#plot drop 11

[shriketimes]

monday november 1st, 1988

In the early hours of the morning, an unauthorised Halloween celebration held in the forest ended in tragedy and bloodshed. Many residents going against the safety precautions advised by town officials were injured in a brutal attack, in which multiple people lost their lives. Many known killers were reportedly involved in the attack, including the Jack-O-Lantern and the Hunter, both having escaped police custody in transit to Southfort Correctional Facility. Shrike Heights Police Department are working tirelessly to recapture the perpetrators. Town officials would like to remind residents that proof of their vigilance can be seen in the success of the Halloween Spooktacular, and that such protection can not be guaranteed when attending events not organised by the town itself. It is advised that residents stay out of the forest area between the outskirts and the farmlands until the police department can conclude their thorough investigation of the area.

thursday october 27th, 1988 

Harlow Jackson and Lochlan Miller leave the Southfort Police Department with the intention of reaching Shrike Heights at sundown. The two men often work together, being the (self-proclaimed) best partnership in the SPD. While the mood is usually light and playful when travelling together, the two of them are tense and quiet as they make the two and a half hour trip from their quaint little town, to one with a more notorious reputation. Both of them are anxious of what awaits them in the small town, knowing that very soon they’ll be in the same vehicle with two of the most dangerous killers in the whole of Colorado.

Shrike is decorated for the occasion. The town is covered in fall leaves, and everywhere you look there are glowing jack-o-lanterns, plastic skeletons and fake furry spiders attached to stretchy fake cobwebs. Harlow and Lochlan are impressed with the beauty of the town. Halloween was just as big in Southfort, but the business districts barely took the chance to decorate for the celebration. The town is quiet, most of the residents having attended the Fall Fest, as they do every year. Both the Southfort and Shrike Heights police departments believe that this is the perfect time to move the criminals.

They pull up behind the station. Harlow doesn’t notice that he’s gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than normal - knuckles turning slightly white as he hesitates to exit the car. He knows he mustn’t let his fear show, however. Especially not in the presence of the killers. “I’ll let them know we’re here. In the meantime you should stretch your legs, it’s not good to sit still for so long,” Lochlan says, sliding out of the car and moving into the building. Harlow unbuckles himself and steps out into the crisp fall air, taking a deep breath to calm himself. In the distance he can see the tip of Mayor Sweeney’s house, the chimney blowing smoke into the darkening sky. 

“Alright, they’re preparing them now,” Lochlan says as he exits through the back door, “What’re you looking at?”

“Nothing. Just - Mayor Sweeney’s house. It makes me sick to think he’s all cozied up inside there, keeping himself nice and safe while his town is in danger. I don’t think he actually cares about anything other than his own reputation,” Harlow answers, turning to lean his back against their cop car. 

“Probably. Power gets to people. And have you seen the man? He looks comically villainous. He’s definitely no good. Maybe next election he’ll be voted out. I heard that Mann fellow was thinking of running next time. Not that it’ll make a difference to us.”

Their talk of politics is cut short when four Shrike officers leave the building, guiding the infamous killers out in single file. They’re a little bewildered as they lay eyes on them for the first time. Neither of them admit it to one another, but goosebumps form and the hair on their arms stands up as the two criminals get closer and closer. Even with the straitjackets that they’ve been confined to, neither of the men trust them to be so close. “They’ve remained silent. But on the off chance that they try to get you to ease up on them - don’t. These men are dangerous, and under no circumstances are you to stop until they’re within the doors of the Southfort Correctional Facility, do you understand?”

“We know how to do our job,” Lochlan remarks a little snarkily. He doesn’t appreciate being treated as though he’s completely incompetent “Leave ‘em to us. I guarantee Shrike won’t have to worry about these two assholes anymore.” He taps the hood of the van as the criminals are loaded into the back and the doors are secured. The Shrike officers bid the men farewell and reenter the station, leaving Lochlan and Harlow to themselves. 

“Alright, we’d better get going. We don’t want anyone to see them and make a scene,” Harlow tells his partner as he climbs back into the driver's seat. Lochlan agrees - and within minutes they’re back on the road.

On the return trip, the highway is so dark and empty that it feels uncanny. Perhaps otherworldly would have been a better way for the two officers to describe it. The purpose of their journey makes the road what some would consider a liminal space - not just a literal space of transition between two places, but a metaphorical space of transition for both Shrike and Southfort. Things for Shrike are ‘supposed to be different with the removal of the killers’ - that’s what the local law enforcement say. Jack and the hunter are the supposed ringleaders. It seems that where they go, their lackeys follow. The operation is kept secret so as not to spark panic to the residents of Southfort, but there is no evidence to suggest that the other killers of Shrike won’t follow them to the new location. Both towns sit in a state of uncertainty. Harlow and Lochlan mightn’t be smart enough to understand liminality, but they feel it deep in their bones.

“Apparently they couldn’t get any information out of them,” Harlow says, eyes still on the road. “Isn’t that weird? With the kinds of people we’ve had run-ins with… you know how everybody has a breaking point. But not these guys.” That’s another of the many reasons that the Shrike killers terrify him so much. A killer who wouldn’t crack was a true monster. “I wonder how long they’ll last in Southfort correctional. Reckon they’ll keep them in solitary?” 

“Maybe. Especially if they put up a fight regarding those masks. Shrike officers might have been too lenient with them, but the staff at correctional won’t be,” Lochlan replies, turning his head to peer through the grate at the killers, still sitting eerily still in the back of the van. Of course. There’s no chance for them to move, their hands and feet cuffed, strapped tightly into straitjackets. He wasn’t sure why he expected to see them move. “I heard they superglued the masks to their skin so the masks couldn’t be removed without a bloody mess. Diane told me.”

Harlow shakes his head, “No. Diane doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Someone heard from Charles that they went one step further, sewing the masks into their skin. No-one knows whether it’s them wanting to conceal their identity, or whether they’re just so sick that they think they’re one with those masks… either way, medical professionals couldn’t do much without posing a serious risk,” and he knows that the Shrike department is already in such deep water that they won’t take any chances. 

“Well whatever the case is… the masks will be gone once they step into their shiny new home. Then we’ll finally get to see the faces of the beasts,” Lochlan has been dreaming of the day the faces of the killers are plastered over the news, finally having been brought justice for their horrific crimes. Now it seemed like that day was getting closer and closer. With the capture of jack and the hunter, it’s only a matter of time before the rest go down too, he thinks. They fall back into silence, though the two of them can’t seem to get their minds off the task at hand. Harlow might have called it intuition, and Lochlan would have called him an idiot. 

As they continue to drive, the sides of the road slowly begin to be shrouded with mist, almost becoming a barrier as the headlights hit it. Neither can see much past the fences that separate the farmland from the trees and grass on the verge of the road. It doesn’t bother Harlow at first - he can still see the road ahead clearly, and that’s all that matters. He knows the way like the back of his hand, even if it had spilled onto the road, he’d still be able to navigate. But when he thinks he sees someone dressed as a sheet ghost on the side of the road, he jumps and curses, nearly swerving onto the opposite side of the road. 

“What was that about? Are you alright?” Lochlan asks, a concerned expression on his face. He might make fun of Harlow at the best of times, but he’s still worried about his work-mate. 

“Ah… I’m sorry. I thought I saw someone dressed as a ghost. It isn’t even Halloween yet! I think the lack of sleep is finally getting to me,” he says softly, looking in the rearview mirror only to see nothing on the roadside behind them. “My cousin has been missing for weeks now. The last place she was reported to be seen was a bar in Shrike Heights. Since then my family and I have been losing sleep, waiting for any news. That’s what fucking sucks about being in this line of work. You know that when someone is missing for this long, it’s very unlikely there’ll be a happy ending.” 

“I’m sorry, man. Still… I hope things work out for her. I really do.”

The silence between them then is heavy. Perhaps if Lochlan had known about Harlow’s cousin, he would have elected someone else to do the job. He hopes that making such a trip isn’t going to do his co-worker more harm than good. But at the same time, he wonders if Harlow finds it therapeutic. A missing person in Shrike Heights is no coincidence. It’s very likely Harlow is putting away the very two people responsible for her disappearance.

Lochlan’s train of thought changes the second he sees a scarecrow on the side of the road. Odd place for a scarecrow, he thinks to himself. But when he thinks he sees the scarecrow move, his reaction almost matches Harlow’s, only he hits his elbow on the side of the van door. “Fucking hell, man - you’ve got me all paranoid now, I’m tripping out,” he laughs, but there’s a shake in his voice that gives away his nerves.

“What did you see?”

“I thought I saw a scarecrow. I swear I saw it moving towards the road. Like a scarecrow can walk.”

Harlow laughs, but Lochlan sees through his faux confidence easily. “I don’t know man. Things are getting a little weird. But we’re a little under half way there. We could even pull over at the next gas station to clear our heads a little.”

The next sighting is one that they both share. When both of them lean slightly forward, squinting their eyes to see better, they both know that they’re not seeing things. A person in a skeleton costume stands on the side of the road, a little closer to the asphalt than the ghost or the scarecrow had been. “Is there a Halloween party in town or something? Maybe people are celebrating early because of the holiday being on a Monday.”

“Maybe. Do you think they’re trying to hitchhike into town?” 

“Yeah - that would explain it. See? Everything has a perfectly rational explanation,” Harlow smiles. Despite his rationalising, his hands are yet again gripping the wheel too tight, this time his knuckles turning completely white.

THWIP.

They are very suddenly blinded by a large piece of white fabric - something that appears to be a sheet. Harlow swerves in fear. Lochlan winds down the window as quickly as he can, reaching his arm out to grab a corner of the fabric. He tugs on it, but the wind is making it difficult to move. “Quick!” Harlow hurries him, panic rising as he tries to keep himself centred on the road. 

Lochlan unbuckles his seatbelt and winds the window down further so that he can half lean out of the window, using both hands to pull the sheet away from the window. Once he’s inside he gives the sheet a final tug, pulling the fabric inside with one swift motion. 

Being able to see the road now is no use. In the middle of the road is what appears to be a large bronze statue of a miner. Lochlan doesn’t understand how it’s possible - surely he would have seen such a large obstruction while he was looking out of the window. He doesn’t have time to question it before the car collides with it, the statue completely smashing the window. The two officers scream, and in his panic, Harlow swerves. 

The vehicle uncontrollably dips into a ditch and ends up wrapped around a tree. The thundering sound of the crash echoes throughout the empty night - but no-one is around to hear. 

The officers never reach the Southfort Correctional Facility. Two hours after they’re supposed to arrive, both SPD and SHPD send out a car each to patrol the area in hopes of finding the men, but unexpected weather conditions make it difficult. A drizzle of rain and thick fog covers the road, completely hiding the wreckage from view of anyone on the main road, meaning the crash goes practically unnoticed until midday.

“We have the bodies of Harlow Jackson and Lochlan Keller here on the scene. They died not too long after impact, if not instantly,” Diane Golka speaks into her tape recorder, “No signs of struggle from the perpetrators, but they’re nowhere to be seen.”

“What are we going to do?” one of her younger co-workers asks.

“I have a strong feeling that Sweeney isn’t going to want anyone to know about this.”

monday october 31st, 1988 

The escape of the killers has been kept a secret from the general public while officials investigate, all in order to keep the public as calm as possible. With the recent behaviour of the killers, many Shrike residents were almost expecting the killers to come back worse than ever, angered by their capture. The last thing Shrike officials wanted was for that to be the case, and to be held personally responsible for it. Due to the emergency at hand, the annual Halloween Spooktacular has extra precautions put in place - an earlier start and finish time, and extra security in the form of police officers patrolling the borders of the commune in order to be certain no trespassers make their way onto the property. They’re determined to protect the citizens, even if it’s to save their own hides.

An announcer stands on a small stage made of wooden pallets, surrounded by hay and festive pumpkins with silly faces carved into them, resembling anything other than the terrifying pumpkin-headed killer that had plagued Shrike for over a year. The announcer has three cards in their hand - each one bearing a name. Behind them are the costume contest entrants, standing in a line, anxiously awaiting the results.

“Okay okay, quiet now - I know you’re all excited to know who the winners are,” she says, holding up the folded cards to the crowd, “I’m very pleased to announce, that the third place winner is… Topher Hancock as Robin Hood, and his matching Maid Marian, Dolly Jensen! Now, rules do state that the prizes are to be shared if there are two winners, so we’ll leave that up to you.” The crowd cheers as Dolly and Topher approach the front of the stage. Topher bows before giving Dolly a little spin to show off her costume - he’s prouder than he could ever say, and doesn’t think he’d have won if it weren’t for Dolly being with him. The crowd claps as they collect the small jack-o-lantern bucket waiting for them. The announcer continues the presentation, “Topher and Dolly have won a small bucket of candy along with a $10 gift voucher for Shrike Mall! Redeemable at any store, including the food court! How very exciting!”

“In second place… we have Chokehold on Love’s very own Finn Dunne!” the crowd seem to cheer even louder for Finn than they had for Topher and Dolly - likely due to the fact that most of the crowd had seen his band play earlier, and a good handful were going to be seeing a secret uncensored set at the Spooktacular Afterparty on the Ramos property. Chokehold on Love are practically Shrike’s equivalent of celebrity. He dons a mummy costume. Despite putting in moderate effort, he knows that it’s likely the judges put in a few extra points just because of his performance earlier in the day. He steps forward to collect his prize. “The second place winner wins a bigger bucket of candy and a $20 voucher!” Finn takes the jack-o-lantern bucket and stands next to Dolly and Topher.

“Last, but not least… in first place…” The announcer opens the last of the folded cards excruciatingly slowly. “Ozzy and Ottilie Morrison as the Grady twins from The Shining! Together these terrifying twins get the biggest bucket of candy along with a $40 voucher! Haven’t the costumes this year just been absolutely fantastic? Take a final bow, winners!” Ozzy steps forward with a big smile on her face - the twins' hard work has paid off. Ottilie takes the bucket of candy, which feels much weightier than it looks. 

Some of the mall employees in the crowd can see right through the gift card prizes - knowing that it’s just an incentive to try to get more people to shop at the mall, knowing that attendance might be lower than usual because of the attacks. Thankfully the gift cards all went to people who would already be at the mall anyway. “Now everyone enjoy the rest of their night! Remember that the Spooktacular ends at sundown!” Everyone leaves the stage to continue the celebration.

The residents of Shrike enjoy the rest of the event, going through the corn maze one last time before they’d have the twelve month long wait to do it again, relishing the last of the spiced pumpkin treats for sale at the stall. Many had slightly heavy hearts that the night was coming to a close - finding the Halloween celebration a good distraction from the tragedy of real life. As the sun sets, the residents of Shrike leave the commune and say goodbye to the Spooktacular. Those brave enough to trick-or-treat wander door to door to get their fill of candy. Everyone else knows that Halloween might as well be over. No-one at the event is harmed. The officials and the police hired for security are rather pleased with themselves, thinking that they’ve definitely made a step in the right direction regarding protecting their town. They praise themselves for it.

In the golden light of the sunset, Julio hands out one last bottle of beer before he’s officially closed. As usual, his popup cocktail bar is a complete success. Adults love nothing more than a fancy cocktail to keep their spirits high as their children run amok, which means Julio makes a pretty decent profit annually from the event. He packs up shop, but before he leaves, he figures he might as well stop by the Spooktacular afterparty on the way to the Ramos cabin to return a lost item. 

He slides the last bottles of hard liquor into his messenger bag, securing it tight so that they don’t slide around and smash into each other. Slinging it over his shoulder, he picks up one of the lit lanterns by his stall and makes his way to the forest, where Greg Ramos is hosting his party.

The Spooktacular afterparty starts off strong. Greg Ramos knows that it’s going to be a huge success. The Halloween Spooktacular ending early was a great disappointment for many of the Shrike residents who enjoyed staying out late for a few extra scares. So Greg knows that throwing one of his classic bonfire parties with a spooky twist will more than make up for it, having the locals eat and drink by the fire. He hopes to sit and take turns telling scary stories - some of which will be more funny than scary, and others definitely exaggerated to seem more terrifying. But he doesn’t mind, so long as he’s spending time with the people he cares about.

Greg is considered to be one of the biggest fans of Chokehold on Love. Standing next to Finn, it’s very obvious that the younger man's costume is of the band's frontman himself. Greg’s hair is sprayed blue, and he dons a home-made band shirt to show his support for what he considers Shrike royalty. The band find it incredibly endearing, especially Finn. Greg had asked so politely for them to perform at the afterparty that the band simply couldn’t refuse. After all, their set at the Spooktacular was tamer because of the sheer amount of children at the event. The four of them found they could really let loose at a show that was for those above the age of twenty-one. 

“I don’t know how Hedwig can play so well with a broken arm!” Greg is not a musician himself, so nearly anything that the band members do is incredibly impressive through his eyes.

“I actually tried to convince him not to,” Zero Heathcliff says, “But a guy knows his own limits, who am I to try take away his free will?”

“To be fair… the doctor did tell him not to, but he wouldn’t listen,” Finn tells him. He remembers being concerned the first time Hedwig had come to practice, ready to play with all their heart despite the cast on their arm. “At least there’s little chance of any serious, lasting damage. Or, so they said to us, anyway.”  

“Thank you guys for coming out here, it means a lot to me,” Greg holds something in his hands, a little package tied up with a ribbon especially to give to Finn. He motions to the Chokehold on Love shirt that he wears. “Ernie helped me make this shirt. And we made one for Donnie too! Here,” he holds out the package, “If you could give it to him, I’d really appreciate it.” 

“That’s so kind of you, thank you. I assure you he will love this,” Finn gives the younger man an appreciative, one-armed hug, squeezing his shoulders, “Speaking of which, I should head back. Donnie will get worried if I stay out any later.”

“Boring,” Zero teases, “Xena already forced Hedwig to go home - and now you’re gonna leave me too. I guess I’ll find something to drink and mingle with the commoners.” 

Mimi Bonsignore stands by the bonfire with Posey Bryant and Dhruv Acharya, the three of them with different drinks in hand as they talk about their costumes. Mimi playfully calls Dhruv Prince throughout their conversation, as their coworker is dressed as none other than the musician, Prince. Posey is dressed as a puppet - a costume that Mimi considers a little eerie. But Posey can’t seem to figure out what Mimi is dressed as.

“So… what are you supposed to be? The color yellow?” Posey asks, not meaning to offend.

Mimi wears a yellow dress, red shoes and grey gloves. She stands up straight and holds her hands together above her head in a triangle. Posey stares, and they seem even more confused now than before they asked the question. Mimi rolls their eyes playfully. “I’m a pencil! Duh!”

Dhruv bursts into laughter, “It’s okay I knew what you were all along,” he lies.

Julio arrives to the party a little late. Despite having lived in Shrike for so long, he still doesn’t know the woods half as well as Greg does. He can make his way to the Ramos cabin just fine, but the bonfire spot is new, so it takes him a while. Greg runs up to him to greet him, throwing his arms around the man, “You came! Are you gonna stick around?” 

Julio pats him on the back. He pulls away and reaches into his bag, retrieving the bottles of hard liquor. “No, I have to go home, José is expecting me. We’re having a little Halloween date night. I just wanted to give these to you. Don’t keep it all to yourself - make sure you share, mijo.”

Greg has learned a lot from Julio over the years. He’d known him since he was a child - and if anyone from out of town saw them together, they’d absolutely assume that the two were father and son. Greg’s father was always a frequent visitor of Julio’s bar, which is how Julio became familiar with the young man. Julio is well aware that Greg’s father is not known for his kindness - and for that reason, he has taken him under his wing. 

“You know I love sharing almost as much as you do,” he says. “Thanks tío Julio.”

“And you know I always got you. Your father left a pair of sunglasses at the bar last night, so I’m going to leave them by the cabin before he starts accusing someone innocent of having stolen them.”

“You know where the key is!” 

 “Adiós - and behave yourself!”

Julio goes on his way, lantern still in hand to guide the way. Greg watches Julio leave with a smile on his face, hoping that Julio doesn’t get lost considering he doesn’t know them nearly as well as the kids of Shrike. He hopes that Julio makes it back in time for the Halloween date night with his husband. The two of them had become the most positive influences in Greg’s life, and he loves them dearly.    

“Drinks, everyone!” Greg calls. He starts to pour generously into his friends cups.

Mimi was well aware that she’s due for a shift at Shrike Heights Radio the following day, but naturally, she can’t resist the proposition of a Halloween bash in the woods, taking the opportunity to socialise with her friends. Like many in Shrike, Mimi needed something to lift their spirits, to help them feel normal again. This was the kind of thing that the younger Shrike residents used to do without any fear. She misses it, and no doubt the others do too. 

It’s just before midnight, the moon hanging high in the clear night sky. She wishes she could stay longer to hear more scary stories and toast some more marshmallows on the fire, but she acts responsibly. “Okay, I’m beat. I gotta head home now. If I get to sleep soon, I may be able to sleep off the hangover before work,” they tell the crowd that they’d been chattering away to.

“Hey, let me walk you to the outskirts. You’ve had quite a bit to drink, I don’t want you getting lost in the woods like this,” Micah Miller insists, standing up from his place on a fallen log that is temporarily being used to seat the party guests.

“I suppose I hadn’t thought about that - I would really appreciate it, if you have the time. Just in case. I do want to make sure I get my beauty sleep,” they accept, thankful for the offer. Mimi knows the woods just as well as any other outdoorsy Shrike Heights kid, but in the dark, inebriated, they worry they might get turned around somehow. 

Micah leads Mimi away from the party, into the woods. They seem to really know their way around, Mimi thinks to herself, following them without question. She realises now just how dark the forest is in the denser areas where minimal moonlight can break through the canopy of leaves above. They’re thankful that they have Micah to guide them, or else they’d definitely have gotten lost, which would have impeded their ability to sleep off their hangover before work.

“Do you want to know something interesting?” Micah asks them.

“Sure.”

“If you’re ever out here in the woods at night and you can’t find your way back to the outskirts, you just need to find a clear spot through the trees and find the brightest star in the sky. If you’re careful and you follow that star all the way, you’ll find your way home,” they tell her. 

“Is that how you’re going to find your way back to the party? By going the opposite way?” 

“Well if I found myself in a pinch, yeah. But I’ve lived here a very long time, so I don’t usually need the stars to find my way.” 

As they weave their way through the trees, Mimi spots a figure just slightly illuminated by the moonlight ahead. It gives them an awful fright, causing them to jump and to grab onto Micah. Their sudden movement gives him a fright twice as bad, a small noise of concern escaping him as he takes a step back. Mimi squints, as though doing so would improve her vision. It only takes her a moment to recognise the figure as a scarecrow. “Oh god, I thought there was a person, but it’s just a scarecrow! How stupid of me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Let’s keep going.”

Mimi’s reassurance does nothing for Micah. Upon hearing her words, a chill runs down his spine. When his dear friend Jupiter was attacked earlier in the year, he’d said that the perpetrator was dressed as a scarecrow. Though it is currently Halloween, and a scarecrow costume isn’t unlikely, it is too eerie to be a coincidence. He steps in front of Mimi in order to see into the clearing. But there’s nothing there. “Are you sure that’s what you saw? A scarecrow? It wasn’t just a trick of the light?” 

Mimi hums. She’s intoxicated enough that she starts to doubt herself. “I’m not sure I mean… I guess it could have been anything. Or anyone. In a costume of sorts.” But she can still sense the tension in the air, and in order to calm Micah down, she tries to dismiss her anxieties. “You know what? It probably wasn’t even anything at all. It was probably a tree. I’m not really thinking too-”

While Mimi is mid-sentence, Micah is hit in the head.  

Micah stumbles backwards and knocks into an already unsteady Mimi. Mimi loses her balance completely and feels the rough terrain graze her hands as she hits the ground. She shuffles blindly out of the way so as not to be trampled by Micah. Micah’s head is ringing, and he’s nearly rendered blind as his vision blurs with tears, making it near impossible to see in the darkness. They hold their hand to their head and wince as they feel a hematoma forming below the skin, the tender skin throbbing with pain. 

Mimi uses a nearby tree to help herself to her feet, feeling a little woozy from intoxication. In the pale moonlight, she can see the Scarecrow lift their pitchfork, ready to strike Micah right through the chest. Mimi knows that if the scarecrow is successful, Micah will be stabbed right through the heart and will have no chance of survival. Despite her fear, she knows she can’t do nothing. So she stumbles forward, pushing Micah out of the way as the scarecrow thrusts the weapon forward. Micah is saved, but Mimi is not so lucky.

The pitchfork catches her hand, the force of it piercing the flesh between her forefinger and her thumb, hitting the tree beside her with a heavy thud. Mimi finds herself pinned to the tree by her hand. The scarecrow seems to contemplate whether they want to go for Micah or Mimi, but they decide on the latter, approaching her slowly. Micah’s vision is still so poor that he doesn’t even realise that Mimi has been hit. She struggles internally with what to do. She can either stay put and let the scarecrow end her life in the torturous manner they reportedly do so, or she can tear her hand away and make a run for it. The scarecrow is almost within arms reach when she decides. She clenches her teeth and pulls her hand free, the flesh of her hand tearing, hot blood dripping from the wound and all over her arm. 

“Leave her alone, you bastard!” Micah shouts. His vision is slowly returning to him, and he’s a little more stable on his feet. He bends down and picks up a rock that is a little bigger than the size of his palm, and he tosses it at the scarecrow. It hits the killer in the back, the sound replicating that of a stone being thrown at a bale of hay, almost as if there was no substance to the thing. The scarecrow pulls the pitchfork from the tree with some difficulty, and with a sudden, swift movement, throws the weapon at Micah. The prongs pierce through the flesh of their thigh with great force. They scream, falling backwards onto the ground, the back of their head taking quite a beating from the rocks and twigs below. With quick-paced steps, the scarecrow pulls the pitchfork from his leg, blood immediately spurting from the wound. Micah doesn’t need to be a genius to know that that is a bad sign. He lifts the weapon above his head, ready to strike the fallen victim's chest.

Mimi cries, teeth still clenched and muscles tensed due to the severe pain. She’s in too much shock to understand how to make the bleeding stop, so she simply stands and watches as the blood drips over the dead leaves and twigs on the ground. Micah’s scream of pain snaps her out of it. She sees him in trouble again, blood pooling around his leg as the scarecrow prepares to end his life. She does the only thing she can. With her uninjured hand, she reaches for the scarecrow's old plaid shirt and she pulls it with all of her strength, giving Micah just enough time to roll and clamber to their feet. Their leg is hot and wet with blood, and the sight makes them feel woozy. 

The scarecrow spins quickly, smacking the smaller of the two square in the forehead. Micah swears that the sound of the crack echoed. Mimi feels blood rushing down her nose and over her mouth, and as she tries to catch her breath from the anxiety running through her, she feels it trickle over her lips and tastes it on her tongue. Though the scarecrow attempts to stab Mimi, she moves out of the way just in time, her yellow dress getting caught on the prong as the pitchfork jams into another tree. She wastes no time running, letting the dress tear in the process. Her life is much more important than a silly Halloween costume. No one understood what she was, anyway.

Micah, having caught his breath, runs as best as he can on his injury, completely in the opposite direction. He’s confused and disoriented now, and doesn’t know exactly where he’s going, but anywhere is better than with the scarecrow. Seeing that Mimi has taken the opportunity to run also, he feels less guilty about leaving her behind. There’s a kind of unspoken understanding between them. The two of them are so scared and hurt that they don’t even have the chance to think about grouping up again - their instinct to escape and survive is too strong. Each of them hopes that the other makes it out alive.

Mimi finds herself completely lost in the woods. Her head throbs with pain and her vision is especially poor, blurry with a mixture of tears and practically seeing double due to her head injury. She holds her hand to her forehead, and similarly to Micah, the impact was so forceful that a hematoma begins to form. There’s no chance of her figuring out which star in the sky is brightest, rendering Micah’s advice useless for now. So she runs and runs until she’s completely out of breath. 

She sees a blaze of light in the distance. 

Micah runs as fast as they can, which admittedly, isn’t the fastest considering their leg injury. The pain in the muscle is intense. They stumble across the debris on the forest floor, skidding across the ground and scraping their hands as they instinctively try to protect themself from the fall. He lays on the ground for a moment, the only sounds being his heavy breathing and the soft breeze through the trees. He needs a rest, just for a minute to let his heartbeat slow down again.

The sound of a snapped twig in the distance wakes him up. I can’t rest. I’m losing blood, I can’t stop now, he thinks to himself, slowly heaving himself back to his feet, brushing his bloody palms against his legs. He remembers now that he mustn’t be getting enough oxygen to his brain. He knows he needs help sooner rather than later. 

He moves slower now, trying to conserve as much energy as possible. With his vision a little clearer, he knows very roughly that he’s moving in the direction back towards the bonfire party. Micah feels like he’s practically dragging his leg behind him as he moves, the pain too intense to put too much strain on his leg. Micah looks up at the sky. Their brain is much too foggy for them to figure out how long it’s going to take to reach the bonfire again. 

Greg and Aera Davies are completely unaware of the scene they’re about to walk into. When they see Micah, they don’t even recognise that they’ve been hurt, it’s so dark. “Hey! What’re you doing? We thought you went home, the party is practically over,” Aera says to them as they approach.

“Yeah, almost everyone has to work tomorrow so midnight has been the cut off for a lot of them,” Greg chimes in. He was well aware in the planning process that that would be the case - Halloween falling on a Monday is a crime. As they get closer to Micah, Greg notices the glistening darkness around their thigh. “Micah-”

“Mimi… I lost her. The scarecrow got us,” he says a little breathlessly, thankful to be standing still again. He feels like he could curl up on the ground and drift off to sleep, but he knows that’s not an option. “I’m bleeding… so much.”

Aera swallows hard as she examines the deep wounds, trying her hardest not to be sick. She can’t imagine the pain of something being stabbed so deep through muscle and flesh. “We need to get you some help. And Mimi too, if we can find her,” she says. It’s clear by the way Micah practically slurs their words that they’ve lost a lot of blood, and it strikes Aera with anxiety. Has the scarecrow followed him? That’s a thought Aera doesn’t wish to entertain.

“My place isn’t too far from here. I have a first aid kit at the cabin. I can wrap your leg up there and then I’ll take you to the hospital, alright? Do you think you can hold on that long?” Greg asks him. Micah takes a second to respond, nodding his head slowly. “Okay good. Follow me.” Aera wraps an arm around Micah, supporting him as best she can as they walk slowly through the forest. Greg takes his time, only so Micah can comfortably keep up with him. Micah appreciates this, and finds it much easier to continue now that they know they’re not alone. With Aera supporting and guiding him, he doesn’t need to worry about where he’s going, he only needs to focus on moving his feet and staying upright. 

They head down a natural dirt path that had been formed by animals frequenting the area - that much was obvious by the way it twisted and turned with uneven ground, some areas wider than others. Aera helps Micah over a fallen tree, holding him securely so that he doesn’t fall. They continue along their path until Greg stops. “I… thought I saw something.”

Greg was not merely imagining things. From behind a tree steps a person dressed as a sheet ghost. Only, their stark white sheet is covered in dark blood. Greg and Aera are both immediately concerned for them. Was it another of the scarecrows victims? Or was there another killer lying in wait somewhere in the woods. Aera slides her arm out from underneath Micah and rushes forward to greet them. “Hey! Are you okay?” 

Micah’s concussion makes it difficult to think. He doesn’t get the chance to warn her in time. 

As Aera reaches to place her hands on the persons shoulders, she’s taken by surprise by the knife that suddenly slashes her over her torso, cutting deep into her flesh all over. She puts her arms up in front of her instinctively in order to protect herself, but the Ghost is not merciful. Her arms are sliced up too, the knife even scraping against the radius bone of her left arm. She takes a step back, but not far enough. The ghost stabs her deep in the abdomen, the wound squelching as the killer twists the knife. Hot blood is soaking into the mouse costume, dripping down her body. Tears stream down her face, but she can’t bring herself to make a sound.

Greg is the kind of person who considers anyone a friend - and there is nothing he hates more than seeing a friend get hurt, especially in such a horrific way. He quickly realises he has to do something before Aera is harmed any further. If he doesn’t, there’s a good chance she won’t make it. He scans the forest floor to find the biggest stick he can physically carry. He grips it tight and swings at the ghost, hitting the sheet without much resistance. It doesn’t seem to do anything to harm the killer, but the ghost pulls the knife from Aera’s abdomen and turns to face him. Blood spills even quicker down the front of Aera’s body, and she holds an injured hand over the wound in an attempt to stop the flow. Greg knows now that he’s the new target.

Despite Greg’s small stature, he had been quite good at running. He was no track star, sure, but he knows that he’s the only one who has a real chance at escaping the ghost, his other two companions losing blood fast. Despite the shakiness of his voice giving away his fear, he tries to be brave. “So scared that you won’t even show your face? Come and get me, coward.” The ghost lunges their bloody knife and Greg takes off, prompting the sheet ghost to follow.

Micah rushes as fast as they possibly can to Aera’s side. She had been the one to reassure him before - now it was his turn. Despite feeling extremely weak, tears streaming down his face, he holds her for a moment as if to try comfort her. “It’s okay. We made it through. We just need to find help… and then everything will be just fine,” he says, a little breathlessly. His head still feels woozy, having lost too much blood already.

Aera and Micah try their best to support each other as they make their way back towards the bonfire. Though neither of them can run in their current state, their hurried walking feels as though they’re running a marathon. Micah is sure they’re on the right path, but before they get too far, they see something slumped against a tree.

It’s another sheet ghost, also covered in blood.

It sends a shiver simultaneously down both of their spines. They’re anxious, terrified, there is no possible way for them to fight back against yet another killer. Micah, however, is the first to spot something different about this ghost. A bloodied hand can be seen sticking out from beneath the sheet. “I don’t think it’s the killer. Look… at the hand. Did the ghost let you see any part of their body?” Micah asks her.

“No… no, they were holding the knife through the sheet, I didn’t see their hands,” she says. Micah takes a slow step forward, watching carefully in case the figure moves. Aera reaches for him, gripping his arm weakly. “Don’t.”

“It’s okay. I think I know what’s happened,” he reassures her, shrugging her off and continuing to move towards the unknown person. Slowly, they reach for the sheet, gripping it in their hand and slowly pulling it off what they realise now is a body. Underneath, is one of the partygoers. Their body is covered in deep slashes and stabs, blood pooling all around them. The smell of the iron makes him feel sick.

Aera stammers, “Should we… should we try to carry them? We can’t just leave them here.”

“No, we’re in no position to carry them. There’s nothing we can do now to get help. Someone will find them again, I promise.”

Greg knows the layout of the forest like the layout of his own home. The ghost chases him as he darts through the trees, taking the rockiest and most complicated paths he knows in order to trip the killer up. He moves quickly, but not so quick that he loses the perpetrator. He has no issue navigating, no matter the terrain. Greg knows the way back to his cabin, but he only prays that Julio isn’t there. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he were to accidentally put his tío in any kind of danger.

When he reaches the cabin he fumbles with the keys, his hands shaking so badly from the fear that he nearly misses the keyhole. The panic is truly setting in now that the adrenaline is wearing off. He feels like his hands are numb, like he can’t control them properly. He tries two incorrect keys before getting the right one, and he rushes inside, slamming the door shut behind him. He locks it securely, taking a moment to catch his breath. 

For once in his life, he wishes his dad was home. Why did he have to go on that stupid hunting trip, tonight of all nights? Anything would be better than being stuck in this cabin, scared and alone, with a terrifying predator outside of the door. This must be how those poor animals feel when dad hones in on them. Small, and helpless, he thinks to himself.

On the way to his bedroom, he rushes to make sure every single window in the house is locked, not wanting to give the ghost a chance to enter. Despite feeling safer inside his home, he’s still shaking with anxiety. Who knows how long the ghost was willing to wait for their prey? Greg would have to leave at some point, after all. “I’m not scared,” he tries to tell himself, as if saying it out loud will make it true. 

Greg has never been good with guns. They’re too loud, and he doesn’t particularly agree with his fathers stance on them. He could never bring himself to pull the trigger when his father had tried to teach him to hunt. But the shotgun that he’s had since he was twelve lies underneath his bed, and he knows that right now he might have no choice but to use it. He gets the weapon and the shells, slowly walking down the hall, carefully peering out the windows to see if he can spot the killer. The inside of the cabin is dark, making it easier for him to see the moonlight woods. The forest outside is still.

He steps into the living area.

The ghost stands in the middle of the room, bloody knife in hand. 

Greg takes a deep breath. He loads the shells into the gun and aims. He can’t help but think back to all the times his father had told him that he was no good at anything. He wants to prove him wrong in this moment - for his own sake. So that he can see his friends another day. So he can make them laugh. Listen to their stories. Be a shoulder to cry on. To take their minds off of the terrible happenings in the town that he still loves so much. He swallows hard. “I’m not afraid of you.” he pulls the trigger. The gun clicks, but does not fire.

Zero has hardly had much to drink throughout the night, knowing she has a shift at both The Black Cat and Myers’ Funeral Services. She doesn’t mind so much the idea of getting lost in the woods at night, but she much prefers it happen while she’s sober. From memory, they know they’re not too far from the outskirts. They think about stopping by the cemetery just for the sake of it, when they see the Skeleton lurking in the woods. Zero is knowledgable about the killers, mainly because they’re one of the people who has to see the bodies of the victims before they’re buried. Having to prepare the funeral for the police officers who had been brutalised so badly in July, she knows very well what the killer is capable of.

She inches away quietly, keeping her eyes on the killer. Just when she thinks that she’s going to make it out without being noticed, the skeleton’s head snaps to look in her direction. It sprints towards her. Zero had never been a particularly fit person, but her will to survive pushes her to run faster than she’s ever run before. Their fascination with death did not mean that they were so easily ready to accept it. Not here. Not now. Not today. 

Zero runs through the woods, completely unsure of which direction they’re heading in now. For all they know, they could have been running in circles. Their bat costume snags on the trees and shrubs as they run, slowing them down and covering them in little scratches all over. The wing gets caught on one particularly sharp branch. The force of them pulling themself free sends them toppling to the ground, scraping their hands and knees as they slide downhill. From there, they slide down a bank and into what they think is a clearing.

Only, there is no clearing ahead. Instead, Zero falls into cold water, fully submerged. She feels weighed down by the fabric of her costume, the bat wings now soaked through and dragging her down. She suddenly regrets not having learned how to swim. With all her energy she splashes and flails and sputters, holding herself just above the water of the dam. She’s moving in some direction, albeit very slowly. She’s losing her energy quickly, and just when she can’t flail her arms anymore, she feels movement in the water ahead of her, and arms sliding under her own, dragging her towards the shore.

Sonnet Wozniak pulls Zero to the bank, and when the water is too shallow to support Zero’s weight, her brother - Leaf Wozniak, helps her drag Zero onto land. Once it’s clear that Zero is conscious and breathing (though very panicked, still), the siblings and their friend Posey help her to her feet. Sonnet wipes the excess water from her face and arms, her woodland sprite costume completely soaking wet. Thankfully, Sonnet has never been the kind of person who would care more about her outfit than a persons life. 

“Are you okay?” Leaf asks, brushing Zero’s hair away from her face so that they can get a good look at her in the moonlight. It’s hard to tell if she’s any paler than usual. “You didn’t breathe in any water did you?” 

“No, no… I’m okay, I think. I saw a killer. The skeleton. And now I have an awful feeling that everyone is in danger,” Zero told him, hugging her arms around herself as the cool breeze gives her a chill. “I’ve seen what that thing does to people. Do you think there’s anyone else out here?” 

“Probably,” Posey says, “We’re out here, aren’t we? It’s likely other people are-” Posey is cut off mid-sentence by an all too familiar sound.

THWIP.

An arrow zips past them, very narrowly missing Sonnet’s shoulder. “What-?” she doesn’t really have time to process what’s happening before Leaf tells her to run. He leads the way, practically dragging Sonnet behind him, Posey and Zero close behind. The Wozniak siblings know the woods better than anyone, but not even they can see the trap before the four of them barrel into it.

The net trap springs up from the ground, surrounding the four of them as they topple into each other, the force of their collision causing them to be winded, and their heads to smash into one another as they have no time to protect themselves. The four of them are on the ground, the heavy, natural fibre of the net covering them. The four of them all clamber in the dark to find the edge of the net, desperate to escape and continue running, but it’s too late. The Hunter is there, untying the trap from the tree branch above and taking the net in his hands, dragging them with some effort across the ground towards an abandoned campsite. The four stick their hands through the netting and try to grasp onto anything nearby, as if that will somehow help them escape. Their attempts are useless.

The wolf-masked killer finds the opening to the net with no issues. First, he retrieves Posey, pulling them out with a hard grip on their upper arm and pulling the net closed again once they’re free of the trap. Posey struggles against his grip, kicking their legs and thrashing around. “What’s your damage? What did I ever do to you?” they ask, breathless from their struggle. The killer ties a rope tight around their right hand. They’re terrified of what the killer has planned.

Posey kicks him in the shin in an attempt to knock him over. “Let go!” The hunter doesn’t so much as flinch. He repeats their action - kicking them in the shin. The blow is so hard Posey fears their leg might break, and they fall to the ground with their right arm still outstretched. There’s a pop in their wrist and they feel a sharp pain. “Fuck-” they wail as the hunter continues to lift them to their feet by their dislocated wrist in order to tie their other hand. He secures them to a low-hanging branch from a nearby tree. Posey stands on the tips of their toes, desperate to keep the intense pressure off their wrist.

Zero finds themself in a state of shock, completely drained of energy and unable to think straight, meaning they don’t put up much of a fight from within the net. But Leaf frantically looks for the exit - which they know exists. Before he can find it, the hunter has opened it. Sonnet is his next victim. He grasps her wrist and begins to pull her out of the trap. Her brows furrow and she digs her heels into the ground, using all of the strength in her legs to try pull her arm free.

“No!” Leaf leaps towards the wolf, throwing his fists aggressively. Despite his fear, he refuses to let the hunter take his sister without putting up a fight for her. As his fists slam against the hunter, he realises that it has no effect on him. Leaf isn’t weak, but he’s not strong enough to make any difference at all. The hunter shoves them down with his other hand, and continues to drag Sonnet away. Despite her struggles, she’s tied up by her wrists right next to Posey, more pressure on her wrists due to her being hung at a taller section of the branch. 

