, he returns to kissing your skin. Except this time he moves up your leg with a purpose -

Like he’s on a holy pilgrimage.

Almost bewitched you watch him kneel down and push up your skirt to reveal your under garment. It’s a sight you want seared into your memory.

Then Ezra presses forward and kisses your covered sex. A gasp rips wild from you and your eyes roll back.

With a fast rip, Ezra takes apart your undergarments. Bare to him, his tongue then licks against your cunt and the most debauched sound you never knew you could even make escapes you.

“Do you enjoy? Wish me to continue?” You don’t know how Ezra’s voice swirls around you, a caress in the whispering wind, but you nod frantically.

“Ezra please… more.” You whimper.

And he does as you command.

Ezra pulls you apart with a wet devotion and frenzy that feels like you’re being devoured. He’s feasting on you.

You whine, even slap a hand over your mouth to silence how loud you’ve become when he sucks hard on the pearl of your sex.

“No.” He mumbles wet within your molten heat. “Let me hear you, my lovely.”

You don’t deny him after that.

The storm now rages outside, violently ramming into the windows. It mixes with the cries of your pleasure ripping through you.

When your climax arrives and knocks you out of this realm, you scream Ezra’s name while your legs shake.

“Beauty divine,” Ezra sighs, devout and borderline drunk.

Breathing down from your high with your back fully now flat against the floor surface, it hits you.

You’ve been lying on the chapel’s altar this entire time.

The offering is you. You indeed are the sacrifice, one of vitality. The throne of ecstasy is a form of life…

And did Ezra not tell you passion is also a tiny death itself as well?

Before you can gather this, Ezra dives back into you again and you squirm unbelieving this man can want more. He’s a man possessed like he’s trying to consume you from the inside out, devouring you until he reaches your marrow.

“Ezra.” You whimper. It borders too much, but you also don’t want this to stop.

“Let me feast, my dove.” He growls back and you catch it.

Ezra’s voice sounds distorted, fluttering between his twang and now a jagged danger sounding monstrous.

Wearily, trying to stay aware among the heat of building rapture, you exhaustedly lean up.

Between your legs Ezra is a sinful sight. His broad shoulders keep your thighs open as his tongue dips into the caverns of your cunt. You melt, unable to keep your eyes open.

But you want to watch him, want to remember this for as long as you can.

Especially now that the storm rages all around. You even wonder if the decaying church’s roof might be ripped off.

So your eyes open.

From between your legs, Ezra glances up.

His mouth stays stuck to your sex, except his eyes are completely hollowed out.

Drenched in darkness, like ink spilled entirely into them, they’re unholy and inhuman.

A scream rips from you but you can’t tell if it’s born of fear or pleasure. Or maybe both have blended together.

Your hips rise galvanized more and more, unable to stop their grind into his lips. Ezra’s grip keeps you secured and grounded.

Yet the sensation of sharpened nails now scrape against your skin.

You discover there are indeed claws, gruesome and monstrous claws, that form Ezra’s hands and arms.

“What- what are you?!” You sob.

Ezra hums and peers up at you.

“Salvation, my lovely. Yours and mine.”

A second orgasmic high hits and from the overwhelming pleasure your vision goes white. You wonder if this is heaven.

Or perhaps it’s hell.

Maybe you have died.

You should scream in terror or pray for absolution. But it’s so hard when this tastes so incredibly intoxicating, a most potent elixir.

As your body crumbles back against the altar, the overstimulated sensations become numbing, fogging your mind. Your eyes flicker up to the ceiling of the chapel.

You cannot find your god anywhere in the shadows.

The back of Ezra’s clawed hand gently strokes your cheek.

So tired, barely able to stay awake, your exhausted gaze flickers to him.

Those eyes of his, dark chasms of hell, should be soulless. But instead he looks at you with utmost tenderness.

The blazing lights of the church cast a warm glow outlined around Ezra, almost like a halo.

It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful in the terrifying way a fire is.

The mystery known as Ezra suddenly whispers out your name and you realize…

You never once gave it to him this entire time.

He is the last sight you see before your vision finally falls into the darkness.

When you awake, you’re among your quilts and bed.

You’re home.

Rapidly you look around so confused. How did you end up here? Was it all a dream?

“You’re awake!” Your father cries relieved and rushes to your side.

He thankfully answers all your questions.

You had arrived the morning after the storm. However, you hadn’t been alone.

“You had fallen ill on the road.” Your father explains. “But, thanks be to God, the new pastor sent to our town discovered you and carried you home.”

Now you’ve been resting ever since.

Had that experience been a fever dream, a temporary temptation conjured from your heart’s dark desires?

That had to be a dream, one brought on by your sudden sickness. So you rest and stay in bed for most of the day. From your window you admire the beautiful clear skies, the wonderful weather, and wildflowers growing so lovely.

You also notice your arm is completely healed, like you were never cut to begin with.

Midafternoon, a knock arrives at the door.

Your father calls your name. “Someone here to visit!”

Your mind sorts through all the possibilities of who is here to see you. You never expected your dearest friend to enter in with tears in her eyes. Overjoyed emotion washes over you as she rushes to embrace you.

“How can this be?” You hiccup, wiping away the tears. She was rarely allowed back home, especially now with her early pregnancy.

“The new pastor,” she smiles wide. “So holy and forgiving, he spoke to the judges and they are all redetermining a new sentence for me.”

You almost whisper out a prayer of thanksgiving. You hoped in your heart this would happen. She doesn’t stay long, wanting you to rest and you urge her to do the same.

By twilight another knock at the door arrives.

“Seems we are quite popular today.” Your father teases out from the main quarters.

Then he exclaims in excitement at seeing who’s arrived.

“Oh we are so blessed to have such a considerate clergyman coming by to visit!”

The new pastor. You’re beyond interested to meet this man and now you will.

When your father enters your room, Ezra waltzes in behind him.

Fear seizes your soul.

No. It couldn’t be.

This must be a man that looks like him down to his beautiful sharp nose and white patch of hair.

“Pleasure to see you again and under better circumstances.” Ezra’s clear twang rings out low and twinkling within your room.

Your heart rages rapidly and wild.

“Don’t look so terrified.” Your father chides soft but you still can’t believe this sight before you.

“Might I have a moment of solitude with your dear offspring?” Ezra asks with all the humility of an apostle.

Your father readily agrees, shutting the door behind him.

Now in the confines of your room Ezra slowly saunters towards your bed, a creature approaching its prey.

He exalts your name on an exhale.

You try to speak, but nothing comes out and Ezra moves to kneel beside your bed. His eyes twinkle with patient and pious understanding.

“Shh…no need for words, my dear turtle dove.” He quietly soothes you.

So many emotions clash in you, a tremulous onslaught you can’t handle.

“Have you come to kill me?” Fear manages to escape your lips and Ezra’s glorious face drops.

“Oh no, my beloved birdie. I’d never lay a hand on you with any violence or killing intent.” He reassures, a tender caress. “I’m here to free you. For us to set everyone free…did you not hear of what I did for your dear friend?”

His hand graciously cradles your cheek.

You should be terrified this man, this creature, is here. But you’re not.

Instead consuming relief and dangerous glee fills you. He is real. It was real.

Your hands clasp onto his and you hate how much you lean into his touch

Ezra leans forward and places a kiss against your forehead.

“What are you?” You ask barely above a whisper.

“The shadow of an angel, perhaps a monster to some.” He replies back. “But yours, nonetheless”

And you want him to be yours.

This is wrong to feel so greedy, to want a creature this dangerous. But were demons not once angels who deserved forgiveness and love?

So shifting your face you turn and place a kiss against Ezra’s palm.

Now when you hear the sermons, when you hear Ezra preach, you will think of Eve with sympathy because you understand.

You too fell for the serpent.

After all, evil never looks so beautiful as it does holding you. And desire never tasted so divine, never felt so holy.

Outside your window, the wildflowers begin to rot and the sudden rumble of a thunderstorm rolls in.

[luv-velvet]

The icy aftermath

You fucked up.

The snow fell softly around you, a stark contrast to the terror racing through your veins. Your bare feet pounded against the frozen ground, each step a jarring reminder of how ill-prepared you were for this chase. Your breath misted in the frigid air, and every gust of wind felt like a cutting blade against your skin.

Behind you, his presence loomed, his slow, deliberate strides barely making a sound. You knew he wasn't exerting himself; his pace was a taunt, a reminder that no matter how fast you ran, you were no match for him. The snow beneath you, once a soft blanket, now felt like a treacherous obstacle, slowing your progress.

How had it come to this? It was meant to be a harmless game, a bit of mischief to see how far you could push his limits. The short skirt you wore, barely covered your ass, had been more than just a playful choice. oh,and your flirtatious tone?, clearly your actions aimed at provoking him. You hadn't expected him to take it seriously—at least, not like this.

But he had noticed everything. Every glance, every provocative movement had been cataloged by his sharp eyes. Now, the consequences of your actions were catching up with you. His amusement was palpable as he watched your frantic attempts to escape, savoring every moment of your panic.

Suddenly, your foot caught on a hidden branch, and you tumbled forward, pain shooting through your knee as it scraped against the hard ground. You tried to rise, but the sting was too much, and you found yourself collapsing into the snow. You could hear his footsteps growing nearer, the sound sending fresh waves of dread through you.

Crawling backward, your attempts to push the snow away from you were futile. Sukuna's shadow loomed over you, his presence so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the freezing cold that had enveloped you. His gaze was intense, a mixture of cold amusement and simmering anger.

"Well, well, look at you now," Sukuna's voice was a low growl, filled with dark satisfaction. "All that arrogance, and this is where it led you."

You looked up at him, your face flushed with the cold and your eyes wide with fear. There was no escape now. The playful challenge had turned into a nightmare, and you were left to face the consequences of your reckless behavior. You should have known this was going to happen. You should have realized that Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, would not tolerate your foolish attempt to challenge him.

As he crouched down beside you, his fingers gently traced the line of your jaw. The touch was surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the menace in his eyes. "You thought you could tease me and get away with it," he said softly, almost thoughtfully. "But now, you see that I don’t take such things lightly."

His hand gripped your chin, and though his touch was gentle, there was an undeniable force behind it. You swallowed hard, knowing that whatever came next, it would be a punishment unlike anything you had anticipated. The night, once filled with playful excitement, had transformed into a lesson you would not soon forget.

It's my first time writing something this long, and I'm a bit nervous about making mistakes. Please excuse any errors!