Leaf is next. He’s on high alert. He wants to tell Zero to watch for the opening, but he knows that she isn’t in the right mind to be able to do so. He wondered if she’d be able to move even if the opening was obviously visible. When he’s pulled from the net, he tries not to panic, eyes scanning the area to consider his options. 

That’s when he spots something hanging from a nearby tree that no-one else had been focused enough to notice. 

“Is that what I think it is?” They ask. The creature gurgles, a death rattle escaping it’s throat in a sickening splutter. As the hunter guides Leaf closer, he’s able to see the form properly. A human with their hands pinned to the tree by the killers arrows. A human with no skin; all flesh and fat and muscle visible. The smell of blood suddenly hits him and he can’t contain the contents of his stomach any longer, vomiting into the dirt. Sonnet and Posey hesitantly look behind them, to their left. The moment they see it, they can’t hold in their panicked screams. The hunter ties Leaf next to his sister, and Sonnet immediately tries to comfort him.

The screaming is enough to partially snap Zero out of their trance, so they slowly start to search for the exit. It’s becoming obvious to her now that the opening must have been pulled together by another piece of rope, making it nearly impossible to spot in the dark unless you know what you’re doing. Though just like their friends, they have no chance of escape. The hunter returns for her, forcing her to feet with a sharp tug of her wrist. Once she’s on her feet, she sees the skinned corpse in the moonlight. One thought materialises in her mind. He’s going to skin us alive… and there’s nothing we can do about it. He binds her wrists and places her securely next to Leaf, giving the rope one final tug to be sure it’s tight enough.

“Let us go, you freak!” Posey groans as they struggle to stay on their toes. They want to put up a fight - they want to defend themself. But know there’s no use with their injured wrist. The hunter makes his way to them. He looks Posey up and down slowly. He hasn’t forgotten them. He pulls the hunting knife from its hilt, holding it up to their throat. “What do you want with us? I don’t understand.” He drags the tip of the knife gently down their throat, careful not to make a cut. He stops at the scar on their chest - the same scar that the hunter gave them. He pushes down, slicing into the skin, tracing back along the scar, opening it up. Posey groans, tears filling their eyes.They try to be strong, they try to show the killer that they’re not scared - but it’s not true, and the hunter knows it. Blood swells quickly and slowly trickles down their chest as the hunter moves onto Sonnet.

Leaf’s eyes widen. “No- not her. Not her,” he says, voice a little higher pitched than usual due to the panic. He struggles against his bindings until his forehead begins to sweat. “Don’t touch her, please don’t touch her. Leave her, you can do what you want to me, just please don’t kill her,” he begs.

“No! Leaf don’t be stupid,” Sonnet responds, “I’m fine, I’m going to be fine, don’t provoke him-” 

But Leaf doesn’t give in. They kick at the hunter, but barely make contact, the tip of their toes just scraping against his leg. The wolf-masked killer looks at them. Leaf wishes he could know what goes on inside that evil monster's head. What makes him do what he does? The hunter turns to pick up his bow. An arrow is pulled from his quiver - the head of the arrow gleaming in the moonlight as he pulls it back, swinging his aim back and forth as if he’s unsure who to shoot. He settles on Sonnet - an obvious ploy to trigger Leaf.

The hunter releases the arrow and it flies through the air with a sharp hiss. Despite the pain from the weight on his wrists, Leaf swings in front of Sonnet as best he can. The projectile hits him right in the shoulder, piercing through flesh and muscle. He screams as the pain sears with every little movement of his left arm, which is something he can’t help with the way he’s currently held up. The hunter groans, the frustration evident in his voice. It’s the first time that night that any of them hear him. He approaches Leaf, standing face to face with his victim. Leaf swears that the killer smells of real fur - seeing the mask up close it certainly looks like the real face of a wolf fashioned into a mask, which makes him feel ill. Had the wolf been killed just for that purpose? The hunter’s actions make it clear that he has no respect for life. Why would he respect that of the animal whose face he wears? Leaf lashes out in anger, kicking the killer with all of his strength.

He stumbles backwards, though otherwise doesn’t seem to be hurt - only frustrated. Another frustrated growl can be heard, this sound a little more animalistic than the last. He kicks at the ground, his foot hitting against something hard. It doesn’t harm him as much as it surprises him. He crouches, running his fingers over the object that has clearly been left behind by a camper at some point. Suddenly, he has an idea. The hunter stands once more, kicking the object towards Leaf and slowly sliding it in front of his feet. He unsheaths his bloodied knife, holding it threateningly against Leaf’s throat, putrid hot breath blowing against his face.

“Back off,” Leaf spits.

The wolf nudges the item beneath Leaf’s feet. In fear, Leaf holds his feet up, supporting himself entirely by the rope tied around his wrists. Pain shoots down their arms. They know they don’t have much time, and they have no choice but to place their feet back on the ground unless they want both of their wrists to dislocate. Sweat beads down his forehead, rolling down the side of his face and uncomfortably down his neck. When he puts his feet back down, pain shoots through the balls of his feet as something digs deep into his flesh. Although Leaf can’t look down with the knife at his throat, the others can see clearly. The hunter has made him stand on an old wooden board covered in twisted, rusted old nails, some of which are now buried deep inside his feet.

The hunter is not done with him. He’s caused too much trouble to be let off so easy. He moves behind Leaf and uses his already bloody knife to slash down back, tearing through his woodland sprite outfit and into his already aching flesh. There’s nothing Leaf can do but accept it, clenching his teeth so hard it hurts as the knife slices into him. 

Sonnet cries harder than ever before. “Leaf- Leaf, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sobs, her face shimmering with tears in the faint moonlight. 

Leaf lets out a shaky breath, “No, don’t you apologise. You have nothing to apologise for. It’s not your fault, Sonnet.”

The hunter isn’t impressed with the way they comfort each other, especially when his main purpose is to cause as much discomfort as possible. He grabs Sonnet roughly by the hair, pulling it painfully away from her scalp as he holds her in place from behind her. He reaches around the front and plunges the knife into shoulder, pulling the knife toward himself. Sonnet screams, the tears continuing to stream down her face. Leaf sobs - he’s disappointed in himself for not being able to protect Sonnet, even though she would never blame him for any of this. It’s very obvious that this act of violence isn’t witout purpose. The killer enjoys watching their suffering.

The wolf then makes his way to Zero. He grips the neckline of her dress, and with the bloody knife, he cuts through the fabric down to their belly button. The tip of the knife scrapes against their skin, and they fear that the hunter might stab them, but he moves the knife out of the way to push the fabric away from her chest. She thrashes, her hair falling over her face. She tries her hardest not to cry - she doesn’t want the killer to know that he’s getting to her, but similarly to Posey, the killer sees through the act. He slowly traces the knife over her skin, as though he’s contemplating where to start. Zero knows in her heart, however, that the killer already has a plan in mind. The same plan that he’d executed on the corpse hanging from the tree beside them.

He starts above the breast, towards the shoulder, cutting deep into the skin and slicing down until he meets the sternum, knife scraping against bone. Zero groans through gritted teeth, tears stinging her eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. The hunter does the same to the other side until that cut meets the other in the center of her chest. They don’t dare to even attempt looking down, but they can feel the blood dripping down the front of their body. The murderer continues his torture, cutting a straight line down her chest, ending just above her belly button. She can no longer keep her composure, screaming through clenched teeth as her tears spill. She’s not strong enough to hold them back anymore. The hunter slides the knife under her skin and starts to slice and flay, the same way someone might skin a rabbit. The pain is so excruciating that Zero passes out for a moment. More blood drips down over her pale body as he slices, what’s visible of her torso almost entirely covered in blood.

“Hey!” 

The three conscious victims hear a commotion from behind the killer. Julio stands near the edge of the campsite with his lantern in hand - held up in front of him. The hunter turns, and the moment he sees the lit flame, he jolts and drops his knife in the dirt. He quickly ducks down to pick it back up, wiping the dirty blood on his pants. Julio takes a step forward, and the hunter steps back hurriedly. It’s this behaviour that is a dead giveaway to Julio that the hunter is afraid of the flame. Being a very quick thinker, and a great problem solver, he immediately knows what to do. The bar owner throws the lantern to the ground with a smash, and the flame lights up the dead leaves on the forest floor. The hunter looks left, then right, as if he’s wondering if there is some way to fix this. But there isn’t. He runs into the darkness, leaving his victims behind.

“What if you start a forest fire?” Leaf asks, sweat beading down his forehead as he watches the fire burn the dead leaves. Normally, Leaf would know that the forest was too damp for any real damage, but in his current situation, that’s not what he’s thinking about.

“It’s okay, it’ll burn out quickly, I promise,” Julio says as he unties Posey, carefully lowering them down to their feet. They immediately hold their wrist, which they can feel has already started to swell.  When Sonnet is released, she immediately helps Julio release her brother, reaching down to pull the rusted nails from his feet. The siblings immediately give each other a half hug - being wary of each others injuries. “To make sure you don’t get hurt any further, we need to break the arrow,” Julio tells him. “Brace yourself. I’ll be as careful as I can be.” Sonnet takes Leaf’s hand, and he squeezes her tight while Julio breaks the wooden arrow. Sonnet’s hand hurts, but she says nothing. She can imagine the pain Leaf’s shoulder must be in, as her own shoulder hurts deeply from the stab wound. “Okay, we’re done. Good job.” Julio rubs Leaf’s opposite shoulder very gently as a form of reassurance. 

Posey wishes they could do more to help, but with their injury they feel incapacitated. Julio then moves to Zero, gently tapping their cheek until they stir. They’re dazed and confused, and it takes them a moment to come to. Julio decides to leave her secured until she’s a little more aware of her surroundings, fearing that she may collapse the second her feet touch the ground. “How’re you holding up? You’re white as a ghost,” he tells her, carefully pushing strands of white hair behind her ears. 

“Mmm… it’s okay I’m always white as a ghost,” they say. Sonnet wraps her good arm around Zero’s waist from behind as Julio undoes the rope around her wrists, gently lowering her to her feet. She’s a little unsteady, and inspecting her wound makes her feel so queasy she almost faints again.

“Don’t look at it, don’t look,” Julio tells her, unzipping his jacket and pulling it down his arms so that he can wrap it around her. He helps her put her arms through the sleeves, and carefully zips it up to be sure to cover the exposed skin and the gruesome wounds. “There. Be careful, now.”

“Sonnet,” Leaf’s tone almost sounds like he’s protesting, “Wait a second.” He tears some of the flowy fabric from his own woodland sprite costume, finding the task especially easy to thanks to the killer having cut it up from the back already. He carefully ties long strips of it around Sonnet’s injured shoulder. Zero witnesses this, and feeling a little more herself now, she picks up a stick and helps, using it to turn the fabric into a better tourniquet. 

“There’s a major artery in there. You’re super fucking lucky, tinkerbell,” she tells Sonnet, who is looking a little paler than usual. 

Julio motions for them to move, “We have to get out of here, now. It has to have been the fire that scared the killer off, and it’s about to burn out. I know a safe place, not too far from here. We should see if anyone is around and head back to the Ramos cabin. There’s a phone there, as well as access to a road, we can call for help and get paramedics out here.”

He leads them away from the abandoned campsite, running back the way that he came with the four survivors in tow. They move at a relatively quick pace, though they’re careful to be sure Leaf can keep up with their injured feet. The branches of trees and shrubs scratch their arms and their faces as they push through the brush, and all five of them curse and cry out as they push through a group of small New Mexican locust trees, the thorns stabbing them all over their bodies as they move. 

As they start to head downhill, Sonnet manages to lose her footing and she topples over a fallen tree, the thick log hitting her right in the stomach and winding her in the process. She slides a little downhill before managing to stabilise herself. It takes a moment for her to catch her breath. “You okay?” he asks, rubbing her back reassuringly. 

Sonnet nods her head. “Yeah, just a little winded, it was a harsh blow,” she answers. From then on, they move at a slower pace.

“Okay, let’s take a breather here, we’re not too far now. Just keep your wits about you,” Julio says tiredly. He works long hours behind the bar, but nothing like that could have compared him for such intense cardio on such short notice. 

When Sonnet can’t seem to catch her breath properly, that’s when she starts to realise that she doesn’t feel quite right. “I don’t feel so good,” she pants, struggling to get enough air into her lungs, it seems. “It hurts, still.”

“Your shoulder?” Posey asks, taking a step forward to examine the amount of blood soaking into the makeshift torniquet. 

“No… yes… everything,” she exhales shakily. 

This is when Leaf realises the blood slowly seeping into the front of Sonnet’s costume. He pulls her into the moonlight that beams through the cracks in the canopy above to take a better look. They use their fingers to pry open the fabric over her upper stomach, and it’s evident now that Sonnet has been impaled by a tree branch. He tries not to panic, despite the anxiety that eats away at him. “Y-you’re hurt. Badly.” 

Julio takes a look, wincing at the severity of the wound. “Like I said, we’re not too far now. But I think I heard someone in that direction. You wait here while I check it out. I want to make sure we get everyone safe. Don’t touch that,” he motions to the wood that is stuck in her abdomen. “I’ll be quick, alright, cariño?”

The large bonfire crackles loudly, spitting upwards in smooth yet unpredictable flames. Rosie Mahelona and Kang Mi-Sook are the last two surrounding it, growing more and more dependent on the fire’s warmth as the night air grows colder. All of the other partygoers have scattered, spreading out and going their own ways home, something that both Rosie and Mi-Sook are considering - once Greg returns, of course, so the fire isn’t left unattended. 

It’s been a long and exciting night. Mi-Sook finds herself having a surprising amount of fun with Rosie; perhaps because upon finding out that she is also the daughter of wealthy investors, she knows that Rosie isn’t just talking to her because of her wealth or her status. Rosie, on the other hand, doesn’t care much about what Mi-Sook’s intentions are; she’s having fun, and that’s all that matters to her. 

Rosie is in the middle of recounting an amusing interaction with a Karaoke Dokie frequenter when another person joins the duo; they think nothing of it, and hardly even take the time to note how impressive their skeleton costume is as their night has been long and they’re eager - yet patiently waiting - for Greg’s return so that they can get some rest before Tuesday’s shifts. They both assume that this individual is in the same position. 

“I have never heard anyone belt ‘It Must Have Been Love’ with that much passion-” Mi-Sook isn’t disinterested in Rosie’s story, but she finds her mind drift off to other thoughts. Greg is taking an awfully long time to return; it’s unlike him to leave without ensuring that all guests have gone home safely and that all loose ends are tied - he’s known for being a brilliant host. There’s nothing to imply that Greg is in any danger, but still, Mi-Sook feels herself grow anxious for him.

“Are you waiting for Greg too?” Rosie’s question to the skeleton goes unanswered, but their bad manners are excused as Rosie supposes they might have just had too much to drink. “You can head home if you need to; we’re not going anywhere until Greg is back, so you don’t need to worry about the fire or anything.” She’s smiling, though her friendly smile begins to falter as again there’s no response.

The skeleton simply stands there, staring at the two mall employees; their skull eyes are dark and lifeless, and they’re still, too still for someone intoxicated, too still for someone sober, Mi-Sook thinks. The skeleton takes a step forward. They still don’t speak. 

“Oh! Is this a trick?” Rosie asks, her cheerful demeanour having returned. “You didn’t even ask me trick or treat!” 

The skeleton takes several more steps towards them, moving in a manner that feels eerily uncanny. Rosie’s smile falters again, for good, beginning to feel uneasy. Mi-Sook stands up from the log that they’d been sitting on as a subconscious effort to make herself seem more intimidating to the slow-approaching figure.

As the skeleton is better illuminated, closer to the light of the fire, Mi-Sook can now see that they hold a large, heavy bone in their hand. Nothing about this feels like a trick, nothing about this feels right. She places a hand on Rosie’s shoulder. ���Get up.” 

Only a few paces away, the skeleton suddenly leaps towards them, swinging the bone towards Mi-Sook first. She manages to dodge, stepping a little too close to the fire in the process. Her fear increases as she strains her body to stop herself from stepping into the flames.

Rosie is not so lucky. She finds herself frozen in place, unable to dodge the attack like her friend, paralysed with fear - that is, until the sturdy femur bone smacks her in the hip. Thankfully the blow is only hard enough to cause bruising, though as Rosie stumbles but keeps her eyes on the attacker, she knows they’re not going to let her get away with only a couple of bruises. 

Survival instincts take over, and Mi-Sook tries to make a run for it, at the very least wanting to gain some distance between herself and the fire. The thought of the bonfire possibly burning out of control is far from her mind now, all she worries about is herself and Rosie getting out of there safely; Greg is an empathetic person, he’d have wanted Mi-Sook to prioritise their lives over anything else.

Though she tries her best, the skeleton is too quick for her. They turn away from Rosie, and they lunge towards Mi-Sook, taking a hold of her hair and stopping her in her tracks. They swing the bone with such power that even Rosie can hear the ‘woosh’ that the movement makes. As the skeleton strikes Mi-Sook over the head, even Rosie can hear the ‘crack’ that her skull makes, too.

Mi-Sook has never been hit so hard before, and she swears she’s never felt such terrible pain in her head. She falls to the ground in a heap, the pain so severe that she swears she can hear ringing. She can’t know just how bad her head injury is, though she knows it must be severe from the way that the pain migrates behind her eyes. At least she’s conscious enough to recognise the pain; she tries to hold onto that, knowing she needs to stay vigilant. 

To watch Mi-Sook be attacked is the scariest thing Rosie has ever seen. She’s once again frozen in fear, though even if she could find the ability to move, the scene unfolds so quickly; she can’t do a thing for Mi-Sook or herself. The skeleton turns back towards her, and before her breath can even catch in her throat as she gasps with fear, The skeleton swings at her. 

Somehow, Rosie finally finds the ability to dodge. She steps back to avoid the hit, and while she avoids the bone coming towards her with another wooshing sound, she steps too far back, and her left leg lands in the fire. Hot flames immediately begin licking at her bare flesh; her Wonder Woman costume doesn’t protect her at all from the heat. She screams, and the skeleton uses her compromised position to land the next hit. 

They swing the femur again. Rosie can’t escape, trapped between the killer and the flames, but she tries to protect herself by holding her arm up in front of her face, just in time before the bone makes impact. A cracking sound so like the noise made by Mi-Sook’s fractured skull echoes louder than the crackling of the flames that attack her, too. Rosie immediately knows that her arm is broken; she’s overcome and overwhelmed by the combination of this pain and that of her burning flesh. 

With a loud scream leaving her, adrenaline pumping through her body, and no other choice, Rosie lunges towards the killer and she pushes them aside with her full body weight. The force causes them both to tumble to the ground, Rosie landing with a cry of pain that is midway interrupted as she begins to cough due to the smoke. The wound on her leg is covered in dirt and dried leaves, sticking to the damaged skin that has already started to weep. 

While Rosie is stuck on the floor, her injuries getting to her, the skeleton scrambles to their feet; they move erratically for a moment, as if upset that they got sent to the forest floor. They hold their bone firmly and they raise it above their head, ready to swing at Rosie again. 

Mi-Sook can hardly move from where she is, but through blurred, doubling vision, she can see the skeleton’s foot just within reach. She extends a shaking arm, reaching for them, but she misses it first due to her impaired state. She doesn’t give up; she reaches again. Once she has hold of their ankle, she pulls them down again. 

Through tears, Rosie can see Mi-Sook’s face is starting to bruise, her forehead turning purple. She wants to tell her to be careful, she wants to thank her for her help, but she has no time to say a word as the skeleton is scrambling to their knees. They raise their weapon high above their head, and they swing, their aim again being Mi-Sook’s head.

She covers her face with her forearms just in time, and the force of the blow is so powerful that she thinks her arms might break. She’s lucky that they don’t, though without a doubt there will be bruising all up her arms by the end of the night - if she makes it out alive.

From the woods, Mimi slowly approaches the campsite. She’s cautious at first until the bonfire is in clear view; she hadn’t realised that she’d circled back to her starting point. She pauses to take a well needed breath, wondering if Micah got away safely, and that’s when she hears the commotion ahead. Despite her exhaustion, she knows she needs to intervene. It’s not time to rest yet. 

She sneaks up on the remaining people around the bonfire. She tries her hardest to stifle a gasp as she spots both Rosie and Mi-Sook on the ground, injured and vulnerable, with the skeleton towering about them both. They hit them both countless times with the bone in their hand, and Mimi, concussed and a little dazed, has no time to be afraid now. 

Still undetected, Mimi pushes the skeleton into the fire with all of the strength she has left. She takes Rosie by the hand and tries to pull her up, too quickly for Rosie to be able to protest. Rosie screams, crying as she tries to tug her arm away from Mimi, who had no idea that she was taking her broken arm. Mimi apologises profusely, and they help her up with her left arm instead. They feel sick, though they’re unsure if it’s from the guilt of further injuring Rosie or if it’s because their own injuries are catching up to them.

Now standing, Rosie turns her head to see that the skeleton makes no sound as their body writhes in the fire, the flames spitting and rising higher. Rosie knows what the smell of burning flesh is like - she’s unsure if she’ll ever be able to forget it after having her leg burnt by the fire. The skeleton smells nothing like that, as if there’s no flesh being burnt at all. She tries to shake the irrational thoughts from her head as Mimi rushes to assist Mi-Sook. 

Mi-Sook aches all over, but no blow lands her with an injury that hurts more than her head. She sits up properly - slowly - reaching her hands up to her forehead. Rosie, having turned back from the skeleton just as Mi-Sook does this, shouts. “Don’t! You don’t want to touch it, you shouldn’t, please.” 

Mi-Sook doesn’t listen. Her fingers trace over her forehead, which has already started to swell. Even so, she can feel the depression in the middle. Her head doesn’t feel right. She begins to feel as nauseous as Mimi, who swiftly helps her up with Rosie’s assistance, too. Both of them hold one of Mi-Sook’s arms each, both to support her, and to support her, and to prevent her from irritating her head injury by touching it again. 

“We should find Greg. If he’s out here alone, who knows what might happen to him?” They suggest.

Ottilie and Ozzy Morrison are on their way home. They themselves are a bit of an eerie spectacle walking through the woods all alone in the middle of the night, dressed as the twins from the Shining, in identical blue dresses. The spooktacular afterparty had been great for both of them, receiving many excited compliments by those who recognised them as the Grady twins, to which they would respond with a “come play with us,” to frighten those who had had a little too much to drink. 

“I think you could do what Chokehold on Love does, you know.” Ozzy tells her sister as they walk. “I could see you performing at the next party Greg throws; you’ve got what it takes, I think you might even be more talented than them.” Of course Ozzy is biassed, not only talking to her sister, but her best friend. 

Though Ottilie considers it, she plays it cool, shrugging her shoulders. “Chokehold are practically famous, I think I have a long way to go before I reach their status.” She shakes her head, though the smile on her face is proof of her appreciating her sister. “I’ll think about it.” She adds, not caring to reject such a sweet suggestion.

They continue walking, but then Ozzy’s head turns sharply as she believes she hears something not too far away. “What’s wrong?” Ottilie’s cool girl demeanour melts away in a second, concern for her sister written on her face. 

Ozzy listens carefully for a moment longer, but hears nothing more. “Nothing.” She dismisses it, though unease settles in the pit of her stomach. “I’m probably just paranoid.” It’s not unlike Ozzy to be paranoid, but Ottilie knows that her paranoia has always been justified. “I thought I heard something.” Ozzy finishes explaining, and it’s her turn to shrug.

Ottilie takes her sister’s hand. “It’s alright. We’re not far from the road now. It w-” Ottilie stops speaking suddenly, thinking she hears something now, too. She stops in her tracks, pulling on Ozzy’s hand to bring her to a halt also. While they’ve had moments of ‘twin telepathy’ - though far from in any supernatural sense - for them to both be mistakenly hearing things is too strange to be coincidental.

They both stand in silence, holding their breath to see if they really had imagined the noise or not. They’re met with nothing but the rustling of the leaves in the breeze. After a beat, Ottilie exhales slowly; she’s relieved. They continue. 

They make it only a couple of steps further before they both hear the noise again, coming from behind them. There has to be something, they’re now sure of it. Ottilie turns her head, but nothing can be seen in the darkness. “It’s probably nothing. Just the trees in the wind. It’s okay. We’re almost at the road.” Ottilie’s reassurance is for herself as much as it is for her sister; they both repeat her words in their minds over and over. They’re both afraid. 

They can see the break in the trees ahead of them, where the road runs through the forest and leads back to town. They keep moving, stepping through the trees and into the lengthy grass that’s always left overgrown beside the aged asphalt of the road. In perfect sync, the twins let out a sigh of relief, but they do so too soon. 

Suddenly, Ozzy’s hand is ripped from Ottilie’s. Ottilie’s body whips around to see the cause, and she’s in too much shock to even gasp when she sees the Jack-O-Lantern killer dragging her sister back through the trees with a firm grip on her hair. Ozzy lets out a cry as she loses her footing, being dragged away from the road and her sister quickly, dragged over sticks, branches and rocks that scrape her exposed skin. 

Ottilie immediately begins to chase them back into the forest, panic stricken, but determined. So many thoughts race through her mind; the Jack-O-Lantern killer was meant to be in prison, she doesn’t understand what is happening. All Ottilie knows is that she can’t let Ozzy get hurt, she must protect her sister. 

She breathlessly catches up to her sister and the killer. She reaches out for Ozzy, who reaches out for her, crying. “Ot-” she chokes on a cry, their fingers almost touching, but then Jack stops and turns abruptly. With a large boot, he kicks Ottilie away from them. Ottilie lands strewn out on the forest floor, her skin getting cut and scraped on everything on the ground that has hurt her sister, too. 

The large pumpkin’s face appears to be looking in Ottilie’s direction as he slams her sister’s body against a tree harshly. Her head smacks against the bark terribly hard; Ottilie winces due to the sound of the collision, and she struggles to get back up onto her feet due to her own injuries and the breathlessness that the chase and the kick has left her with. 

Ozzy’s feet dangle from what feels like a great height; she’s held higher than Jack’s impressively tall height, and the dizziness that comes with her head injury makes it look like she’s even dangerously higher. She’s afraid, but she can mostly only feel her hurt. She’s crying, but she can’t seem to say a word as she’s completely stunned by pain.

Ottilie sways slightly as she gets to her feet, but she’s not plagued with the dizziness of her sister, and she quickly pulls herself together. “You let her go!” She cries, charging back towards Jack. Jack listens; he lets Ozzy go, dropping her from where he holds her, her weakened body falling to the ground harshly. More cuts and scrapes cover her body as she lands on the nature covered floor below. 

Before either of the Morrison twins can do a thing, Jack now grips Ottilie by the front of her blue dress. He knocks the wind out of her by throwing her against a tree, and then he readjusts his grip, taking her by the hair and repeatedly smacking the back of her head against the tree. Her skin splits open, blood trickles down her neck onto her back, and the repeated smacking of her head smears blood against the bark; Ottilie loses her vision temporarily in the impact, but she doesn’t need to see the wound to know that it’s bad. 

The killer throws Ottilie down to the ground again, and this time, she can’t get up. Her head spins, her body aches, and no matter how hard she tries, she can’t move properly. “Ozzy,” she calls out miserably, still so concerned for her sister. She regains her vision - albeit in a woozy double form - just in time to see Jack go back to the younger twin.

In an easy and smooth motion, he picks Ozzy up off of the forest floor. While stunned and dizzy, Ozzy tries to struggle free from the grip, kicking her legs and reaching for the hand that holds her firmly. Her efforts are stopped as he slams her into the side of the tree again. The large eyes on the pumpkin mask turn to face the twin struggling on the ground as he pulls out his large carving knife. It’s a sick display, even Ottilie in her impaired state can see that he’s acting so torturously in an attempt to harm the two of them at once.

“Please, no, please-” Ozzy’s chest moves up and down rapidly as she heaves, sobbing, so afraid and in so much pain. The Jack-O-Lantern killer doesn’t stop. He brings the knife up to Ozzy’s chest, and slowly he begins his torturous cut, slicing across her chest. Ozzy screams; the shriek that comes from her makes Ottilie nauseous; both girls cry harder than before, and Ottilie keeps trying to regain her strength and ability, pulling herself up into a seated position, swaying but keeping herself up. 

As the front of Ozzy’s dress begins to turn dark with her blood, the killer moves the knife down, tracing down her front with the tip of the blade, enough to scratch the fabric of the already ruined dress, but not to cut her any more - not just yet. 

“Stop it! You monster!” Ottilie spits, pulling herself up onto her knees, struggling but determined. She picks up a rock, throwing it in Jack’s direction. She misses, but she picks up another rock anyway, preparing herself. Ozzy can’t believe that her sister is still conscious; she cries for how hard she’s trying. 

Again, Jack doesn’t stop. When the knife reaches Ozzy’s lower stomach, he turns his mask to face Ottilie again; the killer’s real eyes can’t be seen behind the mask, but still, his gaze is felt and it worsens Ottilie’s nausea and distress. She tries to pull herself up onto her feet. She stumbles once, but then regains her footing. 

“Oz!” Her shoulders shake as she sobs, stepping towards them uncoordinatedly. She’s only stopped as Ozzy screams, another gut-wrenching shriek echoing through the forest. The killer presses the tip of the knife into Ozzy’s stomach, slowly, painfully. 

“Stop!” Ottilie begs, in more pain watching her sister get hurt than she would be if it was her in Ozzy’s position. Jack twists the knife ever so slightly. “Stop! Take me instead! Take me instead!” Ottilie’s desperation is not at all concealed. She cries so loudly, and it’s the only thing that can be heard as the rest of the forest seems to fall into silence. 

“Take me instead.” She begs. Her voice is now steady; she sounds sure. 

“Ottilie,” Ozzy cries, “no!” 

“You can make it out of here, Oz, you can-”

Ozzy thrashes, worsening the wound as the tip of the knife remains dug into her flesh. “No!”

“Olivia!” Ottilie snaps, getting her to stop. “You can still make it home.” Her voice breaks.

“I don’t want to make it home without you.” 

Ottilie looks away from Ozzy’s eyes, directing her gaze back to the killer. “Take me instead,” she requests, “you piece of shit!” she screams, throwing the rock still held in her hand with all of her anger behind it. It hits Jack’s mask with a thud. “Come and get me!” 

Ozzy sobs as the knife is pulled from her and she’s dropped to the ground. The Jack-O-Lantern killer walks over to Ottilie, and without wasting a beat, he plunges the knife into her stomach, then ripping it out just as fast. Ottilie reaches up to place her hands over the wound, and she stumbles backwards as the impact is too much on her weak and unstable body. She falls back, hitting the forest floor with a thump.

Though Jack still stands over her, looking as though he’s going to strike again, Ozzy begins to crawl her way over to her sister. She wants to call out to her, she wants to be strong enough to stand to run the few paces to her, but she can’t, and that adds to her devastation. She reaches out her hand, Ottilie reaches out too, and their fingertips touch.

They’re both sure that the killer isn’t done yet, and their hearts are broken for each other. Ozzy pulls herself close enough to be able to take Ottilie’s hand, but Jack inflicts no more pain onto them. 

The call of a wolf is heard somewhere distant in the woods. The killer stops; no expression can be seen, but it seems that he’s contemplating something before he turns and leaves in the direction of the call, as though there is something more important to do than to watch at least one of the suffering twins die.

The light blue dresses are soaked with blood. Their costumes were scarily brilliant when they arrived to the spooktacular, and despite all of the horrific changes, they’re still true to the characters, only now they’re the Grady twins as they were when lying in a pool of their own blood after having been killed by their father. 

At least the Morrison twins survive their attack, if only just.

Julio ventures deeper into the woods. He knows that he’s not too far from the others, but something in his gut tells him that he has to keep searching for whatever it was that had made that noise. He walks swiftly but as quietly as possible, keeping an ear out for any other noises. And that’s when he hears it. Talking. Muffled, quiet talking. It doesn’t sound threatening in any way - if anything, it sounds slightly panicked.

He follows it as best he can. “Hello?” he asks, trying not to raise his voice too loud in case danger lurks nearby, “Is there anybody out there?” 

“Julio?” 

Julio recognises Mimi’s voice, and not too far away, her head pokes out from behind a tree. She looks bruised and battered, and Julio realises quickly that they must have had an encounter with a killer also. She steps out into the open, and Rosie, Mi-Sook, Micah and Aera follow closely behind, all looking varying degrees of injured and dishevelled. 

“I have a group of people who were attacked by the killer with the wolf mask,” Julio tells them.

“Micah and I were attacked by the scarecrow,” says Mimi.

“I was attacked by the ghost,” Aera tells him.

“We were attacked by the skeleton!” Rosie motions to Mi-sook, who stands beside her, “Then Mimi found us, and then we found Micah and Aera.” 

“Thankfully I have. You all look in terrible shape,” he says sympathetically. He feels truly relieved to have found them. The group smell of sweat and blood and if human panic had a smell, he was sure that they’d smell exactly like that. Julio wants to do his best to get everyone to safety. “Greg’s cabin is not too far from here. I’ll take you there. I’m going to call a paramedic and get everyone some help.”

Mimi, Micah, Aera, Rosie and Mi-sook don’t hesitate to follow Julio back the way he came. When he reaches his original group, he counts everyone to be sure no-one has been left behind. The original quartet of victims converse with the five new additions to their group, as best as they can, anyway. They don’t have too much time to fill each other in, each one of them growing weaker by the moment.

As Julio begins to lead them in the right direction, each person carefully supports one another as best they can, carefully avoiding one anothers injuries. Still, from behind him he hears an array of unpleasant sounds, little sobs, groans, hisses through clenched teeth, and every now and again, a high pitched “ouch!” But it’s not long before he hears a groan that doesn’t come from behind him, but instead, from in front of him.

He rushes forward, into a clearing, standing beside one of the larger trees. In the moonlight he notices the glistening of the bark. The strong smell of iron was a dead giveaway that it wasn’t tree sap. Then, he sees the Morrison twins, collapsed on the ground, barely conscious and drenched in blood. He motions for the others to come forward, knowing he won’t be able to help them alone. First, he helps Ottilie to her feet. “Easy does it,” he says softly. 

Posey comes forward to support her with their good arm. “We’re getting help now, just hang on a little longer.” Ottilie can’t even bring herself to answer Posey - she doesn’t even have the strength to give a nod of acknowledgement.

Ozzy lets out a cry, a sob so sad and pained that she sounds like a helpless child. Julio assists her next, pulling her up and supporting her himself. “Ottilie…” she sobs, wrapping an arm around his waist. She wants nothing more than to be the one to support her sister, but she barely has the strength. 

“Come on now. I know the way so well from here, I’ve walked it a hundred times or more. I’m not going to let any of you down,” he’s determined. These are the people he sees at the mall and greets with a big smile every time they pass by, or come through his bar. These are the people he treats with utmost respect everytime they serve him in whatever store they happen to work for. Julio is a people person through and through. This trait can be seen in Greg too, it somehow having been passed onto him despite there being no biological link.

There’s a little dip before the terrain is flat again, and Julio moves down at an excruciating pace, waiting patiently for all eleven of the victims to make their way down at their own pace. However, when he thinks all is well, he takes a step that he very much regrets taking.

SNAP.

Julio drops, poor Ozzy being knocked to the ground beside him, having no-one to support her. He screams, and as he tries to move away from the source of the pain, he realises he has made a huge mistake. Courtesy of Greg’s father, a bear trap had been laid beneath the autumn leaves. It now holds his leg between its huge, rusted, steel jaws. Tears prick at his eyes, but he somehow feels the need to be strong for those who have been more severely injured than him. He wants them to feel safe with him.

“Julio! Let us help,” Micah says, hobbling towards him, “I know that a lot of us aren’t at full strength, but if a few of us try, I’m sure we can get it undone.” He carefully crouches down, wincing hard at the pain in his thigh. It’s excruciating, but with everything Julio is doing for them, he wants to be of some use to him.

“Compress the springs,” Zero tells him, “Close to the… thing.” She steps forward, motioning towards the metal disc that had set off the trap to begin with. “These things. If you compress them, squeeze it, it’ll open the trap again and he can move his foot safely.”

Aera moves forward to help, before remembering that her hands are no good for the job, having been slashed in her attempt at self defence. Posey motions for them to stay back. They’re also rendered useless with a dislocated wrist and their other arm supporting a near unconscious Ottilie. Rosie moves to the opposite side of Micah, using her left hand to put pressure on the spring. Mi-sook crouches beside her, putting the last of her strength into helping her. Sonnet is next, crouching beside Micah and, despite her injuries, putting pressure on the springs. The trap creaks and screeches as it loosens, falling open once more. 

Julio pulls his leg away from the trap, his jeans soaked with blood. No doubt he has broken the bone, though he’s unsure how severely. He refuses to let this stop him. He helps himself to his feet. “Thank you. I can’t say I’ve ever had that happen before. I don’t know what I’d have done without you,” he’d be having a stern word to Greg’s father about the matter, that’s for sure. Zero helps Ozzy to her feet and supports her as Julio hobbles in the direction of the cabin.

Back on track, everyone is exhausted from the fear, but relieved that salvation seems to be just around the corner.

When Julio reaches the cabin, he struggles up the steps onto the porch. He approaches a potplant that holds a very dead aloe vera plant, and lifts it to get the spare key that Greg leaves out for emergencies. He unlocks the door, moves aside quickly and ushers everyone inside. Once he’s sure everyone is safely inside, Julio shuts the door behind them all and makes sure it’s securely locked. He lets out a shaky sigh as he really starts to feel the pain in his leg. But he reassures himself with the same words he’d been saying to the others all night. It’s not long now, we’re getting help.

Julio heads over to the fireplace, fetching a match from the mantel. He strikes it, and the tiny flame glows brightly in the dark before he throws it onto the logs. The firestarters that are in there take no time bursting into flames, the entire room filling with warm orange light. “There. Everyone stay by the fire and keep warm while I get some help.” Despite everyone being safe, the room is eerily silent. Not just metaphorically, but literally silent. No noise aside from the crackling of the fire. Julio slowly turns to face the group. All of them are looking at the hardwood floor. And that’s when he sees it too.

There is blood all over the ground, pools and splatters and distinct footprints dragging it all around the room. He wonders how he didn’t smell it before he lit up the room. Was it because his party also smelled of bitter iron? Everyone remains silent, a few of the injured looking up at him as if to say, “What has happened here?” Julio wouldn’t have had an answer even if they’d asked. 

He slowly follows the trail of blood into the hallway, where the pooling of the dark red liquid gets worse and worse with every step he takes. At the end of the hall he can just make out a body lying in a heap, motionless. His gut tells him that the victim is Greg. Who else would it be? He rushes towards him, forgetting all about the severe pain in his leg as he puts his full weight on it in order to get to him faster. He hooks his arms under Greg’s, pulling him out into the living area, by the fire.

Tears start to stream down his face. “Greg! Greg, mijo, look at me,” he says, kneeling on the ground and pulling Greg’s body into his lap. The body is still warm, which Julio mistakes for a sign of life. “Someone call 911! The phone - it’s in the kitchen!” His voice is panicked. No-one has ever seen Julio in such pure distress. He holds Greg close to him, tears dripping down his cheeks and falling onto Greg’s still face. Zero makes her way to the kitchen to make the phone call, hoping that it won’t take them too long to get eleven injured people and a corpse out of the little cabin in the woods.

Julio realises now that Greg is no longer breathing. There are countless lacerations all over his body, which explains the amount of blood all over the cabin floor. No-one could possibly lose so much blood and survive to live the tale. So all he does is hold him tight to his body as he is wracked with desperate sobs. Everyone else in the room is devastated. Most of the residents of Shrike have known Greg in some capacity, especially those who had found themselves at his Spooktacular Afterparty. This is a loss for everyone. Shrike will never be the same. Even still, the injured party understand that Julio will be forever changed by this. Many tears are shed by everyone in the room, but Julio will be shedding tears for Greg for the rest of his life. 

“My boy… My boy I am so sorry,” he sobs, running his hand through Greg’s blue-painted hair. He speaks as though Greg can still hear him. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to protect you. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Julio would never forgive himself.

In a few minutes, Julio’s cries fall silent, and all that can be heard is sirens in the distance.

plot drop 011 features ten of our muses encountering the jack-o-lantern killer, the hunter, the ghost, the scarecrow + the skeleton.

aera davies is left with several deep slashes to the arms and hands and a deep stab wound to the abdomen, resulting in severe blood loss.

kang mi-sook is left with bruising over body, several broken rips and a depressed skull fracture.

leaf wozniak is left with cuts and scratches, an arrow in the shoulder, a deep wound down the back, injuries to the feet and substantial blood loss.

micah miller is left with hematoma on the head, concussion and a stab wound to the leg resulting in substantial blood loss.

ottilie morrison is left with bruises and scrapes over the body, a concussion/head injury and a deep stab wound to the stomach, resulting in severe blood loss.

ozzy morrison is left with bruises and scrapes over the body, a concussion, a cut across the clavicle/chest and a minor stab wound to the stomach resulting in mild blood loss.

posey bryant is left with cuts and scratches, dislocated wrist, deep cut across chest and minor blood loss.

rosie mahelona is left with bruising over the body, a broken arm and a severe burn to the leg.

sonnet wozniak is left with cuts and scratches, stab wound to the shoulder, impalation to the upper abdomen and substantial blood loss..

zero heathcliff is left with cuts and scratches, scrapes and bruises and deep slices across the chest resulting in substantial blood loss.

[chaotic-guinea-pig]

For those following my fic: hi hello, just posting to let you all that I'm alive and well. :) Rest assured that it's nowhere near abandoned; I've just been busy with real life obligations. If I get lucky, we'll see an update this week. 😁 And if I get even more lucky this year, hopefully we'll return to regular updates (1-3 per month, maybe?) But we'll see. Thank you all for your patience, and see you all on AO3 very soon! ❤

[bratbby333]

i will possess your heart – satoru gojo

-this story contains very heavy nsfw content! please read at your own discretion!-

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 content warnings dead dove fic- heavy stalking, violent obsession, manipulation, forced voyeurism, forced exhibition, drugging, mentions of blood, knives, use of restraints, plot twist, extreme dub-con 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 synopsis for as cocky as Satoru is, it’s oddly fitting. in his mind, everything belongs to him, including you. 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 word count 8k

Satoru fumbled with a tripod as he positioned his camera onto the stand and proceeded to hit record. He was thorough, making sure his chair was perfectly centered before he sat down, staring at himself in the viewfinder while he fussed with his hair, inhaling deeply. A wide grin cut across his face before dropping back into lackluster neutrality. He looked down at his lap, his fingers ran up and down his denim-clad thighs. He snapped back onto the camera blank-faced before a deranged smile pulled at his cheeks.

Click

January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point. I’m plagued by the shadows, my entire life enshrouded in darkness. I don’t remember what things were like before. Day by day, it’s all the same. I cannot escape it—this anchoring feeling of despair. The emptiness eats away at me. I’m in search of release…of some sort of freedom from this pain. I need to fill my life with meaning, to find purpose in this accursed world…I think I’ll go out for coffee today. People watching brings me so much joy. They seem to live much happier lives than me.

Click

January 16th, 6:38 PM

My daydreams must’ve blended into reality because there was no way I created someone as beautiful as she was outside my imagination. I’m certain of it. She was sitting at the bar of the cafe down the street from my apartment, dressed in business casual—she probably works nearby. How kismet. The coffee was bland, as were most things in my life, but she awoke something in me. I hope I see her again. She somehow managed to clear the cobwebs around my heart. I think my life has finally found purpose. She is my driving force. I wonder what her name is.

Click

January 19th, 6:11 AM

Feeling well-rested today. Four hours of sleep is my new record. I plan to go to the coffee shop again. Back to the place where my eyes were first blessed with the mirage of her…where I first fell in love. I hope she’s there. People are so fun to observe when they don’t think they’re being watched…it’s simple psychology. The Hawthorne Effect. When humans notice they are under observation, they change. So inauthentic. But her? She never notices. She sits so obliviously, allowing me to take her in with ease. So good to me. She’s a breath of fresh air. I hope to work up the courage to speak to her soon. My heart soars at the mere thought of being in her presence once again. It’s so refreshing to feel something after all this time. I’ve been numb for so long, but she has set my heart on fire. She is everything to me, my sole purpose for existence.

Click

January 19th, 8:27 PM

I saw her again today. She didn’t see me. Just how I like it. She typed away on her computer like normal…she’s a hard worker, it seems. Driven and strong. And here I was thinking such beauty was a thing of legend. It's refreshing to have been proved wrong–that rarely happens. Oh, how I crave her. I know she’d make me feel whole again. She can save me from all this, I can feel it. 

Click

January 23rd, 5:13 AM

Only two hours of sleep tonight. But, for some reason, I feel better than ever… I normally do when I find a reason for living, again. It’s her…it must be because of her. She keeps me going; my muse, my inspiration. She’s worked wonders on me already and she doesn’t even know it, yet. I’m going to the cafe again today, I cannot wait to see her. Maybe today I will finally speak to her.

Click

January 23rd, 9:53 PM

She never showed up today…I wonder what’s going on. Maybe she had other things to do. It’s fine, really. I’m annoyed, honestly. I waited around all day. I’ll keep checking until I see her again. 

Click

January 28th, 7:06 PM

My sweet girl has gone missing. I haven’t seen her in quite some time now. This is just ridiculous. The woman I love…is she avoiding me? No, no that cannot be. 

Click

February 2nd, 8:31 AM

I haven’t slept well in days. I’ve been awake for twenty six hours now…my mind feels like it’s filled with static and yet, I feel sharper than ever. I’ve gone to the cafe every day. Still no sign of her. I’m slipping back into my old ways, the darkness is going to return any moment. I’ve begun to hear the laughter in the shadows again. They’re making fun of me, I just know it. I need her…oh, I need her so bad. How could she do this to me? Does she not know how much I suffer when she’s not around? If I don’t see her again soon, I will never recover.

Click

February 5th, 6:21 PM

I finally saw her again today. My heartrate spiked and I nearly leaped from my seat to kiss her, to hold her, sway her side to side in a deep hug. Instead, I slipped a tracker into her purse as I walked by her chair. I must know where she works, where she lives, and what she enjoys in her free time. She slipped away from me so easily…can’t let that happen again. I need to know every little thing about her. She is my one and only after all. It would be ridiculous to love someone so deeply and know nothing about them. She is too beautiful, I cannot let her wander around unsupervised. There are some crazy people out there—you never know what could happen. I can’t lose her. I must keep her safe. I will possess her heart. No one else can have her but me. 

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru observed her for months, shadowing her all around town. He knew the woman’s routine like the back of his hand, before he ever learned her name. Sunday’s she went grocery shopping, Monday after work was her pilates class, every couple of Thursday’s she was at the nail salon, and Friday’s were seemingly payday–he picked up on her pattern of going out to nice restaurants every other week. Satoru eventually got an upper-level management position at a company that shared the office building with her job–he is incredibly intelligent and overqualified, after all; they would be foolish to not hire him. Now he could really keep an eye on her.

That was when he finally learned her name–the two of them taking the same elevator. She didn’t recognize him as the man who seemingly had the same routine as her–it’s one of the many reasons why Satoru loved her so much: her naivety. She looked into his eyes for the first time that day, her voice was soft and angelic, and the name that fell from her lips sent waves through Satoru’s body, the same name that would now be coupled with his gasping moans every evening as he stroked himself to the thought of her. 

With Satoru’s new job that brought him one step closer to her, he knew he could no longer watch her in the way he used to. His movements had to be more calculated, putting more distance between them than he normally would or hiding behind the deep tint of his car windows. If she saw his face too frequently, she surely would have caught on. Satoru smiled at the possibility of her never catching on…how she’d greet him with a smile and a friendly hug each time they “coincidentally” bumped into one another, giggling about their lives' odd synchronicities. Such a sweet girl. If only she knew.

He stopped into her job, a small gift bag hanging off his slender fingers, desperate to watch her eyes light up with the sweet gesture of an unexpected gift. He asked to see her, only to be informed by the receptionist that she had the day off.

It was no worry, he didn’t let that dull his excitement. “I’m a friend of hers, brought this in to surprise her. Do you mind showing me to her desk, I’ll just leave it there for her when she returns to work,” he said kindly. The lady working the front desk blushed under his piercing gaze and handsome features, nodding shyly and walking him to his lover’s designated area. 

Satoru thanked her, stepping into the cubicle to place his gift by her computer. His eyes glazed over her workspace. It was decorated with trinkets and family photos. He picked one up, his thumb tracing over her face. His pretty girl. That smile could bring about world peace; it definitely quieted the angered voices in his head. He scanned her desk, a moment of envy shooting through him at the thought of her dainty fingers dancing over the keyboard rather than tangling in his hair. He groaned internally, looking over his shoulder to ensure no one was around, before ducking down, rummaging through his beloved’s drawers. Stowed away in the bottom of the unit was a fuzzy, white cardigan. He brought the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply, stifling the filthy moan that nearly echoed through the cubicle. He quickly tucked it into his jacket, took one last look around, and headed toward the exit. 

In the safety of his vehicle, Satoru whipped the clothing out from under his wing, bringing it to his face once more. He undid his belt buckle with haste, shoving his dress slacks halfway down his thighs before his large fist swaddled his cock with the fuzzy white cardigan. He nearly sobbed at the contact, the smell of his car filling with her beautifully floral perfume. He brought the free edge up to his nose, taking another whiff as his hand worked furiously against his shaft. He had never finished so quickly in his life, staggered whimpers and choked moans fell from his parted lips as fat ropes shot up onto his abs and chest. His cheeks were flustered a violent red as he wiped his sticky shame away with her top. After he came, then did his clarity, and Satoru’s body ached with the thought of how good it would feel to finally be sheathed within her sticky walls, rather than her soft clothing. I’ll be with you soon. Soon, my love. 

These feelings were getting unbearable. His overactive brain had him teetering on the edge of insanity. He needed more. His imagination was no longer enough to satiate the hunger that gnawed so deeply in his core, the distanced watching and hopeless longing for the love of his life created jagged rifts in his already damaged psyche. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. A few deep breaths and the promise he made to himself to take action soon quelled his burning desire. But for how much longer could Satoru repress the demon that clawed through his body?

Satoru surveyed her while she ran to the bank, walked her dog, or took her car to the wash. But his most favorite place to watch her was from the bench just outside her bedroom window, engulfed in darkness. Pretty girl lived on the second floor, her silly little brain assumed she didn’t need curtains. She never saw him, but he always saw her. All of her. Drinking in the way her clothes were delicately removed from her pretty little frame, the way she turned and posed in the mirror–so good to him. How her skin glistened after she got out of the shower, the water droplets running along her body in the same way Satoru wanted to. 

He fell into a state of bliss, feeling spoiled by the show he was getting tonight. The lotion that she worked into her body, the beautiful set of lingerie that she dawned. His eyes buzzed around his sockets, elation flooding through him. Gorgeous, gorgeous girl. But his body went rigid and his jaw locked tight at the appearance of another man behind the love of his life. He sat upright, shoulders stiff and heart pounding in his ears at the thought of his sweet being in danger, he cursed himself for not being more aware of her surroundings on her behalf. But when his darling girl turned to the unknown man with a smile, greeting him with a gentle kiss with the lips that were supposed to be just for Satoru, his heart shattered into a million pieces. 

Oh, no. This just won’t do, my love. You are mine. 

Jealousy coursed through his veins while he looked into her room, rage balled in his fists as he watched a random man have her in the one way Satoru couldn’t. Not yet, at least. He must’ve been new in her life, judging by the way his nervous hands explored every part of her skin. Satoru laughed at this–he knew he could please his woman so much better. But betrayal nipped at the back of his neck; how could she do this to him? Had his loyalty fallen on unappreciative shoulders? No, that couldn’t be. Satoru knew she was better than that, he picked her for a reason, after all. She was just playing hard to get. 

You rejected my advances and desperate pleas, and now you throw your relationship in my face. It’s punishment enough that I can’t have you, but I won't let you let me down so easily.

Feeling at a loss, swallowed whole by his hungered desperation, he did what any rational person would. He moved in next door.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru Gojo was your next-door neighbor. He moved in only a few months after you did. You were elated, chalking it up to a lucky roll of the dice that you had met by chance at your job; he had started working for the company that shared the office park with yours. It really seemed like things were on the come-up for you. He was kind, confidently intuitive, funny, and supportive. Mildly egotistical, but it worked for him. He always invited you over for dinner and movie nights and was a strong, dependable shoulder for you to cry on. You had just moved to the city, feeling utterly lost and absolutely gutted about being so far from your support systems now, and he was your first friend. You felt safe knowing he was just a wall away. 

On a random Sunday, you opened your front door to see all the food you loved sitting at your doorstep–weird, you were just about to leave for the store. You turned your head, seeing Satoru peeking out from his cracked door, grinning at you. 

“Was this you, Satoru? You didn’t have to…this is incredibly thoughtful,” you beamed, stepping over the grocery bags to give him a tight hug. “You’re the best, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” But Satoru did, he knew exactly what you could do for him.

When you needed a ride to work, he jumped in to save you. The two of you worked in the same building after all. It was a crazy coincidence that your new neighbor turned best friend worked just a few floors above you. It’s such a small world, isn’t it? But it worked out perfectly for the two of you. 

There was a month where you were short on rent, and there was Satoru, paying the rest on your behalf. 

You weren’t catching on. Sweet, naive girl. Oh, how he loved you. I need to work harder to get her attention.

Satoru was not a patient man, but for you, he would do anything and everything to get you right where he wanted you, expertly playing the long game. It began with the fated sighting of you sitting in a cafe, and snowballed into something bigger. At first, he only ever observed you, maybe the minor occasion of overstepping, but as time went on, he couldn’t sit idly by. It was time to make his move.

His disruptions in your life started inconspicuously. Leaving for a date? You found your car tires slashed and windows shattered in the parking deck. Now there’s a police investigation. Bummer…gotta cancel the date. Had a guy over? Satoru’s apartment flooded. Weird… that was the second time this month. 

“You gotta talk to the landlord about this, ‘Toru,” you sighed. He had to stay at yours that evening. 

You cried on his shoulder, telling him that some guy stood you up on a date you had been anticipating for weeks. There was an electrical fire in that man’s apartment that night. Must’ve been faulty wiring...or something.

His apartment flooded again. He was back at your door. You welcomed him with open arms, of course. He’s so good to you, the least you could do is help him out, as well. 

Satoru, you’re slipping. That’s too many times in one month. Ease up or she’ll catch on.

Friday night, in a wild happenstance, he bumped into you while you were out with another man, enjoying a nice dinner together. He smiled warmly at the two of you, before politely dismissing himself. His cheery smile dropped into a demented grin once he stepped out of the restaurant as he anonymously called in a bomb threat to the establishment. You were so shaken up at the entire ordeal you practically begged Satoru to stay with you that night. He’d be a fool to turn you down.

Satoru got everything he wanted. You were just a tough nut to crack, is all. No big deal. He loved a challenge. After all, how could you not love him by now?

But nothing was working. You couldn’t catch the hint, even with everything he threw at you. He was always the one there for you, even when you weren’t aware of it. What more could he do to prove that he was the only person you needed? I’m reliable, witty, and loving… how can she not see this? He finally snapped. The last straw? Hearing your pleasure-filled cries while getting fucked by another man, your “boyfriend”. The lewd sounds ricocheted around your room, shooting through the thin walls of your apartment and straight into his listening ears.

Tsk, tsk. Now you’ve done it. Always been such a tease. 

For as cocky as he was, it’s oddly fitting. In his mind, everything belonged to him, including you. And with that, his demented plan was in full effect. He had hoped to spare you, prayed that you would fall in love with him before he lost his composure completely. But your sweet, naive nature had proved to be a difficult wall to break down. 

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The sound of your front door’s lock disengaging echoed through the empty hallway. Satoru stepped in, inhaling deeply as he shoved your house key into his back pocket. It was far easier to gain access into your home than he had originally anticipated; he was fully prepared to break in, but all he had to do was tell your landlord you went out of town and you forgot to leave a key with him before you left. The manager of your apartment complex knew how close you and Satoru were, so it was an easy lie to tell. But it couldn’t have been further from the truth. You weren’t out of town, he wasn’t house sitting, and you had no intentions of having company this evening.

Seated at your desk, he opened your laptop and navigated his way to your iMessage settings, ensuring you could only send and receive texts from your laptop. Clicking on the messaging app, he stifled the gag that threatened to escape his throat as he clicked on the thread between you and your boyfriend, his contact name “my love” in your phone. He rolled his eyes, before drafting a quick text: 

-Hey, baby. I have a half-day at work today…dinner and wine at my place tonight? ;)

He grinned at the quickness of your boyfriend’s response.

-I would love that. What time, my love?

Satoru scoffed at the pet name. He doesn’t deserve to call you that. Poor bastard needed to learn his place. Heat rose in his chest, jealousy emanating through his skin as he crafted his response.

-3pm…Can’t wait to see you.

Everything was going according to plan. Satoru glanced at the clock beside him: 11:17 AM. It was time to get set up, he had a big day planned for you, and his first guest would be arriving in a few short hours. 

A knock rang through the apartment as Satoru finished lighting his final candle. He smiled wide, sauntering over to the door. He swung it open, grinning politely at your boyfriend. “...Hey, man…didn’t expect to see you here…” he said warily as Satoru stood to the side and gestured him in, a quizzical look painted on your partner’s face as he stepped through the doorway. The door shut and the lock was reengaged. “Where’s…” but before he could get his question out, his chin was met with Satoru’s right fist.

Satoru made quick work of dragging his body upstairs. He dug through the unconscious man’s pants, pulling out his cellphone. Satoru was disgusted to see that you were his lockscreen. This pitiful man wasn’t worthy enough to be with you. He rolled his eyes, unlocking the man’s phone and sending you a text: 

-Hey, beautiful. Come straight home tonight. I’m making dinner for us. See you when you get off work.

You smiled at the familiar ding of your phone, the notification effectively distracting you from your tedious paperwork. Your heart soared at the message, sighing deeply and shifting your weight around in your office chair. Your hand rubbed at your face in an attempt to hide your blushing cheeks. 

“What is it?” your coworker asked. 

“Oh, nothing. I thought my boyfriend forgot our anniversary cause I hadn’t heard from him all day…but he just texted me saying he’s at my place and is making dinner for us tonight.” A giddy smile couldn’t help but drag across your face. 

Satoru looked at the clock: 3:28 PM. You would be home in an hour or so. Just a few more things had to be done, everything had to be perfect.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Your heart rate spiked as you got closer to your apartment door, keys jingling against your palm as you fumbled with the lock, excitement making your movements a bit clumsier than usual. You entered and kicked off your heels, and as you turned to toss your keys onto the small table in your foyer, you noticed a small card that said “Read Me” placed perfectly in the center of the tray. You were perplexed as your eyes scanned over the note. “Go to the living room” was all it said.

You blushed, a nervous smile pulling at the edge of your lips as you crept to the other room. Your eyes went wide at the sight; deep red roses were placed in the center of the coffee table and every accessible surface around the couch was adorned with beautifully flickering candles. Another note was on the table, your fingers fumbled with the edge of the card as you opened it: “Have a seat, take a sip, and press play.” You settled on the couch, noticing a glass of alluring red wine to the right of the roses. You took a few deep, fulfilling swigs of your drink before grabbing the TV remote. Your face twisted a bit, examining the glass in your hand, the flavor of wine different than the one you were used to. It was a special night after all, your thoughtful boyfriend must have wanted you to branch out this evening. Where is he, anyway? As you pressed play, you called out for him, only to be cut off by your own confusion as Satoru’s face appeared on your TV screen. You watched with perplexity as Satoru recentered his chair, smiled, relaxed his face, and then smiled again.

No…no, no, no. What is this? You were locked in place, the melodious sounds of Satoru’s voice cascaded out of your surround sound system. He looked different though, his eyes were dull and low, his voice monotonous–his alarming difference in demeanor sent a chill down your spine. Your groggy mind inferred that this must’ve been an accident. Maybe it was casted to the wrong TV. I shouldn’t be seeing this…these are Satoru’s video diaries. 

You so badly wanted to tear your eyes away from the screen, this seemed like such an invasion of privacy. But you were entranced, staring intently toward the TV, though you didn’t really have a choice, your body was completely numb now. 

“January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point…” you fought to keep your eyes open, to piece together what the hell was happening, until your body eventually succumbed to sleep.

When you finally came to, you were laid out on your bed, fully nude. Soft grunts lingered in the air as you worked your hardest to refocus your eyes, your head pounding. You shifted your weight onto your forearms, your neck straining as it felt like your brain was filled with lead, eyes searching your bedroom for the culprit of the moans. One glance to the left, a quick look to the right, before you stared straight ahead at the wall directly across from the bed. Your body lurched in fear as your heart sank, the source of the sounds now looking you dead in the eyes: The man you had been seeing for the past couple of months, gagged and tied to a chair, his bloodied face twisted up in agony. 

You tried to call out for him. Your feeble attempts to drag your heavy body closer in order to console him were interrupted as the room was suddenly illuminated with the streaming lights of a projector. Your movements halted as you shielded your eyes immediately, the bright interruption feeling like a flashbang to your sensitive head. 

“We didn’t get to finish my show and tell,” a voice spoke up from the dark corner. 

“Satoru?? Wha…what is going on?” you cried out, tears spilling from your eyes while your hands attempted to cover your modesty. You tried your hardest to sit upright, your head spinning, unsure if Satoru was the culprit or your savior. Your body felt like it was anchored to the floor, your head throbbing with every word that tore through your chest. 

“There’s no need for all that yelling, sweetheart,” Satoru grinned, crouching down next to you. You winced as his hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that trickled down your cheeks. 

Click

Metal cuffs clamped down on your wrists before you could even register what was happening. A million unanswered questions spun through the room as you frantically searched through his blue eyes, hoping to find any sort of insight into the torment he was inflicting upon the two of you. 

“This is what’s gonna happen, okay? I need you to listen to me.” His voice was sickeningly sweet, each syllable that left his lips more damning than the last as he dragged your limp body up the bed, securing your wrists to the headboard and angling your body toward the projected video on your wall. A crazed grin lit up his dull face as he raised his hand, pointing the remote toward the projector. “You’re gonna sit here and look all pretty f’me while you watch these tapes, and if you move, if you stop paying attention for even a second…” Your stomach churned at how gently he was able to give such vile instructions. He turned his attention towards your partner, the blade of a knife twirling through the slender fingers of his free hand, “...He’s dead. Understand, angel?” 

You nodded reluctantly, unable to do anything else but comply with his demands. Your head was spinning, trying to digest the fact that this was the same person who had paid your rent and entertained your rants after a hard day of work. You listened as his voice continued to drabble over the static of the projector, recalling how bland that day had been until he saw your face. How he must’ve dreamt of you because there was no way your beauty could exist outside of his imagination. To you, it had been a normal Tuesday afternoon. To him, it had been the start of the rest of his life. 

The longer you watched, the more the realization set in that the sweet gestures he presented to you were not out of the goodness of his heart, but from the darkness of his spirit, driven by his wanton lust. Your face was slack, eyes wide in horror. Disappointment crawled through your chest at your own naivety. How could I be so oblivious? So trusting? 

Satoru’s eyes bored into the side of your face as he sat beside you, his hands rubbing deep circles into your bare thighs, pure elation shooting through his veins at his sweet girl finally having a look into his mind. The look of terror that painted your beautiful face made his heart leap with joy. Satoru’s giddy demeanor dropped as pained grunts emerged from the tethered man against the wall. He stood, closing the distance between the two of them, his fist encircling your boyfriend’s throat. You began to protest, to plead with Satoru to leave him be, but the rage that filled his eyes made you shut your mouth. “Uh uh…eye’s on the screen, my love.” Your head snapped back toward the videos, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as the muffled wailing of your boyfriend filled the room. 

As the final video played, Satoru returned to your side, kneeling on the edge of the bed as he  stroked the back of your head and rubbed at your cheeks. “Can’t you see all that I’ve done for you?” He grabbed your face, digging his fingers deep into the space under your cheekbones, forcing your lips into a pucker. “You belong to me, my love.” A deep growl rumbled through his chest, “You look so fucking beautiful like this.” He leaned down and crashed his lips into yours, his hot tongue bullying its way through your tight lips. Small whines echoed through your mouth and into his, and Satoru greedily swallowed up your sounds with ease. Whimpers of protest came from the wall across from your bed, but they were quickly drowned out by the wet sounds of smacking lips and battling tongues.

He broke away, a thick trail of spit still connecting the two of you. Satoru released your cheeks with a gentle shove, throwing his leg over yours to straddle you. He dropped his head to your neck, his white hair brushing against your skin. You winced as he licked a thick line from your collarbone to your ear. “I finally get to have you,” he whispered, nipping at your flesh, “You ready to give yourself to me, princess?” Your eyes widened in horror, your gaze affixed towards your boyfriend, blood trickling from the fresh cuts on his cheeks. Your head shook side to side, tears brimming in your eyes once more as your thoughts raced through your mind, causing a traffic jam in your throat. “I…no, I can’t…he’s…” Satoru’s palm covered your mouth, a groan erupting from the back of his throat as his eyes rolled deep into his skull. He sat back, staring down at you, his free hand running its fingertips between your breasts. “This has nothing to do with him…It’s just me and you now, my love.” Your head snapped up to stare at your captor as the rough pads of his fingers brushed over your nipples. A stifled moan teased the back of your throat, an exasperated look of fear in your eyes as you stared up at Satoru.

Your cheeks flushed as you held his gaze. He grinned back down at you before rolling the hardened bud between his fingertips. Your chest arched toward him, a shameful hum dancing from your lips as he played with you. A deep laugh erupted from the blue-eyed man at your unintentional reaction, his head thrown back with pure joy as he continued to pull at your nipples. He leaned into your neck once more, his teeth grazing the outer shell of your ear. “I knew it,” he purred, “Knew you wanted me, too. You were just playing hard to get, isn’t that right?” You shook your head once more, your words constricted in your chest. “N-no…I never wanted you,” you retorted, head thrown to the side, attempting to distance yourself from him, but to no avail. The weight of him anchored your lower half to the mattress while your tethered wrists held you in place.

A deep chuckle rumbled through Satoru, “So if I feel your pussy, it won’t be absolutely soaked right now?” A pathetic whimper escaped your throat as you shook your head furiously. The rolling motion against your nipples halted and his hand trailed lower down your abdomen. “Hmm…let’s see then, shall we?” he taunted, tracing your skin before rubbing your folds and dipping into your core. “I knew it…you’re fucking drenched f’me, sweetheart.” He shoved two fingers in, shallowly teasing your hole before withdrawing, bringing his sopping digits between your faces, turning his wrist as the dim light of the room illuminated the wetness, making it glisten ever so slightly. He examined them before meeting your fearful gaze. “Why did you lie?” He sucked his middle digit into his mouth, his tongue lapping hungrily at your sweet juices as his eyes fluttered shut. A hum emanated from Satoru as his other soaked finger pushed past your lips, “Here, have a taste, pretty girl,” his long digit dancing around your tongue. “So fucking sweet. You have no idea how badly I’ve been craving this.” 

“I’ll ask you again, princess…Why’d you lie to me? I thought you were better than that,” he teased, an insincere pout twitching at his lips as he cradled your chin. Your body thrashed as his hands pawed down your body, plunging two fingers deep inside you again. Your back arched toward him, his knee between your legs was the only thing keeping you open for him. “I…It wasn’t..ahh!– I wasn’t lying…I–”. Your words fell on deaf ears as a wicked smile crept across Satoru’s face.

“Shhh…shhh my sweet girl, just lay back and enjoy,” he smirked as he crawled down your body, laying himself flat on the bed with his head nestled between your legs. Satoru’s body no longer shielded you from your boyfriend, your teary eyes darted across his face, a silent apology being sent his way. Small gasps escaped your lips as Satoru continued to pump into you, the tips of his curled fingers toying with your sweet spot. When you stared down at him, the look of pure desire peered back at you, the dampness between your legs skyrocketing at the sight. A scarlet dusting of shame brushed across your cheeks at your clear enjoyment of all this, even though it betrayed every natural instinct you had. His tongue darted out from between his lips, the tip circling your swollen clit as his fingers dipped in and out of you, his movements spurred on by his own desperation.

He was delirious, suckling against your clit while his fingers worked into you with fervor, moans and growls echoing through the room as he drank you in. You so badly wanted to break away, to console your boyfriend who had an unintentional front row seat to you falling apart on someone else’s tongue, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop him, his digits hitting spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. Pleasure ripped through your body as a tightening sensation crept its way into your stomach. The rattling of your cuffs echoed through your bedroom as you fought against your restraints, desperately wanting to tangle your fingers in Satoru’s hair.

Your hips bucked toward his mouth, your body aching for release as your pelvis thrusted against his flattened tongue. You didn’t dare look away from Satoru, for you knew there was another set of eyes affixed upon the damning scene that was unfolding. He continued to hum and suck and pump into your core as you tightened around him, his slender fingers quickly coaxing your orgasm from your writhing body. Your eyes screwed shut as your gushy walls spasmed around his fingers, your release painting Satoru’s overly-eager face. He lapped at you some more, working you through your orgasm as he cleaned you up with his wickedly talented tongue. 

A deep growl broke through Satoru’s chest as he removed his head from between your legs, the back of his hand dragging across his chin, catching the last of your release before he licked you off of him. He sat upright, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, “Hope you were taking notes,” a smug grin on his face as he addressed your watching boyfriend. He redirected his attention to you. “Did so good f’me, angel. Dreamt of that for so long…” he grinned, his tongue darting out to trace along his lips, hoping there was still some of you coating his face “...I could do that all fuckin’ day.” 

Your shaking chest heaved as clarity settled into your mind. Satoru untethered your wrists from the headboard, shifting your body so that you were on your hands and knees, head positioned toward the wall your partner was leaning against. Strangled sounds rang from your boyfriend’s chest as you finally met his gaze. Humiliation prickling under your skin at the realization of what you had just done. But you had no time to dwell on it as Satoru repositioned himself on the bed.

“He’s gonna watch me destroy you, my sweet girl,” Satoru was kneeled behind you, lining himself up with your embarrassingly soaked entrance. He grasped your hips roughly, sinking into you in one fluid motion. You choked out a sob as you dropped your head in shame.

“You’re so pretty when you cry. He can’t help you…can’t save you. Go ‘head, keep cryin’ for him,” he cooed, his thrusts deep and slow inside of you. Jagged moans escaped your throat as the thick head of his cock brushed into your sweet spot. “He can’t make you feel as good as I do.”

He leaned down, reaching around to cradle your throat in his hand, squeezing tightly as he turned your head to the side, his sharp eyes running up and down your contorted face. “Can’t you see that you belong to me, how my poor heart aches for you? How badly I’ve needed you?” His thrusts were agonizingly slow but incredibly deep, the pressure in your tummy betraying your desire for this to stop. “That’s it, my love. Feel you clenching down on me…you’re getting off on this, aren’t ya?” His hips rocked deeper into you, the new depth had your hands clawing at the sheets of your bed as pleasure worked its way through your trembling body.

“He doesn’t treat you the way I do. He never will. No one is better for you than me, princess,” he seethes, his hand cupping your chin, holding your head up, “Now look in his eyes while I use you.” His pace picked up, pulling you back on to him with his anchored hand around your neck. A broken sob cut through your constricted throat as he fucked into you, the visceral sound of flesh smacking against flesh and whines and cries spun through the otherwise stiff air of your room. He palmed at the fat of your ass, pulling your body to meet his rough thrusts. A choked cry left your lips as you maintained eye contact with your boyfriend, crimson droplets running down his face, mimicking the pattern of your tears. You mouthed a silent “I’m sorry” to him before your eyes shut tightly, waves of sinful bliss pulsed through your body with every mean thrust of Satoru’s hips.

“Gettin’ so tight around me–f-fuuuck–you’re close, huh?” Your face contorted in shameful pleasure as you nodded, your back arching even more to take him deeper. “That’s it…c’mon, my love. Need you to cum on my cock,” Satoru begged, his voice airy as he got lost in your tight, sopping walls. “Show me how good I make you feel.” His words ricocheted around your head as the building pressure in your stomach finally snapped, your legs shaking violently as your orgasm ripped through your body, splattering onto Satoru’s thighs and the mattress below you. 

A few more strokes met your dripping center before Satoru bottomed out inside of you, thick ropes of his pearlescent seed painting your spasming walls. He finally released his tight grip around your throat, your head dropping immediately as indignity plagued your trembling frame. He pulled out, spreading your cheeks as he leaned down, an animalistic growl pulling from his chest as he watched his cum dribble out of your pussy. 

Satoru rubbed soothing circles into your lower back as you worked to regain your breath. “You’re mine,” he whispered. He unlatched the restraints from around your wrists, a coy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the purple bruises that marked your skin. He locked eyes with your boyfriend, a deranged smile dancing across his face as he reached for the discarded projector remote. 

Another familiar voice flooded through the speaker, but this time it wasn’t Satoru’s. “...We broke up a few weeks ago. No, no. Really, it’s okay. She was kind of a bitch anyway.” Your pupils widened as you stared back at the man you had just been feeling sorry for minutes ago, rage mixing into the vast sea of emotions you were already feeling while you watched a grainy video of him snaking his arm around another woman’s waist. The two of them were laughing outside of his house before she leaned in to kiss him. 

“My poor sweet girl.” Satoru’s hand brushed lightly against your cheeks, catching tears that you didn’t even realize had begun spilling out. “I didn’t want you to have to find out this way, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

There were a million other ways he could have broken the news to you, but that somehow wasn’t the most pressing issue at hand. 

“An eye for an eye, right?” The same haunting grin that you’d grown to know all too well spread across his face again, his blue eyes slicing into your ex-boyfriend’s. “I can’t believe that my entire world was in the hands of someone so undeserving…” he redirected his attention back to you and recaptured your cheeks in his hands. He leaned down to meet your gaze, unexpected softness replacing his usual sinister demeanor. “What do we do now, baby? It’s your call.”

Your pulse was ringing through your ears. “My call?” your voice was reduced to a whisper as you repeated it back to him. 

“I’m going to kill him either way, but I want you to tell me how.”

You pondered for a moment, still coming to terms with the chain of events that lead you to this one vengeful moment. 

Satoru stood, sauntering over to your boyfriend, stooping down to his level while his hands hovered over his gag. “When I take this off, I don’t want to hear anything other than remorse come from that pathetic fuckin’ mouth of yours.” Your boyfriend’s eyes shifted towards you, then back to Satoru, as he nodded pitifully. The tie was pulled from his mouth. His words were broken, barely audible. “I’m -” he choked out. “I’m sorry, I -”

Your stomach lurched as a sharp smack met his cheek, the painful sound resonating through the room. “You can do better than that. You got one more try,” Satoru spat, his eyes burning into your ex-lover’s bloodied face as he wrapped his fist around his throat, jostling his head around in a fit of rage. 

“Satoru,” you hardly recognized your tone let alone the thoughts that were racing through your head. The last few hours of your life had been a blur. The words you heard earlier made perfect sense now, “Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point.” You were officially at that point. “Satoru, don’t. Let’s just end this.”

It was the first time you’d ever seen the silver-haired man look surprised. His eyebrow raised, a mix of curiosity and amusement glinting in his eye. “Tell me how,” he repeated. “I need to hear you say it.” 

You were in a dream. Nothing more than a figment of Satoru’s imagination, just like he had said. It was the only thing that made sense to you because there was no way any of this was actually happening. 

“Rip his heart out,” your voice emotionless as you gazed toward the blue-eyed man. Satoru groaned deeply, his dick twitching at the sound of your pretty voice speaking his dark language. The same depraved grin pulled at the edge of his lips as he looked back at your ex. 

“Well,” he smirked, “looks like it’s decided then…” Adoration swam through his ocean eyes as he looked back at you, “I knew I picked the right one.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The lock of your front door unbolted as your bodies pushed through the door frame, giggling as four glasses of wine danced through your systems. Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. “Happy anniversary, my love,” he mumbled against your lips. His hands grasped yours as he led you toward the couch. 

You nestled into the warmth of his chest, his arm secured around you while you gazed around the room. Your head spun from the wine-induced nostalgia that this day had inevitably brought on. You were still in the same apartment, only it belonged to both of you now. A blend of sentimental gifts decorated your bookshelf that the two of you had collected over the last year. A camcorder, pressed red roses, framed vacation photos, and the first set of diamond earrings he’d bought you stowed away in a heart-shaped jewelry box. But out of all of the memories that tied you together, there was one that stood out the most. 

“Should we open it?” you whispered, drawing lazy circles into his shoulder.

You didn’t have to see his face to feel his smirk. He knew his girl and he knew her well. He stood wordlessly, retrieving a jar from the highest shelf. He presented it to you, a smug grin gracing his ethereal features, the same look that was permanently etched into your brain the night he got it for you. 

“Be my guest, princess.” You unscrewed the lid, peering into the jar as the strong scent of formaldehyde tickled your nose. You smiled longingly into the container, the overwhelming feeling of love reverberating through your chest. There was something so beautifully poetic about Satoru’s limerence, the lengths at which he went to steal the heart of another in order to fully possess yours. 

author note: im so sorry for not posting my sweets,, i had the worst case of writer's block and i was actively trying to work on six different WIPs...i was losing my mind.

this was quite the heavy fic to write...i hope i didn't scare anyone away with it lol

alsoooo!! sending out the biggest thank you to @remlionheart for forcing me to finish this...my editor, my co-writer, the love of my life ♡ ⋆｡˚

© bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do no distribute. 2024.

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶The garage gets slammed with clients, and the clear delineation between workplace flirting and PDA is put to the test when stolen kisses in the storage closet aren't enough, over the clothes touching leads to frustration, and getting interrupted in the breakroom leaves Eddie aching.✶

NSFW — smut, porn with plot, dry humping, oral (receiving), pussydrunk!eddie, horny depravity at work, van sex, masturbation, swallowing, teasing, sexual tension, hickeys (giving), reader and eddie are verbally harassed by a customer, protective!eddie, protective!reader, 18+

chapter: 12/20 [wc: 23.7k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 12: Satanic Mechanic

The storm triggered rising temps.

————

Monday smacked you awake.

Your digital alarm clock wasn’t worth its price tag when the power flickered, and the blinking numbers of 12:00 seared into your tired retinas, really highlighting the fact that the two fat backup batteries hadn’t been replaced since you lived in a dorm. Whatever—It wasn’t that late, just late enough to cause a sweat when you were half hanging out of Robin’s car, wrestling with a spare umbrella while the sleeves of your light gray Champion college sweatshirt were darkening from ice-slushed rain. Oh, and because that wasn’t enough, the bottom of your pants waded through a puddle in the auto shop’s parking lot, too.

Stupid cursed town.

Swearing under your breath, you sped towards the employee door, and your expectation of a teasing remark from Carl about your tardiness lapsed into stark bewilderment.

You shook off your umbrella, and tossed it in the only available corner inside the cramped garage. Between the shuttered doors were four motley muscle cars parked back-to-back in various makes and models from yesteryears, bright colors announcing themselves amply. As you neared one, a quick shadow passed over the floor from the lobby door opening, widening the men’s muffled voices inside into clear conversation, and closing. You turned to greet them, but the words caught in your chest.

Eddie crowded you two steps backwards, away from the windows, and tucked you to the concrete wall where privacy could be had.

Heat stung your cheeks at the sight of your boyfriend of thirty-two hour’s careful attention on you. Thoughts on thoughts on thoughts wore themselves like a fever under your thick winter scarf. The same fingers he fiddled with to release his nervous tension were once tracing your spine. Not two days ago the big pink tongue he pressed to his teeth licked the intimacy between your breasts. Frazzled curls stood from the rest of his hair as if your hands had been through them time and time again. Soft concern edged the beautiful brown of his eyes analyzing your expression as he did when your bodies were entwined on his couch—yet, in this moment, he idled a measured distance away, guilt weighing heavily on his posture.

The tender rot of apology weakened his tone, “Hey, baby. I’m sorry about not calling. My power’s been out since I got home the other night, and I only just got it back this morning. I hope.. I hope that’s okay.” Reading the quick flit of your eyes falling to his hands and back up, his voice erred remorseful, “I promise I would’ve called.”

“Aw, handsome,” you released. Slotting your fingers into the cup of his palms, you narrowed the space between you in a squishy tennis shoe step. “Our phone line’s down too, and the power’s been going off and on. You didn’t think I was mad at you, did you? Even if something came up and you couldn’t get around to it, I would’ve understood.” The shelf of his shoulders were dotted with rain. “Were you pacing outside?” Meaning: were you so anxious you made yourself nauseous?

“No, no, this is just from dropping Adrie off. Uhm, I actually.. I know I look nervous—couldn’t help it once I saw you, ha,” he broke into a shy giggle, already sticking his gaze on his thumbs engulfing your knuckles. “But uhm, I actually wasn’t worried about you being upset with me. I know you said that when I dropped you off, but I’m getting better at not, ah, freaking out. Thinking of the worst case scenario, shit like that.” A glance through his lashes, and his lips stretched into a sly grin, rounding his cheeks. “I know we’re good. You and me.”

“Yeah, we’re good.” You leaned in, a hint of mischievousness marking your suggestive tone, “More than good.”

“More than good,” he repeated in a smiley mumble. “Just didn’t want you gettin’ the impression I’m some jerk who forgets to call his girl.”

His girl, his girl, his girl.

“I’d never think so poorly of the sweetest man alive.”

Magic happened. There, in his labored swallow, and your fluttery blink. An invisible pull encouraging your bodies closer, sliding your shoulder along the cold wall of your workplace. Seeking heat where it was found against his belly, standing the peach fuzz on your arms at attention from a single brush of your fingertips over his jumpsuit. Want, need; a wish to relieve the burn of pride in your chest, longing to reward him for his progress of keeping a level head when he could’ve spiraled into negative thoughts, yearning to kiss his rosy cheeks aglow with respect. But under the guide of his excessively gentle thumb strokes over your knuckles, a truth was earned. To him, it didn’t feel appropriate to kiss where people could see. Where people could fawn, pry, ask questions, put pressure on something so new. The desire was there. Oh, the desire was there in his gaze dipping to your lips, and staying.

Remembering Saturday, you inhaled sharply. “Oh! I didn’t tell you the good news. Robin got a call the other day, and—”

The voices in the lobby grew. One gruffed out—“Hey, you two?”—and you released each other’s hands, jolting apart. “Wanna get up to date on this shitstorm of a week?” Mr. Moore asked, motioning you both inside with two succinct waves of his clipboard.

A feeble look was exchanged from Eddie to you. The good news would have to wait. Talking would have to wait. Discussing the events from the weekend and all the pretty words he wanted you to hear while his mouth was nurturing the intimate skin beneath your paint-stained crewneck would have to wait.

Following your boss to the circle of employees gathered in front of your desk, Carl and Kevin said hello with raised eyebrows, and Mr. Moore flipped through the sheets on his clipboard, catching you up to speed. “So, lucky us," he said, tone betraying the luck, "the storm hit Springfield harder than Hawkins, so the annual Classic Car Show was moved down here this weekend." Rolling his hand, he grumbled—guy said the ol' historic buildings downtown would look nice in photos—"Anyway, all those uppercrust sons’a are gonna start droppin’ their cars off here for last minute maintenance, or whatever damn hell Roy was sayin'. He sent what parts he had, but we'll have to put in an emergency order, and of course the damn phone is still out."

Mr. Moore targeted you. "We can not," he stressed, "can not accept normal customers this week with all these yuppies comin' in. Unless it’s an emergency, just turn them away, or point 'em towards Thatcher's if they need their tires rotated. Got it?"

So, that explains why Eddie's eyes were welded shut in preparation for the arduous day ahead. The cavity between your hand and his could’ve been filled with a supportive squeeze, maybe a silent assurance in the passing touch, but you tore your gaze from the myriad of grievances wrinkling his expression, and answered your boss, "Got it."

Papers were divvied, sighs were had. With a hard clap of Mr. Moore’s meaty hands on each of your shoulders, he guaranteed a generous bonus for the extra work, and dismissed the group. You pivoted to collecting mail-in order forms for car parts in case the phones didn't work by the afternoon, and the men went off to the garage where hours were lost to the heavy clank of tools making clockwork.