Ps: should I make a part 2?

Also guys please please help me find that one video where the girl is being chased by a guy, she is running and she falls down and he was walking towards her slowly and she tries throwing snow at him... It was literally my inspiration for this one shot nd it was giving haunting Adeline vibes

[unforgivenn]

Masochist whumpee who messes up simple tasks to get hurt by their master. When whumper notices this they get very angry and decide to show whumpee what real pain feels like

CW: torture, masochism, sadism, emotional and physical abuse

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single bulb casting eerie shadows on the walls. Whumpee stood trembling, their fingers fumbling, either in excitement or fear over the broken vase pieces scattered on the floor.

They knew the routine by now, the cycle of mistakes and punishments that had become their twisted solace. They longed for the sharp sting of their master's wrath, the only connection they had left in this world.

Whumper entered the room, their eyes narrowing as they took in the scene. "Again?" They hissed, the word dripping with venom. "You can't even handle a simple task like this?"

Whumpee's heart raced, a mixture of fear and anticipation swirling in their chest. "I'm sorry, Master," they whispered, their voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to..."

Whumper's hand shot out, grabbing Whumpee by the collar and lifting them off the ground. "Don't lie to me!" they roared, shaking Whumpee violently. "You did this on purpose, didn't you? You want me to hurt you, don't you?"

Whumpee's eyes filled with tears, their breath coming in ragged gasps. "Please, Master... I... I just..."

Whumper's grip tightened, their eyes blazing with fury. "You think this is pain? You think you know what real pain feels like?" They threw Whumpee to the ground, their voice low and menacing. "I'll show you what pain really is."

Whumpee curled into a ball, their body trembling as they awaited the inevitable. Whumper disappeared into the shadows, returning moments later with a thin, cruel-looking whip. They cracked it in the air, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

"Get up," Whumper ordered, their voice cold and devoid of emotion. "Stand up and face me."

Whumpee struggled to their feet, their legs shaking uncontrollably. They met Whumper's gaze, a mixture of fear and desperate longing in their eyes. "Please, Master... I..."

"Silence!" Whumper snapped, raising the whip high. "You want pain? I'll give you pain."

The first strike landed with a sickening crack, the force of it sending Whumpee crashing to the ground. They screamed, the sound raw and guttural, echoing off the walls. Whumper didn't stop, the whip lashing out again and again, each blow more brutal than the last.

"Is this what you wanted?" Whumper snarled, their voice growing more frenzied with each strike. "Is this what you needed?"

Whumpee's screams turned to sobs, their body convulsing with each hit. They could feel their skin tearing, the blood flowing freely down their back. The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that consumed every inch of their being.

Whumper finally stopped, their chest heaving with exertion. They looked down at Whumpee, a twisted smile playing on their lips. "Now you know what real pain feels like," they said softly, their voice almost gentle. "Now you understand."

Whumpee lay on the ground, their body broken and bloodied, their mind a haze of pain and confusion. They had wanted this, hadn't they? They had needed this. But now, as the darkness closed in around them, they weren't so sure. The only thing they knew for certain was that they were completely, utterly alone.

Whumper wasn’t done. They dragged Whumpee by their hair to the basement, each step down the creaky stairs echoing with dread. The basement was a chamber of horrors, tools of torment meticulously arranged on the walls. Whumpee’s eyes widened in terror as they were shoved against a cold, metal table. Their wrists and ankles were strapped down with cruel efficiency.

"Now," Whumper said, their voice a chilling whisper, "let’s see how much you can really take."

They reached for a set of sharp hooks, dangling them in front of Whumpee's wide, terrified eyes. "no..." Whumpee pleaded, their voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

Ignoring the pleas, Whumper pressed the first hook into Whumpee’s flesh, just below their ribcage. The hook dug in with a sickening squelch, and the guttural scream that escaped Whumpee was animalistic to say the least.

"Shh," Whumper cooed mockingly, twisting the hook slightly. "This is just the beginning."

Whumper moved with practiced precision, embedding more hooks into Whumpee's skin, each one drawing fresh screams and rivers of blood. Whumpee's body was a canvas of suffering, each hook a cruel reminder of their tormentor's power.

"Oh but whumpee.. Do you not enjoy this..?" Whumper cooed making whumpee shake their head so fast, that their ears started ringing. Or maybe that was because of the blood loss. They weren't so sure now.

"Why do you do this, whumpee?" The whumper's voice cut through the haze of pain, his words a cruel taunt. "Why do you crave this suffering?"

Whumpee could only whimper in response, their mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear, desire, and a twisted gratitude that they couldn't comprehend. The pain was relentless, a symphony of torment orchestrated by their own hand.

"Answer me!" The whumper's voice boomed, shaking them from their stupor. "Or do you need more?"

"I... I don't know!" Whumpee gasped, tears mingling with the sweat and blood on their face. "I just... I need..."

"You need me to show you what real pain feels like," the whumper finished, their voice low and chilling.

As Whumpee's screams subsided into weak, shuddering sobs, Whumper pulled out a thin, serrated knife. "You've been such a disappointment," they murmured, tracing the blade along Whumpee's thigh. "Maybe this will teach you to do better."

They carved slowly, deliberately, the knife slicing through flesh with a sickening ease. Blood pooled around Whumpee’s legs, the metallic scent mingling with the damp, musty air of the basement. Whumpee's cries grew weaker, their body wracked with uncontrollable shivers.

Whumper stepped back, surveying their handiwork with a satisfied grin. "You see," they said softly, "this is what pain really feels like."

Whumpee's vision blurred, their mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. The pain was a consuming fire, burning away any coherent thought. All that remained was a raw, unfiltered agony that left them broken and hollow.

As the darkness closed in, Whumpee’s last thought was a fleeting wish for an end to the torment, a desperate hope that they would never wake to face their master’s wrath again.

[eksvaized]

Part Nine König / Ghost / Reader [ Previous 〡 Next ] ︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱ taglist (if you want to be added - let me know!): @strawberrygato, @ghostslittlegf, @eskalotte, @abcdbleh, @yawning-grave81, @liamwholover, @valira-demaur, @idek101-01, @mizu-bozu, @pinkslaystation only one more chapter to go, yay!!

The moment Simon first steps into the room, your senses falter and fail to immediately recognize the man standing before you. As your eyes unwillingly land on an imposing figure, dressed entirely in black with a sinister skull mask obscuring his features, a scream erupts from your throat, only to be stifled by the tape on your mouth. Each deliberate, heavy step he takes towards you seems to echo ominously, causing your already terrified body to coil tighter in fear. The tension knotted in your muscles is pulled so taut; it feels as if it’s on the brink of snapping , like a wire stretched past its limit.

Desperately, you attempt to convince yourself that this is not real. You try to imagine that it’s only a nightmare. A mere figment of your overactive imagination. But when Simon sits on the edge of the bed and the mattress creaks under his weight, the sound resonates with a harsh reality that shatters your hope. It’s at this moment that you know, without a shadow of a doubt, it’s as real as the air you’re struggling to breathe.

His large, gloved fingertips trail slowly, almost delicately, under your quivering jaw before curling around your chin with an assertive forcefulness that brooks no resistance. His grasp is unyielding, forcing you to meet his gaze, to look into his eyes.

“It’s a shame our little fling has to end like this,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. His thumb brushes across the rough surface of the tape, tracing the curve of your lips hidden beneath.

Your body instinctively shrinks away from his touch. A fresh wave of tears, akin to a looming storm cloud, wells up in the corners of your eyes, threatening to surge forth, ready to cascade down your already damp cheeks.

Before, his hands on your skin, his fingers caressing and kneading your flesh, his lips exploring the contours of your body—all of it kindled a fire inside you, leaving you yearning for more, consumed by a craving that was insatiable. But now, all you want is to repel him, to shove away his touch, to erase all memories of the times you willingly got in his bed.

At first, you fight back. Your body convulses and shakes violently on the bed as you try with every ounce of strength to let out a scream, to somehow make him back off. You grit your teeth, your muscles straining as you fight against the bindings. But as the struggle continues, a crippling exhaustion seeps into your limbs. You come to a grim realization that your efforts are in vain—there’s not much, if anything at all, that you can do while bound.

The only reason you force yourself to regain your composure, to calm your racing heart that is pounding against your ribcage like a wild animal in a cage, is the small glimmer of hope that shines in the darkness. If Simon has any intention of moving you out of here, out of this dimly lit, fear-soaked bedroom, he will have to untie your wrists from the headboard. And when that moment comes, you plan to seize that fleeting opportunity to make a run for it, to escape from this hellish nightmare.

You notice Simon incessantly glancing at his phone. His eyes flicking to the screen every few seconds. You can practically feel his mounting frustration, his rapidly dwindling patience filling the space with an oppressive tension. But then, the faint sound of a car pulling into the driveway penetrates the silence, causing him to spring to his feet. Your heart drops like a stone in your chest and your eyes widen in terror, your back suddenly slick with a cold, clammy sweat. Whoever he’s been awaiting, whoever he’s been so impatiently expecting, has now arrived, and you can’t help but dread what happens next.

In a swift movement, Simon pulls out a blade, twirling it in a nonchalant manner between his fingers as if it were nothing more than a toy. The incongruity of the situation - the casual display of the weapon - momentarily stuns you. He then presses the cold metal against your throat. The chill of it seeps into your skin. You’re too afraid to even breathe, your instincts screaming at you to pull your head back, to get as far away from the blade as possible. But his hand clamps onto the back of your neck, keeping you firmly in place against your frantic efforts.

“I’m going to cut the ropes now... but if you try to run—” His words send an icy shiver racing down your spine as he drags the blade across your skin, stopping abruptly as the sharp tip of it grazes your exposed collarbone. He doesn’t need to finish the sentence — the threat in his voice is clear enough, and the implication of what would happen if you tried to flee hangs heavy in the air.

The front door hinges creak, and the subtle sound of footsteps ring through the hallway, growing louder as they approach the bedroom. A wave of dizziness and panic washes over you, so intense it’s almost tangible. Your heart pounds violently against your rib cage, threatening to burst forth, and you have to expend every ounce of your remaining strength to brace yourself against the overpowering urge to faint.

Simon, his fingers firm around your shoulder, makes you sit up and instructs you to place your hands behind your back. You comply, your arms trembling. But before he can bind your wrists again, the bedroom door swings open with a dramatic flourish, causing both you and Simon to swivel your heads towards the ominous silhouette that now looms in the doorway.

In the dim light, you recognise König, and a shaky whimper escapes your dry, cracked lips, a sound that is half relief, half terror and muffled by the tape. Despite everything, you’ve never been happier or more relieved to see him; he wasn’t supposed to come home tonight. Simon straightens his back, his hand pushing you back into the bed with too much force. You crumple onto the mattress, your face buried in the cold linen.

König, however, wastes no time. He merely pauses for a split second, his eyes absorbing the scene like a hawk spotting its prey, before launching himself at Simon with the raw ferocity of a wild beast. When his clenched fist collides with Simon’s skull, you hear a sickening crack, and the shockingly loud sound of impact reverberates off the walls, sending a chilling echo through the room.

Summoning every ounce of strength that remained in your weary body, you manage to roll out of the bed. The harsh impact of the cold floor against your skin is jarring. You painstakingly pick yourself up, wincing as you rip the tape off your mouth. Your skin stings, your lips throb with residual pain, but the momentary discomfort is worth it as you’re finally able to take a deep, gasping breath, your lungs burning with the sheer effort.

“Lauft! Raus mit dir!” König roars when his eyes fall on your shaking frame; he has Simon pinned to the wall.

König doesn’t often use German around you, and your knowledge of the language is rudimentary at best. However, at this moment, you don’t need fluency to understand the command he’s issuing. His eyes, filled with a desperate plea, speak louder. As your heart thunders in your chest, adrenaline fueling your movements, you race out of the bedroom, but a sudden realization brings you to a halt.

König’s order is clear—he wants you to flee, to escape the danger and ensure your own safety. But leaving him to face Simon alone is a choice you can’t bear to make. The guilt that gnaws at your conscience is a harsh reminder that you are the root cause of this chaos—you are the one who let Simon into your lives. The ensuing guilt and shame, the overwhelming sense of responsibility, it consumes you.

The adrenaline courses through your veins like wildfire, setting every nerve in your body ablaze with a high alertness that makes drawing a full, satisfying breath an insurmountable task. With your heart pounding like a war drum, you sprint towards the kitchen, your movements frantic and slightly uncoordinated due to the sheer fear coursing through you. As you search the surroundings, your hands knock off various items from the countertops, causing a cacophony of shattering noises as several things break upon impact with the floor.

Finally, your fingers wraps around the handle of the largest knife you can find, its weight somehow comforting in your trembling grip. However, just as you turn around, an unexpected punch lands squarely in your stomach. The force of it knocks the wind out of you, causing your vision to blur and distort as you gasp for air.

You collapse onto your knees; the knife slipping from your grasp and clattering noisily across the floor. It ends up far from your reach when a boot kicks it towards the corner. As you attempt to rise, the same boot now stomps down on your arm, pinning you to the floor while a knee digs into your back, grinding against your spine with unyielding pressure.

“What the fuck, Ghost?” The voice of the stranger who attacked you booms out, but the only response is the sound of punches being traded from the direction of the bedroom.

Each breath comes in sharp gasps, as if fighting against the relentless pain scorching your back. Determined, you try to push yourself up again, pressing your palms into the hard floor. However, your efforts are thwarted as another forceful shove sends you sprawling back down.

When fingers wrap around your hair and your head is yanked upwards, you can’t suppress a whimper. “Hands behind your back!” The gruff voice barks into your ear, but stubborn defiance flares within you, and you refuse to heed the command.

The man growls in frustration, the sound raw and animalistic, and abruptly lets go of your hair. His hands immediately shift to your arms, yanking them back with a brute force that takes your breath away. You struggle against the iron grip, your limbs flailing, kicking and screaming in an attempt to break free. But even as you expend all your strength, the stranger proves to be stronger.

When you raise your head once more, it falls back down and your cheek meets the cold tiles, their chill seeping into your skin.

In a flurry of motion and raw emotion, König bursts in, his entrance into the kitchen akin to a hurricane. His eyes are ablaze, the fire of vengeance and unbridled rage dancing in his gaze. He takes in the scene, you, sprawled on the ground with a man over you, pinning you down to the ground without mercy.

The terror spikes in your heart and your eyes widen further when you notice a figure stealthily approaching König from behind. Like a predator, he lurks in the shadows, an ominous presence made more menacing by the mysterious object he clutches in his hand.

Simon. His name echoes in your mind as he comes into view. Using a sleeve of his shirt, he wipes the blood off his face. His mask has been ripped off, revealing his now bare face. His nose is twisted in an unnatural manner, likely broken, and his bottom lip is swollen, the skin around it an angry shade of red.

“Behind you!” You yell, but König doesn’t react because his focus is solely on you; his attention honed on the stranger above you. König lunges at the stranger, ready to rip him off from your prone form, his intention—to tear the stranger’s head off his shoulders.

But then, in a split second, with the abruptness of a lightning strike, someone’s gun goes off, its explosive noise shattering the tranquillity, only to be replaced by a haunting hush.

König stops abruptly in his tracks, his momentum suddenly coming to a complete halt, as if ensnared by invisible chains. The world seems to slow down as you watch the light slowly start to fade from his eyes, replaced by a distant, vacant stare. His lips part slightly, an unspoken word lingering on the tip of his tongue. He wants to say something, but can’t.

His intense gaze is fixed on you. But his body, which until now stood erect and defiant, starts to collapse, crumpling slowly down to the ground—not a single word, not even the faintest whisper, manages to escape his lips before he succumbs to his inevitable fall.

The once pristine white tiles beneath you now bear the grim witness to the ever-spreading stain of dark crimson blood. The pungent, metallic smell of iron forcefully invades your senses. Your voice is choked with sorrow, and you cry out his name, once, twice, and then multiple times, each utterance more desperate than the last. Your pleas ring through the silence, but König shows no signs of movement and remains still as a statue.

Simon stands at the doorway, his gun pointed directly at König’s head, but upon realizing that a single bullet was enough and he didn’t miss, he lowers his arm and his eyes fall on you.

[stnkiconverse]

you're going to do it, and you're getting away with it. you know that.

Ch.9 - Unwanted Visitor.

⇠ Previous

Next ⇢

genre: psychological horror (in a way), creepypasta, supernatural thriller (in a way)

pairing: look at this chapter and tell me u dk the ship?🧍

WC: 2.9k

content warnings: echoes in the static contains scenes and themes that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers, including: graphic violence and murder, mental illness and psychological distress, suicide and self-harm, domestic abuse, cannibalism and strong language.

Reader discretion is advised.

Yes this has to do with Creepypastas. Yes, Creepypastas will pop up and make appearances, it's basically a reader insert into the Creepypasta word.

do not repost my work anywhere, I only post in Tumblr.

You arrive in Tuscaloosa with high hopes, eager for a fresh start in a new city. But as you step into your new apartment, a strange feeling washes over you. At first, it’s just a faint unease—a subtle sense that something isn’t quite right. The air feels heavier than it should, pressing down on you with an almost physical weight. The light filtering through the windows seems muted, casting everything in dull, washed-out shades.

You try to shake off the feeling, chalking it up to the stress of the move. But as you begin to unpack, the unease only grows. Little things start to stand out—your keys, which you’re certain you left on the kitchen counter, are now on the living room table. The door to your bedroom, which you clearly remember closing, is now slightly ajar. You hear faint, almost imperceptible noises—whispers that seem to come from the walls, footsteps that echo in rooms you know should be empty.

You tell yourself it’s just nerves. Moving to a new place is always stressful, right? But as the day drags on, the feeling of dread intensifies. The apartment, which should feel like a sanctuary, feels more like a trap. The walls seem to close in around you, and you find it harder and harder to breathe.

By the time night falls, you’re exhausted, both physically and mentally. You go through the motions of your evening routine, hoping that a good night’s sleep will make everything feel normal again. But as you lie down in bed, the unease returns, sharper than before.

The darkness in your room feels oppressive, almost alive. Every shadow seems to stretch and twist, forming shapes that your mind insists aren’t there. You close your eyes, desperate for sleep to take you away from the growing terror. But every time you drift off, you’re jolted awake by vivid, terrifying images—twisted faces leering at you from the darkness, long, shadowy fingers reaching out to touch you, voices whispering your name with malicious glee.

Your heart races, and your breathing becomes ragged. You try to convince yourself that it’s all in your head, that you’re just overtired. But the hallucinations keep coming, each one more terrifying than the last. The shadows on the walls seem to pulse with life, and the whispers grow louder, more insistent. Your skin feels clammy, your body shaking uncontrollably as fear takes hold.

Eventually, you can’t take it anymore. You stumble out of bed, your legs trembling as you make your way to the bathroom. Your stomach churns violently, and you barely make it to the toilet before you vomit, your body purging the fear that’s gripped you so tightly. You clutch the edge of the sink, your knuckles white as you try to steady yourself.

But just as you think you’re regaining control, a new terror strikes—a grating, static noise that fills the apartment. It starts softly, a faint buzz in the back of your mind, but it quickly escalates into a deafening roar. The sound is overwhelming, drowning out all other thoughts, making it impossible to focus. You press your hands to your ears, but it does nothing to muffle the noise. It feels like your head is going to split open.

Panic sets in, primal and consuming. Every instinct in your body screams at you to get out, to run. You stagger towards the front door, your vision swimming with the intensity of the noise. You don’t know where you’re going, only that you have to get away. You fling the door open, but as soon as you step outside, the static crescendos, and your vision goes black. Your legs give out beneath you, and you collapse to the ground, unconscious before you even hit the floor.

When you finally come to, you’re not in your apartment. The first thing you notice is the cold—an intense, bone-chilling cold that seeps into your skin and settles in your bones. You blink, trying to clear the fog from your mind, and slowly realize that you’re lying on a hard, stone floor. The air around you is damp and heavy, thick with the smell of mold and decay.

You push yourself up on shaky arms, your heart pounding as you take in your surroundings. The room is small and claustrophobic, the walls made of rough, uneven stone. There’s a single, narrow window set high in one wall, but it’s covered with thick, unbreakable glass, allowing only a faint, eerie light to filter in. Outside the window, you can just make out the dark silhouettes of trees, their branches swaying in the wind.

A shiver runs down your spine as you realize that you have no idea where you are or how you got here. You try the door, but it’s locked tight, the cold metal handle unyielding in your grip. You pound on the door, desperate for someone—anyone—to hear you, but the sound is swallowed by the thick walls. The room is silent, save for a low, ominous hum that vibrates through the air, making your skin crawl.