As the day yawned to noon, Eddie’s ears were ringing. He fetched his Walkman from the car, and blasted music through its shitty foam cups in effort to destroy his hearing with something preferable. Amongst the mayhem of cars rolling out of the service bay and being immediately replaced by another, he curled his fingers in a small wave at his favorite Office Administrator, but you missed it on account of the old man at your counter needing the keys for his ‘57 Chevrolet Bel Air.

It was a lonely day. A busy day. An aching day where the itch to connect with each other led to melancholy behind every antsy glance through the windows gone unmet.

Your lunch was a limp sandwich eaten between visiting clients, and when Eddie ate, he did it with his back facing you, bent over the work table on the far wall, mixing cleaning solution for an engine block in between sips of Campbell's tomato soup.

In the wait for a muscle car to be exchanged for a truck requiring new brake pads belonging to the mom with two kids in the lobby who needed it for work the next day, Eddie sought you for comfort in the breakroom, but you had walked to the post office after the rain let up, and by the time you got back, you shrugged off his jacket, picked up a stack of clean rags from the storage closet, and used them as an excuse to enter the noisy garage.

Handing off the rags was the closest either of you had been since that morning. Skin contact was bittered by the barrier of his black nitrile gloves, and the interaction was stained by grime sketching the fine lines of his tired face, stress preying on his mood when you pulled away. He needed you.

Miss you, you mouthed.

Miss you, baby, he returned.

Eddie went back to his project. You went back to organizing paperwork. When you checked the phone line, it wasn’t even joy which influenced your forced smile at him through the window. It was just more work when the dial tone answered.

Busy, busy, busy. No respite for conversation, not even between the mechanics. Kevin’s goodbye was offered as the sun hung low in the sky, touching the tree line. Carl knocked on the hood of the car David was working on to get his attention before clocking out for the night. In retrospect, Mr. Moore was the only one who held a proper conversation with Eddie, telling him he’d be in his office for a bit, and he’d stay late to help on the final set of cars.

In the last slants of daylight dragging through tree branches, Eddie focused on the Mustang Mach 1 in front of him. Sun at his back, wiping sweat from his forehead. Wasting his time on small detail work he wasn’t normally paid to do, yet finding some fulfillment in clearing the nooks of leaf debris and polishing excess grease out of the crannies, salivating at the reward at the end of it: a fat check.

Indeed, he was lost in fantasies of how he’d spend his money when a commotion invaded his mind palace, infiltrating the blank air of his cassette clicking to the end of its tape. Eddie pushed the headphones down to his neck, squinting at the windows to the lobby.

His sweetheart’s face was set with bored malice. An air of disregard, but annoyed all the same. Softly narrowed eyes, loose shoulders, crossed legs. Listening to the man who leaned over the heightened front of your receptionist desk with a pointed finger you didn’t care for, and moving your mouth in a rehearsed response. The man’s voice raised, tanned skin gone blotchy. Spitting mad. You flinched at his irate gestures nearing too close for comfort.

Instant. Adrenaline whipped Eddie forward. Muscles flexed into action, constricted, strained, prepared and loaded, roiling with power ripping open the glass door, sending loose papers flying off the black tool cart, including the one with the man’s name he recognized—

How could he forget?

Square jaw, springy curls cropped close to his skull. Light brown hair extending to the shitty wisps on his upper lip not any better than a grandma could grow. Ditch the letterman jacket for a suit and tie all he wanted, but there was no mistaking Andy, best friend of Jason and player on Hawkins’ High basketball team who helped scar Eddie Munson’s frail reputation after that fateful party he never went to.

Someone he was lucky to dodge at most preschool functions by virtue of his son being nursery-aged.

“—It’ll be ready tomorrow,” you finished in uniform curt.

“Listen better, bitch, I don’t have time for—”

“Hey!” Eddie’s voice packed the tiled room in an authoritative boom with the same fury he entered, commanding the space, possessing the attention as papers floated to the ground behind him. Shifting in his stance, his heart pounded against the strict discipline he leashed himself to, gaining control of his volume for your sake. Quieting to a seethe, he forced out, “You can’t speak to her that way.”

The subject of his ire slid his snakey gaze to him, deducing his long hair, his cheap cassette player, his jumpsuit. Sizing him up. Assessing him. Casting judgements.

Holding reign with a steady pupil on his target, Andy straightened himself from the desk. His expression wore neutral, hands pushing himself away from the ledge and rolling his shoulders with casual controlled dominance. His ugly red tie slipped against his white poly-cotton button down shirt at the motion, following his slow turn towards someone he thought so lowly of. “Figures you’d be here,” he said, jaw jutted in a lax chew as if he were sucking on a toothpick. “This the only place that’d hire a scumbag like you? Hm?”

Fingers stretched and flexed. Veins coursed with heated blood. Sweaty palms were crushed closed.

But it wasn’t Eddie who responded—no—it was his little Mouse.

Jumping from your seat, your chair rolled into the rackety filing cabinets behind you, causing a scene with your hand striking the desk. “You can’t talk to him that way!”

Andy arched an eyebrow at your bark, however, he propped his elbow up in a lazy lean on your binder-clipped manila folders, and held a mutual gaze with the man opposite him. “Sweetie,” he patronized, addressing you with a smug crook of his lips aimed to taunt Eddie further, “this devil worshiper here preys on pretty girls like you. Don’t defend his honor. He’s got none.” With a cocky tongue click, he licked his bottom lip, reveling in the storm brewing in his doormat’s eyes. There was history in the words he chose. They were crafted for The Freak of Hawkins specifically. The rumors he was known for. The lies. Also, the truths.

Testosterone suggested violence in Eddie’s deliberate refusal to blink, but anger did not darken his cheeks in reveals of red as they oft do, nor did he rear a fist like you wanted to. Hard pumps of aggression strained the tendons in his neck, creating shadows along the thick blue vein leading to his strong jaw, but otherwise much of his reaction was reserved, contained in his stoney expression and hidden beneath his biding posture, waiting. Assessing. For years he endured his name being spat on, and he was only beginning to understand the toll of surrendering.

“You’re new here, aren’t cha?” Andy spoke to you, but matched the trained stare across from him. “There’s no need to stand up for this creep. He’s just some lowlife who begs for table scraps, and still can’t coerce girls into giving him the time of day. Kinda pathetic, don’t ya think?” Tone sneering to a scoff, he added to Eddie, “S’kinda miracle you managed to procreate.”

“Shut up!”

This anonymous man regarded you finally. Confusion hung heavy on his brow, curious as to why you were so adamant about protecting someone like him. Then, he dropped his head to the side, enough to see you, and raked his glare over your body, pausing his study on one place in particular.

Your jaw dropped at the audacity, throwing a hand over your stomach on instinct.

Andy involved you with a nod. “This another chick you knocked up?”

Quickfire, Eddie snatched starchy fabric and knotted silk in his fist, dragging him in by his tie, smothering his wet grunt of surprise with a vice grip on his shirt. They were the same height, but when pitted against steel toe boots, leather loafers lost. Not that he needed the extra inch. A different danger lurked in Eddie’s minimal movements, reeling the other man closer without much effort. Enough intimidation lived in his clenched jaw and quivering muscles to show he was not tucking tail and rolling over.

“Hey now,” Andy rasped against the solid threat of knuckles digging into the hollow of his throat, taming him from uttering more. He raised his hands in defense, manicured nails atop soft fingers atop softer palms.

“Watch your mouth,” Eddie enunciated, slow and warning.

Knocked off status by the brave chin challenging him, Andy’s nostrils flared, but his amusement didn’t waver. Under pressure, he wrung the corner of his mouth, lifting his fuzzy upper lip in sly charm while he puzzled out the dynamic between the cool-headed receptionist who’d gone rabid at a bit of joking, and the blue-collar mechanic who abstained from standing up for himself, but sure as hell did when it involved you.

A smirk dared to stretch across his face.

Andy tucked his eyebrows in, and pleaded, “Don’t tell me you already brought more annoying spawn into this world.”

Visions of red gushed over Eddie’s scarred, dirty knuckles, but the reality was ripped from him before he explored the sweet relief.

Dying to get your hands on a ghost from his past, you competed for the shirt on Andy's back. Grabbing his shoulder, you tore him from your beloved’s grasp, slinging him backwards on stumbling feet. You didn’t let the fucker catch his footing before you rammed your shoulder into him with all your scrappy might. “You wish you were half as good of a man as he is!” Growled through bared teeth and trembling with malice. “You’ll never compare. You can’t! I feel sorry for everyone you’ve ever met.” Snarled from darker depths than witless gossip about a man you adored, slapping your hands hard on his chest, shoving him. “Get out!” Shove. “Out!” Push. "And if you ever—ever!—bring up Adrie again, I'll fucking.."

His wild eyes searched for Eddie across the room, but you demanded respect.

Harder shove, striking palms where it hurt—making him cough. “Get the fuck out!”

His steps faltered, disoriented by the polarity of the quiet bitch behind the desk being the one to catch him off guard, attacking him before he could gather his dignity and stop. fucking. tripping. “You little—!”

“Out!” You cut a fierce line with your arm, pointing at the streets. “Leave! Out! Now!” Shove.

Scrambling, slipping on the wet tile, the metal corner of the door handle bit his squishy palm, pulling a hiss from gritted teeth. Shove. Point. Bark. He yanked the door open with a slew of words you’d only tolerate from Eddie when he said them in the heat of your bodies joining in sweet passion, and you let him know with a guttural grunt, pushing Andy out and into the parking lot where a puddle of ice water awaited his shoes. Squish, squish, squelch. He found his footing on the cracked pavement, huffing and puffing with haughty swipes at his clothes, dusting them off on the way to his Cadillac.

You followed his retreat with two proud middle fingers, shouting, “Take that ugly hood ornament and shove it up your ass!” When his shoulders squared like he was going to turn around, you yelped and scurried inside, locking the door only to hear him spit on the ground. Gravel crunched afterwards, and you assumed the tire screech was him leaving.

Dry gulp. Pounding heart. Aching wrists. Loud blood rushing everywhere. Vision vibrating from the adrenaline pulsing between your ears. You got your bearings, and turned to Eddie—except, he wasn’t there. No one was in the lobby. No one was in the garage, either. Down the hall there was a sulking shadow cast across the floor, growing smaller as it sat down.

You went towards the breakroom, passing by Mr. Moore’s head peeking out of his office. Creases from a notebook marked his cheek. Groggy and confused, he asked, “You handle whatever that was?”

“I did.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “Good on ya.” He shrank back into the dark room, returning to his nap.

Approaching the round table with caution, you picked the plastic chair next to Eddie and sat gingerly, noiselessly. Hands folded, upper body turned, waiting for him to speak first. And when he didn’t, you prodded. “Are you okay?”

Eddie unlocked his twined thumbs, and dropped a heavy hand on your knee, patting you. “Yeah, I’m okay, baby,” he replied softly. He didn’t pull his gaze from the wall, blinking only when he brought himself out of his ruminations to pat you again. Blank expression, hollow. Legs spread wide, ruling the space while your thighs were tucked tight together, same as any day you’d share lunch while he brainstormed a campaign idea, writing the story in his head and forgetting to hold a conversation with you. But his silence separated you. You needed more from him.

“Do you want a hug?” you asked.

Pat, pat. “Nah, I’m good, I promise,” he said with a bit more sureness lifting his tone.

Staring holes into the side of your boyfriend's face for far longer than it took to lose faith in telepathy, you swallowed through the scratchy rasp taken hold of your throat after yelling at a customer, and guided him, “Can I have a hug?”

“Oh shit, right, sorry!” The cluelessness jumped off of him as he sat up and wrapped his arms around you, scooping you to his chest. Your cheek picked up a healthy amount of dirt when sliding past his, and his headphones smoothed most of his hair from entering your mouth, but as sweaty and filthy the hug was, his crushing hold on you was everything a platonic coworker could ask for after being verbally harassed. A forearm behind the shoulder blades, a kind splay of fingers on the mid-back. Polite. “I’m sorry he yelled at you.”

Arms trapped against his chest, you bunched the collar of his coveralls in your fists, and he hummed into the comfort of your reciprocation, no matter how covert while your boss was one door down.

“S’okay,” you whispered. Nudging towards his ear, you smeared the sweat at his hairline onto your temple in a blessing. “My first job was at a McDonald’s drive thru. I was fourteen. I’m used to men in business suits yelling at me.” Caught between a sympathy snort and cringe, he offered another apology and pulled his face away.

His eyes and smile went soft, losing their strength from a different emotion trickling in. “Should I have decked that guy? Did you want me to do that? Did you want me to stand up for you, and knock ‘im out?”

“And risk you getting an assault charge on your name? Uh, no. I’m more than capable of standing up to a guy who won’t hit back because I’m a woman.”

Nodding against his ego, he took a moment to mull it over, and dropped into a serious tone, “I don’t want it to seem like I was letting him walk all over me, either. Not that long ago I would’ve freezed up. Probably would’ve sat there, taken it, and fixed his car while he watched. Then I would’ve gone home and cried about it because I’d be so fucking mad at myself for not dislocating his jaw. But,” he paused to run his tongue over the back of his teeth, settling the anger he harbored after the years of unapologetic abuse he tolerated.

He exhaled in a two-count, inhaled on three.

Collecting himself, sincerity replaced the animosity. “But since me and you have started hanging out, I can see how wrong he is, and it just—sorta–doesn’t bother me anymore, y’know? Like, I don’t even have to think about it, I know I’m not those things he said.” He strummed his thumb over your shoulder, soothing the lingering fight shivering through your body, invoking care in his words to calm your racing heart, and his. “I kinda lost it when he brought you and Adrie into it, and I’m glad you intervened when you did, before I did something I regretted, but I’m sorry for what he said. Or what he was, ah, implying about you..”

“Wasn’t really an insult, anyway.”

“Hm?”

“You know, as if it’d be a bad thing to be—uh, uh..” Your stomach clenched from the impact of his gaze falling to it. The sentence would never be finished, and it didn’t need to be. Your mindless chatter proved your subconscious thoughts loud and clear. It wouldn’t be an insult to be pregnant with your child.

Panic prickled your nervous system hummingbird fast. Slews of mortification reached your eyes, urging him not to draw conclusions based on something you blurted on the spot, because—because—just—Jesus Christ, man, please move on.

Shifting topics with more tact than his faintly stuttered exhale would suggest, he shook the stiffness from his posture by clearing his throat, and narrowed his eyes in a curious squint. Dropping his head to you, his fingers skimmed the clasp of your bra band through your sweater, and one of his anxieties was stroked into the relationship with a pivotal question, “Can you tell me, are there cameras in here?”

Without looking, you thought of the layout. “No, there’s just the two outside. One facing the entrance, the other facing the intersection. Why—umph?” He stole the concern from your lips.

Crashing mouth on mouth, he moaned at the relief of having you after a shitty day, and you doubled his vigor, dragging him in by his clothes until it hurt. Spine bent, hips to hard plastic, lips smashed against teeth, joints leading to your strained fingertips twisted above his embroidered name tag. You kissed him until it ached, until he was sated, until lungs burned for breath. It was the best change of subject, because when Eddie flirted his bottom lip along yours after you broke for air and his spit mixed with tangy salt on your tongue and gritty earth between your teeth, you wondered if the primal emotion steeped in his heavy-lidded eyes was the result of the same phrase repeating in his head as yours. Knocked up.

“Do you think it’s okay if we kiss like this? As long as we’re alone?”

“Yeah,” you guessed. “I think it’s okay if we’re alone. Not while customers are out there, or in front of the guys. We should be good, if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah,” he repeated. “I’d like that.”

You accepted his forehead against yours, feeling him sag with a tired groan. Exhausted from responsibilities, emotionally drained and succumbing to the crook of your neck, depending on you to rejuvenate him with tiny, smiley pecks at the top of his ear. Poor man.

As usual, you were the bearer of his weight, trusted to hold him up and be the pillar of strength as his arms fell to your hips, hands at the waistband of your jeans, ambitions decidedly pious as his fingertips explored the ridge of a stretchmark on your lower back. “Ed?” You tucked some loving caresses through the hair at the base of his nape, working circles into his oily roots. “I never got to tell you my good news.”

“Oh!” He piped up, coming into focus, face alight with excitement from your giggle.

“Bobbie got the call, and our apartment is ready!”

There was hardly a predictability to how Eddie would react to things. Sometimes sharing stories about your past in New York would earn his disinterest; sometimes he was eager to listen. Talking about the future was the same. Sometimes his gaze drifted faraway when you brought up the potential of your favorite Chinese restaurant closing before you could have the #4 special again, and sometimes he needled you about learning to drive before he finds you and your bike crumpled in a ditch on the side of the road one of these days.

But worry not, the sunshine grin breaking across his lips warmed you in all the right places.

“No shit?” he released in a breathless, excited laugh. “No more living with the Buckley’s, huh?”

“Mhm! No more competition while solving the Wheel of Fortune, but I think I’ll live. Especially if it means having my own bathroom.”

“Nice, nice, nice. And, uh,” he broke off to trace a pattern on your pants, “And, if I may ask because I’m an upstanding gentleman who wants to lend his strength without the expectation of reward, when exactly do you move in?”

“This weekend.”

“Oh,” he flattened. Voice monotone—Oh. Also known as ‘fuck’ or ‘damn.’ “Corroded Coffin has a gig in Indy this weekend. Drive there Saturday morning, come back Sunday around 3, maybe 4AM, if I rush.” He started mumbling to himself, “But, maybe—if Wayne can watch Adrie on Sunday, I could still— Or if she stays where I can see her and doesn’t get in the way, she can come, and I’ll help bring in big furniture, some heavy boxes. Set up your bed for you, the TV, uh, does the place come with a fridge? I could do that too. Make sure all your outlets work. Could hang some stuff up for you, help you decorate.” You sighed in a way where he’d get the hint to shut up.

He frowned. “What?”

“You don’t need to help us, we’ve got it figured out, but I was trying to tell you the news this morning because—” Quick high-pitched beeps from a Buick made your point. Eddie swiveled around to peek down the hall at Robin’s car parked out front, headlights beaming through the windows. You enunciated for effect, “Because we’re going furniture shopping and packing every night this week, so I’ve gotta clock out early, before the stores close.”

A heavy dose of disappointment jaded his hand falling limp over your thigh. “So, not only do we not get to see each other during work this week because I’m buried under cars owned by dickheads who should take pride in servicing their own vehicles, but you can’t stay late, either?” he summarized to your apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry,” you began, grazing your knuckle along the powdery soot lining his jaw like stubble. Incited by more honks, you picked up the pace, and fit his face to your palms, thumbing his cheeks; collecting him, lifting his chin, guiding him to your lips.

Two hums converged, harmonizing. His handsome nose mashed against yours in order to steal kiss after kiss as two people should when huddled in a private room away from their boss. Sympathetic to his cause, you resisted the urgency of the ticking clock, and worked your hips into his hold, swaying all the closer, consuming the dearness of his prayer when your fully clothed body stood between his legs, melting his stress away.

“Should get going,” you mumbled, brushing through his hair with each subsequent glide of his desperate tongue making it harder to leave.

Instead of a honk, a car door shut, and you pictured Robin stalking up to the door with her lips rolled in, gesturing animatedly at her watch.

Your muscles posed to take a step away from Eddie, but he climbed his hands to your waist, refusing to let go. “Wait! Wait!”

“What? What?” you mimicked.

“We didn’t get to talk about what happened over the weekend,” he insisted, and you took pity on him, raising your brows with a caveat grin telling him he should make this quick. “I wanted to say that our date was perfect. Like, amazingly perfect. Not just the, ah, obvious part, but watching movies and making dinner together was special to me. As dumb as it sounds, even washing dishes together was special to me.”

The bare circles on his cheeks where your thumbs wiped the dirt away plumped up from his grin.

“And then the way you took care of Adrie,” fondness rushed in, eclipsing the fatigue in his voice, “baby, you’re beyond perfect for that. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. You got her to stop crying when I couldn’t—Yes, I can hear her knocking—and you did everything just so exactly right, and I’m so fucking grateful for you, and, wait! Before you go,” he begged you, laughing into another lip-smack on your forehead. You backed away until he stood up, face still wedged between your palms, coerced into following you into the hallway so your best friend didn’t think you’d gone missing without a trace. “I’ll try not to do the whole crying-my-eyes-out and then spilling-my-guts-to-you thing every time we’re together.. No promises, though.”

Almost to the door, you continued to walk backwards, advancing him until the last second when you had to let go. You teased him, “If it becomes a habit, I’ll put ice cream on the grocery list, and we can sob it out together at my place like real friends do. Sound good?” Umbrella, purse, chapstick—check. “See you tomorrow, handsome,” you said on your way out. Eddie filled the doorframe, casting a sharp eye around the parking lot while returning your adoring goodbye.

He curled his fingers in a guilty wave at Robin.

She, with her keen nose, bent to sniff at you, and commented overly loudly, “Your sweatshirt smells like Camels.”

————

Tuesday was a strong, steady build in pressure.

Privacy could be had in the public space between buildings where cars passed on either side, puttering at their leisurely pace before slowing to a stop when the intersection lights flipped red. You bounded up to Eddie carrying two waxed paper cups filled with morning energy, beaming brighter than the dawning rays glancing off the brick alleyway. “Hey! Got you a little somethin’.” That, along with the rocks crunching under your shoes, was his only warning before you were forcing a drink into his hand, and slipping your other arm inside his unzipped jacket, squeezing his middle.

He rocked on his footing and laughed, collecting your head to his chest with a firm palm behind your neck. Your bodies swayed together, ear pressed to the source of his voice; his choppy cadence drawn tight from the sudden rise in eagerness to tuck his chin and mash kisses atop your hair. “Hey, sweetheart,” he breathed, tinted with a stutter from surprise. “You got me coffee?” Spinning it in his hand, he read the shop’s logo stamped onto the cardboard sleeve and put the lid to his nose, smelling the steam piping through the hole. “Mmm, a latte. You didn’t have to go and get me something special like that.”

“I wanted to since I was too busy to call you last night,” you apologized. “Thought you could use the extra caffeine, too.”

Bathed in the teasing glow of sun, you lifted your cheek from the thick scent of burnt tobacco baked into his coveralls, and swam to the heady surface of smoke enriching the crisp air. Raising your nose higher, though, there wasn’t a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Fresh mint followed the thin fog escaping his lips in a visible puff of breath.

Eddie kissed you deep. Wrigley’s Spearmint coated the flavor on his tongue as he dragged it over your bottom lip and across your teeth. The recent ad campaign targeting smokers sponsored his confident lick into your mouth. Lazy and casual, relaxing his arm around your shoulders. Hot coffees tucked to his chest. Pocket below his name tag stuffed with the red and white packaging of foil sticks next to his lighter and Camels, finishing up his morning habit with a clean taste now that he gained certain privileges at work.

“Could definitely do with a pick-me-up from my girl,” he mushed en route to your cheek, pulling away to take the first sip of his coffee and ending with a satisfied mmm.

You vied for his approval. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Another sip, another warm ahh fanning your cheeks. His one-track mind instilled bravery in his hand sliding down from your shoulders to the roundness of your ass, groping your hips flush against the metallic clink of the button snaps closing his jumpsuit, bringing you to him.

Regarding you down the length of his nose, he dipped his smoker’s rasp into something rougher, deeper, resonating from the courage in his chest, “Y’know, I used to worry about making things weird at work if I made a move on you and it wasn’t appreciated–”

“Oh?” you interrupted, pointing above you. “Do you.. Do you not see the flashing sign over my head begging you to ask me out?”

“Hush,” he reprimanded you with a wolfish spank over your back pocket. “What I’m saying is that I’m startin’ to see the perks of workin’ together.” He flicked his eyes up to survey the end of the alley, minding the crawl of traffic passing by. Any Hawkins citizen could turn their head and see you two together; fronts touching in the indecent way coworkers shouldn’t. Stomachs brushing in the intimate way acquaintances wouldn’t. Faces nearing, warmth radiating from his full lips holding steady above your silent plea in the eager way friends might not. Hands taking what they want—smooth and strong alike, improper filth—grabbing in the coarse way sweethearts do.

Eddie’s fingers followed the crease at the bottom of your ass cheek, cupping himself a handful, and drawing you into his nicotine and menthol kiss. You wrung a fistful of the back of his coveralls, using him for weak-kneed stability, yanking until fabric strained against the snap clasps, making gaps to where his shirt showed underneath.

Huddled, coffee cups captured in the embrace, your bodies buzzed drunk on indulgence. 

In the echoey distance, a shutter door rolled open. “Perks gotta wait, I’m afraid,” you moped, falling short of getting swept into the intoxicating trap throbbing between your thighs when he groaned at the heavy chain rattling, locking one door into place before moving onto the next.

He shook his head, sighing in genuine annoyance at the few minutes you had alone, now over. “Guess we’ll have to sneak around if we want to see each other this week.”

“Yeah?” you drew out, thick and sweet like honey, walking your fingers up his chest. “Need me that badly?” you questioned, mawkish and innocent. “Need me to beat up your bullies, and kiss you better?”

Playful spite painted his grin. “Is that too much to ask for? They’re workin’ me to the bone here, babe. I think I deserve a little pick-me-up after replacing a heater core.”

The second service door creaked and clanked at the top of its slot.

“A little pick-me-up, huh?” you repeated, earning a nose-scrunched amusement at the quick peck you offered him. “Like that?”

“Just like that,” he confirmed, already against your mouth for more.

Just like that—

Even footfalls of heavy boots thudded closer.

Giddy kicks of excitement electrified your nerves. The thrill of sneaking around gripped, bound, and knotted your stomach. Eddie, intending to steal one last treat before his fingers and wrists were fatigued from labor, rocked you forward with his strong palm, but he too was spurred by the endorphin rush, hauling your hips in with too much enthusiasm and causing you to discover more than he’d meant to.

Swiftly separating, backs to scratchy brick, the third shutter door dislodged from the dusty ground and began its clattery ascent. Cool, calm, casual. Racing-hearted coworkers.

Hello, Mr. Moore. Fine day, isn’t it? Dotted cloudy sky with plenty of sun, no rain. Yes, I’ll get started on a pot of coffee in just a minute.

Your boss walked away.

You looked at your boyfriend. Waxy to-go cup poised at his puckered lips, eyes nearly closed to mirthful little crescents and twinkling from your collective shared secrets which grew exponentially. Plunging thoughts, yet you kept your gaze high, deciphering his devilish features instead of analyzing the outline below the waistband of his dark gray coveralls leading to his hand was in his pocket, picturing Eddie’s cock in his fist before noon.

Rock hard only from kissing.

He mocked you lightly—teacher’s pet, people pleaser— “Better get goin’, sweetheart.”

Your features arched to the tune of sarcasm on your tongue, asking him a question he refused to answer with anything but a smirk, “Why? Need some alone time?”

————

Wednesday ripened like boozy fruit.

Thick winter layers were shed for lightweight counterparts; canvas jackets shucked after a cup of coffee, breaking free from the hug of warmth before it riled a worse sweat than the impulses caused.

Just like that—

Treats throughout the day in between vintage cars and pretentious clients. Exploring the perks of a stolen peck in the breakroom after Kevin shuffled out. The favor of a massage along the knotted muscles between his shoulder blades when crouched behind an Impala, where you were changing the trash liners at the workbench, and he was counting lug nuts. Silly benefits like you thanking him in a kiss to your palm, blown from behind your desk after he delivered a stack of invoices, to which he mimed catching it and pressing it to his cheek, walking backwards into the garage in a lazy stride, embracing his dopey grin. “Corny,” he said that time. “Shh, baby,” he said another, when his wandering hand landed in a squeeze on your ass, and your squeal of delight peaked higher than he was comfortable with in the hallway outside your boss’ office, spiking hues of cassis wine across his nose.

Innocent snacks. Quick low-risk indulgences.

That’s how it started, anyway.

“Psst,” you got Eddie’s attention as he strolled past the storage closet on his way to the breakroom for his Chef Boyardee lunch. His elbow jutted a big angle from stretching his tricep, looking like Rosie the Riveter in his royal blue coveralls and red bandana on his head.

When his expression remained exceptionally oblivious upon seeing you peeking out of the narrow room housing dusty metal shelves lined with car parts, you snagged him by his grimey sleeve and dragged him inside. With two people crowding the shoebox shaped space, running into the cardboard boxes of windshield wipers you’d yet to put away was inevitable, as was Eddie ducking around the pull string for the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Your eyes itched and your throat scratched, but with everyone's breaks being staggered to ensure there was someone out in the bay and someone available to answer customer’s questions at all times, your loneliness was agonizing, and his sly smile accentuating his dimple knew it.

“Yeah, sweet stuff?” Already, the lure. The bait of his tone. Dry rasp in his overused voice, hoarse from yelling over the grind of a powertools.

The heavy door crept closed behind him, ajar enough to catch shadows. You backed to the furthest wall. He trailed, brushing his stained fingertips on his hips to rid them of excess motor oil before touching his girl.

But, before he could lift your chin in an overdue kiss, you stopped him dead in his tracks. “Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” you said, breathy and thin, too high-pitched and fluttery to be sultry. Butterflies had been building in your belly since you first had this idea at your desk, erupting into swarmy impatience as the timing never worked out and you couldn’t get him alone without one of the guys noticing, or a customer leaning over to ding the bell next to your pen cup, breaking you from your daydream.

Eddie was still a step away, raising his arm from his side, when a beautiful sight swallowed his pupils whole.

A shiver grasped your middle.

Sweat met cool air, erupting goosebumps along your ribs, tightening your nipples to stiff peaks. The hem of your thin sweater stayed gathered at the top of your chest, hands splayed to keep it in place, helping frame the generic black bra. You didn’t enter the day prepared to show off your lamest lingerie, but Eddie’s stare was glued to the plain dull shine of polyester stretched over cups covering the full range of your goods as if they were worthy of the French term usually relegated to something not designed for comfort.

He wiped his hands more energetically on his chest.

No pet names, no clever remarks crafted to make you melt. No swoony lines, no verbal compliments from his handsome mouth hung on a dumbfounded gape. No thoughts, wit, or brainpower. Everything vanished the moment you took his wrist, and smoothed his palm to your breast.

Suave, he was not. Eddie giggled like a teenager—elated, ecstatic to be touching a pair of boobs as if it were his first time. You pitied him in a chastising snort, hopelessly fallen for his big grin, and helped his other hand. Large palm, calluses dragging on the fabric. Cups too thick and opaque to ogle what was beneath. But he was mesmerized all the same. He fitted the stretch of his fingers across that which you arched into his hold, and ran his thumb over the softness. His knuckles and tendons flexed as he did so, moving under the pressure of your heavy suggestion, sliding his hand down so he cradled the bottom and lifted, giving him more area to explore—

Your inhale came sharp and sweet.

Eddie throbbed.

He checked your reaction, repeated the motion. Found the hard bud under the layer, and trapped it between the edge of his thumb, rocking it to the long side of his index finger. Your body leaned into the feeling, eyebrows drawn, bottom lip pushed out and freshly licked. He learned to do it again. Again. More. Harder. Shimmery praise collected in the corners of your eager eyes, heavy lids and batting lashes forced open to watch the confidence in his movements grow. Faster rubs, heavier pets. Kneading what you gave him. Drawing quick, simple breaths from your pretty mouth as he concentrated on circling his thumbpad around the point of pleasure, using his nail to skim over it, dragging a lurch from your core.

“Eddie.” His name tipped into a moan hummed through your nose.

The stuffy room heightened your fluster. Eddie burned. Furnace body, ember hands stoking your fire. Ends of his bangs coming to a damp point above his brows. Dewy skin beneath his diligent strokes over the polyester cups. The squish. The yearn. The need for cold metal shelves to be pressed into your backside, positioning himself against your front.

“Like it when I do that, baby?” he asked, deep and husky for no other reason than to hear your voice pitch when he pinched your nipples, elusive as they were from the slippery fabric.

You pushed your sweater higher, flaunting your arms closer. The amount of gratification coming from his thumbing was small, but the fun of doing it in a closet while on the clock had you oversensitive. Anticipation swelled your fat tongue, slurring your question with girlish flirt, “S’it a good pick-me-up? D’you feel better?” you asked for no other reason than to feel him grow hard against your hip.

Cement walls deadened outside interference, isolating his hammering heart in its loudest beats, and projecting the low sound stuck in the back of his throat. His deep rumble of, “Yeah, feelin’ better,” was spoken in the hollow between your chests, stomachs meeting during your feathery inhales opposite his resolute ones filling the planes of his pecs with renewed strength to get through the day.

Eddie’s exhaustion illustrated itself in the bags under his eyes; intense wells of purple beneath deep wrinkles you couldn’t begin to solve for him. However, you could stretch up, brush your lips over his, and make the eager noises which fed his ego.

“Makin’ you feel good?” he asked, grounding his pleasure in what he could do for you.

“So good, handsome.”

“Love it when you call me handsome.”

“Yeah?”

He collapsed into you, “Yeah.”

Sly now, your grin broke the kiss. “You still remember how to unhook a bra, handsome? Or has it been too long?” No surprise—he nipped at the bottom lip he adored so much, shutting you up.

His big, tired body lost its strength from cranking tools all morning, but he still managed to impress you with his firm determination laying against your belly, pulsing eager. He circumvented your taunt with fingertips diving to the bottom of the cups and pushing up, drawing tension on the underwire, tightening the band around your ribs. It teetered on the edge of a great reveal, nipples harder than him between your legs. You begged for the release, for your bra to finally crest the whole, and bounce what you had into his waiting palms, where his thumb and index were shaped to tweak another hot moan into his mouth—full lips mashed gently to your desperate whine—unapologetic confidence staring you down. Doing it all with a smile.

The door opened with Carl’s question, “You get those u-joints for me?”

Violent strikes of shame-induced panic shocked you both into action before thinking.

Thank God you still had a hold on your sweater to yank it down in sync with Eddie’s side-step, the dumbass, exposing you because his priorities laid in fleeing. Well, at least he was a redeemable dumbass who used his quick wit Dungeon Master skills to remain with his back turned towards the door, perusing the top shelf for a box of universal joints.

You acted your part. “Oh! Uh, I couldn’t reach them, so I got Eddie to help,” you overexplained, pointing at your taller platonic friend who definitely wasn’t the reason your clothes bunched weirdly over your chest.

“Hm?” Carl looked up from his invoices, just noticing Eddie. “Could’ya get me some washers too?”

“Yep,” you answered for him, hearing the box slide along with the rattle of the steel washers, taking them and handing them off to Carl who grunted out a thank you, double checking his paperwork as he walked away, none the wiser as to why your gaze was sealed on the floor.

Mouth dried of all fluid, yet body drenched in the same embarrassment which reddened your coworker’s face darker than his bandana, you gulped past your heart lodged in your throat, and idled next to Eddie, pretending to tidy up a container of gloves. Really, you straightened out your bra instead, door wide open behind you.

It wasn’t against the rules to date your colleague, but he was uncomfortable with other people knowing about your relationship. Perhaps it was the prying, the questions, the pressure which bothered him most. Or the loss of privacy. All eyes on the single dad who hadn’t been in a serious relationship since a brief stint out of high school, and finding someone now, for him, The Freak of Hawkins, was such a significant event they’d probably congratulate him, therefore crushing the dignity he worked hard to assemble from the crumbs he was left with.

He had more to care about. More to lose. Always, you followed your boyfriend’s lead when it came to his reputation.

“So..”

“S-So,” he answered. “Uhm..”

“Should we.. Do you want to keep doing this?” you hesitated, trying to figure him out. Eddie knew what you were asking, though. It strained against the last set of buttons to his coveralls. The edge with no relief. Sneaking around, copping feels in dusty closets, stealing kisses behind walls, never having enough time to start, nor end something worthwhile to ease the aches left behind. “Maybe we should relax at work until we have a real weekend to ourselves again?”

“Fuck no.” His blunt response raised your eyebrows. “C’mon, babe,” he scoffed, locking onto you with his sloppy puppy grin and playful nudge on your arm. “This work week already fucking sucks, and you’re the only good I get.”

Checking over his shoulder, he sidled closer to you, and lowered his voice, “Yesterday I got to kiss you, and then go home to my kid who ate her chicken and broccoli without a single complaint.” He cut his hands to his chest, palms up, bouncing them in a shrug. “I don’t see any downsides here.” Aside from the prominent downside in your periphery, you agreed. “We’re just havin’ fun, right? Our weekend’s gonna come. These, uh, close encounters of the romantic kind are just to hold us over until then, that’s all.”

Just having fun. Just like that. Perks, pick-me-ups. No downsides here.

After giving him a long look, you nodded. These were just treats to get you both through the tough week. You could resist the temptation of taking it too far, keeping it casual. He could dial it back, and remain level headed about kissing, and a little over the clothes touching. No big deal.

Casual. Dialed back.

Easy.

————

Thursday was hot under the collar.

Coffee sputtered fat drops into the glass carafe, adding steam to the small breakroom, and filling it with the wake-up scent. Sat in a creaky plastic chair was a man sapped of energy, and behind him was his dearest flame. On the clock, technically, but arriving before other employees dared.

“Had to stay late last night to finish a car on time,” he grumbled to you, neck muscles flexing under your fingertips as he lolled his head side to side. “Wish you didn’t have to leave so early.”

You pulled his hair off his shoulders, and stroked your thumbs from his nape to the underside of his jaw in long sweeps over the tense slope, down, massaging the base where his collar began. “I know, baby,” you gentled, “me too, but we found a couch last night, and made sure it was the perfect size and comfort level for cuddling during a movie marathon.” His groan scratched vibrations along the rub, tugging your heartstrings.

“That sounds so good right now.”

Nothing made Eddie feel further away than the graywash walls surrounding you; lights too bright, vending machines droning too loud, stale odor of motor oil stinking too harshly of motor oil. Too everything—grating. His solid shoulders bowed weak from unyielding tasks. Body tired, brain stuck in problem-solving mode, watching cranky customers like a hawk, never getting a break once he got home; making food, washing dishes, cleaning spills, changing laundry, vacuuming dirt, providing entertainment, being the source of a thousand answers, drying tears, saying he’s sorry he can’t find the missing Barbie brush, worrying about everything, forgetting nothing, trying his best, falling short, perceiving himself as inadequate, disregarding himself as worthy of nothing more. Never getting the validation he craved after a long day. Poor man.

You leaned down and loosened the only button on his pinstripe coveralls, below his throat. Slipped the sky blue plastic from its cotton vice, threaded it through the hole in a languid beat, and kept things slow. You crawled your fingers to the sturdy metal zipper—dull gold—and ground the teeth three stretches down his chest, parting the halves to expose his black tee underneath. Your nails scratched the union of his pecs on the way to pull the collar off his neck, earning a comforting sound of approval from him, inspiring your own hum tickling your lips.

Switching from your thumbs to your knuckles, you dipped under his coveralls, and prodded the chain of stiffness on either side of his spine. Cheap poly-cotton grazed your skin. Mmm—His breath hitched, cheeks puffing at the sore knot you encountered, exhaling hard through the pain of your digging. It was so reminiscent of your second date when you were straddling him on his shit replacement for a bed not fit for a grown man, it hurt. You worshiped him between the bones—a small relief you wished to give him, delaying the restless ache growing more visceral every day you didn’t get to hold him for hours. Eddie reciprocated the yearn. He rested his head on your belly, washed curls swaying from his crown, frizzy strands clinging to the static on your blouse; leaning backwards so the meat between his neck and shoulder rolled under your handiwork. Closed eyes, fanning lashes. Mellow sounds of contentment sung through his nose. Beautiful man.

“Feeling better?” you asked, squeezing his traps in hard pinches, collecting his woes and turning them into sighs.

Mhmm, he said.

Perfect, you thought.

Better meant there’s still room for improvement.

In a fluid motion, you bent at the hips, and he leaned his head to the side, accommodating your arms draping around his front. The angle pressed your ass to the wall in an audible glide of your skirt shifting against it. Eddie, so soft and romantic, hiked his shoulders up and beamed hard at the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut thinking his sweetheart was hugging him. However, you slipped your hands under his uniform, and his sunshine grin faltered.

His pulse quickened at your descent.

“Whatcha doin’, baby?” he asked, tone floating the river of curiosity and suspicion.

You doled kisses where his bangs parted, down to his temple, his eyebrow, sunk in the hollow of his cheek between the hardness of his teeth. You traveled the smooth grain on his jaw—warm notes of nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla in your lungs—and wandered over his earlobe, nosing through his long hair to the place you wanted. Lips on sensitive skin. Dangerous.

His throat bobbed at the top of a heartbeat, and his chest sank only to fill with a strong breath. The thin fabric of his tee stretched over the firm muscle laying dormant under a sleek layer of fat. Wheat shafts of hair mid valley brushed against the motion of your hands opening his coveralls further, fingerpads skimming his pebbled nipples; golden zipper sneaking to the top of his stomach, enough room for you to flatten your palms to his pecs, and unwind him. Like a good partner, you massaged the width where you laid your head to rest during a long hug, where you set your ear to listen to the rhythmic thump, where the source of his voice ignited when you asked him a question; thumbs joining to stroke the worthy center.

His black tee framed by the baby blue stripes paved a dark arrow to the kick of his hips tilting upwards as he slouched in the chair.

Excessive flattery laced your tease, “Are you hard?”

“‘Course I’m hard,” he pointed out the obvious. “You’re touching me.”

Not that the swollen length rising from his lap could be anything else, but knowing you caused such a standing ovation after a little bit of back rubbing ran you a mighty temperature.

Wicked thoughts pooled at the bottom of your stomach. The stiff outline influenced your thighs rubbing together, rallying hunger in your eyes. You angled your head, and shifted your focus to the goosebumps surfacing from your sigh fanning the shell of his ear.

Eddie’s neck invigorated your appetite.

You opened your mouth wide and grazed the sharp edge of your teeth over the vulnerable column thrumming with life. His body went rigid—”Oh”—then slack in increments. Again, you scraped lightly over the slope of warmed muscle appreciated by you as a result of the physical price he paid to assume the jobs of many, taking on the responsibility of Carl’s workload to ensure he made it to his son’s wrestling practice on time. Your man deserved the world; he deserved your lips forming a ring over his pulse, he deserved his heartbeat darting against your tongue, he deserved to melt under your attention. Your man deserved to have his little groan stolen when he remembered your mouth’s talent.