As the minutes tick by, the silence becomes oppressive. The shadows in the corners of the room seem to shift and move, playing tricks on your eyes. You start to feel like you’re being watched, a sense of an unseen presence lurking just out of sight. Your breath quickens, your fear mounting as the room seems to close in on you.

You try to stay calm, to think rationally, but the oppressive atmosphere makes it impossible. The walls seem to pulse with a life of their own, the shadows growing darker and more menacing with each passing moment. The hum in the air grows louder, almost drowning out your frantic heartbeat.

And then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, the door creaks open.

The sound is loud in the silence, making you jump. You stare at the door, which is now ajar, a sliver of darkness visible beyond it. A cold breeze drifts into the room, carrying with it the faint smell of decay. You can’t see what’s on the other side, but the sense of dread that washes over you is overwhelming.

You take a tentative step towards the door, your heart hammering in your chest. The static noise you heard before returns, growing louder with each step you take. The shadows in the room seem to stretch towards you, as if trying to pull you back. You feel an overwhelming presence in the room, something ancient and malevolent, but you can’t see it.

Just as you reach the door, the static noise crescendos, and your vision starts to blur. Your head spins, and you feel yourself losing consciousness again. The last thing you see before everything goes black is a tall, dark silhouette in the doorway, looming over you with an aura of pure malevolence.

When you wake up again, you’re back in your apartment. The relief that washes over you is immediate, but it’s quickly tempered by the lingering fear that it was all real. You lie still for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the dim light, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

As your vision clears, you scan the room, hoping to find some sign that it was all just a nightmare. But then you see him.

He’s standing in the corner of your room, partially shrouded in darkness, but there’s no mistaking the figure—the man from the flower shop. The one with that grotesque smile carved into his face. His presence is undeniable, and your heart skips a beat as terror floods your senses.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. He’s watching you, his eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement as he takes in your fear. His twisted smile slowly morphs into a smug smirk, as if he’s enjoying every second of your terror. Your heart races, your chest tightens, and you feel like you might pass out again.

But you don’t. You can’t. You force yourself to breathe, to stay conscious, even as every instinct screams at you to run, to hide. You pull your legs up, hugging them tightly against your chest, as if that could somehow protect you from the man standing in your room.

He doesn’t move, just watches you, his eyes following your every breath, every twitch. The tension in the air is thick, suffocating. Your mind races, trying to figure out how he could be here, how he could have gotten into your apartment. But there are no answers, only fear.

Suddenly, without breaking eye contact, he drops the knife he’s holding. The blade clatters to the floor with a sharp, metallic sound that echoes through the room, making you flinch. He takes a step forward, then another, and before you can react, he’s sitting on the edge of your bed.

The mattress dips under his weight, and you instinctively pull your legs closer to your chest, your body tensing. Your glare sharpens, but tears begin to blur your vision. Despite everything, you refuse to look away, your fear laced with defiance.

You finally force yourself to speak, your voice shaky and barely audible. “W-what do you want from me…?”

His smirk widens, his teeth glinting in the dim light. “She speaks!” he exclaims, his tone mocking, filled with dark humor. He leans in slightly, as if expecting more.

You stare at him, your heart pounding, every muscle in your body tense. “Get out,” you manage to say, your voice gaining a fraction of strength. “Get out of my apartment.”

But instead of retreating, the man’s smile only grows wider. His eyes glitter with a mix of amusement and something darker, something that sends a fresh wave of fear coursing through you. “Get out?” he repeats, as if the very idea is absurd. “But why would I do that when things are just starting to get interesting?”

He leans back slightly, making himself more comfortable on your bed, his posture relaxed, as if he’s exactly where he belongs. “You see,” he continues, his voice dripping with a sick sort of enjoyment, “I didn’t come here to hurt you—not yet, anyway. I just wanted to get to know you a little better. You intrigued me at the flower shop.”

Your mind races as you try to understand his words. He doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave, and the longer he stays, the more the fear in your chest turns into something else—something cold and calculating. You feel a strange, simmering anger bubbling up beneath the surface of your terror. How dare he invade your space, your sanctuary, and act as though he owns it?

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to let him see the fear that’s still gnawing at your insides. “What do you want from me?” you demand, this time with more force behind your words. Your voice is still shaky, but there’s a hard edge to it now, a glimmer of the fight that hasn’t been completely smothered by fear.

The man—Jeff, you recall his name from the whispers you’ve heard—chuckles softly, the sound low and unsettling. “I like that fire in your eyes,” he says, as if he’s impressed. “Most people would be begging for their lives by now, but not you. You’re different. You’ve got spirit.”

His words hang in the air, and you realize with a jolt that he’s testing you, pushing your limits to see how far you’ll go. The realization makes your blood run cold, but it also strengthens your resolve. If he’s expecting you to break, he’s going to be sorely disappointed.

“You don’t scare me,” you lie, your voice stronger than before. It’s a bluff, but it’s all you have right now. “So if you think you can just come in here and—”

“Shh,” Jeff interrupts, holding a finger to his lips as if he’s sharing a secret. “Let’s not spoil the fun with empty threats, sweetheart. You and I both know you’re terrified.” He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin, making you recoil in disgust. “But that’s what makes this so exciting, don’t you think? The fear, the uncertainty… it’s like a game. And I do love games.”

You glare at him, your mind racing as you try to think of a way out of this. You need to get him out of your apartment, but how? He’s clearly stronger, more experienced in whatever sick game he’s playing. And yet, despite the fear gripping your heart, you refuse to give in. Not here, not in your own home.

As if sensing your thoughts, Jeff tilts his head to the side, studying you with those sharp, calculating eyes. “You know,” he muses, “you’re more fun than I expected. Most people would have already cracked by now. But you… you’ve got something dark in you, don’t you? I can see it.”

His words send a chill down your spine, but you refuse to show any weakness. “I’m not afraid of you,” you repeat, though your voice wavers slightly.

He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates through the room. “Sure you’re not,” he says, clearly amused by your defiance. “But don’t worry, I’m not here to kill you. Not tonight, anyway.”

Before you can respond, Jeff stands up slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He retrieves the knife from the floor, twirling it casually in his hand. For a moment, you think he might actually leave—but instead, he strolls out of your bedroom and into the living room.

You hear the faint creak of the couch as he settles onto it, making himself at home. The audacity of it leaves you momentarily speechless. He’s not leaving—he’s making himself comfortable in your apartment as if he belongs there.

A surge of anger rises within you, momentarily eclipsing the fear. You can’t let him just take over your space like this. But what can you do? The man has a knife, and you’re alone with him in a locked apartment.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside you. You can’t let him win. You won’t. Gathering every ounce of courage, you push yourself off the bed and stand up, your legs shaking slightly but holding firm.

With deliberate steps, you walk to the door of your bedroom and pause, peering into the living room. There he is, lounging on your couch, his arms draped casually over the backrest as if he owns the place. His eyes meet yours, and that damnable smirk reappears on his face.

“Come on out, sweetheart,” he calls, his tone mocking but with an edge of something else—something darker. “No need to hide in there. I’m not going anywhere.”

You grit your teeth, anger flaring in your chest. You refuse to be intimidated any longer. You step out of your bedroom and into the living room, trying to project confidence even as your heart races.

“This is my apartment,” you say firmly, meeting his gaze head-on. “And I want you out. Now.”

Jeff’s smirk widens, clearly entertained by your defiance. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he says, his voice low and almost approving. “But I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, at least for tonight.”

You swallow hard, your hands curling into fists at your sides. The reality of the situation hits you—he’s not leaving, and you have no idea what he plans to do. But as terrifying as that thought is, you know you can’t back down. Not now.

“You don’t scare me,” you repeat, more for your own benefit than his. It’s a lie, but it’s all you have to hold onto.

Jeff tilts his head, regarding you with that unsettling gaze. “We’ll see about that,” he says quietly. “But let’s make one thing clear—you’re not in control here. I am. And I can do whatever I want.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, suffocating and absolute. You feel a cold shiver run down your spine, but you force yourself to stand your ground.

“I’ll be watching you tonight,” Jeff adds, almost as an afterthought. “So don’t try anything stupid, okay? I’d hate to have to hurt you.”

The casual way he says it sends a fresh wave of fear through you, but you manage to keep your expression neutral. You won’t let him see how much he’s getting to you.

For a long moment, the two of you just stare at each other, the tension in the room thick and almost unbearable. And then, without another word, Jeff turns his attention back to the knife in his hand, inspecting it idly as if the conversation is already over.

You stand there, frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. The fear is still there, gnawing at the edges of your mind, but so is the anger. You can’t let him win. But how are you supposed to fight someone like him?

After what feels like an eternity, you finally force yourself to move. You turn away from the living room, your footsteps heavy as you walk back to your bedroom. You leave the door slightly ajar, not wanting to turn your back on him completely.

As you sit on the edge of your bed, your mind races with a thousand different thoughts, each one more frantic than the last. You’re trapped in your own apartment with a man who could kill you at any moment, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

But as the night drags on, something else begins to stir within you—a resolve you didn’t know you had. You’re not going to let him break you. Not here, not in your own home. You’ll find a way out of this, one way or another.

For now, all you can do is wait. Wait and hope that you survive the night.

I didn’t expect the result of the poll to be Jeff, I was leaning more towards Toby or maybe even EJ😭😭

TAGLIST - OPEN (comment to be added)

🏷️: @mimmickmouse @stranger-of-the-internet @akashic06072007 @hey-an-original-url

[depresse0espresso]

The Favorite (Chapter Three)

Warnings: Mentions of death, Description of Death

Chapter Two

My eyes snap open as I hear a noise. As they come into focus, I see Lucas standing above me, a dagger in his hand, ready to swing down and attack me. I barely roll out of the way, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I scramble to my feet and search for a weapon to defend myself.

"Lucas, what are you doing?" I ask, my voice trembling. 

I moved away from him, clutching the lasso tightly in my hand, hoping it would protect me. “There are only four tributes left and I want to live even if it means I have to get rid of you” Lucas eyes me warily. 

I take a step back, my heart pounding in my chest. Knowing I have no other choice, I draw back my arm and hurl the lasso towards him, determined to protect myself. As the lasso hurtles towards Lucas, he sidesteps and hurls the knife at me. Instinctively, I duck just in time, narrowly avoiding the deadly weapon. But as I do, I realise that my actions have unintentionally triggered a chain of events that may have saved my life. The knife that Lucas throws at me flies past me and lands directly in the chest of the District One tribute, Lux. Lux aiming to shoot me in the back.

The force of the knife striking Lux's chest causes him to lose his balance. His arrow, intended for me, veers off course and lodges itself in Lucas's throat instead. Blood gushes from the wound as Lucas collapses to the ground, his eyes wide with shock. Frozen in disbelief, I lay there on the ground as the cannon echoes reverberated through the arena. Lucas and Lux's once imminent threat is now gone. The sight of the lifeless bodies on either side of me is a grim reminder. But something is wrong. The cannon keeps sounding and getting louder and louder. I try to make sense of the deafening noise, but it only grows stronger and more chaotic. The sound of screams and yells merges with the relentless booming of the cannons, sending a chilling wave of terror through my body. I remain huddled on the ground, my hands pressed tightly against my ears, praying for the nightmare to end.

With a jump I quickly sit up in bed, my heart still racing as I look frantically around my room from the intense nightmare. But as I try to make sense of the chaos, I realise that what I experienced wasn't a nightmare, but a gruesome memory of what had happened. Lucas had indeed tried to kill me, and Lux, hearing the commotion, had come to eliminate us both. The chain of events that unfolded had been a matter of survival, and I was the survivor. 

"Mari, wake up! There is still a lot to get done before the reaping, and you can't be late to your first reaping as a mentor!" I jump startled, my heart still racing from the vivid nightmare. The sound of Pa banging on my bedroom door brought me back to reality, but the lingering fear from the arena remained. A new dread fills me as I realise that today is reaping day, and two children will be reaped. Not only will I have to witness the agony of their families, but I will also be expected to train one of them within a week, knowing that only one can survive.  

I drag myself out of bed and stumble downstairs to find Pa already sitting at the kitchen table, a worried expression on his face. It's not uncommon for him to let himself in, especially on important days like reaping day. As I join him for breakfast, I can't help but feel a mix of gratitude and resentment towards him for always being there, even when I wish he wasn't. "Why do you look so worried, Pa?" I ask as I grab a piece of toast and spread lemon curd on it before taking a bite and pouring myself a large coffee.

 "I'm going to be fine. Benji will take good care of me as my fellow mentor."

 Pa takes a sip of his tea before saying "Darlin', it's not about whether I think you can handle it with Benji's help,’’ Pa replies, his voice filled with concern. "It's about what you'll face in the Capitol as a mentor. I've been there, and it's a whole different ball game." 

"I appreciate your concern, Pa, but I have confidence in Benji's mentoring abilities and that I'll be able to keep up. Besides, I've been through worse." I take another bite of my toast, savouring the tangy sweetness of the lemon curd, and wash it down with a sip of coffee, hoping to shake off the lingering unease from the nightmare.

 As we eat our breakfast, the front door opens and Benji walks in, helping the elderly frame of  Rose, the first female victor from District 10 and Pa's Mentor and mentoring partner for the 15 years before Benji won his games and took over mentoring for the ageing Rose. The sight of Rose brings a sense of reassurance, knowing that she has faced the challenges of being a mentor in the Capitol before and can offer guidance and support.

 “Ah, look speak of the devil,” I say to Benji jokingly as he helps Rose sit down at the table ‘’Morning Rose” I greet her as I stand to kiss the old woman on the cheek, cherishing the warm familiarity she brings "Morin Sweet girl'' Rose response her voice warm and inviting, Rose has always been like a grandmother to me, teaching me how to garden and trying to teach me how to knit and all the stuff a grandma would do. As we gather around the breakfast table, Rose fills the room with a comforting sense of family and tradition. If the group of Victors in 10 were considered a family, Rose was the Matriarch. Her voice, like a gentle lullaby, brings back memories of baking cookies and sharing stories, as she fills us in on the current state of her greenhouse and other mundane things trying to keep the mood light on such a dark day. I stand after finishing my toast and see my front door still wide open as I pass Benji. I give him a pat on the shoulder as I walk past his large looming frame. He smiles at me as I head to my front door to close it. 

He asks what I'm doing in his normal drawl. Benji asks, "What are you up to, Mar'? Locking the door already?"

 "I'm just making sure that Jack doesn't show up uninvited and Make today even worse. That old bastard always knows how to make things worse." I say 

 "Marina!" I hear Pa chastise me from the kitchen table. "What? It's true! That man is a Bastard. I don't care if he's also a victor," I fire back, frustration evident in my voice. "no amount of trauma should justify the way he treats his wife and little girl, he is rotten" 

My resentment towards Jack stems from his consistent mistreatment of those around him, His neglectful and abusive behaviour is inexcusable, and it has been a constant presence in my life since childhood my options only became worse when he married a girl closer to mine and Benji's age than his own and a little girl was brought into the world shortly afterwards. Despite his victory in the games, he refused to take on the mentoring role, forcing Rose to continue mentoring long after she should have been able to retire. Jack's actions have left a lasting impact on our family of victors.

 “Now Y’all have two hours to help me go over all the things I need to do as mentor again before the reaping,” I say as I head back into the kitchen, grabbing a notepad and pen to jot down all the tasks and responsibilities that need to be addressed as a mentor once again. It's going to be a busy morning.

 On our way to the reaping, Pa and I stop at Mama's grave. We lay flowers gently on the headstone, which bears her name and titles: Mother, Wife, Healer. It's been years since she passed away from a disease that spread through a neighbouring village, leaving me with only fleeting memories of her gentle touch and loving presence. She dedicated her life to serving others and providing comfort in times of pain and sickness. Mama's nurturing nature has had a profound impact on me, shaping my inclination to care for others. I find solace in helping those in need, just as she did, and it fuels my determination to protect my loved ones from people like Jack who bring nothing but harm and negativity into our lives.

 Pa stands there, a sombre expression on his face. I can't help but wonder how such a sweet woman like Mama fell in love with someone as grumpy as him. Maybe Pa wasn't always like this; perhaps it was the pain of losing her that hardened his heart and turned him into the person he is today. Pa starts talking to Mama's grave, sharing the news of the horses and proudly mentioning the new foal that was recently born. He speaks affectionately about the animals, finding solace in their presence and the simple joys they bring to his life. "Mama would have loved to see this little foal," I say softly, joining Pa by Mama's grave. "She always had a way with animals, just like you." Pa smiles, his eyes glistening with memories. "She did, didn't she? That's why I fell in love with her in the first place." Their love story is a testament to the strength of their bond. Despite the hardships they faced, including my father's traumatic experience in the Hunger Games, my parents stayed together and supported each other through thick and thin. It's a love story that inspires me and reminds me of what I could have had. 

Reflecting on my parents' enduring love story, I can't help but feel regret for what I lost. After returning from the traumatising experience of my games, I found myself unable to have a normal conversation with my schoolyard sweetheart, Myles. We had broken up before my tour, and although I knew it was for the right, guilt still lingered in my heart. Every time I tried to open up to Myles, the memories of the arena flooded my mind, causing me to shut down emotionally. It felt impossible to bridge the gap between the person I was before the games and the person I had become. The guilt of pushing him away weighed heavily on me, a constant reminder of the price I had paid for survival.

 Before I can dwell on it too much, I see Benji's large frame appear out of my eyes. He has returned from loading our luggage onto the train, and now he has returned to walk with us back into town for the reaping. As I walk down the hill towards Benji, I feel the summer sun's warmth on my skin. I also feel the soft breeze brushing against my face, and the crunch of dry grass beneath my feet. The sights and sounds of District 10's plains and hills surround me. I take mental pictures of my home and as I reach Benji "Are you ready?" "No, but I have to be, don't I?" I reply with a sigh, trying to muster up the courage for what lies ahead. Benji gives me a sad crooked smile and a pat on the shoulder  "Yeah you do, now let's go don’t want to be late" 

Clara Fords of all the people to be reaped had to be someone I knew. She went to school with me, she was the year below me and we had common friends. She came to my house for play dates when we were young. Now I have a week to prepare her as best I can to go into the arena and kill 23 others and not die trying. She sits in the chair in front of me on the train heading for the capitol, this sweet bubbly girl who cried about almost everything, who went and picked me flowers when my ma died and was the first person to hug me when I got back from my games, was my tribute for the year. But she isn't crying now as she sits pale sipping on a cup of tea slowly, her big brown doe-like eyes flickering around the train car taking in all the details on the walls around us. I notice her hair has started to fall from its braid, and the light from the window hits it making her red hair look like it's on fire, It is pin straight and I remember our play dates where my mama tried to style her hair the same as mine but it was pin straight and would lose any shape within minutes compared to my hair that if I brush it the wrong way when it will be stuck like that until I wash it next.

 “Clara” I call her name to get her attention. Her eyes land on me as she waits for me to continue “Tell me everything you can, skills, talents even the things you think I might know about you and anything is useful” Clara looks at me with determination in her eyes and responds, "Well, I'm fast, really fast. And I've been working with crops my whole life, so I know how to handle a scythe. Oh, and I'm a decent climber too." I recall seeing an 11-year-old Clara chase down a cow before it could get too far away from the cattle divers who were transporting it. "I already knew how fast you were, having seen you chase down a cow once when we were kids. But it's good to know that you're also skilled with a scythe and a decent climber. We'll make sure to use those to our advantage in the arena’’ Her eyes fill with tears at the mention of the arena, I leap from my seat across from her take the teacup from her hand and place it down on a table beside her before I grab her hands and say “I know how scared you are and what you are feeling at the moment but I need you to promise me something okay, that once we get off of this train in the capitol that you won't cry in front of the other tributes if they see that you're putting a target on your back, you can cry all you want until we get there but once we do i want you to turn those tears and fear into anger  I want you to use it to your advantage. Use your fear to make you stronger and push you further. you can make it out of here.” I squeeze her hands tightly, trying to convey my words of encouragement. Clara responds by wiping away her tears and nodding, her determination shining through. "You're right," she says, her voice steady. "I won't let my fear hold me back. I'll use it as fuel to survive and fight in the arena. Thank you for believing in me." I nod and continue "You have the power to make it out," I say firmly. "Use your fear as motivation, and you'll be victorious.”