Despite the animal way you started, you eased him into the pressure, sucking down on his skin until your open bite filled with delicate flesh. A liquid glottal click preceded the faintest catch in his vocal chords. He secured a palm around your shoulder, heaviness drawing your arm forward, enticing your hand to rove down his chest. Shirt wrinkles collected around your fingertips as you reached the roundness of his stomach, and dipped below his coveralls. The change in environment was instant. Humid, sticky pheromones clung to your skin. Damp body heat trapped tacky warmth to your middle finger dipped to his navel while your knuckles prowled beneath his jumpsuit in visible arches. Edging closer, closer. Nearly there.

You arched your wrist to put strain on the zipper, dragging it with you, almost within reach of what he earned.

Eddie’s hand covered your own. “We shouldn’t, ah,” he cleared his throat, “shouldn’t start something we can’t finish,” he asserted, caught between the confliction crossing his face, and the gravelly tug in his vocal chords. He hooked his forefinger under your pinky and lifted your hand to the outside of his coveralls, where the halves parted below his sternum. “With our luck, someone’ll walk in on us.”

Yesterday’s incident in the closet brought fresh memories to his reddened ears; blotching renewed embarrassment along the pinkish skin where your spit dried. You took this into consideration when opposing, “Doubt anyone would walk in on us in the next thirty seconds.”

He’d deflect your implication with a glare if his eyes weren’t closed in disgust at his own actions.

“Just saying,” you sang, words becoming muffled on the stretch of neck he presented to you with a cant of his head, “we could have fun before anyone shows up.”

Teetering an inappropriate boundary neither of you should indulge, especially not in the storage closet or on your sturdy wood desk, his willpower faltered. “Don't tempt me with that shit when you know it’s a bad idea,” he griped without the balls to make it sound sincere.

You raked your fingers into a fist where they laid, pulling his uniform taut. The coveralls went tight over his lap, stressing deep shadows leading to the concentrated swell down his pants leg; made more obvious when he spread his knees wider, scraping his boots across the floor. Jittery nerves, flexed thighs, torn between crossing a line. Treats, perks, pick-me-ups. Hugging, kissing, touching over your bra. It was a dangerous path to tread. Risky. A million reasons why you shouldn’t.

“Want me to stop?”

“No.” Punctual, quick. Answered hoarsely in the breakroom of your workplace. “Keep going.”

His sentence rumbled in your mouth. Permission vibrated past your teeth, words rolled over your tongue, coating your brain in syrupy sweetness. Keep going. Texture of his stubble, then texture of his skin. Nearly invisible bumps matching the taste buds you licked down the sculpt of his throat, following the moody blue vein to where it disappeared under the ribbed collar of his shirt. You nudged the barrier away, and dropped wet kisses on the hilled muscle. His head fell further into the crook of your arm, offering, making the spot more accessible for you to lap at, cherish. The position was perfect. No better vantage point to stare down your boyfriend’s shuddering chest while you sucked a bruise on his neck, and wrung his coveralls a little tighter.

The shadows defining his lap twitched.

Eddie imposed his fingers between yours, and adjusted his grip several times until the sturdy cotton twill restricted his length flat. Without looking, you knew his nostrils flared when he released a rough exhale afterwards. Being so close, you heard the bubbles in his saliva pop before his mouth constricted on the swallow. You listened to the spit travel, saw his throat bob. Felt the hitch in his whine before he ever sank to the edge of the chair, where his hips would lurch and his clothes would drag along the oversensitive temptation begging for more in a hard throb. A short, delicate, and devastating morsel of what his mouth drooled for.

“Am I making you feel better?”

Through the trance of the powerful initiative rushing his blood south, compounded by the many rules and boundaries he broke of his own accord since he met you, paired with the sultry aid of your husky voice, he nodded. His muscle swayed beneath your teeth. “So much better, baby.”

“Love to hear it, handsome,” you kissed his cheek.

Dots of bright candy apple red bloomed amongst the pink where you marked the destination in the passage from his ear to his ball chain necklace. The metal beads were warm on your loving peck to his keepsake. Returning to the raw span beside it, you nursed the bruise along, sealing your kiss-plumped lips to the afflicted area, and bringing forth stipples of violet. Eddie disciplined his moan in the quiet room; coffee pot full, and vending machines clicking to lower hums; yet his weak noise wrapped you in tangled bedsheets, and unset alarms. Strong arms, and a slow cadence between your legs. Fantasies which were lost in the anguish of professionalism, and busy schedules.

Then, he called you back to reality with another sound. Whinier. Hemmed in his shaky breath, and a fluttered ‘oh’.

You broke the heavy-lidded spell over your eyes and fixed your gaze on the reason his grip on your shoulder cinched.

Eddie rocked his hips, and the outline of his cock strained against his coveralls. The entire definition of his head stretched the fabric as hard as it could at the top of the thrust, and fell to his thigh on the descent. Lines amassed on his forehead as he worked the circle again, starting on a pace which favored his next moan. Low, and slow—finding a steady rhythm, and simmering. Like that, accepting the urge and giving in, fuck the consequences. The spontaneity of you suggesting you give him some relief before the work day began spurred him, and whatever reservations he had about not fooling around while on the clock crumbled. Not that his convictions were ever strong to begin with when it came to you.

Approaching something more desperate with each controlled motion scoring the friction he couldn’t resist, another moan—thick, and hot like warmed maplewood sap—rumbled from his braced chest.

With his eyebrows pinched, and mouth slack, he watched himself get off on nothing but his own determination.

Spit flooded your bottom lip. Your palm needed to be filled. You ached for his smooth skin moving up and down while you fisted his shaft. You strangled his clothes at the thought, and yes, you begged, “Can I?” to which he dropped his head back and groaned a soft ‘fuck’.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he released in a jumble of grateful syllables.

Hanging onto his composure, he reached for the zipper, and the action stirred a phantom taste of his salty release on your tongue. Your body fought tooth and nail to have patience. You distracted yourself by placing fervent kisses in his hair as thanks for the wonderful start to the morning, about to pump Eddie’s cock to the same tempo as your racing heart without an ounce of restraint, when you froze.

A near-mute whoosh of air alerted every nerve in your body.

There was no mistaking the gust of the glass door rushing open, its whispered squeak imperceivable to anyone who didn’t spend an inordinate amount of time sitting beside it. But Eddie heard it. Or, he heard the thudding steps leading the jumpstart in his heart.

He freaked.

In a flurry, Eddie kicked up his hips to zip his jumpsuit to his throat, and you spun around to dig through the fridge while metal chair legs screeched across the tile, scooting in until his upper half was soldered to the rim of the table, and you picked out his favorite creamer.

Hot coffee beat out the smell of Old Spice. The fridge’s condenser fan knocked sense into the lapse of judgment. A booming voice penetrated the ringing pitch of bad decisions rushing loud in your ears.

“Mornin’!” Mr. Moore waited for your response of ‘Good morning’ to drive his Thursday mood, “Y’watch the news last night?” he asked, holding the conversation just inside the breakroom door. “Weather lady said the storm over Springfield is just sittin’ there—y’know, just hangin' over the city churnin' out rain like you wouldn't believe! It’s a strange one; the whole system is avoiding us, but it's what's brought on this heat wave. And just a few days ago we were seein’ our breath! The thunderstorm from the weekend dented my new chicken pen with hail, and now I’m turnin’ on the A/C, but that’s Hawkins for ya.” Sucking his teeth, he muttered to himself, “Cursed town.”

At that, you collected Eddie’s mug from the cabinet, and clinked a spoonful of sugar and Coffee Mate in his mug, stirring through the swirl of piping hot beige.

Mr. Moore continued, “Anyway, we should prob’ly dust off that drum fan, ‘nd set it up before the sun turns the garage into an oven.. You okay, Ed?”

You wiped the steam from your fingers onto your skirt, demonstrating an extraordinary amount of strength in resisting looking at him.

“Yeah, I—yeah, I think those fumes from yesterday got to me.”

“Ah, gotcha,” Mr. Moore replied, familiar with the debilitating headaches mechanics frequently succumbed to. “Take it easy today, will ya? And, uh, could you help me with the fax machine?” You perked up at the change in tone, understanding the question was intended for you. “If you got a minute, I need to send out some of these papers.”

Tapping the spoon, rinsing it, putting it aside, you said, “Sure can,” and your boss took that as his cue to walk into his office. Door open.

You set the perfect cup of coffee on the table, and stalled. Eddie’s fingers trembled over his forehead, laced into a shield and only lowered to the bridge of his nose in order to pierce you with all the glare he could muster; bouncing his knee in such a frenzy it quivered the curl of his bangs over his plum face, and shook the thinness of his scorched cheeks.

“Told you this was a bad idea,” he enunciated, wholly vindicated.

Your lips wore a tingle through their numbness as they thinned into a regretful grin. “I’m sorry.” You passed a kiss over top his head where your hand stroked. When the coal of his eyes continued to scold you through his thick lashes, you gave him another kiss, and spoke in softer earnest, “I really am, Eddie. I didn’t mean to, you know.. yeah.” Balls so deeply blue, they matched his jumpsuit. “Thought we had enough time to finish.”

He grunted.

Under the pressure of both time and guilt, you spun your hands into finger guns at the door, and shuffled backwards from him awkwardly, eyes set on the scuff marks on the floor. “I’ll just—” You were already steps away, about to exit.

“—guess I’ll jack off again.”

“What was that?”

Eddie jerked his head up, eyebrows lifting, realization crossing his glazed over stare. The sentence was meant as a vent of frustration, but not where you could hear it. He couldn’t get redder; in fact, he paled around his mouth a little, licking his lips. “I–uh.” He blinked irregularly through his stutter, finding the words which evaded him, scraping his brain for an explanation while he wrung and crossed his arms in a loose hug over his shoulders, fidgeting. “It, well, it h-hurts if I don’t..”

Corroding into an eye-roll only hidden by the very act of closing your eyes, you informed him, “Yes, I am well aware of the biological phenomenon. You said ‘again’, though. Meaning?”

After a moment of deciding how much information he was willing to divulge, he shrugged into his shoulders, dipping his chin to one side, using his hair to shy behind. “I’ve.. had to jack off before,” he answered, being coy with the topic.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“At work?”

“In the bathroom, yeah.”

“How come?”

His intentional avoidance drew your smile, so mischievous and calling his bluff, cornering the affection in his expression until his sneaky glance from beneath his bangs wove more and more of a story into his sheepishness. “Sometimes you wear stuff I like.”

You pounced. “Oh, yeah?” Interposing yourself between two chairs across from Eddie—ignoring the sound of Mr. Moore’s fist beating on the plastic machine in the other room—you drew circles on the tabletop, and pried, “What kind of stuff? When? Do you mean this week, or, like, before we were even friends?”

“I am not telling you that,” he laughed, he choked, he denied—hard—basically confirming he did wrap his hand around his cock at the thought of you, perhaps at work, perhaps yesterday after the closet incident, perhaps at the start of your employment at David’s Auto Repair when he didn’t know how to process the new receptionist flirting with him and his way of shutting down any feelings before they began was by ridding himself of the urge.

The topic itself was eliminated by his arm swinging outward, conversation not up for discussion.

And you, enjoying the attention that made him fold his hands over his lap, laid your upper half across the table, propping your elbows so there was a gap down your blouse if he so chose to ocularly venture.

Your words mushed from your fists beneath your chin, “Is it the skirts?” You rocked side to side. His crows feet deepened, shoulders shaking from suppressed giggles, refusing the allurement of your shapely sway draped in corporate gray. “Or is it the jeans and hoodie that does it for ya? Really getcha goin’ when I’m dressed down? Hmm?” Your eyebrow waggle dueled with his sealed lips.

“‘M’not tellin’,” he defended, hardly able to speak through his fondness for flattering you; as if praising you were its own reward, reflected upon him as a good man worthy of having his dirty boots tucked beside your front door.

From the hallway, a rackety sound strung together with a cuss and muffled call of your name roused the logical side of your brain, awakening you both from the hormonal haze.

Eddie clicked his tongue. “Best get to work, sweetheart.”

“Why? Need some alone time?”

The weight of the ache between his legs burdened his lack of comeback.

Obliging, because he was right, you stretched across the table and waited for him to meet you halfway. But he didn’t attempt to close the distance. He stayed put, committed to his stubbornness, and forced you to stain the muscles down the backs of your legs in order to reach. Fine, you played into his game. You planted your smirk on his mouth, dousing his smug features with your own.

“I was just thinking,” you lead innocently, “I’ve already packed my closet, but I might find the time to go through the boxes tonight, and pick out my outfit for tomorrow.”

“Babe—” It was an instant beg. Your favorite kind. “Don't you dare,” and he couldn’t even erase the intrigue, the thrill, the excitement of stolen youth in his tone. The sneaking around, the perks, the treats—the boundary you both knew you shouldn't cross, because of worse decorum than him sitting stiffly at a table, ripe with embarrassment. “You can’t do that. Are you even—? Baby?”

“By—e,” you sang on your way out.

————

Friday came with an excessive heat warning.

Footsteps came from behind you, lingering at the door. An arduous breath was spent sighing, but his voice was too playful to shame you, hardly traipsing through his throat to chastise, “You’re something else, you know that?”

Every beat of your heart was emphasized by his step forward, dragging his boots until his body heat warmed your backside. Blissfully unaware, you continued washing the glass carafe in the breakroom sink. Staying diligent in your task wasn’t an admission of guilt; rather, diverting your attention was an act of grace, of benevolence, granting him access to feast on your figure. It was obvious from the moment you arrived his hunger grew insatiable. You walked into the garage exactly as late as you planned, arms loaded with two boxes of freshly fried donuts, and the shine in his sharp-set eyes did not match those of his coworkers springing from their circle around the workbench. No, the to-go orders of dark roast coffees did not feed a smile to his face as it did for Kevin, nor did the waft of sugary glaze excite his mouth into watering like it did for the other men.

Eddie’s cravings were of a different breed.

His expression was hard, then. If you’d just met, you’d think your merry presence pissed him off. Now knowing better, you read the initial shock before he schooled it to an intense stare, steely gaze locking you into a match. You provoked him with a golden sunshine grin. His jaw went slack enough to run his tongue along his inner cheek, calming his rise in blood pressure, nose perking pink and eyes flashing dark and lips twitching to one side.

You excused yourself—“I should clean the coffee maker before I leave those grounds in there all weekend,”—and went to the breakroom. Eddie was hot on your trail. He came in not half a minute later. Probably didn’t even make up an excuse, he just left the circle.

“This is too far, even for you,” he maintained, aching and slow, words brushing over your ear.

Anticipation mounted in the sound of his clothing shifting, leather boots creaking. You expected him to do something sweet—run his knuckle down the small of your back, or thumb at the strap along your shoulder—but instead, you gasped.

Water sloshed in the coffee pot, suds squishing from the squeeze you put on the sponge.

He dived under the hem of your dress. The fabric fit tight on your body, snug to your waist, closing your thighs in a hug. He tugged it over the curve of your ass, exposing your bare cheeks to the chilly room. Bold. Risky. Dirty. Nowhere near the platonic workplace relationship he was trying to front. You twisted to look up at him with wide, thrilled eyes, giddy with the boost of flattery knowing your simple clothing choice drove him wild.

Eddie got a sturdy grip on the counter edge, and eased his weight onto you until you were covered by his magnificence, chest to back. He shaped his palm to your hip, and dug his thumb above the elastic band of your underwear, connecting the need of his hand to the yearn of his mouth. You melted in the pocket of his embrace, greeting him with parted lips, accepting his tongue. Never would you tire of his breath overtaking yours. Spit, spearmint gum, oddly metallic. Smoke break. You break. Morning tangle of you and him when the others were enjoying donuts one glass door away.

Fearless fingertips discovered you without hesitation. Polished callouses swept over and around to the front of your thigh, greeting the warm juncture with a smooth trace of his buffed skin, middle finger following the edge of your cotton panties down the seam, and up. Only an inch or so into the crease where your leg met the thong, back and forth twice along the line, enough to skim your nerves awake, and work you into a sweat for his index hovering over the swell where a single graze would have your knees weak. Taking the touch away, he wrapped his arm around your middle, and drew your hips in.

He pressed fat and heavy along your backside, unashamed.

The kiss ended in a juicy smack, finished by your hum against the coarse grain peppering his jaw. Lips were licked, sparkling eyes gazed into their match. Coming down with a lovesickness, your skin fostered a high fever, woozy bliss clouding your head—dreamy dreamy dreamy.

“You know what this dress does to me, don’t you?”

A grin cracked your face. “I might.” You immersed yourself in the comfort of his firm body draped around you, the raw sensation of your bare skin against his rugged coveralls, and lazed in the same memory as him.

The burgundy pinafore clung to the warmth of his taken smile from that night. So smitten, and fond. A dress made of belly clenching laughter, woven together with threads of brave glances, converging and averting when the strikes of nerves teemed on admitting too much. Cinnamon, nutmeg, grape jelly in the slow cooker meatballs. Freshly shed pine needles, and glitter. Significance baked into every fiber of the dress you wore under a lonely sprig of mistletoe, unkissed.

Never again would he let you go home believing you weren’t a treasure.

“Can’t be wearin’ this around me,” he obsessed, and you giggled at the rich confidence in his voice—a prelude to the depth he was willing to go. “Gonna get me in trouble.”

Using the sink ledge as leverage, you muscled Eddie into standing up straight with you, winning his heart with a doe-some blink. Arching, you swayed your hips on the length catching between your round cheeks, though the position flaunted something else which might entice him in engaging in risky behavior. “I’m not wearing a bra, either,” you said. Your voice was girlish—floaty and high—a bit raspy from your neck being turned to admire the handsome amount of approval twinkling in his dark eyes.

“Yeah?” Eddie moved his Stupid Cupid lips over the very edge of your ear, and rumbled through the words weighing down his chest, “Need me to fuck you that bad, huh?”

Thrums of pleasure lit within you.

You nodded the side of your face against the scratch of his chin—a morning, day, evening, night, dusk, dawn without a shave.

“Need me here?” he asked, slipping his fingers inside your dress. The fabric over your chest struggled to accommodate his circle around your nipple. You sucked in a breath—released in a moan—and grabbed onto his arm for stability, already falling backwards into him. The direct blessing of his prod to the bud was too much. Your toes curled at his pinch. He flicked the tip of his smooth finger pad over it faster. “Yeah? You like that?” You whined a croaky sound, resting your head on his chest, unable to keep your eyes open to admire the way he watched himself do this to you, chin hooked over your shoulder to view his own hand groping his girl beneath his favorite dress.

“Need me somewhere else?” he asked, and your hips began to mimic the circle he stroked as an answer.

With the ease of a man who’d pictured this scenario more times than respectful, Eddie seized the permission. Middle, index; his two thickest, longest, dexterous. Divine, and unholy. At the bottom of your dress bunched over the top of your thighs, he crooked those two fingers under the hem intentionally, while your hand combed through his hair at the suggestion. “Yeah? Want me to touch you there?” There—a base he’d yet to run even when you were alone on your second date. “Need me that bad while we’re at work?”

You verbalized your desire, as weak as it skirted past your sigh, “Please, Eddie.”

One plea, and it was Love Potion No. 9. His lean frame blanketed you, cradled you, collected you to his height, corded muscles gone solid with restraint. Large nose pressed to your ear, including you in the deep draw of validation into his lungs. Hugging you to the pride inflating his firm chest. The full throaty rasp of desire, and being desired, intimate and close. Two fingers ventured under your dress. You twirled his hair, teething your bottom lip in anticipation for the touch. They were shaped to claim his prize locked behind a fine layer, but he teased you first. He curved the breadth of his palm to the stretch of cotton, width of his calloused reach forcing your feet apart, and brushed past your deepest craving to cherish the place he craved.

“Jesus,” he wept.

His fingers glided along the wet patch on your thong, fabric sticking to your wet heat. It slid along you in a sticky lick, and he sank his teeth to the base of your neck, beyond help. A noise tripped in your throat at his simultaneous pinch on your nipple. He was a goner.

In a few circles around your entrance, he had you melting into his arms. A tweak on your nipple gained your fingers at the root of his hair. He squeezed your slick lips together, and your neglected need sang at the stimulation, begging him in a gasp to do it again. He did. He did, he did, again, however many times it took to have your sighs dive into moans.

Two devilish fingers began their journey upwards, intentions set and clear. Smarmy with ego, he goaded, “Let’s see how long it takes you to cu—”

The near-mute whoosh of the glass door was made obvious by the chorus of men’s laughter bouncing in.

Cold fear licked up your spine. You scrambled for the abandoned coffee pot in spectacular fashion, struggling to get hold of its soapy body in the fret of stress induced tunnel vision—but Eddie? Eddie took his time hitching your dress hem where it should be, flattening it to your thighs. The telltale gait of your boss was nearing, and he was in no rush to jolt to the opposite end of the planet away from you. Oh, no. Your boyfriend brushed his hands in methodical sweeps over the fabric, smoothing it to your hips, mirroring the same cadence as the steps which sent you into a panic. He even gave you a hard pat after he was done. Kissed your cheek to seal the deal, only stepping away to peruse the vending machines the moment Mr. Moore rounded the corner.

“Can’t resist havin’ a little sugar in my coffee,” he informed from the hallway, chipper as can be, strutting in while you were rearranging your dumbstruck stare into something pleasant. He swiped three Splenda packets. “We’re ‘boutta start the meeting, by the way.” You nodded at the coffee pot you washed to a shine. Mhm! you replied after an anxious attempt for anything better, tight-lipped, and dodging his prying eyes by enacting a coughing fit into your elbow in the other direction, willing to bolt if he even so much as thought about voicing his concern over your strange behavior.

Ka-shink, ka-shink, ka-shink. Eddie fed quarters into the Pepsi machine. “Be right there,” he announced, jamming one of the rectangular buttons on the side.

Mr. Moore paused for the longest .02 seconds of your life. No amount of money could bait you into turning around. Whatever expression he was making—if he knew what you and Eddie were doing—that was between him and God. Your shoulders were squared, muscles ready to flee in panic, heart racing beyond what it should be capable of. All the while Eddie crouched for his drink clunking to the bottom slot.

“Well,” was your boss’ succinct response on his way out, underscoring the end of his thought.

There should’ve been some relief, but your breath stayed in your lungs, and your hands shook horrendously, smacking the handle for the faucet too hard on accident, shooting the stream out on high. And, of course, the closed coffee pot lid was the perfect shield, sending water everywhere.

You screwed your eyes shut and defended yourself from the onslaught, worrying about your face and dress first, and your wimpy shriek second.

Eddie came to your rescue.

Ever the hero, ever the gentleman, he shut off the water for you. A ‘thank you’ had been earned, but one peek between your lashes had you quirking your brow in question. He was too close. Standing univinted beside you, almost touching, invading your personal space in a show of ownership. Shadows attempted to temper his smirk, but they cut harshly around the devious apples of his flushed cheeks. You opened your mouth to ask why he was looking at you like that, when—

The explanation came in your stolen yelp.

“Ed!”

“Shh,” he taunted, taking charge of his bubbling laughter at your reaction.

Goosebumps erupted down your legs, pebbling harder where he rolled the freshly dispensed can of Mug root beer across the back of your thighs. The chill bit into you, and you bit into your bottom lip. Squirmy noises squeaked from your throat. He reached under your dress and held the soda to your ass cheek, replacing the warmth of his cock with a bitter lesson. A stinging—fucking—cold lesson. He pinned your options between him, his arm, and the countertop. There was no escaping his revenge. You saw no other choice but to cling to his coveralls, let the shiver run its course, and scold him in a failed whisper, “Eddie—!” He loved it. Enjoyed every crinkle of your pathetic glare when you realized why he was doing it.

His length was softening against you. An old technique, rubbing vigorously at his sensitive head until the evidence of his arousal went away without repercussions. And now you were the one all worked up with no release.

Grinning like a menace, his cockiness eclipsed your vision, putting his forehead to yours so his snarky giggle vibrated in your skull. He wrangled you into his embrace, manipulating you with ease. Layers of implied strength snapped your hips forward. Years of unassuming muscle beneath his humble clothes locked you to his body without trouble. Strong arms you recognized the power of when they snatched a man by his tie, seasoned hands equipped for ripping out rusted axle shafts, fingers which threaded elastic string through plastic beads with the same finesse as soldering spliced wires together. They all joined in consecutive evil to slide the can between your round cheeks, down to where your yearning sprung.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You picked up his vocabulary at some point. “I swear, Eddie Munson, if you don’t move that right now.”

“I’m just coolin’ ya off, sweetheart.” He sounded so pleased with himself, the jerk. He also sensed the impending handprint on his cheek, and apologized with a bit of earnest effort, “Sorry.”

Not betraying his newly actualized cavalier attitude towards urgency, he utilized his afternoon drink against your needy core as a way to hike you onto your tiptoes, and bless you with an offensive smirk kissed onto your slanted grimace.

Pussy numbed, he took his root beer away, and moved past you.

“Did you plan this?” you asked, assumed, accused. Mellow in anger, harsh in disbelief. “Is this payback for yesterday?” And the day before that. And the day before that. And maybe the day before that, too.

“Well, yes and no,” he resolved, sorting his explanation while opening the fridge. You crossed your arms, and stuck your hip out. The sensation between your legs was dull and cold. “With our luck, I knew we’d get interrupted before we could finish—and I did intend to give you a taste of your own medicine—but, yeah, uh, then you showed up in that dress, and all my plans went out the window,” his voice tumbled silly with self-deprecation, gestures as big as his eyes. “I was planning on just coming in here, and letting you know how hot you were. Make out with you some, maybe get a lil’ handsy, y’know, make you feel good like you make me feel good. But, uh.. Yeah. Didn’t mean to get carried away like I did.” He prized you in another look over. A damning amount of awe sat in his simper, like he was experiencing his crush flirting with him for the first time all over again. That is, before he hung his head back, and opened his throat to release a hoarse groan at the ceiling.

Eddie held the cold can to his lap, rolling it over the swell, taming the last of his biological drive from showing. “Trust me, baby, I’m chewing through my leash to get to you.”

Too charming. A flustering rush of flattery washed over you—warm, fuzzy, prickly heat of the back of your neck. Your annoyance at him was never genuine, but it certainly wasn’t after watching him speckle his jumpsuit with condensation in effort to resist breaking a code of conduct. Though, you were still strategizing how long it would take with your deft fingers down your underwear in order to rid your own need, and sit at your desk without chewing through the particle board, too.

Reading your mind, he put the soda away, and approached you with two palms on your nape, frigid fingers laced behind your neck and cold thumbs stroking your jaw. He dropped his head to the side, and maintained unblinking eye contact through his slow disapproving shake, resentment festering in his desperate gaze. “If I don’t get a few minutes alone with you today, I’m gonna go insane,” he stated. You believed him. “I’m serious, you better scrape together a few minutes to come kiss me on my smoke break, or else.”

There was no elaboration on what ‘or else’ meant.

“I will,” you promised, weak to his kiss on your forehead.

Figuring you’d both been stalling long enough, he trailed his last goodbyes for the foreseeable future on the line of your cheek bone, your chin, bridge of your nose, corner of your lips. Wherever. He swept his hand into your own, and brought it to his mouth, hiding the beginnings of his smirk in the smooches to your knuckles. “Was the soda thing too much?”

Grinding dullness to his sharp intrigue, you rolled your eyes. “It was kind of hot, I guess,” you forced out in a monotone droll, feigning harder exasperation when his expression squinched too mirthful.

“Don’t you mean cold?”

You soured, distaste in every syllable, “Criminally unfunny.”

“I know you liked that one, sweets,” he shot back, waggling his eyebrows. “Now, let’s get to that meeting before they get any ideas about us, pretty girl.” He finished with a wink, and two giddy-up clicks of his tongue.