 As we arrive in the Capitol, Clara and the boy Morgan are taken away to be cleaned up and dressed for the parade, while Benji and I head to the tenth floor to prepare for the tributes' parade. We both get dressed and make ourselves look presentable,  while I opt for a  feminine and vibrant look. I change into a summer dress adorned with pink flowers and slip on a pair of white heels. To complete the ensemble, I put on a pair of gold earrings and twist my hair up into an elegant updo. With my transformation complete, I head out to meet Benji in the hall by the elevator as I enter. He stands with Leto who is talking out of his ear about how life has been in the capitol and Benji nods politely even though from where I stand I can tell he doesn't care. Benji has changed into a nice pair of dress pants and black boots, with a crisp white button-up shirt and a dark blue jacket that complements his dark skin. He looks sharp and confident, with not a hint of worriedness and I wonder if once I have mentored a few games I will appear that collected.

as I walk down the hall towards them I draw their attention and gasp “Oh Marina, don't you look so pretty. Doesn't she look pretty Benji” he gushes as he rushes up to me. Benji chuckles and replies, "Well, Leto, I always say it's what's on the inside that counts. And on the inside, Marina's well, how do I say this nicely " The sound of me whacking Benji on the arm echoes in the hall as well as his laugh. "Come on," I say, rolling my eyes playfully. "Let's focus on the task at hand. We have a parade to attend, remember?" Leto grins and nods, “You two take this elevator while I go down to collect Clara and Morgan. We will meet at the chariot in half an hour for the parade.” 

As Leto leaves to collect Clara and Morgan, Benji and I call for another elevator. As the elevator doors open, I turn to Benji and say, "You know, I have a feeling Clara has better odds in the arena. She is resourceful and quick on her feet." Benji nods in agreement, "I agree, Clara has a natural survival instinct. I think she'll surprise everyone." we enter the elevator and continue our discussion “I feel bad we haven't even seen the train and we are choosing Clara as our favourite” I sigh and Benji answers  “it has always been the way Rex and I did it, we still give the other tribute the same treatment but you're always going to think another tribute is going to have better odds” he admits honestly  that makes me curious and I ask  "who was the favourite last year Lucas or me" even saying his name sends a chill down my spine but I want to know "be honest, not who you and Pa wanted to win, but who had the better odds"

Benji hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering with a mix of emotions. "Honestly, Marina, you had the better odds," he finally admits, his voice softening. "Lucas was strong, but you were cunning and strategic. You had the skills to survive, so yes you were the favourite" I don’t know why but that makes me feel relieved that they always thought I had a chance and that if I keep on believing in Clara she will have one too

.

When I feel the elevator come to a halt, I don't even look at the floor number as I go to exit it and I hear Benij ask “Mari, where are you going it’s not our floor–”. I crash headfirst into the chest of someone who is rushing to get on the elevator. I stumble back and hear Benji laugh as I fall onto my ass.

 I sit on the elevator floor, embarrassed and dazed, I can hear Benji letting out a loud cackle of laughter, and I can see him out of the corner of my eyeline doubling over with amusement at my clumsy encounter. The person who knocked me back rushes to my aid, crouching down and giving me their arm while apologising. As I hear their voice, I freeze and look up to meet the eyes of Finnick. His sea-green eyes are filled with concern, and he quickly helps me back up grabbing the small of my waist, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. "Mari, I'm so sorry," Finnick says, his voice filled with genuine remorse. "Are you okay?" I nod, still speechless from the unexpected encounter, and manage to stammer out a weak " im okay." But deep down, I can't deny the surge of excitement and butterflies that Finnick's presence brings. As I try to regain my composure, I can't help but feel a mix of annoyance and embarrassment at Benji's persistent laughter echoing behind me. When I am standing up again I ask Finnick jokingly "Do you ever think we are going start a conversation without scaring each other" My eyes meet Finnick's again, and this time, there's a playful glint in his sea-green eyes. "Maybe one day," he replies with a smirk, his touch lingering on my waist for just a moment longer before he steps away and drops his hand, and I can feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I take a deep breath, trying to shake the feeling off. I smooth out the back of my dress and make room for him to stand beside me in the elevator. He adjusts his jacket and stands next to me in the elevator as it begins to descend again.

Finnick turns to Benji, his smirk growing wider. "Well, well, if it isn't Benji," he says, his tone slightly cocky. Benji, on the other hand, looks wary, unsure of how to react to Finnick's unexpected presence now that he has gotten over my mishap. Benji greets Finnick with a curt nod and a simple "hello," his laughter long gone into a more reserved demeanour. The tension between them is palpable as if there's an unspoken rivalry simmering beneath the surface. This encounter between Finnick and Benji reminds me of the comment my pa made after I met Finnick in 4. He said that there was a tense situation between Finnick and him in the mentor room after I won my games, beating Pearl, who was Finnick's tribute the previous year. things had escalated in the mentor room that bad, Benji would have been there to jump to my pa's aid in an instant. and I can’t help but wonder if that is the cause of the tension between Finnick and Benji now.

 As the elevator doors slide open and we reach the right floor, I catch Finnick stealing a glance at me before quickly looking away.  I can't help but wonder if he looks at me and wishes that it was Pearl standing next to him instead, considering their history as tribute and mentor. I wouldn't blame him if he did, I can't imagine Benji standing here in the elevator with Pearl so calmly if I had been the one to lose, I don't even want to think how Pa would handle the situation if the roles were reversed.  The thought lingers in my mind as we step out of the elevator. I feel a new sense of admiration building in me for Finnick because either he is incredibly skilled at hiding his feelings, or he is genuinely able to set them aside. 

As if he couldn't be more of a perfect enigma 

I can see a large group of people crowded around the mentors, before Benji can introduce me to anyone  Finnick leans in  and says, "There's someone up ahead I think you should meet." He gestures towards the group of mentors, his eyes glinting with curiosity and anticipation like he's waiting to see how I react. He places his hand on the small of my back and guides me over to an elderly woman with long curly hair. I can't help but feel a twinge of familiarity as the woman reminds me of Rose with her kind eyes and smile.  As we approach the woman turns her attention towards us giving Finnick a dotting smile as he moves to her side to introduce me “Mags, this is Marina Nivera the newest mentor”  Finnick lowers his voice slightly and enunciates his words, ensuring that Mags can hear what he is saying. As Finnick introduces me to Mags, I can't help but notice a gentler side to him. His voice softens, and there's a warmth in his eyes that I hadn't seen before. The butterflies in my stomach flutter again, and I find myself drawn to him even more. As Finnick finishes introducing me to Mags, he turns back to me with a gentle smile, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of curiosity as he tries to gauge my response as he says “Mari this is Mags, my fellow Mentor for distinct 4”  My eyes widen in realisation as I click on to who she is. Mags, the elderly woman standing before me, is none other than Mags Flanagan, the legendary victor from District 4 who won the 11th Hunger Games and Rose's closest friend as they were first mentors from the pool of victors. 

"I'm Marina," I say, extending my hand towards Mags. "I've heard so much about you from Rose. She speaks highly of you."  Mags' eyes light up with recognition and she smiles warmly, pulling me in for a hug instead of a handshake. "I'm sorry, who is Rose?" Finnick asks, his face showing a puzzled expression. He seems genuinely curious and unaware of the connection between Mags and Rose. Mags release me from the hug and turns back to Finnick to explain  “Rose was one of the original victors from 10 she was a mentor up until Benji won his games and took over for her” Mags answers Finnick “She was also a dear friend of mine we were mentors together for a long time, She retired before your games that's why you have never met her Finnick” Finnick nods in understanding before asking in confusion again, "If she was the last female victor for 10, why did she retire when Benji won his game and not when you won yours, Marina?" Finnick's questions. “Each district has a different way of choosing the mentors for the games I don't know what you do in 4, but in 10 it is always the most recent victors who mentor regardless of gender,” I tell Finnick tilting my head at his surprised face and I can't help but want to tease him "Don't tell me you've been a mentor for three years and you never noticed how the other districts choose their mentors," I tease him, playfully nudging his arm. "Looks like you still have a lot to learn" I add with a sly smile  Finnick chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Well, Mari, it seems like I do." He raises an eyebrow and gives me a mischievous grin and a look that I cannot put my finger on.

Behind me, I hear Benji call my name as the tributes begin to file out with their stylist and district escorts. The other mentor disperses toward their district's chariots with serious looks now on their faces except for a few. I witness the District 12 mentor stumble and barely catch himself from face-planting into the ground. I turn back to  Mags “It was so nice to meet you Mags, i hope we have the chance to talk again soon” I offer her a warm smile.  

When I turn to Finnick, I jokingly say, "It's always a pleasure running into you Finnick, let's avoid making it literal again next time."  I walk backwards as I say this before turning on my heel and beginning away to walk towards Benji who is waiting with Clara and Morgan. I can hear Finnick chuckling as I walk away. As I approach the chariot, my heels make a click-clacking sound, drawing attention to my presence. When I get close, I can't help but analyze the outfit Clara has been put in. She's wearing a flowy white dress with sparkly details that match her sparkling Western boots, which have a heel far larger than what we wear at home. Completing the ensemble is a matching sparkly cowgirl hat, making her look like a glamorous rodeo queen. She looks like the perfect Captial stereotype of someone from District 10. I go over to Clara's side as she moves to hop up onto the chariot and begin telling her what to do during the parade. "Wave and smile," I instruct, "and if you really want to grab their attention, throw your hat out to the audience.  target anyone and everyone, and make them all think that your attention is on them. There's nothing that these people love more than being the centre of attention." I offer her my hand to help her hop up into the chariot  "Anything else I need to know?" Clara asks, her eyes wide with anticipation as she takes my hand and hops up into the chariot.  I squeeze Clara's hand reassuringly and say, "Hold on tight and keep your balance. The chariot can be quite bumpy, especially when it starts moving. Just focus on smiling and waving, you've got this Clara!" As the chariot begins to pull out slowly, I walk alongside it, giving Clara's hand another squeeze before letting go. I continue to follow the chariot until I can no longer keep up, as it pulls out onto the parade strip I watch Clara take all my advice as she confidently waves and smiles at the cheering crowd. A surge of pride wells up within me as I witness Clara fearlessly throwing her hat into the crowd, eliciting deafening cheers from the spectators. It's a brief moment of triumph, but as I stand with the other mentors, I realize that the work has just begun. The parade is only the beginning of Clara's journey in the Hunger Games, and there still is a lot of training and preparation ahead of us.

A.N: this chapter is my longest so far so probably has the most spelling mistakes lol, the purpose of this chapter was to kinda meet more of the people around Mari, Benij is probably my favourite. i also hope it was clear that Finnick was trying to see Mari's reaction to Mag like a test, if she can't win Mags over then is she really someone he should be friends with?

[ashspecter]

Hey there! I took me a bit but I picked out another writing prompt idea. No AGIT spoilers here!

His evil future counterpart escaping the thermos is the stuff of Danny’s nightmares, and to his terror, it eventually happens. Except the last thing this Phantom seems to remember is Vlad putting him to sleep with promises to take the pain away.

Thank you so much for the request (and for no spoilers)! I appreciate it!

Summary:

When Danny’s evil future self escapes the thermos, he fears the worst. However, something happens and Danny finds himself face-to-face with a fractured version of himself in need of a second chance.

Words: 1944 Read on Ao3 or below the cut!

Second Chances

He had known this moment would come, dreaded it even, yet he couldn’t deny the surge of adrenaline that coursed through him as his worst fear unfolded before his eyes. The eerie green mist unfurls from the thermos, coiling and billowing like serpentine tendrils. It makes his race with a mixture of dread and anticipation. His future counterpart, a twisted and malevolent version of himself, breaks free from the confines of the thermos.

The chill that runs down his spine seems to seep into his very soul as he watches the spectral form take shape within the swirling mist. His snow-white hair, tied back into a ponytail, flickers with an otherworldly flame causing a striking contrast against his pale blue skin and his eyes burn with a fiery red intensity. Pointed ears, sharp fangs, and a goatee complete his visage, each feature a twisted reflection of Danny’s own. This is the embodiment of all his fears and insecurities, a twisted reflection of what he would have become if Clockwork never stepped in to help him fix his mistake.

As Danny gazes upon his future self, he can’t help but feel a sense of dread settle in the pit of his stomach. He feels nauseous. The thermos is only a few feet away. If he could get to it, he can seal away this monster-version of himself. But he can’t seem to move.

Dan blinks, then squints. A look of confusion and bewilderment that washes over his face, startling Danny even more somehow. Does he know where he is? Does he remember being sealed away?

There’s no trace of themalicious grin Danny had anticipated and his eyes seem to lose their intensity as the Phantom’s posture slackens. He looks tired and almost as though he’s awakening from a long slumber— a stark contrast to the cunning and calculated demeanor that Danny had remembered seeing when he first faced this brute.

The Phantom’s movements are hesitant, as if he’s trying to make sense of his surroundings and grasping for fragmented memories that slip through his spectral fingers like trickling water. Danny knits his brows together as he studies his once formidable adversary. Is this the same benevolent being he fought all those months ago? It can’t be. He appears almost… vulnerable. 

A pang of empathy tugs at Danny’s conscience as his heart pounds in his ears. Despite the havoc and destruction his future self had caused, there’s a part of Danny that can’t help but see the lost and tormented soul trapped within the ghostly shell before him. Yet, even as compassion flickers within him, Danny understands the danger of underestimating this foe. Whatever vulnerabilities the Phantom may possess now, Danny knows they are fleeting, overshadowed by the potential for chaos and destruction that lies dormant within him.

“Dan?” He questions, voice somehow steady despite the panic still seizing down his spine.

“Dan?” The Phantom echoes, “No, it’s Danny…” He sways slightly and stumbles backward, knocking into the podium that once held the thermos, and slides to the floor. He brings a hand to his face as if to tame a headache and releases a low pain-filled groan.

Danny stares at him, every muscle tense and ready to defend himself against whatever attack may come. But as the seconds drag into minutes, he begins to think that perhaps no attack is coming at all. A very stupid thought despite the relief spreading through his core. He shifts, finally finding the ability to move once again.

He wants to let down his guard, but knowing Dan and seeing the wreckage he had caused both in his own timeline and what he almost caused in the current one before Clockwork set everything right, made the boy-ghost wary. He doesn’t want anything to repeat. He doesn’t want to go through any of that again.

“Are you… okay?” Danny ventures cautiously, his voice finally betraying a hint of uncertainty. He mentally kicks himself. Of all things to ask, why that?

The Phantom lifts his gaze, locking eyes with Danny in a way that makes him tense up all over again. There’s a flicker of recognition, a glimmer of something familiar buried deep within his haunted eyes. Then it fades, leaving only a shadow of a thought.

“I don’t— I don’t know,” The Phantom murmurs, his voice wavering, “Everything’s… foggy.”

Danny watches him closely, torn between his instinct to fight and his growing sense of pity. This isn’t the ruthless adversary he remembers. This is someone lost and struggling to make sense of a reality that is seeping through their fingers like water. He needs help.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Danny asks, inching ever-so-slightly closer. He tries to appear as calm as he can for both himself and the ghost sitting before him.

The Phantom’s brow furrows in concentration as he struggles to piece together the fragments of his broken memory. “Vlad… Vlad was there,” he mumbles, his voice strained with effort. “He said he’d help… he’d help take away the pain.”

Vlad. Of course. The name sends a surge of anger coursing through Danny’s veins. He mentally facepalms. Why hadn’t he remembered what had happened when he visited and gotten stuck in that timeline? Vlad had been one of the largest causes to the current issue. He knows his godfather’s manipulative tendencies all too well, and he refuses to let his former nemesis continue to control and manipulate his future self whether he’s from this timeline or not.

“Do you know who I am?” Danny presses, hoping to find a thread of familiarity in the tangled mess of the Phantom’s mind.

Dan hesitates, his gaze searching Danny’s face, “You’re… you are familiar,” He admits, uncertainty lacing his words, “But I... I don’t remember much.”

His future self is still disoriented and struggling to make sense of his memories. Danny has the upper hand. What is he supposed to do? He can and should seal his future self away once more and forget about him. But how can he? Especially now that his fear has been proven? Danny’s heart sinks. His future self has no idea what is going on. He doesn’t remember all the damage he has caused. He could have a second chance… just like Vlad… He has the possibility to be good this time around.

Finally, Danny exhales as Clockwork’s words echo through his mind:

“You’ve given everyone else in your life a second chance, why give yourself one as well?”

He glances back at his future self and offers him a hand. There is a possibility that the Phantom is faking this whole thing, but Danny finds that hard to believe. Plus, he can’t ignore that this is still someone in need— someone that needs help. This version of himself may have made terrible choices, but he’s still a part of Danny. Danny can’t abandon him.

“We can figure this out,” Danny says, his voice firm, “Whatever happened to you, we’ll fix it. Together.”

The Phantom looks up at Danny, a flicker of hope mingled with confusion in his eyes. It’s a glimmer of vulnerability that Danny recognizes all too well, a reflection of his own struggles and uncertainties with everything that is going on in his life. His future self hesitantly accepts his hand, allowing Danny to pull him from the ground.

As they stand together in Long Now, Danny feels the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders. How is he going to explain this to Clockwork or anyone else? No one remembers Dan or what he did, other than himself and Clockwork, but that’s besides the point. And simply locking away his future self again won’t solve the overarching problem.

He exhales in an attempt to release the tension in his form. It doesn’t work. There’s too much to think about and act on all at once that his mind feels as though it’s tripping over itself. What does he do?

He isn’t sure.

There’s a huge issue that has been at play since he first learned about the future that he becomes Dan Phantom. It’s been a huge burden since Dan first made his way into the past. It’s the realization that every choice he makes has a consequence that not only shapes who he himself becomes but everyone else around him as well.

He glances up at his alternate self and cocks his head to the side. He can’t help feeling a sense of urgency overcome him. There’s no time to waste dwelling on the past or wallowing in regrets. The future is uncertain, just as it has always been, and every moment brings new challenges and new opportunities such as now. And as much as Danny fears the potential chaos this version of himself could unleash, he can’t ignore that he also needs help.

“We’ll put you back together again,” He declares, letting a grin spread across his face, “Together.”

His future self looks at him with a mixture of uncertainty and… something else? Hope, perhaps? It’s unmistakably etched in the furrow of his brow and depths of his eyes. It’s a faint beacon of light in the midst of darkness.

Danny can tell he is struggling with piecing things together. He can see the doubt that comes with being a soul adrift in a sea of fragmented memories and grappling with the task of piecing together a shattered identity. It’s a fragile moment, but it speaks volumes.

“What if… I can’t be fixed?” The Phantom’s voice is a whisper sounding very much unlike his usual.

Danny lets his shoulders relax upon hearing those words. He knows the pain that Dan is going through. It bugs him. But it also allows him to see himself and the echoes of his own fears and doubts staring back. He’s still in there. Even if it is like peering into a fractured mirror. He’s still Danny.

 He knows the road ahead won’t be easy, but he refuses to give in to fear. With a deep breath to steady his nerves, Danny reaches out, his hand extended in a silent gesture of solidarity and support, “We’ll figure it out.”

His future self hesitates, uncertainty flickering in his eyes like a wavering flame. For a moment, it seems as if he might retreat and succumb to the darkness that threatens to consume him once more. But then, with a tremulous exhale, he reaches out, his hand trembling as it meets Danny’s in a tentative clasp.

In this moment of connection, Danny feels a surge of hope swell within him, pushing back against the shadows that threaten to engulf them both. This is Dan’s second chance. He refuses to let anyone, least of all himself, squander this opportunity for redemption.

As Danny stands there, hand in hand with his future self, a surge of determination courses through him, drowning out the whispers of doubt and fear in the back of his mind. This is their second chance, a chance to rewrite their destinies, to forge a new path forward unburdened by the mistakes of the past. Screw the observers. Screw fate.

“We won’t waste this chance,” Danny affirms, “We’ll make things right, whatever it takes.”

His future self nods in silent agreement, a glimmer of determination shining in his eyes. It’s a small victory but it fills Danny with renewed resolve. They may not have all the answers, and the road ahead may be long and fraught with challenges, but they can find a new path in which everyone has a second chance. And with that hope guiding their way, Danny knows that they will prevail, no matter what trials may come their way.

[teejaystumbles]

Part 2, continuing the “Hob isn’t there in 2021 AU” from earlier. Please beware, tw for gore and body horror under the cut. (Can you guess who?)

Part 1 / Ao3

Morpheus stepped out of the New Inn. "Hey boss, why so grim?" Matthew landed on his shoulder and clicked his beak.

"Hob Gadling has disappeared. I do not feel comfortable with that." "Yeah, that's obvious.” the raven replied deadpan. Dream had no time to be annoyed with him. “Are we looking for him then?" "Yes." Dream strode down the street and casually melted into the shadows. He would look in the Dreaming first. It was almost night. When Hob fell asleep, Morpheus would find him. "He's not here, boss. We looked everywhere." Matthew cawed and when Morpheus did not answer, only brooded, he gently carded his beak through the Dream Lord's hair. "We'll find him. He's probably still awake, doing an all-nighter or something...”