“I hate you.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause I adore you.”

~~~

A few kisses in the alleyway, that’s all either of you asked for. Two minutes alone. Maybe more than three sentences exchanged about matters not pertaining to work. But, no. Even when you escaped the two men at your desk reciting an encyclopedic amount of knowledge about some type of engine you didn’t care about, you were roped into giving directions to the shop over the phone while shuffling through invoices in Mr. Moore’s office. And when Eddie got you pressed against the wall in the storage room, someone yelled for him to help with a rush job, killing the mood. To make matters worse, the grueling week ended with you and Eddie being scheduled on the same lunch slot, but with the approaching deadline for expense sheets being due at the end of the day, you were planning to eat yours at your desk, and avoid the torture of sitting next to him without being able to touch him like you wanted.

You opened the fridge and took out the Buckley special. Yellow squash casserole with a side of Shake ‘n Bake chicken. Eddie’s teal and purple lunch bag contained an extra helping of both. It’d become customary for Robin's mom to cook extra, and pack it away for you to bring for him. His actual lunch was in a paper bag next to it. Big spoiled man.

Speaking of, he was at the sink; sleeves rolled up his wrists, scrubbing himself clean with Fast Orange. Bitter citrus stung your nose as he lathered up his hands, working the pumice into the smudges of grease around his knuckles.

Mr. Moore got your attention without introduction. “I’m taking the wife out to that new Italian restaurant. Should’a asked her if she wanted Italian food, but oh well. We’re swingin’ by the sign shop next to it, and makin’ real sure our logo’s nice and big on that banner for tomorrow.” He accentuated the importance of David’s Auto Repair with high brows, and a canted head. He also managed to pronounce it both Eye-talian, and Uh-talian in the same thought. “Be back in, uhh—hour ‘n a half, maybe?” He swung his keys into his fist on his way out.

The group for lunch would be smaller, then. Maybe you could do your paperwork at the table, and get away with playing footsie with your favorite mechanic. Yipee.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Kevin announced, and you both looked at him over your shoulders. You were sorting the lunches to get the casseroles in the microwave, and Eddie was rubbing an extra squirt of Dawn between his fingers. Exceptionally mundane. “I was so impressed by that coffee this morning, I’m going down to the diner and ordering myself a sandwich and dessert. Prob’ly finish it up with another cup’a coffee after. Gonna make it a whole forty-five minute ordeal,” he sold the significance with several nods.

His immediate disappearance out the lobby door after his statement was strange, but you shrugged at each other, and went back to the lunches and hand washing.

“D’you know where those bottles of wax are?”

You shook your head. Eddie shook his head slower. A heavy thread of tension bred awareness between your two bodies strung taut from pent up urges.

“Weird,” Carl huffed. “I swear I just had ‘em. Well, shit. Can’t finish this car without at least one. I’ll go pick some up at the hardware store. Be back in a few,” he let you know, voice echoing off the hallway walls on his way to his truck.

Cold, warm, hot. Your blood buzzed. The bell above the front door dinged as it latched closed. Left behind was a lobby empty of people, garage paused in limbo, and a building cast in silence. You turned to Eddie. Dawning comprehension overtook your faces, wide eyes fixed on each other.

“Holy shit,” he exhaled, and you were already shoving your food back in the fridge, smashing his bologna sandwich in the process. Eddie cursed again, “Holy shit!” and snatched the hard bristle brush, scouring the dirt from under his nails, between his fingers, up his arms until the water ran clear and his skin burned pink. The same could be said for the grime on his cheeks. His light blue coveralls were soaked from the water dripping down his neck, but his face was spotless. Only the best for your lips.

“Oh, fuck, Eddie,” came your relief.

He accepted your willowy clutch on his sleeves. “It takes—It takes four minutes to get to the hardware store,” he stuttered in excitement, counting on his fingers behind your back, “so eight minutes roundtrip, factor in another eight for parking, looking for the wax, and checking out. That gives us sixteen minutes!”

Sixteen minutes where? Behind you was a plastic table which wobbled from an uneven foot. In the lobby was your desk in full view of the windows. In the bay were cars neither of you were quite brave enough to chance a stain on a seat.

“Um, um,” Eddie’s quick thinking trembled, about to suggest he take you there on the unforgiving tile floor, when he remembered, “Oh! My van! I brought my van.” He grasped you by the shoulders, shaking passion down to your toes about the hunk of metal parked outside his trailer when you visited. “I brought my van! I brought my van to drop off some amps at Gareth’s before the show!”

Rattled, you went to give him a thumbs up in full agreement, but he grabbed your hand, and bolted. You half-complained, half-shrieked, “You don’t need to drag me!” Reckless youth inspired him, broad grin loud and clear in his unadulterated sprint towards the OPEN sign and flipping it to display CLOSED. You skidded and bumped into him, bodies converging in true laughter. He caught you, he always caught you, and hauled you to the glass door, slowing in a smooth stride to open it for you. Always opening it for you. The garage was baked in sunshine, streaming through the warehouse windows on the bright day. Eddie’s boots clunked loud on the floor. A rock in the alleyway ricocheted off his shoe, bouncing off the tire of your temporary five star hotel.

The covert brown and cream van sat parked amongst the brick, gravel, and curls of dead leaves playing in the gentle breeze. It sat in full view of cars passing on either end of the back street. You hoped they were watching.

He wrenched one half of the creaky back doors open, and ushered you in the hollow between him and the carpeted floor, engulfing your face with his citrusy palms. “Don’t wanna waste a second,” he asserted in a winded breath, blurring your mind with a heady kiss, and impatient pat on your backside.

Rocks crunched under his boots. Two sturdy hands cupped the back of your thighs, helping you hop up onto the back of his van in a thrill of flirty giggles, weak for how bad he wanted you. Your calves slid against the warm metal bumper, your feet dangled by the exhaust pipe, your knees trapped his hips between your legs. His thick fingers sank into your fat, thumbs particularly bruising. Being everything he wanted, you snagged him closer by the collar, mouths almost meeting, and tilted yourself on the outline straining his coveralls, looking into his big brown eyes with a plea when the lone impact sweltered under your skin.

He hiked your knee to his waist, exposing you more to his packed heat aching to see you again. “C’mon,” he said, lips loaded with devilishness, “can’t stand to spend another second out here where I can’t have you.”

Anyone cruising by could bear witness to Hawkins’ number one Satanist loading a pretty young thing in the back of his ice cream sandwich colored van, and make assumptions.

Bless them.

You scooted backwards into the belly of the dragon’s lair. For an old beater used for transporting band equipment, he took good care of it. The carpet was clean. The wood paneling up the sides remained unscuffed. The back seat was taken out to make room for a hard case for a guitar, and two large amps wrapped in a spare comforter to prevent damage on either. And that’s where your observations ended.

Eddie’s indecent gaze was set on the stretch of white cotton under your dress. Nothing could break his stare as he threw his hair in a low bun, grabbed either side of the metal doorframe, stepped one foot on the edge, and bounced the van twice before hauling himself—and his manic smile—inside.

The acoustics amplified the door slamming shut.

His boots made for two heavy lovedrunk steps. Bruises were earned on his knees, dropping to them where your hem had ridden up, keen eyes traveling the valley between your thighs, up to the soft round of your nipples. Expecting his imminent weight, you laid back. Heat from the floor warmed you through your clothes. He crawled over you; one hand by your hip, the other next to your shoulder. You were lying beneath him for the first time, and he behaved long enough to memorize your gentle grin, and adoring squint.

“Oh, you’re gonna be the end of me,” he said, accent thick in his throat, ripe with lust. The gravel alone had your hands on the back of his neck, attempting to pull him down, to continue the momentum. But he didn’t budge. Distant in the blood rush, he found a bit of sobriety to ask, “D’ya mind if I get you dirty? I’m kinda gross.” His coveralls were marked with grime, dusted with dirt, splotched with oil. The overt blue collar status of his job opposed the unblemished burgundy and stark white tee of yours, sitting at a desk and answering phones in semi-working A/C.

You admired the mental fortitude it took to ask you first, but now was not the time to be a gentleman.

“So get me gross,” you replied, and a flicker of revelation stirred in his features. “I want to be gross with you.” You, Munson, The Freak of Hawkins, the one who everyone avoided; he who was rejected for being unapologetically himself. Taking advantage of his solid shoulders, you peeled yourself off the floor, and from the depths of belonging, you set fire to his kindling. “Make me fucking dirty.”

Eddie’s mouth pursed, then stretched thin, cheeks high, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “My pleasure.”

Plush lips crashed onto yours, body covering you in desperation, touch starved. His weight hugged you, pinned you. He flattened his arm alongside your head for support, and welcomed your legs bent around the length of his backside. Playfully suggestive hums followed his greedy hand scaling your thigh. Short layers of his hair fell forward, tickling your cheeks in summer innocence, while down below his thumb grazed the narrow string of your thong strapped over your hip in a fraction of the hunger he had for you. One trace under your panties, and the kiss went sloppy with tongue; slick mouths mashing, teeth knocking, jaws aching, and lips swollen. Aggressive, possessive, and dizzy. Your dress bunched around your waist. Rugged fabric rasped where your chests met. Smears of grime, dust, oil dirtied you.

Because the clock was ticking, you sped things up with a squeeze around his ass. Eddie listened. Oh, Eddie listened. He took the thrust in stride, pressing down on your need, and catching your forehead with his. The pain was negligible. A gift, even, to hold your gaze when you clawed for the waist of his coveralls, and harnessed a hotter tension on your underwear. A concentrated craze blunted by the thick layers separating you. You lifted your hips for him, spurring more, faster, pouring your strength into earning a faint squeak on the van’s suspension.

He nosed your chin up, and slipped painful kisses over your jaw, finding the spot below your ear to laud, like you did to him, sucking and releasing when your whine doubled. “Pretty,” he moaned into a harder kiss along the trail of spit his breath cooled. The edge of his teeth scraped another fragile gasp. He rocked his hips for a better one. “Love the way you sound.”

Grasping for clarity in the haze, you reminded him, “Just for you.”

“Fuck” —his voice cracked in the sprint to recover what those three little words did to him— “that’s fuckin’ right just for me.”

Copying what you did in the breakroom, he brought his hand up from your waist to move your shirt out of the way, exposing the meat at the base of your neck. Too excited, he left a map of his teeth. The bite stung your nails into his back. “Sorry,” he regretted, but you denied your pained gulp of air, rubbing your cheek along his temple in a head shake, S’okay. He ran his tongue over the grooves as an apology, anyway. Tracking the dips and curves, licking, suckling, and nipping however hard he could to make you scratch circles on his scalp while struggling with the two syllables of his name.

His hair smelled of fertile soil and charred earth, a tang of metal and new tires.

You gave yourself over to the garden of his scent, sunshine against your eyelids. Beyond the fatigue in your inner thighs was his constant, eager, chase. Chewing through his leash. Gnawing at his restraints. You focused on the long graze of friction, and forgot your surroundings which did not serve the fleeting jolts of pleasure between your legs, or the groping at your tits. You didn’t know there was an issue until Eddie’s frustrated grunt led to a harder tug at the unforgiving neckline of your dress, and finally, he shoved himself upright.

“How the hell do I get this off you?”

That explains why he was grabbing at both sides beneath your arms in search of a zipper.

Blinking, suddenly coming back to Earth, you contained your snort at his distressed motioning at the offensive garment enough to tell him, “It’s in the back,” and added, “like most dresses made in the last two, or three decades.”

He beckoned for you to sit up—a sharp gesture, but not without reason—and with your arms around his neck, he unzipped it with such speed, the plastic teeth should’ve melted from the traction. As he lowered you, the straps slipped from your shoulders, thick fingers inviting the release down to your elbows, breadwinner fists folding the top of the dress over on itself, joining where the bottom was scrunched around your middle. You’d only shaken the straps from your wrists when your body rocked side to side; a victim to his fumbling way of untucking your shirt, dying from suspense.

Stale air struck you from navel to neck.

His warm tongue was on you. “Oh—mm!” your voice raised a girlish notch. Two fat laps into coaxing your nipple tall, and fresh embarrassment ramped up your cheeks from the choked noise you made. You arched into his mouth for more, seeking foundation on his hands when an accidental skim of his teeth piqued your nerves alight. Rolling your head back, you found him through touch, starting with his wrists, working up to his knuckles, and curved squeeze cupping your tits together. He showed you how his mouth watered at the sight. Switching sides, he gifted the other stiff bud with a wet swirl, slipping over it again and again, gaining a squirm in your hips when he changed the speed—and without a break, he went back to the first to suckle, and his unintentional moan slipped out louder than yours when he pulled off.

He released a ragged breath into the valley between your breasts, “Couldn’t help myself.”

His determination throbbed impressions along your body even after he sat on his knees, leaving aches behind as a result of the sixteen short minutes he had with you. The adrenaline stayed in his shaky fingers. The top button of his coveralls dodged his pinch, eluding him. Another attempt, and a darker shade of red crept up his throat. “God fucking damnit, why’d I wear the ones that fucking button all the way down,” he fumed, wishing he could rip it open like the metal snap pair. You peered at his predicament through your lashes, and helped him out.

You tucked your chin to your shoulder in a pout, and competed for his attention, “Hurry up.”

“I know, sweet—” he verbally hit the brakes.

All too pretty, you pushed your tits together and strummed your fingers over your nipples in easy flicks, using his spit to skate over the peaks. You opened your legs wider, feeling his eyes devour you between the thighs. “I’ve missed you all week,” you said. His pulse jumped at the tiny excuse for underwear wedged further into the split, trimmed hair growing on either side.

Too long of a pause passed where his expression was slack. “Jesus Christ.” Working faster, he tore through the rest of the buttons, possibly losing one in the process, and shucked the jumpsuit over his shoulders. He flapped his arms to get the sleeves off, and his stark black tattoos made an appearance. The clumsy way he undressed shouldn’t have an affect on you, but when he took hold of the stuck cuff and the plastic beads clicked together on his bracelet, fresh roots of attraction thrived. Underneath his workwear a white ribbed tank top stretched over his chest. It must’ve been bought long ago when he was a size smaller, the bulk he’d packed on at the garage filled out the seams to their limit. Soft definition contoured the sun around his muscles. Veins strained the surface of his forearms, streaking shadows through the golden rays. Sparse curls fanned over the top of the neckline, thicker under his arms, and dark where his shirt rode up.

The jumpsuit hung loose around his hips, giving a peek at his boxers.

“You don’t wear jeans under those?”

“No? Did you think I did?”

The thought never crossed your mind until it was the only thing on your mind. You just assumed he would, so you shrugged, thinking of quickies in the future.

Eddie’s tolerance for conversation was low. A shuddered exhale blew past his lips, easing his hand down the front of his coveralls, pumping along the length fighting for his attention while he obsessed with what laid before him. Irresistible temptations which would forever change the way he looked at you were created the moment you touched yourself for him. Two fingers, two little circles over your underwear. You lured him, hypnotized him, sighing sweetly at the satisfaction. His bicep jumped in strength to restrain his pace, forearm pulsing from the choke he had on his base.

“Better calm down,” you teased in a slow lilt.

He scoffed—shallow in mockery, but burdened by the truth of the lines softening around his eyes. Shoving his coveralls low enough for his ego to stretch freely against his boxers, he walked his hands beside your body until his mouth was posed above yours. A suggestion of touch hovered over your knuckles rolling in a rhythm to honor yourself. “I haven’t known calm since I met you.” Your face scrunched cutely at the compliment, and you stopped adding fuel to your fire by bringing both arms around his neck, preparing your lips for a kiss which would not come. “I haven’t known calm since I met you,” he repeated. “So why start now?”

Unexpected pleasure consumed you. Eddie rocked his hips forward, and the raw glide of his cock with the thinnest separation of fabric possible stole anything that wasn’t animal instinct. You locked your ankles behind his thighs, drove the thrust deeper, and he answered by grinding down, working his base between your lips, loyal to you and the sweat beading on his brow.

You wrenched his tank top in your fists and felt it go tight where your chests merged, grazing over your nipples harsher with each rut. His shoulders shifted under your curious roaming, bulk of his body withdrawing. He didn’t stray far, only to tuck his forehead to your neck where he could hear the catch in your throat and the beat of your heart. Cozying to a place so near, you heard his guitar pick schlink past the beads of his necklace. Adjusting, he slipped into a deeper position between your legs, and a kiss was dipped to the top of your collarbone, long lashes brushing your skin as his eyes fell closed.

Cradled as one, Eddie dragged his cock down your heat, and followed the new angle up. Pitiful begs broke faster than his jagged groan. His fat tip notched itself at the top of your tender lips, nestled where your thong gathered, and he kept you on the precipice of your moan—of which you crashed into splendidly.

“That’s—god, Eddie, right there,” you babbled into a whimper.

“Fuck, such a pretty sound, baby,” his voice faltered on the endearment, panting hot and sticky on your throat.

The damp spot on his boxers grew. His unrelenting strokes over your clit fast-tracked you both towards the edge.

“Did you—condoms?”

Perking with interest at your hitched whisper, his stubble scrubbed your jaw in a delight of scratches on his way to nose at your cheek. “Picked ‘em up on my way home last night.” The suggestive rasp in his voice took residence in your rib cage, smitten by the thought of him going through a checkout so he was prepared to fuck you the next day. “They’re in the.. the..”

The rate at which his soul left his body would surprise grim reapers.

“Where’re they?”

Understanding your concern, he kept his eyes screwed shut and whittled at the knot between his brows with his knuckle, drilling away the irritation at himself. “They’re in the glove compartment.. of my car.”

“Oh.” The disappointment was brief. Your body clung to the fever he set, knowing you were both close, and paradise was another weekend away. Thinking quickly, you cupped his cheeks and put a swing in your tone, “We can do other stuff!” Hoping it was good enough, you scrutinized his expression, watching the words register, sink in, brighten his pupils into unholy territory at the idea.

The charm of his dimple was the cherry on top of his two front teeth emerging from the leap of his lips. Earnesty from a thousand endless wells poured out of him, “I love other stuff,” he said, imbuing each round word with a secret.

Jumping up, his enthusiasm was hampered by the roof. “Close call,” he commented to himself, narrowly dodging a concussion. He crouched to some degree, and made his way over to the amps, hiking up his coveralls to his hips as he went. The sheer lust in his weight pressing you to the floor was sorely missed, but you sat up to watch him waddle the amps to the center of the van and tip them, guiding their front plates down flat.

You puzzled out why he would line them up like a short mattress, and began salivating at the thought of him sitting on the additional height, and having his cock better in line with your mouth. “Are those for you?” Eagerness lifted your voice, swam in your glossy eyes. Eddie should be thanking the stars he landed someone so enthusiastic about drinking him whole after putting in hours around the shop, but instead of getting his brain-stopped-working glazed over stare, he slapped the amps twice.

“These are for you, pretty girl. Come sit down. I gotta thank you, remember?”

A memory of torn nylon and unfulfilled promises sparked at his phrasing.

Gotta thank you.

Getting to your feet, you arranged your arms for a bit of modesty, and snuck past the back windows, walking on shaky legs to where he kneeled at one end of the makeshift bed. Pure affection spotlighted you as the sole receiver of his enraptured smile, face aglow. He squeezed the tips of your fingers as you sat, and his lips were the softest thing to grace your cheek. It was the sweetest you’d seen him, especially when he anchored his palms to your hips, and his nerves crept in.

“Just, uh, tell me—or, let me know if I’m doing something you don’t like, okay?”

You tittered, “Okay,” as if you weren’t on the brink of unraveling regardless of skill, or even effort.

Putting faith in the durability of the hard shell encased amps, you leaned back on your hands, lowering to your elbows on the texture plastic, relaxing through the suspense of being on display for someone for the first time—and in broad daylight, too. Dim bedside lamps and flattering angles could obscure much, but why hide anything when your boyfriend spent the better part of his week biting at the cage of adult responsibilities keeping him from you? He’s the one who hid the new order of car wax for an excuse to fuck you sloppy in the back of his van. You basked in his reaction.

Eddie’s hands wandered the curves spread on the pedestal before him. One palm cupped your chest where his spit dried to a sheen, teasing your nipple lightly; juxtaposed, the other shaped itself over your waist and hips, clamping on your knee and smoothing his muzzled grip up your thigh. They joined to ruck the hem of your dress higher. But before the reveal, he bent over the slope of your body to cherish the glitters of sweat sparkling across your sternum. The minutes working against your escapade were unforgiving, but he chose to dedicate a few moments to your natural salt as he hooked his fingers under the stretch of your underwear. The cotton stuck to the praise he’d given you thus far, damp and tight, a work of art. Moving them aside, he stayed kissing the curve of your belly.

Intense, hot-blooded throbs of desperation concentrated on the immediate relief of your wet heat being exposed for appreciating. Fingertips caressed into a curl for his knuckles to adore your puffy lips plumped together, tracing up the other side with his thumb, and cresting the short curls at the top. A tortured lurch in your hips followed his touch when he took it away. Not a strong enough man to deprive his girl for long, he allayed you in kiss down your antsy chase, and sat back on his calves, landing his gaze where his fantasies only imagined.

He didn’t do anything for a few seconds.

Sunlight streamed from the window over his shoulder, shining radiance on the glisten made for him.

His lungs emptied in a thin, wispy breath.

Manners vanished when it came to a starving man. Your excited gasp lapsed into a spell of stunned giggles, which shot into an open-mouthed ah! No composure to spare, he dove in, shouldering one of your legs and hooking an arm around to pry your thong out of his way. Fat tongue, longer than you knew, buried between your lips. Insistent mouth framed by your pussy. Jaw slack to lap up his reward. He leaned his entire being into licking inside you, and dragging upwards, mixing your arousal with his spit and swirling it in a heavy circle. A single direct graze, and your chest rose and fell in stuttered bursts, shaking through the beginning of a sweet whimper. A light suckle from him pulling off to swallow the taste, and escaping your throat was a noise capable of convincing him God was real.

Attentive eyes connected over your mound. Big, brown, and pleased. Pupils inundated by curiosity, yet abundantly aware. Respecting you to the highest degree, he edged his fixation, surrounding your swollen clit with his full lips to feel you throb through the contact. “Eddie—” Your nipples hardened through the helpless pant of his name at the first true suction. Increasingly mesmerized by the response he earned when he added pressure, he stamped his tongue to his top lip and dropped it to his bottom, adding the sort of strokes that had your hand in his hair. “Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum so fast,” you rushed out. The shame in your whisper felt less like shame and more like a compliment when you held the back of his head, and tilted yourself in offering.

In one solid action, you were yanked to the edge of the amp by his grip twisting around your dress, and he looped his arms around your hips to hug you closer still, sealing your gift to his mouth. Muffled whines of gratitude came from his throat, so thankful for the opportunity, eyelashes batting heavily at the privilege of your inner thighs squishing his cheeks. Too beautiful. Could watch it for hours if you had the time.

You stretched out on your five star hotel bed, and closed your eyes, focusing on the articulation of his tongue against your need.

Steady licks devolved into wet kisses sucked between your lips. Pleasure bloomed from the place he persisted, weaving warmth from your stomach to your fingers in his loose curls. You swept his bangs from the beads of sweat plastering them to his forehead, raking them back with your fingernails on his scalp, luxuriating in the connection of your honeyed caress and his moan rumbling against your core.  “Feels so—so fucking good,” you gushed.

The weight of one of his arms let up. Smooth calluses swept to your knee, rubbing the spanse of your thigh before shaking a handful of your fat, and leaving a sting of his handprint behind. Your body rocked from him shifting under your legs. Bumpy actions led to his mouth withdrawing, and the sounds of him making out with your cunt were replaced by your heartbeat hammering in your ears. He sat up to his knees briefly, and came back to tend to you in a distracted rhythm, clothes rustling in the process. A question formed in your head, but before you could ask it, he latched his pout around your clit, and worked you into a frenzy.

Pressure prodded at your entrance. One finger glided in without trouble. He fucked you with two, then. Two crooked inside, knuckles shoved against the hypersensitive skin running slick with arousal. He strove for a response until your heels dug into his back, and he knew the sensations were linked—inside and out, mouth and fingers.

Then he took his hand away.

You were left feeling empty when there was nothing to clench around, but his devotion didn’t waver. Your muscles twitched at each immaculate lick, thighs closing in on him, too close to care about whatever else he was doing. You concentrated on yourself, arching into your hands, spoiling yourself with fluttery traces over your nipples, rolling the buds in light pinches at the enthusiasm he had for savoring you. The constant vibrations of satisfaction he hummed on your pussy were enough to have you dripping, and when his big fingers stretched you open again, pumping you full in a few thrusts along the base of nerves which burned your cheeks, the van echoed every indecent soppy smack.

And again, there was a sensation of him curving his fingers deeper than normal before his shoulder dropped, and viscous yearning flowed after the emptiness.

A repetitive soft thumping noise blended to the back of your consciousness.

Eddie committed his sense of self to making you cum. Learning the unambiguous signs of your release, and being the reason they manifested, became his purpose. Sucking ceaselessly, investing the curve of his lips, his agile tongue, his entire mouth to heed the steady motion. Fingers still coated in sticky lewdness, they returned to fuck you too. Your deep breaths turned shallow, stomach seizing on moans and releasing them in trembling gasps. Waves on waves on waves of bliss crested under your hot skin, and your voice went too tight in your throat to not drive him crazy, “Eddie, I’m gonna—!”

Groans in the lower octave of a man enjoying himself shaped your release crashing over you.

The intimacy of his tongue on your oversensitive clit was incomparable, sending you into shamelessly grinding on his mouth, huffing out tiny whimpers as your muscles braced around him. Tighter, and tighter, until the tension became too much, and you were shivering for his mercy, riding the last jolts of your climax snug against his nose. “Please,” you squirmed for less, then when he gave you less, your ankles locked behind his back through the torture of a few more.

Doses of euphoria swam in your veins. Sinking from your high, heaviness blanketed your limbs. Bonelessness seeped from top to bottom. Tingly warmth took over, relaxing you to a state of clarity, flourishing in the scratch of Eddie’s five o’clock shadow on your inner thighs. He let go of your underwear, issuing an apology for where the material cut into your skin with a gentle roam over your hip as both hands left you.

The bend where the underside of your knees draped his shoulders bounced at an impressive speed.

You peered over your curves to sate your curiosities. Eddie’s temple rested on your leg, bangs askew and hair a mess of frizz and curls stuck to the sheen on his neck. He’d yet to move from his position, laying his head where he could, face angled to admire his work, eyes heavy-lidded past the point of inebriation. Ambient sun decorated the glisten around his mouth. A gleam of drool wet his red lips, flushed darker than his cheeks, which he pressed into a slow swallow over your tender cunt.

His exhale cooled the wetness before his tongue warmed it up.

A sharp hiss jumped into a whine of his name. “S’too much,” you strained. A wrecked man, Eddie couldn’t hear you through the pride you afforded him, flirting delicate kisses on your overworked clit, surrendering to the hold you had over him, and reveling in the aftermath of making you cum. Gradually going limp, his nose mashed to your mound, mouth hung open, pushing your orgasm in lazy laps. Another cry, beg, aftershock of his name and the burden of his forehead fell to your hip crease, filling his lungs in uneven drags. The break in sensory overload was appreciated; a sigh of relief.

You sat up and dropped your legs from their mantle, intent on clearing the fuzz from your mind, but—Eddie’s elbow rubbed a fierce tempo along your calf. The motion synced with the fast-paced squelch you heard earlier, before it faded to the background along with the soft thump and rustle of clothes. All of it came together in an echo of answers. Straightening up further, you witnessed exactly how worked up he was over your pussy.

Speechless awe overrode your ability to form sentences 

In the gap framed by your thighs, his body shuddered through the fervent strokes focused over his lap. With his coveralls slacked to the tops of his thighs, he cupped his balls over the waistband of his boxers, skin bouncing in his palm, soft grip protecting their load while his other hand worked his length. Clear slick trickled over his knuckles, fingers slipping over the cream gathered at the head and guiding it down. Absolutely candid in his attraction, he fucked his fist using your arousal as lube.

In just a few twists over the blushy needy tip, he pumped the base in effort to make himself last, and peeled his sticky cheek off your thigh, looking up at you. Whiskey eyes awfully honest, awfully clear and round, he said, “You’re about to make me cum so hard.” In the vocal pause, the wet glide of his palm drove him to the edge, and his tone grew pointed as he went beyond the point of slowing down, “Like, now.”

The reason behind his direness took a moment to register, but when it did, panic flickered through you.

“Oh—shit—uh,” you stuttered. He needed a place to cum, and in your post-orgasmic daze you dropped your chin to think of your tits first, but had the wherewithal to decide against the possibility of him misaiming onto your dress. Beside you, the blanket was mostly stuck under the amps, and there wasn’t an extra rag in sight. His tank top was an option, but you thought of a better one. “My mouth!” you insisted with a gesture. “I’ll—” swallow.

Eddie was already to his feet. The van rocked with his heavy boots, wide stance stretching his coveralls tight around his legs, and undershirt pushed up out of the way. He braced one hand on the roof, cushioning his head bent to the metal in order to stand, and resumed his pace. You stuck your tongue out. The immediate pressure of his cock prodded the flat middle. Tasting yourself for the first time, the tang was surprising, but welcomed by the familiar salt leaking from his tip mixing with your spit. Warming up to the blend, you swirled sultry licks on the sensitive underside he avoided, and his tattooed stomach clenched.

Sitting pretty, you knew what he liked and cupped your tits together, gazing up at him with a submissive pinch between your brows. “So goddamn hot,” he grunted out, jaw clenched as if he were mad, stroking himself faster. His middle finger rammed over your lip on every pass. It might swell. It might bruise. “So—mmm—f’king hot.” Breaths jagged, his thighs flexed from the buckle in his knees, staggering him a step forward enough to put tension on your gag reflex. You clutched his jumpsuit into your fists. His rough groans shook through his stature. Building cusps of his release stuttered his hand flying over his cock, jerking himself off in bursts as pleasure peaked under his skin. The scrunch of concentration above his nose deepened. His stomach tightened in pulses, pecs jumping with his gasp, “Gonna,” and he was spilling into your mouth.

A moan made its way through your throat before it closed in a quick swallow. Tongue out, he trembled as he coated you some more. The first two shots were heavy, the rest followed suit, filling you for another round which you accepted with your lips snug around his fat tip. He doubled over at the achy raw sensation of your cheeks hollowing. Baby, he throbbed into you, flinching, yet giving. Allowed, you polished swirls over the throbbing head, lapping up any remains. You sat there with his clean cock in your mouth, meditating on the line drawn from the tattooed dragon wrapped around the sword pointing at the trail from his navel to the thick patch of curls at his base, which you could only reach when he was going soft, as he was then.

He tucked himself into his boxers after you pulled away, and sank to his knees. The sweat on his forehead merged with yours, oily noses pressed together, eyes hardly open as he trusted you to hold him up. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” his voice came hoarse with sincerity, anchored by the current of true longing flowing from the depths of his past. “How much it means to me, making you feel good like you make me feel good.” For Eddie, having proof of the good he could provide for you validated parts of himself he hadn't acknowledged for years. “Sorry I made it about myself in the end there. I, uh—ha—I couldn’t help myself when you were getting into it, and saying my name, ‘nd stuff.” Your bark of laughter encouraged his shy giggle, all bashful and humble.

Kissing his smile, your lips connected on the fated scents of each other after a hot and heavy day at work, and he sighed into palms fitting themselves to his jaw, mouth fixed in a taut smile as he worked through the happiness welling in his throat.

You told him, “Make me cum like that, and you can do whatever you want, Munson.” He snorted at his name, and played with strands of hair over his face, hiding his stupid grin. “I’m serious. Not that I thought you’d be bad or anything, but that was beyond good. Like, really good.” You should stop talking. “And it was flattering. Like, hot. It was really hot,” you decided, “knowing you couldn’t stop touching yourself—”

“Stop,” he complained in an embarrassed whine. Unable to take praise outside the heat of the moment, his gaze made friends with the floor while he mumbled about how he was a motivated learner and pulled out all his tricks to impress you, tucking his chin to avoid owning his skill. He dropped the act on a dime. Pointing, an overabundance of pride entered his tone once more, “You, uhm.. you christened my amp.”

“Huh?” You spread your legs to see. Utter mortification stung your nerves at the sticky stream of arousal, spit, and climax drying down the side of the plastic, wetting his piece of expensive equipment. “Oh god, I’m so sorry! Is it okay? Did I damage it—?”

“I got it,” he said with a firm hand to your sternum, laying you flat.

The low rumble in his throat drew near. Staying gentle, he parted your slippery split in a deep lick to your inner heat, running his tongue in broad strokes up the extra passion made just for him, quenching his thirst before your lunch break rendezvous was over. An appreciative kiss was bestowed on your clit before he smoothed your underwear into place. He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, and helped you up. The amp was left how it was.

Eddie opened his arms, and you understood. Moving slow through the syrup in your limbs, you straddled his lap, settling yourself over his softened cock, sensitive selves brushing through clothes. He reached behind him and popped open the door. Fresh air smacked rivers of sweat, cooling and calming. You melted into the other’s embrace, bonding in the last moments of your time together.

Sun glanced off the wood paneling, casting a glow on his puffy face. Sleepy eyes, messy hair, unbearably adorable grin—the type of candid expression showing how honored he was to share the same breath in the limited space between your chests. Lovesick eyes, bed head, face he’d have to wash in the bathroom sink with hand soap. So handsome. You combed the delicate hairs at his nape up into his bun, scratching tingles through his body. The threat of being caught was ignored for one minute longer.

Traces of humor rounded his clipt tone, “I need you next weekend. ‘Kay? I don’t care what we gotta do—if we gotta send Buckley off on some island vacation—I want some real alone time with you.”

“What? Is the van not good enough?”

“No,” he answered your tease with a serious drawl, raising his eyebrows. “This was just to hold us over until then. I don’t wanna make a habit of this, ‘cause then this? This is all I’ll think about when I’m supposed to be, y’know, working. Fixing shit. Not.. picturing you with your tits out.” Speaking of the distraction, he tugged your shirt down, and you fell into a fit of giggles, snickering against the crook of his neck as you stuffed the hem in your dress, and he crawled the straps up your arms, managing to zip the back up without looking.

Of which your good mood dwindled when you collected yourself. “Aw..”

“Yeah, it’s kinda worse than I thought it’d be.. Sorry.”

Dirt, motor oil, grime. Streaks, smears, smudges. And plenty of it. The burgundy dress he adored was visibly ruined, and only half way through your clocked-in hours.

You found the silver lining. “Guess I’ll wear black from now on.”

“Black looks good on you,” he assured. You reared back to assess the damage, and he filled the stretch of his palms with two handfuls of ass, ensuring you didn’t lose balance. Always willing to be of assistance, of course. “Oh, and may I say, genius planning on your part with the car wax,” he stressed his admiration of you. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of that myself.”

Not following, you stopped scraping your nail over a patch of dust clinging to your white sleeve. “I thought you hid the car wax?”

“No..”

The next line was predictable. You would meet eyes, wait a beat, and deliver ‘Then.. who did?’ However, Eddie proved his impulsive thoughts won when devious shadows crowded the hook of his smirk, dimple arising. He opened his mouth, and you knew no good would come from it.

“I didn’t even fuck you, and you already can’t remember where you put the—Gah!” He shrieked at your pinch on his nipple, and the van rocked harder with your combined laughter, obnoxious in every organic way.

Casual wasn't an option when you wore this dress. Dialed back lost its meaning one root beer ago. The afternoon delight would live in the fibers of your unspoken language every morning when you looked at each other; coffee, cigarettes, spearmint. Goodbye normal workplace relationship, and good riddance.

~~~

Carl entered the lobby with confusion on his brow. He eyed the CLOSED sign on the door, and shuffled the bottles of wax loaded in his arms to turn it around, almost dropping them in the process. Earsplitting guitar licks and shrill vocals belonging to Iron Maiden beat on the windows to the garage, drawing his attention to the half-dressed mechanic ripping a bite out of his bologna sandwich, and flipping a socket wrench in his hand, head banging along to his music. Carl slid his side-eye away. Questions were not asked on his walk past your desk, merely serving a glance at your forkful of perceptibly congealed squash casserole which hadn’t been microwaved. Better yet, he didn’t address the canvas jacket you wore despite the visible shine dotting your forehead, nor your wheezing breaths as if you’d sat in your chair approximately thirty-nine seconds ago. He continued down the hall in silence.

The hair on your nape stood on end from someone’s gaze on you. The correct choice would be to ignore it, keep your head down, and finish the expense reports due by the time Robin picked you up. But like a good bitch, you submitted.

Waiting for you was Eddie’s cocky grin. Through the dusty glass pane indulgent curves of mischief edged his eyes into smug little crescents glinting from the secret between your bodies. Boundless amounts of vanity broadened his chest, pecs jumping as he tightened the sleeves of his coveralls tied around his waist. He peacocked in a slow turn to bend over the engine he was working on, shifting from foot to foot and leaning his hands on the car, flexing through the motion to catch swathes of shadows on the swell of his triceps leading to his hardened shoulders, strong back taking shape under his tank top. Mesmerizing. You couldn’t begin to imagine a world where you could keep the dreamy sigh out of your voice when Carl’s bewildered question arose.

“Wait—Were these here the whole time?” Judging by the plastic bounce and cardboard scramble, he had dropped one of the bottles, and when he dropped to his knees to grab it from behind a mop bucket you forgot to empty, he spotted the box of car wax you ordered at the start of the week and misplaced amongst the chaos in the storage closet.

“Oh? Were they?” you wondered. Stuffing the casserole in your mouth, the fork tines scraped across your teeth on its way out, chewing with your cheek propped on your fist. Blinking sleepily at the purply blue bruises you left on Eddie’s neck the morning before, you replied from faraway, “Weird. Thought I left them on the shelf.. Maybe the garage is cursed like Hawkins, too.”

[sl-vega]

💌 PROJECT: LOVE LIASON!

🌷 - a highschool social media au ll scaramouche x fem! reader -🌷

𝜗𝜚 SYNOPSIS: you're head over heels in love with childe, and scaramouche is (begrudingly) smitten with his "rival" mona. and, by sheer divine coincidence, you both happen to be the best friends of each other's objects of affection, so you strike a deal with each other. if scaramouche helps you ask out childe, you'll set him up with mona. so with the annual spring formal right around the corner, the two of you vow to be each other's wingmans so you can end your junior year on a high note (and maybe even kick off your senior year with a new relationship!). between, scheming, planning, and researching, you and scaramouche find yourselves developing a new relationship via helping each other out. now the real question is whether this friendship will remain as a pure platonic bond, or blossom into something more?

genre: strangers to friends to lovers, friends/classmates to lovers, pair the suitors, smau, high school au, modern au, social media au, crack, comedy

warnings: swearing, crude humour, potentially ooc, keys/kms jokes, suggestive/sensitive content, pictures used are not meant to depict y/n's physical appearance

status: ongoing

side ships: navia x chlorinde

additional notes:

this smau is heavily inspired by toradora (finished it recently and I adored it)

this will get more frequently updated (once the first chapter drops) as I have already made several chapters in advance

taglist is open! as per usual, just send me an ask or comment if you want to be tagged!

💌 means that the chapter contains written material!

dividers by @cafekitsune a + @anitalenia

ᥫ᭡ STARRING:

0.1; retired theater kids // 0.2 abandonment issues personified

PROJECT LOVE LIASON IS IN ACTION!

00-PROLOGUE; fate hates me

ACT ONE; we wing-manning?

01; we need to stop meeting like this - [💌] // 02; stalker! // 03; tag along squad! // 04; next door nuisance - [💌] // 05; bestie privelege - [💌] // 06; girl talk! // 07; smitten schemers // 08; operation: first (study) date! - [💌] // 09; mission failed successfully // 10; repaying the favour - [💌] // 11; it's not stupid if it works // 12; progress! // 13; wiki how to flirt with your crush - [💌] // 14; it's giving wattpad // 15; recon + some reconciliation // 16; free vacation?!

ACT TWO; cuz baby, you're a firework!!

17; simulanka! // 18; packing while procrastinating // 19; plotting coincidence // 20; fancy meeting you here - [💌] // 21; abort mission! - [💌] // 22; on board! // 23; taking flight // 24; injustice on air // 25; falling for you (literally) - [💌] // 26; crappy sky-fi // 27; (arguably) safe landing - [💌] // 28; checking in + checking out // 29; the most magical place on earth!™ - [💌] // 30; consumerism core!!! // 31; how do you talk to your crush? (asking for a friend) - [💌] // 32; mentally preparing // 33; kill me now - [💌] // 34; I owe you one // 35; foiled plans - [💌] // 36; - // 37; -

ACT THREE; pair the suitors

[MORE TBA]

🎀 - taglist!;

@agaygothicmushroom @035814 @freyao7, @sketcheeee @tsukimara @shyentsmissingink @justpeachyteastea @aries-afk @lxkeeeee @sakiimeo @sugxryratz @shutingstar @lalaloveallmydays @bellflower1257 @haruumei @kichiyosh1 @littlemisssatanist @dee-zbignuts @candyescapism @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @princess-peachy @franaby @jllyfsh-lvr @heusalettle, @automaticpatroltragedy, @c4ttheart, @meigalaxy @misswetty @introvertaku02, @eco-sal, @trulyylee, @lily-lmao @kazumiku, @kunikuzushis-darling, @vitanye, @livelaughlovekuni @imnotyizhuo @y00yim @ainnofinway @akagi0021 @rook-kisser @mitsuribe

[weirdmageddon]

the shift in lore literacy in homestuck’s fandom

i was thinking about how the people who got into homestuck after it ended—whose interactions with the comic are in a static, archived state, not an ongoing thing—missed out on information that was more common knowledge in the fandom at that time. i don’t know if this is true since i’m not on tiktok, but i wouldn’t be surprised if it was. the fandom certainly isn’t the same as it was before.

ive found that many people reading homestuck now simply do not understand things in homestuck that were common knowledge back in the day, with calls for “homestuck literacy classes to become mandatory” in response to baffling takes because so many people just now seem to have glazed over the comic without absorbing important plot points, and i think i know why this may be. i ended up writing a post reflecting on my time with the comic, my perspective and how ive seen this change. i still think and write about homestuck because it still fascinates me. earlier i quote retweeted that call in my thread talking about the temporal relativity of dave and rose’s god tier ascension in the green sun, saying “my homestuck literacy is 100% so guess im doing my part as a teacher by pointing out whatever i think is really cool about it”. this post im writing now started out as a reply to this tweet i got in response.

i joined the fandom in 2013. i was 11. i had been aware of it since at least late 2011, early 2012 when my friend ryan in fifth grade told me to read it but i couldn’t get past the first few pages. i remember writing a journal on deviantart around this time (late 2011-early 2012) that was mocking people who typed like gamzee, which ironically was very karkat of me. and i remember someone on flipnote hatena i was following was making flipnotes with the alpha kids.

i dont know what caused me to flip the switch into reading it but 2013. i got into it somewhere between april (i think closer to april—i remember it being quite a span of time between the last update before HOMOSUCK dropped.) this was the most recent page the comic, meaning there was no > [S] ACT 6 ACT 6 at the bottom.

i got into it during a pause in updates, which looking into it, was the year 4 megapause. i wasn’t sure of the month until seeing the news post detailing the reason for the hiatus and the status report of the comic’s development at that time. pretty cool i could narrow it down by referencing the dates of those updates and the news post to correspond with the pause!

according to readmspa, the year 4 megapause was a 59 day hiatus from Apr 14, 2013 ==> (EOA6A5) running to 12 Jun 2013, [S] ACT 6 ACT 6. then for a few months there were the first updates that i was apart of the fandom for.

and what an exciting time during the story get into the webcomic! when the updates resumed in june, part 4 of homestuck had begun. here was a glimpse of the updates in that span of time before the next hiatus began in october.

that hiatus was none other than the gigapause, the longest hiatus in the comic, which started october 2013 and lasted for a YEAR, and i already posted about what happened on the date of return.

but here were the main events happening in the story at the time i first actually got interested in it. i wasn’t aware of the full context of them then like i am now, but i was looking at the most recent updates anyway with interest:

the alpha kids just emerged as god tiers from their slabs in derse and prospit, blown up by the condesce and caliborn / lil cal-possessed b2 jack noir.

the journey to the new session started 24 hours after jack called an early reckoning in descend—for context that was about when dave entered around midnight central time and before jade even entered. it’s pretty easy to forget that side 1 of homestuck basically happens within the span of a single day—and at this point in the story, the 3 year journey (which was also 3 real life years) had just ended. john and jade emerged from the other side of the yellow yard through the fenestrated plane on LOMAX. john’s real body was asleep upon arrival in the new session, while his dreaming projection out in the dream bubbles came across vriska’s ghost ship to learn lord english lore with vriska and aranea, and go on the treasure hunt where they found the ultimate weapon at the X mark out in in the furthest ring. in the dream john stuck his hand in the juju, started warping all over canon which removed his real body from the ship on LOMAX. he zapped around for a while but eventually zapped back to LOMAX, now awake, completely out of the loop of what everyone else is up to, and bored as fuck. what was everyone else getting up to while john was asleep?

jade was now once again within the domain of the green sun. im pretty sure her space god doggy essence comes with the power to sense what was anywhere within the domain of the session since her face looks like she arrived at that spot with intent (and she literally has jack noir’s exact powers from bec’s prototyping. also this panel). she immediately dispatched b2 jack to the edge of the incinisphere, defending the newly god-tiered jane and jake. i think even if they weren’t in any danger, she would have warped to them instantly anyway because she COULD now, and i can imagine she wouldve been sooooo eager to meet everyone. even davesprite comments about her rapid departure.

the pre-scratch refugees arrived during the only time serious shit ever went down in the nobles’ months-long inert void session. the condesce used her freak psychic bronze-cerulean powers to commune with jade’s bestial side and mind controlled her, which is super dangerous as someone with the powers of a first guardian. she then used jade’s powers to corrupt jane with the tiaratop. no funtime meetup allowed!

the trolls’ meteor with rose, dave, and the remaining trolls was pulling up into the new session with no way to slow it down. grimbark jade warped there once it was in the incinisphere and took active control. she warped everyone off the trolls’ meteor and sent them to LOMAX.

as john was losing his mind on LOMAX waiting for everyone, the meteor crew warped in. after 3 years he finally reunited with rose and dave, and at least saw the trolls in person. close curtains, end of A6A5. this was the newest [S] flash page at the time, one of my first impressions of this comic, and still one of my favorite flashes. knowing the context of the flash in the story only enhances the retrospective joy i have at getting into the comic at the time i did because it’s such an anticipated moment in the story for everyone, while for someone with no context of the story it was still enjoyable.

so that’s what was going on plotwise when i joined the fandom.

from this time, through those few months of updates and through the gigapause, i was familarizing myself with the characters in the story and overseeing the state of fanbase, getting myself acquainted with the story and wrapping my head around everything.

at that time i found that a new-ish group called colab HQ who were producing a let’s read homestuck series on youtube. hearing the voices and the pacing of it like that really, really eased me into it (maybe it was my adhd that gave me trouble actually starting it?). i caught up to a certain point using lets read homestuck and from that point was able to continue with the comic on my own, and by the time the gigapause came to a close i was fully caught up. i remember the rebranding of colab hq into voxus about a year and a half after i discovered them.

but.. back to the main point of my post. even these posts from hussie’s tumblr exist in archived states. how many new fans know about hussie’s old tumblr? i don’t know, unless theyre a new fan that must scour the internet for more deep more dives on homestuck and its fandom as a whole. but since hussie deleted his tumblr (it exists archived now on homestuck.net which, alongside from the unofficial homestuck collection, has nearly singlehandedly kept the most important relics of the fandom and lore archived), that page is not an active part of the fandom now, because it’s gone. it’s a pile of bones. it’s not living and breathing. it’s in an archived state. the whole thing is already there. homestuck and its fandom history is something you now binge instead of slowly consume and meld with as it comes out. it’s now this rapid information intake that you might forget about if you read it now instead of engaged alongside it. you’re not surrounded by people actively talking and theorizing about developments anymore. the ability to have those sorts of conversations during the ongoing development of the story reinforced concepts, ideas, and lore over and over as we tried to make sense of it.

being in a fandom when the author is still delivering the story is like nothing else. it allows you grow alongside the characters and engage meaningfully with the media and people in the fandom space around you. it feels like you’re participating IN the media itself, especially if you’re interfacing with the creator. it’s in always having something to theorize or talk about and speculate. and people become very aware of these sorts of forgotten story facts because they were applying the logic of the newest official post from hussie into making their sburb ocs or something and share resources and discussion posts about “what just happened in this update?? recap????” it was this cultural osmosis thing. i think this is why homestuck literacy is now at an all time low, at least from what i can see on twitter.

reading homestuck then vs now is like the difference between serialized shows with spaces between episodes to discuss stuff and time to reflect and learn and become attached to the story, narrative, worldbuilding and its characters, vs the netflix model where it’s all dropped all at once and people forget about it after binging.

at this point in time im getting the sense that “homestuck elders” now are no longer just people who were there since 2009-2010, but now also people who were there while it was still updating, probably stretching into 2014-2015. there are many sources of lore that were common knowledge in the fandom at the time that, since becoming susceptible to the deletion of content and link rot, and with the thanosing of mspaforums, are no longer accessible at the source. and a lot of people moved on after it ended, especially following the epilogues, the kate drama, and the whatpumpkin-sarah z drama, leaving a void of information behind if not for archivists and people such as me who continue to keep old facts relevant in discussions. my friend has called me a fandom scholar before and seeing this post i think i get what they mean.

EDIT: there is a series of video essays ive watched multiple times (because theyre that good) and they are exactly what modern fans need to see more of. they really help contextualize the comic and the themes present in it help you appreciate the basic fabric of homestuck a hell of a lot more. i highly recommend them and encourage any fan of homestuck to watch them, or someone considering getting into homestuck to watch the first one.

i think this is arguably as close to the “mandatory literacy class for homestuck” that person was talking about as you can get, especially the first video.

additionally, there is also the website https://rafe.name/homestuck which is essentially a sparknotes for homestuck and can help you follow developments in the comic itself.

[moonlightspencie]

only like you can

Description: based on ‘already over’ by sabrina carpenter— ex boyfriend!james and reader just can’t seem to stay away from each other.

Pairing: James Potter x fem!Reader

Warnings: some suggestive content (pg-13 pretty much), angst with a happy ending, lily evans is mean in this one for the plot

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: aging them up to allow for the suggestive content. they’ll be 19 in this (first year starts at 14 instead of 11)

here’s the playlist

Running through the halls as a first year with your brand new group of friends, you never would imagine you’d end up dating one of them. You definitely never thought you’d have a break-up with one of them.

But, you just had to fall for Jamie in your third year. And he just had to ask you out in fifth. You were blindsided by his confession in the best way, and falling into a relationship with your closest friend was as easy as falling asleep.

Overexcited hugs after he’d win a quidditch game turned into kisses. Whispers of goodnight as you headed off to different rooms turned into sneaking into one another’s beds. The casual ‘I love you’ between friends turned into a kind of love that had both of you thinking about the future.

But, things changed again after a year.

Accusations started getting thrown around left and right. He’d say that you weren’t making time for him anymore. You’d argue that he seemed more interested in spending time with Lily. A back-and-forth would always spread like wildfire until you couldn’t breathe.

The break up was mostly mutual. You said you wanted it to happen, but you knew you were lying to yourself. He agreed, but it was only because he didn’t want you to know he was still invested. It left both of you putting happy faces over broken hearts, agreeing that you’d still be friends despite the fact that you knew you’d never get over him if he stuck around. But, never getting over him still felt better than losing him entirely.

You were sat in the common room, laughing over some dumb joke Sirius had made at Lucius Malfoy’s expense. The fire was blazing, keeping you all warm in the late-autumn that was otherwise freezing. You were next to James on the couch, Sirius was on the floor in front of the fire, and Remus and Peter were in a couple of chairs. It was nice. Cozy. But, coming down from your laughter, you let your head drop to the side, finding a familiar comfort.

Remus looked at you as you did, quirking a brow. You’d landed on James’ shoulder.

“You two back together?” he asked.

“Oh,” you said, quickly lifting your head again. “Sorry, Jamie.”

He shook his head. “It’s alright. Habit.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

A tense silence fell over the small group. Then, James stood.

“I’m going to grab a sweater. Be right back,” he announced, walking towards the stairs.

You looked after him until he was out of your sight, turning your head to find three pairs of eyes on you.

“Love,” Sirius said cautiously, almost grimacing.

“I know,” you sighed, leaning back into the couch. “I know. I just— It’s hard.”

He sighed, moving from his spot to sit in James’ spot on the couch. He tossed an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you into his side a little.

“Might help if you two quit finding ways to be next to each other every time we go someplace,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “I know.”

“Why did you two break up if you both clearly want to be around each other all the time?” Peter asked, furrowing his brow.

“We weren’t good together.”

The three boys shot each other similar looks, knowing there was nothing they could say to help you in that moment. You merely sighed, staring into the fire as Remus tried to redirect the conversation.

James came back a minute later as they chatted over some fiasco in Potions class, a sour look on his face when he saw Sirius had taken his spot. His brow only set harder when he saw the arm around your shoulders. He sat in another chair, following your gaze into the fire, not wanting to look at his best friend and now-ex-girlfriend practically cuddling. It made him sick.

You didn’t feel much better, noticing him looking so downtrodden and being unable to kiss away that frown of his.

But you had to remind yourself of why you broke up in the first place. ‘It’s for the better’, you kept repeating to yourself in your head, trying to block out how badly you wanted to just talk to him. It was getting ridiculous, you knew that. It didn’t make it any easier, though.

“I think I’m ready for bed,” you mentioned after half an hour of sitting quietly.

A small chorus of ‘goodnight’ followed you to the stairs, and you trudged up to your room, feeling gloomy. You brushed your teeth, washed your face, and pulled on your pajamas. It was days like this that you were glad you got a single room for the year. You settled into your bed, cracking open the book on your nightstand to practice a little escapism. You were two chapters deep when you heard a knock on your door.

You crawled out of bed, rubbing your eyes as you went to open the door. When you pulled it open, your eyes went a little wider.

“Hey,” James said, looking shy.

You swallowed. “Oh. Hi.”

“Could we talk? Please?”

You contemplated it for a moment, trying to tell yourself it was a bad idea. But it was late. And you missed him. And you really didn’t want to turn him away.

“Yeah. Come in,” you said quietly, a small smile on your face.

He walked in slowly, unsure, as if he hadn’t spent the entirety of the past year sneaking in every other day. You looked at his back for a moment, noticing him with his hands up in front of his stomach.

“Don’t pick at your nails, Jamie,” you said, moving around him to sit on your bed.

He chuckled softly. “How’d you know? You couldn’t even see my hands.”

“How wouldn’t I know?”

His smile faded a bit at that. “Right.”

You sat quietly for a minute, practically hearing the gears turning in his head. He stared out the window in your room, his brows a little furrowed.

“What is it, James?”

His eyes snapped to yours. He sighed, looking at your bed.

“Can I sit?” he gestured next to you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, scooting to give him some more room.

He sat, looking around at anything but you.

“What’s up?”

He shrugged. “Uh, I don’t know. It’s probably nothing, you know.”

“You came to talk to me about it.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, chuckling to himself humorlessly. “I don’t want this to come across weird.”

“It’s fine, James. I’m used to you.”

He smiled, though it dropped quickly. “Is there something going on with you and Padfoot?”

Your eyes went wide, a laugh escaping you.

“Excuse me?”

“He took my spot on the couch. Kinda cuddling you.”

“James,” you said, getting his attention. “That’s insane. He sat with me because I was sad. He was being a friend, like every other time he’s hugged me or comforted me.”

He nodded, letting out a breath. “Sorry. Just got a little paranoid, I guess.”

“That’s okay. I get it.”

He swallowed. “Do you not want to be around me?”

“Why would you ask that? We agreed to be friends after…”

“I know, but I just don’t know how to act around you now.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this, either. We’re in a weird place, now.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out.

You looked at him for a moment, and he shot you another shy smile. It was strange to see him so timid, but you couldn’t help but smile back. Even acting so strangely, he was still the same old Jamie.

“Is that all? I’m pretty tired.”

He nodded. “Oh, yeah. That’s it. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay.”

He started standing, and you walked him to the door. He suddenly pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly to his chest. You leaned into him, relishing in that feeling while you could. He pulled away, opening your door.