“No. This is different. I should be able to find him, even awake. But his mind… seems to be cut off from the True Dreaming.”

Matthew cawed and took flight, sensing his lord’s rage building. Dream was seething.

“Someone did this, Matthew. Someone forced Hob’s mind into a seperate Dreaming… only few would be strong enough to do something like that. Only few would dare.”

“Can you find him?” The raven landed on a nearby tree branch. The tree had changed from a lush summer green to a gnarly nightmarish thing and Matthew shifted warily from one claw to the other. The boss was scary sometimes. “I can. But it will take time and effort.”

Dream started walking, his cloak trailing like a cloud of night after him, leaving the earth beneath him black and writhing with shadows. Matthew took flight and followed him as Morpheus headed towards his castle. “Whoever has dared to manipulate the Dreaming… to manipulate Hob’s mind… they will be sorry.”

*

Hob is on a battlefield. He is wearing his old mercenary armor from the end of the 14th century but he is holding a rifle. His hands are drenched in blood. The whine of bombs fills the air and clouds of gas roll over the fields, felling all men, not caring for sides. It’s all the battles he’s ever been in, all in one. Hob is tired of it. So very tired. He looks up. The sky is a murky red, like a sea of blood in which he will fall if he stares upwards for too long.

A sense of terror rises the hairs on his neck and he turns around.

“You!”

A blond man in a cream-white suit strides towards him, confident, hands in his pockets, smiling. Dark glasses cover his eyes, but to his horror Hob knows exactly what lies behind them.

“Me!” the man grins with too many teeth (too many, way too many teeth) and Hob is panicking, a searing phantom pain behind his eyeballs making him gag. He stumbles back.

“Yes, run, why don’t you? Not that it will help. We’ve done this sooo many times now, Hob.”

Hob takes step after step back but doesn’t turn his back on the other, knowing it would be a grave mistake. The man stops and looks around.

“Like it? I’ve handpicked your most awful memories to craft you this wonderful nightmare. You have to tell me if you want something else next time, there are so many horrible things to choose from. Oh…!”

Hob’s heart sinks in dread as the other grins even sharper.

“Oh, I know just the thing. I was going to keep that for last, but I can see that you are getting used to the violent dreams. It gets boring quickly, doesn’t it? The way one just goes numb. Stops caring.”

He gives a bored shrug and then suddenly they are no longer standing in a war zone, but on cobbled streets on a rainy London night. Hob chokes. He looks around wildly and there he is. Dark cloak, top hat forgotten inside the Inn in his haste to go, to get away from Hob. The stranger gives him a last angry glare full of disdain and then turns and strides off. Hob stumbles forward. “Tell you what, I’ll be here in a hundred years time!” The old lines come rushing from his tongue, like he’s replaying a memory.

“If you’re here then too, it’ll be because we’re friends. No other reason, right?”

His desperate words echo in the empty alley.

“Right?” he whispers.

“Poor Hob.”

He flinches violently as strong arms wrap over his shoulders and pull him in. Sharp teeth graze his ear and Hob shivers.

“This still hurts, although it’s been over a hundred and thirty years, right? I knew why I kept putting this off, it’s delicious. I almost pity you… because I know exactly how this feels.”

The man’s tone has lost his smile and turned angry, hurt, almost.

“I could almost believe that he won’t care one bit about what I’m doing to you… but I saw it all, Hob, with your eyes, and I know… just like you do, that he cares. Maybe he’ll never admit it, but he cares for you. I saw it in his face, through you. And it makes me… so, so furious…”

Teeth are biting at his throat, at his face and lips and Hob can only close his eyes and endure because he knows what comes next and he doesn’t want to see the other’s face.

“Look at me, Hob. Shall I reshape this memory of yours? You can stop him. You can grab him and throw him against the wall, make him see you. What will you do then? Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t know exactly what you’d do. I’m you, Hob. I’m what you want to do.”

Hob opens his eyes and glares at the nightmare in front of him. Tiny tongues lick over tiny teeth and Hob trembles with terror. “I’m not like you!” he manages. “You want to hurt him, make him bleed. I’d never want that. All I want…”

He gasps as a knife buries in his throat. The blonde man isn’t smiling, his teeth set grimly.

“You’re annoying me with your goody-two-shoes act, Hob. I’ve had enough for tonight.”

He lets Hob fall to the cold cobblestone and steps away.

Hob woke up.

Everything hurt. He couldn’t see. Everything was dark. His eyes hurt. His eyes… He jerked in horror and lifted his hands to his face, but stopped his trembling fingers from touching where he knew… With a wail he rolled himself into a ball. It hurt. There were several stab wounds in his chest and abdomen and he remembered. The blonde man, with his dapper suit and suave grin. Too much alcohol. A good fuck, and then… blood. Pain. Teeth.

A creek. A door opening.

“Hello sunshine. Awake? Shall we continue, then?”

Hob scrabbled back from the voice he just heard in the dream. He remembered now. This had been going on for some time. How many days had it been? The steps came closer and Hob had nowhere to go, his back hitting a wall. He couldn’t see!

“That wasn’t really what I had in mind, but we have time to explore that dream a bit more next time. I can only stomach so much of him and you, urgh. Makes me too mad… I lose all sense for finesse, you see? That’s why…”

Hob whimpered as he was dragged away from the wall and spread out, knees digging into his legs to keep him down.

“I have only one thing left for you tonight. Another death. Hob Gadling.”

He spit his name like a curse and then Hob felt the knife pierce his heart (again), life rushing out of him. He wondered briefly if one could cry without eyes or if it was blood he felt on his cheeks. In his ears the sound of his slowing stuttering heartbeat and rushing blood muffled the sound of retreating footsteps. The door closed with a dull thud and Hob closed his eyes (his eyes, oh god he took his eyes-) and tried to relax, tried to stop the panic. A gentle hand brushed hair from his forehead and he startled again. “Who’s there?” “I’m sorry, Hob. This is awful.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Death.”

Hob gulped, or tried to. “Oh… is it over, then?” he croaked.

“Do you want it to be?”

He coughed and tried facing the voice.

“I don’t know… depends… will my eyes grow back?”

“Eventually.”

“Thank God…” he gave a wet laugh and coughed up blood. “Why… are you here, then?”

The gentle hand caressed his cheek and Hob leaned into the touch, glad for the distraction from the pain.

“You’ve been dying and dying for days now, always teetering on the edge. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch. I decided to see what’s the matter.”

Hob coughed again.

“Can you… make him stop?”

“That is not something I do. Also… he is not human. I have no right to him.”

Hob quivered and trembled, he felt his heart slowly, so slowly knitting itself back together. Healing also hurt. “Someone else, then… can you… send someone… I can’t… before I’m healed up he, he comes and… k-kills me again...and then I dream of him, and he kills me… and it goes on and on…”

He sobbed and Death sighed softly. Her fingers carded through his greasy hair once more, then they were gone. He heard her get up and take a step back.

“Not long now, Hob. My brother is on his way. Not long…”

Hob wanted to ask her who her brother was, but before he could get the words out he heard the rush of wings, and he knew she was gone.

[ruins-and-rewritez]

"Report."

Keeg stands in the back of the small group of Dregs nervously twitching back and forth from foot to foot. He's still new to this. Operating directly under the gang's leader rather than reporting to any number of middlemen.

He watches anxious, as the others sound off the numbers of patrons, intake of Kruge, and the number of various supplies to this establishment or any other they might own.

Roeder abnormally twitchy seems to cower under the gaze of the man behind the desk. He mumbles his record of how things are going in the warehouse district and is hasty trying to switch one word for another. One more likely to please.

Everyone flinches as Dirtyhands slams his can to the floor. A resounding boom of anger or annoyance.

"Out. All of you, except Keeg. Anika."

The leading members of the Dregs file out quickly, although not fast enough to hide the frightened sheen of sweat coating Roeder's forehead. And the look of pure relief gracing his features.

The Bastard of the Barrel has only grown more infamous in the past two years. There's a palpable tension that lingers in the air around him. Almost like he secretes fear.

He feels Anika's fingers latch onto his sleeve, empowered by the show of unity he takes a step forward.

Dirtyhands reaches out with a gloved hand to stroke the statue still crow perched on his arm rest.

The creature unnerves Keeg, with its pitch colored eyes and unnatural stillness. Despite the fact it's been at Brekker's side for over a year now, Keeg can't help the wave of rising panic as it stares at him.

"You have news? My Wraith?"

Keeg and Anika share a look, equal parts terror and pain. This question is laced with its own weight of dread. It mixes with the fear already settled in his gut and Keeg thinks he might throw up all over his newly polished shoes.

His eyes flick back to the man and crow before him, worried they might have noticed the exchange. But Brekker's pallid faced is entranced by the large black bird. In this at least, Keeg feels relief.

"No. No word sir. Not yet." Anika answers for both of them.

Keeg swallows around the tightness in his throat. No matter the number of times the answer remains the same. He braces himself for the reaction.

Brekker frowns slightly at first, mouth puckering like he's tasted something sour and unpleasant.

"No matter."

Dirtyhands turns to the two of them, his face almost childlike in its sudden brightness. A look that should be calming rather then disheartening, because while his lips are tilted in shy grin his eyes remain vacant and lifeless.

"We'll her from her soon, my Inej never keeps me waiting long."

The purity of his features collapses as if he’s realized the falsity of the statement.

"My Inej..." he murmurs. Lost. Broken.

He shakes his head. Like he's lost his train of thought.

When he raises it again, his normal stoic demeanor has slid back into place.

"If that's all, you're dismissed."

Dirtyhands returns to the avalanche of papers and ledgers spread across his desk.

A quick glance at Anika and Keeg hurries them out of the office before she can break.

The door clicks closed behind them and she practically sags into him.

"How much longer? When will he remember?"

Keeg grips her tightly, "I don't think the mind heals so easily."

Anika, normally strong and unbreakable, let's a single sob escape into the fabric on his shoulder. His heart tightens.

The pain was harsh for all of them, a gaping hole with no means to fill it, but Dirtyhands had suffered the most from it. His mind didn't, couldn't, wouldn't handle it. Pushing the reality of it away and embracing the fantasy instead.

But Keeg still feared, because the day Kaz Brekker excepted the death of Inej Ghafa was the day the world would burn to ash.