“Night, Jamie.”

“Goodnight,” he smiled, not moving.

He quickly leaned down, just barely pressing his lips to yours, but it was enough to send your heart fluttering. He pulled back as quickly as he leaned in, muttering a quick ‘sorry’ before leaving. You shut your door, the tension in your body finally releasing. You fell into a restless sleep that night.

The following week felt as difficult as the first week after the break up. Sirius and Remus would try to comfort you, and Peter would offer silly jokes to stop you from looking so sad all the time.

You’d gone to dinner with Remus and Peter after they’d pleaded with you that night, figuring you still needed to eat despite your feelings. No sense in making yourself feel even worse if you could help it.

Dinner was surprisingly good. You laughed with the two boys, almost forgetting about your troubles as you chatted with them. Until you heard a pretty loud mention of ‘James’ coming from a few people down the table.

You paused, listening when you heard his name come out of Lily’s mouth. You focused hard on your plate, hoping she’d keep up her volume. Yeah, it was probably wrong to snoop, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care all that much.

“… Maybe this weekend,” she said, a few giggles coming from her friends. “He always goes to Hogsmeade on Sunday afternoons.”

“Now that he doesn’t have that girl hanging on him, you actually might have a chance,” one of her friends added in, to which you clenched your jaw in annoyance.

“Maybe. He’s been pretty off since they broke up.”

“Good,” another girl added. “It probably means he needs a reason to move on.”

You decided you’d heard enough, standing from your spot.

“Where are you going?” Peter asked, looking to Remus with a frown.

“Common room. I’ll see you guys soon,” you said, waving a goodbye to both boys.

You were fuming as you walked back to the common room. It hurt more than you thought it would to think about him with anyone else, but especially her. You’d never been too sure about her intentions with the friendship she had with James, and this just solidified your concerns. Not to mention, her friends clearly didn’t like you. You didn’t even know them, and they had to nerve to talk about you like you were merely an inconvenience the whole time. You were stewing in that feeling, trying not to let it affect you too much, and failing miserably. You didn’t even notice your name being called behind you.

“Y/N,” he called again.

You looked up, turning towards James’ voice. His face dropped when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, rushing forward to you. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “Just upset.”

“Why?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He sighed, leaning over to catch your eye. You chewed on your lip, the pit in your stomach only growing. You couldn’t stop thinking about Lily’s plan for the weekend, especially now that you were face to face with him.

“It matters to me,” he said softly. “Please? I just want to help.”

“You can’t help, Jamie,” you shook your head.

He was silent for a moment, thinking. You fiddled with your hands, looking down at your shoes. He called your name again, quietly, to get your attention. You looked up, heart still fluttering when you looked in his eyes.

“How about we go steal some of Mooney’s chocolate and just sit for a while?” he offered. “Then, maybe we can talk later?”

You couldn’t help but smile a little at the suggestion. You didn’t even think it could be considered stealing anymore. Remus always stocked up extra on his desk, knowing his roommates were prone to grabbing some every now and then.

“I’m taking that smile as a ‘yes’,” he said, a smile growing on his own face. “Come on.”

You walked alongside him as you headed towards Gryffindor tower, holding yourself back from taking his hand. Particularly flexing your self-control muscle when his fingers would brush softly against the back of your hand.

“You know, he just got some with caramel in the middle,” James mentioned as you climbed the stairs.

“Yeah? Are they any good?”

“Mm,” he nodded enthusiastically. “Very. I think you’ll like them.”

You laughed. “Sounds like you do, doesn’t it?”

He snorted a laugh. “How’d you tell?”

“It’s my sixth sense.”

“Sure, it is,” he responded. “I always thought it was knowing when I was picking at my nails.”

“See, that’s just me knowing you after all these years. Bit different.”

He chuckled, saying the password to let you into the common room. The portrait swung open, and he snuck you up to the boys’ shared room.

“Here we are,” he said mischievously, walking towards Mooney’s desk.

You shut the dorm door, walking over as he handed you a few chocolates.

“Thank you.”

“Thank Mooney,” he said, smirking. “Let’s sit. Come on.”

You took a breath, sitting with him on his bed. It all felt okay, until you remembered why you were there in the first place.

You opened the wrapping on one of the chocolates, popping it in your mouth silently. James watched you, sighing softly when you didn’t say anything after a few minutes.

“Don’t like when you’re quiet like this,” he mumbled. “Scares me.”

“Scares you?” you questioned.

“Well, last time you were quiet like this, we had a conversation that…” he shrugged. “It wasn’t very fun, was it?”

You hummed. ‘Not very fun’ was an understatement. The day you broke up, you sobbed until you threw up.

“Sorry,” you said. “I could start yelling if you’d like?”

He laughed. “Don’t think I’d like that much, either.”

You smiled, though it was half-hearted. He could tell.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

You shrugged. “I’ll just have to get over it. I don’t think there’s much to talk about, honestly.”

“Alright,” he conceded. “Would it make you feel better to… I don’t know. Read?”

“You’d read?” you asked, amused.

“No, I’d made you read to me,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Don’t know if I’m up to that, right now.”

“Later?”

“When?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow?”

“What’s today? Friday?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

You considered it, liking the idea of spending more time with him despite how bad of an idea it was to be alone. Especially after last time.

Then, a worse idea came to mind.

“How about Sunday?”

He raised a brow. “Sunday?”

You nodded. “If that’s okay. I know that’s a Hogsmeade day, but everyone will be out of the castle. We’d get to sit by the fire in the common room. It would be nice and quiet.”

He cracked a small smile. “That does sound nice. Can I pick the book?”

“Of course,” you nodded.

You knew it was a little underhanded, taking him away from Hogsmeade for the day. It was really just a form of delaying the inevitable. He was bound to move on eventually. But why did it have to happen that weekend? He could wait a little bit longer, you reasoned.

Though, you still knew the real reason was that you would do anything to keep him from hanging off of someone else’s lips. You didn’t quite care if it was a bit selfish.

Saturday came and went. Sunday morning you woke up with a small smile on your face. Despite the fact that it may have been a bad idea to set aside alone time with your ex, especially just to get him away from another girl, it felt nice to relish in the familiarity of being with him.

Hours later you were curled up on the couch with James looking over your shoulder as you read to him. He’d make a stray comment here and there about the plot or laugh at the jokes, but was otherwise surprisingly tuned in. You were halfway through when he yawned.

“Tired?” you asked, pausing your reading to look up at him.

“A bit,” he shrugged. “Didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Oh.”

You furrowed your brow as you looked away, then glanced back at him.

“Everything okay?”

He nodded, a smile creeping onto his face. “Just too excited for you to read to me, I bet.”

You chuckled, ignoring the heat in your cheeks as you turned back towards the book, ready to start reading again. Then, he started shuffling around.

“What are you doing?” you asked with a sigh.

“Gonna lay down,” he shrugged, “Can I…”

He paused, scrunching up his face a bit. You watched him, questioning.

“Can you what?”

“Probably a bad idea,” he said shortly, shaking his head.

“Just tell me.”

He looked a little shy as he glanced at you. “Was gonna ask if I could lay on your lap.”

“Oh,” you said, nodding once. “Well, as long as you don’t try any funny business, I don’t see why not. It’s preferable to you putting your feet on me if you lay the opposite way.”

He laughed. “I suppose that’s true.”

He waited another moment, then started laying down, his head resting on your legs. Once he was comfortable, you started reading again. After a while, you weren’t even sure if he was awake anymore.

Even more time passed, and you heard him softly snoring, a smile on your face as you looked down at him, one of his hands having squeezed it’s way under your leg. You ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly, continuing your reading silently.

An hour later and you were finished with the book, your hand still brushing through his hair as a habit. You watched him for a few minutes, letting out a soft breath.

“Jamie,” you called quietly, the hand in his hair moving to brush across his cheek. “James.”

He stirred, groaning. “Mm?”

“You fell asleep,” you said with a grin. “I let you nap for a little over an hour, but if you want to sleep tonight you should probably wake up.”

He grumbled, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “Don’t wanna get up.”

“Always so grumpy when you wake up,” you mumbled, more to yourself than anything. “Come on, Jamie. We can go snag some tea or go for a walk or something.”

He sighed softly, stretching out a little bit before he started moving away from your legs, pulling his hand out from under your thigh. He started sitting up, not realizing he was terribly close to you until you were looking at one another, feeling his gentle breathing fan on your face. You swallowed, trying hard not to glance down at the lips you knew were soft and skilled.

He didn’t care to try so hard.

He leaned in before you knew what was happening, kissing you like it was the first time. His hand came up to cradle your face, tilting your head to allow him to deepen the kiss, his tongue soft against your lip as he waited for you to grant him access. It certainly didn’t take you long to oblige him.

He leaned his body into you, and eventually started pulling you underneath him, your head hitting the couch cushions as he settled in between your legs. It was all desperation and passion as his hand slipped up under your top, brushing over the fabric of your bra to squeeze gently at your breasts. You leaned into his touch, soft noises escaping you and going directly into his mouth.

You felt his chest heaving against your own as you kissed, his hips rolling against you, desperate for friction that he’d missed for so long. Desperate for you.

You bit at his lip, breaking away only to kiss down his jaw. He hummed softly in satisfaction, but grew impatient, moving to capture your lips with his own once again.

It was only when a real moan managed to leave you and linger in the air that his hand stopped groping at you. His lips slowed, and he finally broke away, catching his breath like he’d been underwater.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words rushed. “I shouldn’t have done that. Again.”

“Not your fault. I kissed you back.”

He chewed at his lip. “We should really stop this before it starts happening more.”

“We should,” you nodded.

He swallowed, eyes roaming over your face. You leaned up, capturing his lips again, this time gently. He allowed it, though this kiss lasted a much shorter time than the previous.

“Maybe we should take that walk,” you said, trying to break the tension.

“Might need to wait a few minutes, love,” he said, not-so-subtly glancing down at his pants.

You laughed, though you felt that funny feeling in your stomach when he called you ‘love’ again. You followed his gaze, raising your brows.

“Yeah. Probably don’t want to go around like that just in case. Not exactly hard to miss,” you snorted.

He rolled his eyes, sitting up straight. You watched him, moving to sit back up yourself. He stared ahead at the fireplace.

“Stop looking at me,” he said, not even glancing in your direction.

“What?” you laughed.

He glanced at you. “It’s not helping my little situation, you know?”

“Me looking at you is making it worse?”

“You existing is hard enough to ignore when I get like this,” he said with a laugh. “Not to mention when you can… You know. See it.”

“Well, I can’t exactly see it. You do still have pants on, you know?”

He chuckled, though he hid his face in his hands as his cheeks turned pink.

“Stop giving me ideas. It’s not fair, love.”

“Alright, alright,” you conceded, ignoring your own… feelings. “I’ll be quiet and look away.”

He nodded, shutting his eyes and letting his head loll back on the couch. You tried hard not to think about how effected he was, and tried even harder not to think about how effected you were. You stared at the window nearest to you, thinking about absolutely anything else. After a few minutes, he sighed.

“Okay. I think I’m good, now.”

You laughed, pulling him off of the couch and pulling on a sweater you’d brought along. You left the common room together, meandering in the halls talking about nothing. Before you knew it, more voices were joining your two in the corridors.

“Oh boy,” you said softly.

“What?”

You looked at James. “You really want to run into our friends right now?”

He hummed, then opened his mouth to speak. Only very briefly, though, as a familiar face came into view.

“James,” Lily beamed, ignoring your presence entirely. “We missed you in Hogsmeade. Why did you stay behind?”

James looked at you, quirking a brow curiously when she said ‘we missed you’. She’d never exactly been in the marauders group during Hogsmeade outings, and both of you knew it.

“Was just busy,” he shrugged.

“Too busy to hang out with us?”

“Who’s ‘us’?” James laughed. “Did you join in with the boys today?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Just… Thought it might be nice if you would have been around so we could have spent some time together.”

You held yourself back from rolling your eyes as she looked at him, twirling her hair almost cartoonishly as she spoke.

“Maybe some other time,” he said simply. “Had more important things to do today.”

“Aw,” she cooed, laughing to herself. “More important than me?”

You chimed in. “Ooh, with an ego like that, maybe you should try spending time with Sirius.”

James snorted a laugh, though Lily didn’t think it was quite so funny.

“At least I’m not hanging off my ex boyfriend.”

You furrowed your brow, ready to throw an insult right back at her.

“Why is that your business?” James said quickly. “We’re still friends. Friends are known to hang out, you know?”

She ripped her sour gaze from you, looking surprised that James would defend you. He didn’t give her time to reply, taking you by the arm and dragging you away from her before you did something he knew you’d regret. You huffed a sigh.

He started walking you towards the kitchens, you were sure, to get you some tea. You crossed your arms when he finally let you go, once again stewing in your annoyance.

“Trouble in paradise?” you asked, seemingly unable to hold your tongue.

“What?”

“Why did you defend me?” you asked. “I thought you and Evans were like… Involved.”

“Why would you think that?” he asked incredulously.

“After everything…” you stopped. “For one, she sure seems to think you’re an item. Or at least that you will be very soon.”

He sighed harshly. “I know you were always on edge about her, but you know I’ve never felt that way.”

“I was right to be on edge.”

“Why? I never would have done anything.”

You shrugged. “Freaked me out how much she liked you. And how much she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“Yes, she does. Her friends all gossip about me, you know? Like I’m just some obstacle standing in the way of you two getting together.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“I heard it, James.”

He paused before you entered the kitchens, his brow set.

“What do you mean?”

You let out a breath. “Promise you won’t be mad at me?”

He merely raised his brows in question, waiting for your explanation.

“They were talking a few days ago during dinner and thought I couldn’t hear them. They were saying that you’d be easy to bag now that I’m not around and you’re, like… emotionally compromised.”

“Emotionally compromised?”

“Not in those words, but… Yeah. That was the jist of it.”

He shook his head. “Why would they say that?”

“Because she’s always been into you, James. It’s why I didn’t like you guys together all the time, it made me feel really insecure.”

He had the decency to look a little guilty before he perked back up.

“Wait, why would I be mad at you for that?”

You sighed, wishing you could avoid this particular bit about what you’d overheard.

“She, uh,” you looked away. “She was planning on making a move on you today. That’s why her friends were talking about you.”

“And?”

“And, I might have asked you to stay behind today because I knew about her plan.”

The wall to the side of you looked very interesting in that moment. So interesting, in fact, that you didn’t notice the smirk on James’ face until he started speaking.

“You made me stay back to read with you so Lily couldn’t try to… what? Stare at me all afternoon?”

You frowned deeper seeing the teasing look on his face.

“She’d probably try more than staring.”

“Oh? What, like snogging on the couch and letting me feel you up? Didn’t want something like that to happen?”

You smacked his arm. “Asshole.”

He shook his head, tucking you under his arm as he ushered you to the doors.

“Can’t believe you sabotaged her.”

“So you think—”

“I think it’s kinda hot.”

You bit back a smirk, shaking your head. “Shut up.”

Almost two weeks later and you felt more down than ever. After your tea, you’d had another conversation about how you really shouldn’t be alone like that. You knew it was for the best, but it still hurt to reinforce the idea that Sunday would be nothing more than a post-break up slip-up. James himself started to say it was mistake. He only stopped when he saw your face drop, changing his wording, but still meaning the same thing. You tried shaking it off, but you couldn’t stop the memories of how it felt to be under him again.

Though, it turned out that James wasn’t having it any easier.

“What’s been wrong with you, mate?” Remus asked, walking towards his bed.

James turned his head to look at his friend, his cheek still squished into the pillow.

“I don’t know. I just feel awful.”

Remus sat on the edge of his bed. “You’ve been really off the past two weeks. Something happen?”

James shrugged, not responding.

“You know you can talk to us? Better than rotting away in bed all day.”

“I don’t know, Mooney,” James said, shoving his face back into his pillow. “I just miss her.”

Remus huffed a sigh, patting his friend on the back.

“I know you do.” He readjusted his seat on the bed. “Have you talked to her about, well, anything?”

“Yeah, we tried,” James replied, though he knew that it didn’t exactly go to plan when he did. “Doesn’t make it hurt less.”

“Do you want to opt out of the prank tonight? The boys would understand if you didn’t want to be around her.”

“No,” he said quickly, lifting his head. “No. I want to be there.”

“Alright. You’ll have to get out of bed for that, you know?”

James snorted, pushing Remus off his bed.

“Ah, screw off, Moons.”

Remus chuckled to himself. “Dinner is starting soon if you want to eat. She’ll be there, but we can keep you guys apart.”

“I don’t think being apart is helping.”

Remus looked on, disagreeing, but not willing to argue. “Alright. Well, get ready. I’m going to walk over in ten minutes.”

Remus left the room, heading off to wait in common room to give James some privacy. He was leaned against the back of a couch, fiddling with the edge of his sweater, when you slid next to where he stood.

“Hey, Mooney.”

He smiled. “Hey.”

“Are you going to dinner soon? I was thinking of heading down.”

He nodded. “Waiting on Prongs.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “He okay? He wasn’t in Defense Against the Dark Arts today. Not like him to skip that class.”

Remus swallowed. “He’s been a little under the weather.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.”

“Yeah. He’ll be okay, though.”

You sighed. “Is he coming tonight, still?”

“Mhm,” he nodded. “Just asked him.”

“Okay.”

“Is that… Okay with you?”

You looked at him with wide eyes. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

He gave you a knowing look, nudging your arm with his own.

“You’ve been a little sad lately. I can tell,” he said quietly. “Think I know why, too.”

You hummed. “I’ll be fine. Just difficult right now.”

“If you ever need anything…”

“I know,” you laughed. “Promise I’ll tell you if I do.”

He smiled, turning back forward and crossing is arms. You waiting in a comfortable silence, though you stood noticeably straighter when James came down the stairs. He stuttered in his steps when he saw you, a shy smile immediately on his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Jamie,” you said, returning his smile.

Remus looked between the two of you seemingly in a staring contest for a few seconds before clearing his throat. You both looked at him, clearly a little embarrassed.

“Ready, you two?”

“Yeah,” you said as James merely nodded.

You walked to the great hall in an obviously-tense silence. Remus was starting to regret getting James out of bed, the whole group feeling a little awkward as neither of you could keep your eyes off each other.

“Geez,” Peter started, clearly not reading the room. “You two didn’t stare at each other this much when you were dating.”

Sirius slapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head. You were hoping they’d eat a little faster so that you didn’t have to sit across from James anymore, even though you never minded the view.

Your wish came true, but you weren’t sure if you were in a better position, now. You’d gone back to the boys’ dorm to plan out the prank: turning the black lake blue. What you hadn’t anticipated in this plan was that one of the more uptight prefects would be wandering around the lake when you’d done your magic on it.

You were currently running through the trees, trying to get out of the sight of the boy. Though, at some point James had taken your hand, dragging you behind him. You chocked it up to a force of habit, as you found yourself doing quite often since you’d broken up. But you weren’t sure how much you could blame on habit as he pinned your back against a tree, staring down at you like he was going to kiss you again.

“Jamie—”

“Shh,” he shook his head, bringing a finger to his lips.

You waited in a tension-filled silence, hearing footsteps zoom past, just far enough where you wouldn’t get caught if you stayed still. You stood and listened until you were sure you were in the clear. But James didn’t move.

“He’s gone,” you whispered.

“Yeah.”

“We could go.”

“We could,” he nodded in agreement.

You looked up at him, admiring his features lit up in the moonlight. Your next move you’d blame entirely on gravity. It was magnetic, the way you came together. Neither of your faults, really.

Or so you told yourself.

You kissed him against that tree for far too long, feeling giddy and breathless when you finally pulled away.

“Bad idea,” you stated.

“Really bad idea,” he nodded. “Couldn’t help being alone this time, though. I don’t think it’s our fault.”

You chuckled. “You sound like me.”

“Not a bad thing, I don’t think.”

You shrugged, looking at him with stars in your eyes. You tried thinking of anything to talk about to keep your mouth busy.

“Full moon is coming up.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Mooney started feeling a little sick this morning. Probably’ll get worse the next couple days.”

“Right. You three going with him, again?”

“Yeah,” he nodded again. “You’ll be there to patch us up if we need it, again?”

“Always.”

He smiled, eyes flicking down to your lips again.

“Jamie, don’t do that,” you shook your head.

“Why not? I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know,” you melted a little. “I have too, but if you keep looking at me like that, we won’t just be kissing.”

He raised his brows. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

You chuckled, a smile on his face as he watched you.

“That’s the kind of bad idea I think we couldn’t bounce back from so easily.”

He hummed, jokingly discontent. Though, he did plan on keeping the thought of what could have been in his head for when he was alone. He moved away from you, holding out his hand.

“Let’s go back inside, yeah?”

You nodded, taking his hand and letting him lead you back towards the castle. That Saturday morning he’d come back unscathed from their time during Remus’ transformation. They surprisingly all had, much to your delight. All that had to be down was getting Remus into bed so that he could sleep it off as the morning came around.

You walked into their room that afternoon to find Remus, passed out, tangled up in his blankets. You smiled, leaving a fresh cup of water on his nightstand for when he woke up. All of them seemed to be asleep. It had been a long night.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Remus’ forehead, then turned to leave.

“Y/N?”

You turned back around, replying in a quiet voice. “Oh. Hi, Jamie. Why are you awake?”

“Dunno. Just couldn’t sleep since we got back.”

You hummed. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” he mumbled. “You do the work for potions yet?”

You shook your head. “No. Not yet.”

“Would it be okay if we…” he started asking, looking at you fully as he sat up. “I don’t understand it. I could use some help.”

You smiled softly. “Of course. I can go get my stuff—”

“I could just come with you,” he said quickly. “Don’t want to wake the others, anyway.”

You nodded. “Okay. Yeah, that’s fine.”

He trailed after you sleepily, and you wondered why he’d want to even try to write an essay running on no sleep. It seemed silly at best, and was outright counterproductive.

He sat in your bed, rubbing at his eyes as he tried listening to you explain what you needed to do for the essay.

“Jamie, I don’t think you’re absorbing any of this,” you said with a light laugh.

He cracked a small smile. “Your bed is too comfy. I always wanna fall asleep here.”

You sighed. “Why don’t you take a nap, then? I can finish my essay and help you when you wake up.”

“You sure you don’t want to lay down, too?”

You snorted. “That’s asking for trouble.”

“Just for a little? Promise I’ll do the work later,” he said, giving you wide, pleading eyes. “You always help me sleep better.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

You set aside your work, laying next to him, pulling a blanket over both of you. He smiled as you snuggled into the pillow.

“What?” you asked.

He shrugged, the smile stuck on his face. “Nothing.”

You closed your eyes, feeling his arms pull you into his chest, but choosing not to say anything about it.

You woke half an hour later, and, as promised, James worked on his essay with you.

It became habit. Every Saturday you’d meet up to work on homework. A way to be together without being together. You mostly held back from kissing him, but he couldn’t always say the same. Then, inevitably, every Sunday you’d feel your heartbreak as you’d have the same conversation about how bad of an idea it was to keep doing this every week.

But you couldn’t stop.

Another weekend, another opportunity to pretend like you the study date in James’ room wouldn’t take a turn. You sat across from him on his bed, a book and some parchment in front of you.

“I don’t know why we have to write an essay on centaurs, anyways,” you huffed. “I feel like we’ve already discussed everything we needed to in class.”

James shrugged. “At least it’s only two pages. Could be worse.”

You grumbled your dissent, shutting the book after you’d written only half a page. He looked up at you, a smirk on his lips at your dramatics. He rolled his eyes playfully at you, shutting his own book.

“Alright. Do you want to go over the History of Magic assignment?” he questioned.

“Not particularly.”

“Good,” he said with a breath. “I really didn’t want to either.”

You snorted. “Why’d you ask then?”

He shrugged, moving both bits of parchment and the books off to the side.

“Trying to find a reason not to kiss you.”

You rolled your eyes. “We both know that’s a bad idea.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Hasn’t stopped us before, though, has it?”

You bit back a smile, not moving when he moved closer towards you. He reached a hand up, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip with the rest of his hand resting on your jaw. You watched him carefully, taking in the way his eyes sparkled as he looked at you in the warm lighting.

“Jamie…”

“Tell me you don’t want me to.��

You shook your head. “I can’t say that.”

He nodded, moving even closer, almost waiting for a sign that you’d push him away. That sign never came. He leaned in, ghosting his lips over yours until you took the lead, finally pressing against him. He pulled you into his lap immediately, arms holding you in like he was afraid you’d slip away from him if he didn’t. Your arms wrapped around his neck, one hand playing with the soft hair at his neck the way he always loved.

He smiled into your kiss, deepening it when you pushed up against him desperately.

Good things never seemed to last, though.

The door swung open suddenly, and you jumped away from James, clearly having been doing something you really shouldn’t have been. Sirius stared at the two of you, a look on his face that you seldom saw from him.

“We were just—” James started, but stopped immediately.

You were just what? There was no way to explain your way out of what Sirius had seen.

He shut the door behind him. Lingering near it with his arms crossed.

“Pads…” you said, unsure what you even wanted to say.

“You’ve got to stop this,” he said plainly, looking between you both. “Whatever this is, it needs to be done. The sneaking around was cute in the beginning, but I’m sick of it, now.”

Your stomach dropped, scooting even further away from where James sat stock-still on the bed.

Sirius sighed. “I love being your friend, both of you. But, Y/N, comforting you every time this happens is insane. Especially when you’re trying to pretend it isn’t because of you two holding on to each other when you clearly think you shouldn’t be.”

You nodded solemnly. He shifted his attention to James.

“I’ve had to listen to you cry yourself to sleep too many times, mate. It’s been months of this. You keep hurting yourselves and each other over and over again, and for what? An easy lay?”

“It’s not like that,” James said quickly.

“Then what is it?” Sirius asked pointedly.

You swallowed, turning to see James look like he was holding back tears as he stared back at his friend.

“I— I love her,” he said breathlessly. “You don’t know what this is like, Sirius. She’s my…”

You found yourself staring at him as he spoke, your heart beating out of your chest. You swallowed with a dry throat, unsure what to do. You felt frozen.

“You both agreed you couldn’t be together anymore, did you not?” Sirius asked, though not without a softness in his tone. “I’m sorry this is hard for you both, I am, but it’s been hard for the rest of us, too. We’re constantly wrapped up in trying to help you both out of this, but you keep going back behind our backs when you know it’s just hurting more.”

“I don’t know what to do,” James said, turning his gaze to you. “I don’t know what to do. I— I don’t know how I’m supposed to just be your friend. I don’t know how I’m supposed to pretend like I’m not in love with you. Like I haven’t imagined marrying you since we were fifteen. I don’t know why you wanted to break up.”

You felt tears sting your eyes. “You said you wanted to, too.”

“I lied,” he exclaimed. “I only said that because I was scared. I didn’t want to admit that I never wanted to leave you when you were telling me you didn’t think I was worth it anymore.”

Your mouth dropped open, tears falling down your cheeks. “I never said that.”

He opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut again. Before you had a chance to say anything else, he was launching himself out of bed, pushing past Sirius and out the door.

“Jamie—” you tried, though it fell on deaf ears.

You buried your face in your hands, letting your tears fall. You felt the bed dip next to you, Sirius’ arms curling around you and pulling you in. Your head fell on his shoulder as you cried.

“I didn’t know he didn’t… I thought he wanted things to end. I didn’t know he’s been so upset.”

His hand rubbed on your back. “You’ve both been holding onto this for too long. At this point, do you even want to be broken up?”

“We were always arguing together. The last two months we were together was nothing but going at each other.”

“What about now?”

You wiped your eyes, looking at him. “What do you mean?”

“Do you still think it’s for the best? Because you clearly can’t stay away from each other,” he said, then sighed. “Either you guys need to distance yourselves or get back together. I hate seeing you cry like this.”

“Even if I wanted to be with him, I don’t think it would work.”

“Why not?”

“He wouldn’t want—”

“He just told you he’s in love with you,” Sirius exclaimed. “He never stops talking about you and how much he misses you. He cries himself to sleep over you, and then dreams about you when he finally passes out. Of course he’d want to be with you, don’t be stupid.”

Your eyes widened. “Since when are you mean to me?”

“Since you started talking with no sense. You’re supposed to be the smart one out of all of us.”

You smiled, shaking your head as he laughed.

“Just, quit acting like you two aren’t crazy for each other. You have been since we were kids,” he said, shrugging in disbelief. “You need to talk to him. And I mean talk, not…” he raised a brow.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

“You know where he ran off to?”

“Probably that silly tree of his in the courtyard?”

He nodded. “That would be my guess.”

“Thanks, Siri,” you said, hugging him before you stood. “Wish me luck.”

“If either of you comes back crying, this better be the last time,” he said, hiding a smile with raised brows.

“I’ll do my best,” you smiled, leaving the room.

You were right about where he’d be. You walked up to James as he sat on the ground under the tree, staying quiet for a few moments as you breathed in the cold air.

“Why are you here?” he asked, looking straight ahead.

“Sirius talked some sense into me. He’s being surprisingly mature today. It’s scary.”

He nodded. “He does that on occasion.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

He shrugged. “S’fine.”

“It’s not,” you replied, shaking your head. “I keep hurting you, and I hate that. I didn’t know it was that bad for you.”

“How couldn’t you?”

“When we had that conversation, when we broke up, I thought you’d be fine. I was convinced you’d be better off without me, and I thought that maybe we’d be better as friends. We wouldn’t stop arguing over stupid shit.”

“We could have worked it out.”

“We never talked about it.”

He sighed. “I guess.”

You let a silence wash over you for a minute, feeling him moving a little closer to you.

“It’s cold out here. You’re not dressed warm enough.”

“I’m fine. Not cold yet,” you said.

He hummed. “What did Sirius say?”

“Thinks we should either stay away from each other or get back together. Really, he told me those were the two options.”

“So you came out here to let me down easy for the last time?”

You reached out, touching his arm. He looked at you, furrowing his brows. You smiled softly.

“I was actually coming out to see if you hated me. In the hopes that you don’t—”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

His face softened. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it. Please.”

“Jamie, I never stopped loving you. I shouldn’t have ever… I wish we would have just talked about everything. I hate not being with you,” you confessed. “Like, shit, James, we started scheduling study dates just to be around each other. I’ve never seen you so passionate about homework.”

He laughed. “It was never the homework I was excited about.”

“Me either.”

He watched you carefully. “You’d… You actually want to try this again? Us?”

“If you’d have me.”

He let out a breath, hands moving to your face as his lips pressed against yours. This time entirely uncaring if anyone saw you. He pulled away, pressing several soft kisses to your cheeks and forehead until you were laughing, pushing him away slightly.

“You really, really mean it?” he asked.

“Obviously we’ll have to talk about this. We need to make sure we actually communicate this time around.”

“Anything for you, love.”

“But yeah, I mean it.”

He smiled brightly. “Evans is gonna be pissed when she sees us snogging in Hogsmeade this weekend.”

[risingoftime]

one night only

⤷ coriolanus snow x fem!reader: coriolanus’s classmates gets him a personal birthday present.

contains: 18+ MDNI, virginity loss, escort!reader, virgin!coriolanus, porn with plot, dub-con, smut, oral, p in v, sex work, slight orgasm denial, overstimulation.

word count — 2k

From above, you observed a line of women entering Pluribus's nightclub from the changerooms. Each woman seemed to cater to every man's fantasies, meticulously groomed and prepared for what the night might bring. As your turn to go on stage approached, the music transformed into a slow and seductive rhythm, signalling your cue. Taking one final swig of the strong white liquor, you felt a burning sensation as it went down your throat, causing your eyes to water. The spotlight illuminated the top of the staircase. It was now or never.

Your sheer daisy blue robe hinted at the white lace lingerie hidden underneath; almost everyone’s eyes were on you. Almost. A single gentleman by the bar with his friends kept his eyes on the stirring glass of moonshine that he held in his hand. He masked his face as bored and indifferent, but his body language communicated a different story, tight and wound up as if he’d be ready to bolt at any moment. It was evident that his friends dragged him here. He stood out like a sore thumb with his buzzcut light blonde hair and tall, broad physique. The lighting was low, but you knew who he was instantly: Coriolanus Snow, the first student-mentor from the Academy. He’d helped that girl from District 12. You’ve always had a soft spot for pretty boys, especially ones with deep pockets that would pay a hefty price for just one night.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to introduce our one and only Capitol Gem.” It took everything within you not to roll your eyes at the nickname Pluribus had come up with as you descended the steps. Hoots and whistles erupted from the crowd as your hips swayed with each move, flowing through different positions to accentuate your flexibility. In a passive motion, you unwrapped your robe with a coy smile on your lips, entirely in character now. Gone was the girl from District 11. The song's base bounced off the wall, creating a numbing hum in your chest and ears. Combined with the liquor, it was easy to ignore the lust-filled stares. The robe cascaded at your feet, fully exposing your scantily covered body. Some men began throwing cash on stage, yelling, “Take it all off, baby.”

You swiftly climbed the pole, contorting your body to swirl around, allowing them to view you from all angles. This is what they came for, to watch you—whining your waist up and down while holding the rod, serving the fantasy of how you’d look when riding someone’s cock. Dropping into a split, the crowd went wild. Glancing at the public, you could see the other women beginning lap dances, writhing their bodies to the rhythm of the music. Coriolanus kept his eyes on the drink in hand, only glancing up to sip the moonshine. Your eyes met briefly, and he offered a shy smile before his friend caught his attention to whisper something in his ear. Coriolanus shook his head in protest, but his friend seemed too intoxicated to care about their friend's opinion. The man was slightly shorter with dark brown curls and had a big, goofy smile as he unfurled a fat wad of cash from his pocket. The friend pushed it against Coriolanus’s chest, forcing him to grip the money before it dropped on the dirty speakeasy floors. If you didn’t approach them now, then another girl would.

Elongating your body across the stage, you grabbed the miscellaneous bills of cash on the floor into a pile and stowed them away in the bag you hid by the steps. Pluribus knew your routine and smoothly transitioned to a new tune. With a charming smile, you quickly walked through the crowd, evading eager hands, keeping your eyes on the prize - Coriolanus Snow. But before you could approach him and introduce yourself, his unnamed friend positioned himself between you.

“Hello, Darlin, I’m Augustus,” he slurred your stage name as if it was meant to remain secret. His skin glistened, and the smell of alcohol reeked from his pores. Poor thing was drunk off of his ass. Augustus’s other friends watched, amused at him, while Coriolanus sorted and pocketed the money into his pants.

“What can I do for you, baby?”

“Oh no, not me! For my dear friend Coryo. It’s his birthday! Think he needs a private dance–”

“He needs more than that!” One of the boys quipped, earning quite a few laughs. There appeared to be only a few members from Capitol University, but you only saw walking dollar signs. “Well, it’s only your birthday for one night; I can make it worthwhile,” You replied. They nodded eagerly and practically shoved Coriolanus to stand in front of you. His eyes widened, and his face tinged pink with embarrassment.

“I– I’m sorry about them.” He fumbled over his words as he tried his hardest to keep eye contact and not wander further down to your breasts. You appreciated the effort. Quite the change of character in comparison to what you were used to.

“Don't worry, I don’t bite! But I do need to be paid before we go any further.” You looked up at him and his friends shyly, laying the innocent role on them thick, and they did not hesitate to hand you a sum of money that could cover all of your monthly costs. The sons of Capital families were always the easiest to deceive. They’d learn eventually.

You led Coriolanus upstairs to a simple and minimalist room, clean and warm. He let go of your hand before you could guide him to the bed.

“We don’t have to–”

“Don’t have to what… fuck? Are you a prude?” The question came off more blunt than you had intended; your surprise was evident. Many men of the Capitol fantasized about fucking a girl from the districts with the presumption of sex being more exotic with women who did not come from the same socioeconomic background. Yet he seemed bashful and unsure of how to converse with you and, nonetheless, have sex. “No, no, it’s not that…” His eyes wandered around the room, avoiding eye contact. In the dim lighting, you could still see his cheeks flush with embarrassment or perhaps from the alcohol - most likely both.

“Oh. You’re a virgin.” It became painfully apparent as his face deepened in shades from pink to beet red at your discovery. “It’s hard to believe the Coriolanus Snow hasn’t been with anyone. Has no one caught your eye? You are quite popular amongst the Capitol.” You walked to the bed and lay on the duvet facing him.

“There was this one girl, but it didn’t work out.”

“So you've never thought to act on impulse on your desires? or are you a romantic?” His answer to the question was inconsequential, but it would’ve been a lie to say you weren’t attracted or intrigued by the young man standing before you. The real question you wanted to ask was whether he’d act on his desires with you. Would he give in?

“I’m far from a romantic,” he confessed.

He walked to the bed and tentatively sat beside you. Coriolanus was watching you now, allowing his eyes to take you in. Your supple dark skin glowed in contrast to the crisp white lingerie set. If he looked closely, he would see your hardened nipples underneath the unlined lace. His heated gaze made you feel aroused without even being touched - a foreign sensation you hadn't felt in a while. Coriolanus's face drew closer to yours, lips mere inches apart.

You weren't sure who made the first move, but everything else faded away when his lips met yours. You took his bottom lip between your teeth, slightly tugging it to deepen the kiss. Coriolanus’s tongue slid over yours, and he tasted like mint and moonshine. You whispered between kisses, “Tell me what you want me to do to you, Snow.” Taking one of your hands, Coriolanus guided your hands to his clothed crotch. “Tell me,” you repeated with another kiss.

“Suck me off.”

Unbuckling Coriolanus’s pants revealed a deep v line to his long, girthy cock sprung free from his pants. He inhaled sharply as your tongue trailed his length from the base to the tip before taking the head of his dick in your mouth. You watched as Coriolanus bit back a moan while he watched began sucking the precum leaking from his slit.

“Oh fuck” he rasped. Your head began bobbing up and down his cock with lips wet from saliva, using your hands and mouth together to make sweet pressure build up in his core. The once untouchable Coriolanus Snow was like putty in your hands, whimpering and begging for you to provide him release. You looked up to meet his eyes as he watched and moaned pitifully, trying his best to hold back. Snow looked so pretty like this, vulnerable. “Shit, I- you’re so beautiful,” he groaned. Coriolanus inhaled sharply as you continued to suck his dick, taking it all in your mouth with precision.

“I’m going to cum” Coriolanus cried out.

As you removed his member from your mouth, strands of saliva trailed behind. You continued to stroke him slowly with your hands. "No, not yet. I'm not done with you," you said, shimmying out of your panties. Grinding your wetness against him, you teasingly rubbed your pussy against his cock. Positioning yourself to let your clit rub against him, you worked yourself up, feeling an indescribable need for more. Your tightness clenched around nothing, longing to be filled by Coriolanus. "Snow put it inside me." The chemistry between the two of you intensified.

Coriolanus fumbled with the condom before gliding it on his member. Sinking onto his cock, you were unsure if you can take it all. With each inch, your body shook, waves of pleasure overcame your body once he was entirely in, and arousal pooled between you. Digging his fingers into your ass, in a calm voice, “Your pussys’ so tight,” Coriolanus said. He pounded into you relentlessly as you straddled him. His hooded eyes trained on your cunt, taking him all in. Wet slapping sounds filled the room, betraying the explicit activities within.

“Fuck, slow down. I'm going to cum Corio-”

His lips overtook yours once more in a passionate kiss as he panted between each thrust. “Feel s’good,” Coriolanus slurred. His toned arms wrapped around you, locking you into position with no room to run from his dick, completely taking possession of your body. Your silky walls coiled around him, only for Coriolanus to take. Both of your waists moved frantically as the tension between the two was about to snap.

"Cum inside me, baby," you purred. Coriolanus was on the edge, lost in the sensation of your pussy as he thrust into you. His movements became languid and sloppy. "Ugh, don't stop," Coriolanus choked out between moans. His breath hitched, and his grip tightened as you rode him toward orgasm.

“You’re all mine,” he growled.

“Only for tonight, just one night.” You huffed, still slick with sweat and your juices. Your clit throbbed each time you rolled your hips. Coriolanus erection is still hard inside of you. He got his, and now it was your turn to get yours. He winced at the continued friction as you bounced on top of him. His once rough grasp around you turned gentle, unable to handle the pace that you set.

“I… I can’t.”

“Shhhh, let me take care of you.”

You placed tender kisses along his neck before gently nibbling on his earlobes. The heightened sensitivity awakened a different side of Coriolanus. "I'm gonna cum again," he sighed, blissed out. Your pussy tightened like a vice grip as your legs trembled in bliss, milking him of every last drop of cum, leaving you both feeling euphoric.

"That was fucking amazing... I never..." After struggling to form a coherent sentence, Coriolanus touched your chin, guiding your lips back to his. It was intimate as you melded into each other, foreheads pressed together. Coriolanus and you remained in that position for what felt like hours, inhaling each other's breath.

[serasheart]

Dreams ✭ Choso Kamo

Synopsis ღ on a windy night in Shibuya, you decide to stay over at a friends house. However, when you go to sleep, you’re met with a weird dream.

Warnings ღ smut, oral sex, male receiving female giving, vaginal sex, cream pie, porn with plot, somnophilia (kind of)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

"Thank you for letting me stay with you, Cho." You sigh as you fall back onto his couch, your eyes closing as your body relaxes into the soft leather.

"No worries, weather seems pretty bad, wouldn't want you to catch a cold." He states, tired figure slowly pouring the coffee into his signature mug before taking a sip.

"Yeah, that would suck." You laughed as your eyes open from their previous nothing, now staring at the man leaning on the kitchen counter.

He stares back at you in silence, your eyes meeting for what feels like an awkward amount of time before he tears his gaze from your own and clears his throat.

"I probably have a spare blanket somewhere in a storage closet." He mutters, straightening his posture as he begins to walk down his hallway, opening what seems to look like said storage closet before speaking up.

"Bingo." Reaching into the closet, he pulls out a fuzzy white blanket, a faint smile plastered across his face as he shows you proudly.

You chuckle a little at his childish demeanour before sitting up from the couch, he walks over towards his living room before passing you the blanket.

"Thanks." You speak, sitting the fuzzy fabric on your lap before looking over to the clock which read 11:32pm.

"Don't wanna keep you up, feel free to make yourself at home, I still have a few things I need to do before im off to bed anyways." He says, walking past you into a door that lead to the laundry room.

"Ill take you up on that offer." You replied, yawning a little and stretching as you did before laying down on the leather couch. it was comfortable and warm but your back would probably kill you in the morning with the way you were sleeping.

You spread the fuzzy blanket on you, kicking it over your figure to rest below your feet and ensure you're (for the most part) engulfed in the comfy warmth.

Choso gives you a hum in reply, nothing more, nothing less. You think nothing of it as your eyes begin to close and the stress of today sinks in, Immersing you into a deep, deep sleep.

You find yourself in what seems to be a dream, you rub your eyes and sit up a little before looking around. To your surprise, you’re in Choso’s apartment in the dream.

‘That’s weird.’

You thought to yourself before shaking your head, you try to get up before the sinking weight beside you catches your attention.

It’s only then that you realise you’re in a bed, Choso’s bed, to be exact. You’re quite surprised by this, your eyes widen as you stare down at the man who wore only a baggy white t shirt and boxers.

You tried not to think too much of it, because after-all, it was a dream. Nothing more than a dream, but curiosity took the best of you when you were lost in thought.

It’s almost as if for a second, you forget it’s a dream. Because you stare at him.

…

For a really long time, your eyes trail across his face and his features, his messy jett black hair clinging to his sweaty face as his plump, pale lips part ever so slightly.

‘Was he always this attractive?’

Something about his appearance to you was just… so enticing. As if it was welcoming you in, and your eyes ate up every last drop of it like it was candy.

The idea made you chew your lip a little, gaze narrowing as you continue to stare shamelessly before he rolled over, now facing you as his eyes remained closed.

You found a million thoughts running in your mind, the loudest voice telling you his lips looked so sof-

‘What the fuck?’ You violently shake your head, trying to rid yourself of such thoughts about a close friend, but still, you find your gaze lingering on his lips just a little longer.

Everything in you was telling you not to, that it would be weird, that you shouldn’t even have such thoughts about someone who had been so sweet to you, even in a dream!

But… you were curious. Very curious about what would happen if you were to try, afterall

It wouldn’t hurt, right?

That’s the only thing you managed to bring into thought before you pressed your soft lips onto his own, placing a heavy peck on the flesh before pulling back. Your face instantly reddens at the realisation.

‘Ohmygod, Ohmygod, Ohmygod!’

You stare at him intently, the anxiety raising high in your chest as the guilt sinks into your stomach. You watch for any motion, any sign he’s awake. To your relief, nothing.

Your index comes up to graze your bottom lip ever so slightly, caressing the place in which once touched his own.

You don’t even know what came over you in the moment, one second you were staring at him and the next your lips were on his. Is something wrong with you? Why were you feeling this way?

Your ears perk up and bring you back into reality when you hear Choso groan, accompanied by a shuffle not too long after as he turns to lay flat on his back.

Freezing up, all you can do is stare down at him. Your heart beat is uncontrollably erratic, everything in your mind telling you you’ve just been caught, all for him to keep snoring away.

After a few moments pass by, your figure unfreezes. You don’t know what to do as you awkwardly and anxiously sit there, trying your hardest not to fumble around.

That’s before a wave of confidence rushes over you again.

All you can think about is how good his lips felt on yours; how you wanted to taste more of him.

It was stupid, and it was perverted. You leaned back in, anyways.

You embrace him in a kiss, lips pressing against eachother for just a few more seconds than they had before. It was a dream, afterall. Who cares if you got caught?

Bringing yourself back as your eyes hazily stared at his sleeping face, painted with something a little more than romance.

Faces just inches away from eachother before you went back in for more, the exchange more rough this time before an idea managed to pry itself into your head.

You lightly caress his face, just under his chin as you softly slip your tongue into his mouth. You pause for a moment, eyes opening as you stare down at him for a reaction just to be met with nothing.

You continue to slip past his lips and teeth, meeting his own tongue as your hand gently parts his jaw in order for you to gain more control.

A couple seconds go by as you continue your perverted act on the poor, sleeping man. Unbeknownst to him, you pull away a little, the only evidence of your departure being the string of saliva that connects you two.

Brought back from your daze, you sit up, trying to process what the fuck could’ve made you act that way to someone you thought of so closely. There was a little shame in your expression before you went to lay back down.

His bed was comfortable, a lot more comfortable than the couch, at-least. But I guess that’s a given. It was made for sleeping on.

Everything in this dream felt so unbelievably real, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it would’ve been reality.

For the past few years, you always had a slight crush on Choso, but you never acted on it because you know he wouldn’t consider the possibility of a relationship. He found it hard to understand the concept of friendship alone.

Overtime, it was washed away with your messy love life and all the douchebags you dated. Choso never liked any of them, anyways.

You guess your feelings for him never truly ceased since in the moment you were unable to stop yourself from having your flesh on his. You can’t help but feel bad for doing that to the unconscious man, even if you know it was a dream, it was wrong.

You glance over at him, his eyes still shut softly as you sighed. You could only make the most of such a dream before you woke up.

You sit up a little, leaning in softly this time and pressing another kiss onto his lips. By this point, any anxiety you had felt about him waking up and seeing you do that was long past.

Staring down at his face, you search for his expression. He looked so peaceful sleeping, even if this, too, was only a dream.

You didn’t think much before you leaned in again, cupping the man’s face as you kiss him, more deeply this time.

The passionate kiss quickly turned to you craving his taste once more, the idea shamefully plastered in your head and getting more tempting by the second even though the guilt you felt had been overwhelming.

You ultimately decided fuck it, leaning in and slipping your tongue back into his mouth as you messily entangle it with his own, the gesture deep.

Saliva drips down from your mouth but you’re too far to care by this point, hands still caressing his face, just a little roughly this time.

Choso groans into your mouth, his eyes opening a little in the moment and your heart stops.

Your world dissipates, the breath catching in your lungs as his eyes manage to open fully before they widened, you could feel his heartbeat speed up at the situation before you pull away.

‘Just a Dream, just a Dream, just a Dream, just a Dream.’ You chanted to yourself, yet the feeling of being caught scared you half to death.

You quickly pulled away, wiping your mouth, but of course that’s not gonna save you the humiliation. You sit there, not saying anything as he just stares at you, quickly sitting up.

After a few seconds of silence goes by, you begin to speak, attempting to apologise.

“I’m sorry cho- Choso. I don’t know what I was doi-“ He swallows, hard. His eyes were elsewhere, the obvious tent in his boxers so painfully hard.

You pause for a second, everything was just so shocking to you as you try to process what’s going on. It was supposed to be innocent, and he wasn’t supposed to wake up. Even if this was a dream, you were scared as shit.

He clears his throat, his croaky, tired voice speaks up,

“I-… It’s fine, Y/N. You don’t have to explain yourself.” He says, almost breathlessly. He too, is still trying to process what just happened.

You seemed to have notice the tent in his boxers aswell, because your eyes were gazing the exact same way his were. He lifts his head a little, staring at you before his face reddens. He doesn’t know why; but he feels exposed like this.

“I-i’m really sorry, Choso. It wasn’t supposed to-“ He grunts, the sound of his name slipping past your lips after he caught you doing such a dirty thing whilst he was sleeping made him shake a little.

He coughs. “Listen, it’s not a big deal. I’ll go deal with this and we can pretend like it didn’t happen.” He states firmly, he goes to sit up before you grab his wrist.

“Wait!”

“I can help you..?”

He stares down at you, a shocked expression on his face before the flush from before quickly spreads itself upon his pale complexion.

Unfortunately, the suggestion only went straight to his dick. It throbs against the thin fabric in response, his heart was racing so fast.

He shakes his head a little, eyes squeezed tightly shut. He tries to speak up, his voice cracking a little:

“N-no. Wouldn’t that be… weird?”

You shake your head, eyes coming to meet his own as he stares down at you with such a lust stricken gaze. He was scared of being informal, scared of being more.

He hesitantly agrees, sitting back down on the bed before he stares at you in anticipation. You guys sit there for a minute before you clear your throat

“I could… use my mouth?” You suggest, innocently to the poor man whose heart was beating so fast he thought he might have a heart attack.

“I- uhm. Okay.” Is all he manages to get out, his deep voice echoes in your ears as you manage to finally get a reply out of him.

“Okay.” You smile, a little bit more eased into the situation as you stared up at him, his eyes meeting yours.

Even though this supposedly wasn’t reality and was just a dream, his reactions seemed very like Choso.

“Just relax, it’s gonna feel good more than it’s gonna hurt.” You say to the innocent man, your fingers lacing with the hem of his boxers before pulling them down slowly.

Choso grunts a little as the cold air brushed along his now exposed length. You took a moment to soak the details in, biting your lip a little.

He was uncircumcised, trimmed pretty cleanly but unkempt in a way, very girthy and had a lot of prominent veins, also while maintaining a good length.

It was pale, just as his skin, but the tip was a light pink.

You don’t know why, but the only thing you thought of in the moment was if this was how Choso actually looked.

He stared down at you, looking for any type of reaction. He was starting to feel insecure under your gaze before you giggled.

“You’re so pretty, Cho.” The nickname rolled off your tongue effortlessly, not helping his case as you watched his member throb at the words. He groans a little in reply.

You stare up at him, glassy eyes stared back at you, such vulnerability entrusted in your hands. How could you not help a friend?

A hand comes to wrap around him softly, but firm. He flinches in reply, letting out a harsh breath. You divert your attention from his face to his member, slowly beginning to move your hand rhythmically as you keep a steady pace.

This action rewards you with little whimpers, Choso’s eyes on your hands touching him so sweetly. He bit his lip so hard it began to bleed. Choso’s chest was heaving, trying to steady his breathing as his heart beat so fast.

You continued to stroke his girth, rubbing the veins attentively with your thumb occasionally which caused him to slip a sound. The sensation felt way better than his own hands, and he couldn’t help but whine.

His eyes squeezed shut, the pleasure of your soft, small hands being wrapped around his dick made him almost burst at the thought alone.

That was until he felt something warm wrap around him, his closed eyes abruptly shot open as a loud gasp erupted from him, followed by a moan as you lightly swirled your tongue around his dick.

It was likely Choso hadn’t had sex, let alone a blowjob. He only had recently started living as a human, so this was probably how you thought he would react.

You sink your mouth down on him further, your palm wrapped firmly at his base as you pull back, kissing his tip before going back down and taking as much of him you could possibly fit in your mouth.

You swirled your tongue, bobbing your head as you stroked the parts you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Your tongue lightly rubbing against a vein on his girth, causing him to moan loudly.

Choso’s eyes were back to being shut, but his left hand went to quickly grab hold of your hair, entangling his fingers in the strands as his right hand gripped the sheet.

The sensation of your tongue gliding along his cock is enough to send him into a spiral, he tries hard not to squirm under your touch but it’s hard with what you’re doing to him.

All he can do is feel the hot, wet saliva of your mouth drip down his dick, while your tongue is consistently prodding and touching all the right spots. It doesn’t help the fact your small hand is rubbing up against the parts you can’t fit.

It doesn’t take long before Choso feels himself drawing closer to the edge, the knot in his stomach threatening to snap into your mouth as his lip has been chewed raw by this point.

Tears well up in the poor man’s eyes, the pleasure being too much for him to handle. He never knew that it could feel this good, in fact, until a while ago he didn’t even know he could ejaculate.

His grip on your hair tightens, his vision begins to get blurry as all he can do is babble moans, the whimpers flowing out of his mouth as if he had been doing this for years.

Without warning, the tall man is coming undone in your mouth. White stringy semen spurts down your throat as he pushes your head down further, almost fully engulfing himself in the warmth of your mouth.

White paints his vision, his head is nauseous and his legs are shaking as his balls tighten, the addicting feeling of orgasm washing over him as he shoots load after load in big waves, not stopping for a second until he was done.

The sounds of his pleasure didn’t do anything but go straight to your core, shamelessly.

When he realises what he did, guilt and regret contorts his face. He instantly pulls you off of his length as you’re coughing, choking on the thick liquid he just released.

He slaps your back hard before you finally come down from your coughing fit, swallowing what you could.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, it just felt really goo-“

When he looks down at you, breath heavy from his orgasm and fit of apologies, he pauses and he evidently stiffens.

You’re confused for a second before you go to wipe your mouth, noticing a little bit of cum had leaked down from your mouth when you were probably coughing.

You look back at him, staring at eachother in silence before he swallows. He could feel the blood rush straight to his dick as his face flushes once more.

Both your hearts are beating fast, the silence is so thick it could be cut with a knife. The air smelled like sex, the tension was bad.

“Um… im sorry. I didn’t mean to…” his voice cracks and croaks, he tried to keep a steady tone but he couldn’t help it. He was so embarrassed at how fast he came, and he was embarrassed he was hard again.

“Don’t be, it’s… not a big deal.” You smile at him awkwardly, as you both sit there.

Your gaze lowers again, still a little taken aback at the fact he was hard once more. Before meeting his eyes

“I can help you again; but you have to promise to be good, okay? Don’t do anything, just relax.” You were speaking on the moment, it’s not like this wasn’t a dream or something.

Choso almost instantly nodded, his mind stopped listening at ‘help you again’

You began to undress, pulling your shirt over your head and kicking your pants off, quickly disposing of them. You’re in just your bra and panties now.

Choso just stared, shamelessly at this point, At your boobs. He ogled them, his face was as red as a cherry.

He took a second to take in your figure, the way your body curved and the way your skin looked so nice, the big plump balls of fat that rest on your chest especially catching his eye.

You never decided it was anything deeper than thought, but you always thought that Choso would be a boob guy.

Your fingertips grab at the hem of your panties, pulling them down to fully expose your cunt in which is seeping slick.

Choso just stares, you notice his breath speeding up as he gets more giddy, probably out of nervousness.

Before he can say anything, you hook a leg over his side while your other one rest the opposite, straddling him.

You lean in, pulling him into a kiss that quickly turns hungry. You’re pushing your tongue past his lips greedily as your tongues fight for dominance, ultimately exploring his mouth.

One of your arms that were previously wrapped around his neck goes down to grab at his cock before lightly teasing it, rubbing against your folds.

Choso whines into your mouth in reply, his hips involuntarily bucking up causing you to gasp. His hands come down to grab at your ass, gripping tightly as he forces you down onto his dick.

You moan into the kiss, the sudden intrusion of your walls causing you to clench harshly around him.

Choso whimpers in response, instinctively thrusting up into you, his tip kissing your cervix so easily with how his length fits inside, you grind down against him.

You pull away from the kiss, your tongue leaving his as a thick strand of saliva connects you two, you stare at him intently before you bite your lip, Choso watches you as you bring yourself up then slam down.

He moans as you begin to ride him, the position you’re in making it easy for him to control when you go down. His strong arms easily lift you up and slam you onto his dick, each time you can feel his girth slam against your poor cervix.

Your vision is hazy, you moan along with him as he continues to control the pace and rhythm, using you as you leak so shamelessly onto him.

“F-fuck, Y/N!” He moans, his eyes are shut. You’re taken aback a bit, definitely not enough to override the pleasure but you’re shocked at the sudden swear considering you’ve never heard him swear.

Your legs are weak and shaking. you shuffle a little, only for him to thrust up into you as he slams you down onto him once more.

He comes up to cup your breasts through your bra as you continue to grind down on his dick, he looks up at you, his eyes almost pleading before you nod, moaning.

He almost tears it off of you, his palms hungrily fondling your tits as your eyes roll back, the feeling of him thrusting up into you as he fondles with your boobs going straight down to your core. Your legs are getting so tired.

You’re out of breath by this point, the moans slipping past your lips so effortlessly as you ride his thick cock, the delicious stretch of your walls squelching with each thrust.

The room smells of thick sex, the only thing besides moans and slapping of skin that can be heard is the rumbling winds outside.

Choso drops his hands from your boobs, resting them firmly on your hips before positioning you into an easier accessible position.

Without warning, he thrusts up into you. It’s at that moment a pleasurable sensation washes over you, your stomach tightening hard. You moan loudly, Choso continues his motion as he realises what he found. He begins abusing your g-spot, your cunt instantly tightening around him as he rams into it.

Harsh thrusts cloud your mind, the pleasure washes over you like nothing has before, the fact that this was a dream being long forgotten by now; if this was a dream, you didn’t want it to end.

Everything felt good in the moment, the knot in your stomach only built up and up, threatening to snap at any second in given time. It begins to tighten, and tighten.

Choso leans in, wrapping his mouth against your sensitive tit, swirling his tongue around as his left hand goes down to rub at your clit in a circular motion, urging you to cum.

You moan loudly, hot pleasure painting your vision as your mind clouds up. Before you know it, you’re cumming hard on his thick cock, not long after he trails you, cumming inside you as the thick white liquid spurts in loads into you.

“I’m sorry!” He moans

The pleasure of your orgasm is enough to wear you down, you take a while to come down from it as your legs shake violently, you can feel Choso under you, moaning loudly as he releases inside.

Your body is so tense as you come back to reality, when you finally manage to shake it, you get off of him, laying down next to him as your chest heaves, feeling his seed trickle down your legs from your pussy.

After everything that happened, the only thing you wonder is why you haven’t woken up from your dream yet. It’s been so long.

You shake your head, trying everything to wake up. But you can’t.

That’s until he says something that makes it register.

“Also… uhm, Im sorry I moved you into my bed, you looked uncomfortable on the couch.”

…

[catboyieejeno]

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・★

cw: mark x reader x hyuck, threesome, very little plot, unprotected sex, a lot of mentions of cum, so much cum... this shit is filthy... npr

18+ minors do not interact !

[ 11:44pm ]

it's unclear whether the heat that radiates off of you is due to the alcohol that swims in your system or the pair of mouths that kiss and lick across your body fervently. you can't keep track of all the sensations you feel, mind blurry as you moan and pant, writhing restlessly between your two best friends. kneeling on the mattress in front of you is mark with one hand pumping his flushed pink cock, the other squeezing your boob—the one that isn't in his mouth. his eyes are half-lidded and staring into yours, watching the way your face contorts each and every time hyuck slips a finger into your impossibly tight cunt.

the younger of the two boys who sits behind you, presses his swollen erection to your ass. meanwhile, his fingers are lost in your panties, thick digits alternating between pumping into you and rubbing your pulsing clit. your grip on his wrist tethers you, nails digging into his arm whenever something feels a little too good.

the night had started much differently: a movie night had dwindled into banter after hyuck's complaints that the movie mark picked out was awful. defeated, and knowing it was practically impossible to argue with hyuck, mark proposed that you guys get some wine and just talk instead, which was fine... until each of you were about three glasses in.

mark's fingertips began brushing your thighs, higher and higher, following the hem of your skirt that at some point, you stopped pulling down. hyuck's lips were whispering teasing comments in your ear, his arms snaking around your waist—something he usually did sober, except this time, with much less restraint.

you weren't oblivious; slightly past the point of tipsy? yes, but never oblivious. you leaned into their touches, giggled and blushed at their flirty passes, batted your eyes as your thighs pressed together...

just as you noticed the bulge in mark's pants, hyuck's wine-stained lips were on yours.

"d'you like that, baby?"

"yes," you reply so quickly that it's almost pathetic, letting your head fall forward and onto mark's shoulder. your eyelids are squeezed shut as your hips roll, grinding down into hyuck's hand and back against his dick.

he lets out a grunt, sliding his free hand all the way up your spine until it wraps around the base of your neck. he pulls you back up to him then moves to hold your throat, pressing his chest against you and attaching his mouth to your shoulder.

you whine out when he withdraws his fingers from between your legs, using your slick to rub his tip in circles. as he teases himself, he breathes hot air onto your skin where his tongue swirled just seconds before.

thankfully, you don't feel empty for long because mark scoots closer, looping his index finger on the strip of your cotton panties that covers your pussy. he moves it aside and guides himself towards you, sliding his length between your lips and coating it with your arousal.

"so wet," he mutters to himself, rubbing into you a few times.

"mark.."

he doesn't reply; instead, he guides himself side to side between your folds in order to stimulate your clit. your jaw slightly drops as you relish in the feeling.

"i need you," you whine.

"i know, i know," his reply doesn't sound convincing in the slightest. you can tell he's distracted watching the way his cock glistens from your juices, and your cheeks flush red in embarrassment as you open your mouth to protest once more.

"'need you to fill me up, baby, please," you plead in a small voice, but he only smirks and raises a brow at you.

"yeah?" he asks, "want me to stretch you out, sweet girl?"

from behind you, hyuck growls, "if you don't stick your dick in her right now, i'm going to."

unwilling to push hyuck's withering patience, mark scoffs and disappears between your folds in one smooth motion, pushing the head of his dick into your walls with almost no resistance. both of you sigh out in relief. your hands claw at his shoulders, grip tightening when he bottoms out inside of you. a moan rumbles in mark's chest and he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss.

he's so close that he's pressing his hips completely to yours, pelvis flush against your clit, the pressure so delicious on the needy bud. he swallows every last moan you feed him, only pulling back from your kiss for air.

mark takes his time finding a pace, observing how you react to each thrust. he takes note of both your expression and your clenching cunt that flutters around him when he slows down or picks up speed.

every time he pulls out, his eyes look down to where your bodies meet, obsessed with the way you suck him back in.

"fuck," he breathes, "this pussy's so good. s'tight, so warm,” he’s babbling incoherently, unable to suppress his moans when you swivel your hips. he stills for a moment, letting you pleasure yourself on his cock. you feel unreal, better than he could’ve ever imagined (and boy, did he imagine this quite a few times in the years he’s known you).

"move, please,"

"always so polite," mark teases and snaps forward. you cry out, and he does it again, quickly finding a rhythm that has your head spinning. he’s long and you’re so wet that if it wasn’t for how tight you are, there would be no push back at all. the stretch is delectable, like nothing you’ve felt before.

"you're such a good girl, taking mark so well,” hyuck sticks his thumb between your parted lips and rests it on your tongue, “i bet you love being used like this. you do, don’t you, baby?”

mark sucks in a breath when you bring your hand down, spreading your folds with your fingers, “you’re doing so good for me,” he says, eyes locked on the sight.

their praises go straight to the bundle of nerves between your legs, your orgasm building in the pit of your tummy. you can only hum around your best friends finger, head bobbing up and down in agreement with his filthy, yet nonetheless true, accusation.

the tip of mark’s dick kisses your cervix repeatedly, slipping through your sopping folds at a pace so eager that you’ve started to melt. if it wasn’t for both boys holding you up, you’d have become putty in their arms.

all of your senses have started to blend together, starting with the salty taste of hyuck’s thumb that he finally withdraws and drags down your front, rubbing your saliva around your perked up nipples until they’re coated and gleaming. his dick couldn’t possibly be any harder, standing prominently up and constantly poking at your backside. you’re pretty sure he’s been leaking pre-cum, too, because there’s a wet spot on your lower back where the draft hits slightly different.

mark’s hands that grip and squeeze the flesh of your ass to pull you to meet his thrusts, suddenly lift up to land a slap on each cheek. your eyes are locked on his glossy ones, though you can’t see very clearly through the pooling tears that gather and blur your vision.

you’re close, so fucking close that you’ve started moaning out shamelessly, rambling nonsense, “i’m gonna—it feels so—ng, fuck! mark, please don’t stop, please, please–“

mark’s head falls into the crook of your neck, lips right by your ear as he chants encouragements in low whispers, just for you.

“come for me, baby. yes, just like that." his voice strains as your pussy squeezes him, "take my dick, take it.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling and tugging at his dark strands. your orgasm hurdles towards you, and it only takes a particularly deep thrust for your breath to hitch in your throat, the coil snapping in your tummy.

mark’s coming too, before he even realizes it. his lip is clamped between his teeth as he tries his absolute best to keep a steady pace, so desperately wanting to make you feel as good as he does.

he empties himself inside your walls with a raspy, dragged out groan, chest heaving in pleasure. his toes are digging into the bed, abdomen flexed and dick twitching. there are beads of sweat trickling down his chest and he swipes away at them, leaning back to watch your fucked out face as he finishes. this is one of the best orgasms he's ever had, he decides; still, his high ends before yours.

in fact, his tip is screaming with sensitivity by the time he peeks his eyes open and realizes, you’re still coming. god, it’s fucking hard to keep up, regardless of how bad he wants you help you ride it out. it's nearly impossible when your gummy walls are so warm around him and your release is gushing out, dripping down your thighs.

“shit, y/n,” hyuck moans your name out loud, fucking his fist shamelessly.

he watches as mark scrunches all his features and picks up his pace just enough to amplify the end of your climax, the sound of his skin slapping against yours a little louder. your cries are louder, too.

he finally slows down once your thighs start trying to clamp shut, and you've started shaking from overstimulation.

"holy shit, mark. i've never come like that before," you whimper, reaching between your legs as he pulls out to feel just how wet you are. mark leans back on one arm, cupping his balls in his palm.

he looks over at you and laughs softly at the way your pupils are blown wide, "me either," he agrees, cheeks and chest flushed red from effort.

"let me see," hyuck insists, huffing, "lay back,"

the moment your back hits the mattress you wince, the burning in your thighs suddenly very evident. hyuck hushes you sweetly, gently parting your legs and leaving a few open mouthed kisses on your stomach. when he pulls away, it’s to gawk at the silky white mess of cum between your legs.

“we should’ve done this long ago,” mark jokes, but there’s a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes.

you nod, propping up on your elbows to meet him halfway where he leans in giving you a slow, wet kiss. his tongue swipes at yours, the shared air growing warmer between you. there’s a few hushed noises coming from both of you, and the kiss lasts until you feel something fill you up again.

you pull away to find donghyuck, two fingers shoved into your hole, tucking away any of mark’s cum that tried to seep out.

when your eyes meet, there's a pout resting on his lips as he whines, "pay attention to me, baby… he had his turn,”

you laugh and nod, “you’re right, hyuckie. i’m sorry,”

situating himself between your thighs that rest on his own, hyuck takes a moment to steal a kiss for himself. it’s paced and sensual, and the pretty noises he makes when your fingers disappear into his hairline leave you winded.

“wanna make you feel really good,” he mumbles against your lips. there’s a warm weight that rests on your stomach as he says this, and it takes a moment for you to put two and two together.

when you look away from his soft, brown eyes, you realize his cock, thick and swollen, is resting on your tummy, sizing up how far it would be inside you.

he’s less lengthy than mark, but undoubtedly thicker, his prominent head staring back at you, dribbling pre-release on your skin. just when you didn’t think you could get any needier, he presses against you more, and his heavy balls brush right up against your clit.

“hyuck, baby,”

“tell me,” he whispers into your chest, “i’ll do anything you want, just say the word,”

you squirm against him, “wan' you to fuck me,”

swinging one of your legs up, hyuck picks up his cock from your tummy and directs it toward your entrance.

“m’gonna fuck mark’s cum deep into you, okay? then i’m gonna fill you up with mine,” then, he presses in, brow furrowing at the feeling of you enveloping him.

mark’s cum is practically serving as lube, but even then, you can fucking feel the difference in girth. he hisses, letting his head fall to the side to rest on your calf that sits on his shoulder. instinctively, your hands paw at his chest. he isn't even all the way in yet, and the stretch is already surreal. you take your lip between your teeth and hyuck cups your face, letting his thumb graze your cheek.

“i’ve got you, princess,” he soothes, flicking your clit with his other thumb, rubbing slow circles on it.

"keep doing that, please," he nods at your instruction, gazing at you through his eyebrows in search of your approval. your face says it all, eyes rolling back and puffy lips shaped into an 'o'. the back of your head digs into the pillow as he enters you fully, then he drags his dick all the way back out until only his tip is sheathed, before doing it all again.

beside him, mark's eyes are glued to your core, specifically to the white ring at the base of hyuck's cock. he identifies it as his own cum, and his balls tighten. it's a mess, but the lewdness is enough for him to get hard all over again.

hyuck maintains his slow pace, making you shudder impatiently. "hyuck," you start. he hums attentively, "faster.."

"you want me to go faster, baby? already?"

you nod yes quickly, "i want you to fuck me stupid."

in less than a second, his fingers are digging into your waist and he's rocking you up and down, drilling his cock into you just as you had asked.

you moan out and he slaps your thigh, swiping his tongue at the bit of drool that threatens to slip from his bottom lip. between his brutal pace and the attention he's paying to your bud (and how sensitive you were from having come once already), your climax starts approaching rather quickly.

hyuck can tell, too, because you've started to squirm and shake under him. your back is arching off the mattress, and the sheets are clenched between your fingers as if you'd float away by letting go.

"am i doing good? does that feel good, baby?"

"yes!" you all but sob, clasping a hand over your mouth.

you're still slightly dizzy from the wine, so when you come hard for the second time tonight, you become so light headed that dark spots burst all over your vision like some visual effect. you gasp and cry out when hyuck slaps your clit before continuing to rub it mercilessly, his fingers soaked through with juices that spill with every thrust.

the bed creaks beneath you as he refuses to let up, even when your moans have gone up in pitch to become broken whimpers.

he'd give you anything you ask for, he told you so.

as you come down, you open your eyes just in time to watch hyuck's face shift, hips bucking wildly after his own finish. it doesn't take much longer, and in seconds, he stills, burying himself deep inside of you as he pumps you full of his load.

at some point while bystanding, mark had started touching himself again, letting out a long sigh as he grips his head tight and paints your folds with his second round of seed. some of it slips onto hyuck's base, and some of it mixes with the bit hyuck's cum that had poured out the sides of you, even despite his thickness.

"what a fucking mess," mark laughs as he catches his breath, "sorry about your sheets-"

"s'fine," you grab his hand, grinning, "it was worth it,"

"remind me to buy us that bottle of wine again," hyuck mutters tiredly, making sure he brings your leg down gently as to not hurt you. he still hasn't pulled out of you, though, allowing himself to grow soft within the warmth of your pussy.

the two boys watch wide-eyed as you reach down, using your index finger dip into both of their releases (surely, yours too), and bring it up to your mouth for a taste.

"i don't think we'll need the wine next time."

⋆ ★

sidenote: this is the nastiest shit i have ever written … thank u to my babies @mingyuonthemoon and @m-arkmywords for giving me some inspo to write this

also ... hi... i am glad 2 be back

[ramblingoak]

Naps With Copia

Nap #11: An Interesting Nap

*This does contain a very very very very mild spoiler for Rite Here Rite Now but it's not something that effected the plot of the movie*

For @angellayercake 💙

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

These are all stand alone chapters so you do not have to read one before the other! This series came from my post about wanting to nap with Copia all around the abbey. The stories will all have gender neutral readers and soft Copia naps.

Warnings: again just a very very very mild spoiler for the movie, it's based on a brief moment in it! No other warnings, just Copia being loving and soft, sfw, 980 words, not beta read sorry (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers and @foxybouquet for the Italian help!!)

“Ah, so that’s where it disappeared to.”

Copia’s voice had you blinking awake, squinting against the lights that were backstage.  Your cheeks heated up and you shuffled further under your makeshift blanket to hide them.  Thankfully your Papa looked more amused than anything, a smile pulling at his lips as he dropped down to his knees next to the couch you had claimed.

“Sorry, Papa.”

“Sorry for what, corvetto mio?”  He chuckled when you glanced down at what was covering you, the gem-encrusted robe he wore during rituals.  “Well, it does look lovely on you I must say.”

You burrowed deeper at his complement, until just your eyes were visible.  Copia looked behind him when there was the clatter of boots, the ghouls chasing each other off the stage and then scrambling around to put their instruments away.

“Ai!  No running!”  

He groaned in exasperation when they ignored him, banging the metal doors open and going off to do Satan knows what.  When he mumbled something about gray hairs you reached a hand out from under his robe so you could cup his cheek and get him to meet your eyes.

“I love your gray hair, Papa.”  Copia bit his lip, tilting his head to the side to press against your hand a little harder.  Some of those lovely gray hairs of his tumbled across his forehead and he just looked so lovely you had to tug him close so you could kiss him.  His forehead was first, followed by his precious nose and finally those irresistible lips for a brief moment before you pulled away.  “I love you.  I’m so proud of you, have I told you that yet?”

“Maybe once or twice.”  He grinned and then lifted up his robe to climb onto the couch with you.  “Scootch over, let me join you for a little nap, eh?” 

After a few unfortunately placed knees and elbows the both of you found a comfortable position, one of Copia’s legs shoved in between yours and his arms wrapped around your back.  Your face was pressed against his neck, your lips hovering over where his pulse was strongest.  Another spot you loved to kiss so you did just that, letting your lips linger so you could feel the steady beat against them.  It was too much to resist to poke your tongue out, tasting the sweat and paint that had run down his neck during practice.

“Corvetto mio, if you don’t stop–ah,”  He hissed when you nipped his skin, his voice a little shaky when he continued.  “This nap will get very interesting if you keep that up.”

“Maybe I want an interesting nap, Papa.”

He groaned when you nipped at him again but he didn’t pull away, instead his hands slid down your back stopping when he could slip one of them just beneath the hem of your shirt.  You shivered as the leather of his gloves touched your bare skin.  Copia’s chest vibrated against you when he laughed at your reaction.

The bastard knew you had a thing for his gloves.

In retaliation you grabbed his sparkly scarf, tugging it out of the way so your mouth could reach more of his neck.  He stroked up and down your back as you left more marks on his skin.  Marks you’d have to remember to cover back up with makeup after you both left the safety of the couch.  Your fingers began to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, opening up a handful of them before Copia let out a frustrated moan, removing his hands from under your shirt so he could stop you.    

“I don’t think this is the best spot for an…interesting nap, corvetto mio.”

“Ugh fine, have it your way.”

A little yelp escaped you when he wrapped an arm around you once more and tugged you as close as he could.  Your face was tucked against his neck again, his own face lowered so his lips brushed against your ear when he spoke in a low voice.

“Oh I will have it my way later, I promise you that.”  You shivered against him, pleased when he rubbed your back again and then tugged the robe back up over your shoulders.  “Besides, I know how rambunctious you get and we don’t want to damage this damned thing.”

“Whatever you say, Papa.”  You giggled when he pressed a noisy kiss to your cheek before settling along his body more comfortably.  “What do you keep calling me?”

“Hmm?”  Copia’s voice was sleepy, the poor man already drifting off.  No doubt exhausted from working so hard during the tour so far.  “You mean ‘corvetto’?”

“Sí.”

“Crow.”  You frowned before lifting your head to look at him.  He was giving you the special smile only you ever saw.  The one where you could see all his love and fondness for you.  “You are like a little crow, stealing my sparkly things.  Like my robe.”

“I was tired!”  His smile grew at your grumpy look, a leather encased finger tapping the pout you were giving him.  “And cold.”

“I didn’t say anything, amore.”

“Yes but you were thinking something.”

“The only thing I was thinking about was how much I adore you, corvetto mio.  And how happy I am that you are here.  With me.”

He quietly wiped at your cheeks with his scarf.  Brushing the few tears away that escaped your eyes.  

“I think after this tour is over I’ll be able to afford even more sparkly things for you to steal.”

“I don’t need sparkly things, Copia.”  You lifted your head up so you could kiss him, moving your lips gently against his and pulling away before the kiss deepened as it inevitably would.  “I just need you.”

“Then you’re in luck, amore.”  He pressed against the top of your head before continuing,  “Because that’s something I can always give you.”

~ Naps With Copia series masterpost ~

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

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[lanadelnegan]

public sex with negan, younger reader. he eats her out on a bench table in alexandria while 'nobody's' watching ..

Keep Me Warm

S10/11!Negan x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, age-gap (reader is 18, negan is mid 50's), oral (female receiving), p in v, public sex, slight daddy kink, breeding, no plot just smut

"Thought I'd find you here." You approach Negan before sitting beside him on the bench. The coolness of the wood against your exposed skin makes you shiver, drawing Negan's attention to your bare legs in your silky black nightgown.

"Kinda cold out for a dress, don't ya think?" He smirks at you, leaving you speechless at the way his hazel eyes glow in the moonlight. "...Not that I'm fuckin' complaining." He continues before shedding his thick jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders.

You snuggle into his jacket, getting a whiff of his manly scent. This is the closest you've ever been to him, although you've frequently imagined him touching every inch of your body.

"Probably, but figured you wouldn't mind keeping me warm." You tease, slipping your hands into the warmth of his jacket.

"Not at all. In fact, I could think of a few ways to warm you up."

You're not surprised by his words, considering the two of you have spent the past month with your eyes glued to each other and exchanging flirty remarks every time you pass each other.

"Name one, besides your jacket." You encourage him to continue.

"I could just fuckin' show you, doll." He looks to you and your cheeks redden, either from his boldness, or the frigid cold- one of the two.

"Okay." You whisper softly, meeting his playful gaze.

As soon as you give him the green light, his lips press to yours as his hand reaches up, caressing the side of your neck. You moan into his mouth and deepen the kiss by parting your lips and letting him in. The feeling of his tongue against yours makes your insides tingle as he kisses you hard but soft at the same time.

You knew he'd be a good kisser with the way he carries himself, but you had no idea it would be this good.

Chills spread through your body and down your legs as you grip at his t-shirt, pulling him closer to you. His hand drops to your thigh, rubbing the goosebumps on your soft skin.

He chuckles darkly, sliding his hand upwards on your leg and stopping right at the edge of your dress. His other arm rests on the bench behind you as his body faces yours and he whispers in your ear.

"Spread for me, sweetheart."

The sound of his deep voice radiates to your core as you spread your legs open slightly, allowing him access.

"I think it's working, baby.. I can feel the heat coming from you already." He says with arrogance.

"Negan.. please.. touch me." You beg, placing your hand on top of his and urging it to your center.

His hand cups your pussy as he groans softly in your ear at the realization that you're not wearing panties.

"You are such a bad girl." He laughs seductively, dipping his middle finger through your folds. "I'm old enough to be your damn father, you know that? Hell, maybe even grandfather. I should not think of you the way I do, but.. the hell am I supposed to do when you eye fuck me all day then come see me wearing this slutty little dress and no goddamn panties?"

You can't help but whimper at his filthy words until a porch light flicking on nearby distracts you.

"Negan... Someone could see us." You breathe heavily as his finger swirls circles slowly around your swollen clit.

"Let's give them a goddamn show then." He removes his hand, bringing his finger to your mouth until you open and suck your juices off your finger. "Has anyone ever eaten your pussy, baby?"

You shake your head no with his finger still in your mouth.

"Good." He says, getting down on his knees in the ground in front of you. Before you can stop him, he lifts your legs over his shoulders and pulls you closer towards the edge of the bench until his mouth is hovering right above your exposed, dripping cunt.

"Look at this, sweetheart. I've barely fuckin' touched you and you are goddamn leaking for me already."

You bite your lower lip as you look down at him, bucking your hips a little as you try to get closer to his face. He chuckles at your desperate movements, holding you down firmly to the bench.

"Negan, hurry." You look around nervously, noticing two people walking out of their house in the distance.

"Let me enjoy this, doll. Gonna take my fuckin' time with you and if people wanna watch.. that's on them." He says before finally dipping his head between your legs and immediately pushing his tongue through your hole.

You look down at him, making an o-shape with your mouth as your hand drifts to his peppery hair, gripping it gently.

You feel his talented tongue flick inside of you over and over before he retracts it, gliding his tongue up your slit until reaching your clit and sucking gently. Your legs instinctively wrap around his head, pulling him closer as your head falls back with pleasure.

"Ahh, Negan." You moan out, lifting your hips slightly off the bench at the intense sensation.

"Feel good baby? You like that?" He says after coming up for air, watching your expression as he slides his middle finger into you and curving it perfectly into your g-spot continuously.

Just as your orgasm builds inside you, a couple appears from the side of a house, casually walking along the sidewalk going in the opposite direction.

Negan notices you looking at them as you cover your hand with your mouth, attempting to stay quiet and not draw their attention. He glances back at them before looking to you with a mischievous grin spread across his face.

"Don't look at them baby. Look at me." His finger curves at a faster pace as his head drops between your legs once again. As soon as his tongue makes contact with your clit, you feel the overwhelming sensation rush over you.

"Negan.. Negan I'm gonna.." You whisper, as tears fill the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, cum for daddy. That's my good. fuckin'. girl." His voice grows deeper with each word as he removes his finger, replacing it with his tongue as you cry out. He spreads your legs apart as wide as possible before catching every drop of you in his mouth and groaning with satisfaction.

The couple looks behind them at the two of you before awkwardly looking away and quickening their steps when they realize what's happening.

"You taste so goddamn good, sweetheart." Negan stands, adjusting the manhood that's straining beneath his black jeans. "You warm yet?" He smirks, wiping your juices off his beard with his thumb as he takes his seat next to you.

He grips your jaw with his fingers, tilting your head to meet his as he kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

"Negan.." You breathe into his mouth.

"Yeah baby?" He says, still kissing you.

"Need more of you.."

Negan chuckles, breaking away from the kiss as he looks around. You both notice it's grown darker around you as most of the houses have completely turned their lights out.

You don't give him time to answer before you're climbing in his lap as your dress naturally bunches around your waist.

"Please, Negan. I need you inside me.. now." You beg, unbuttoning his pants.

"I'm not stoppin' you darlin'. Whatever I got.. it's yours."

He digs his fingers into your hips as you pull his hardening cock out of his pants, jerking it only a couple of times before it stands completely erect against his stomach. You look down at it, biting your lip at the intimidating size.

"You sure you're ready for me, baby?" He asks, smirking up at you.

You answer him by settling your knees comfortably on either side of him and lining his dick up to your already soaked entrance.

"You sure you're ready for me?" You ask him, before sliding your tight cunt down on him completely, making his head fall back and a deep moan to escape his throat. Your fingers intertwine in the back of his hair as you look down at him and watch his face as you pleasure him.

You've always had a crush on Negan, but seeing him this way and hearing the desperate, filthy sounds coming from his mouth brings it to a level you never thought possible.

You grind on him pathetically, selfishly focusing on making yourself cum again as you direct your g-spot perfectly into the tip of him over and over.

Your orgasm hits you like a semi truck as you lean back suddenly and cry out his name, unable to control yourself due to the immense pleasure. Negan's arms wrap around your back, keeping you from falling as you ride out your orgasm and he looks down between the two of you, watching your liquids drip down his long, thick cock.

"Ah, fuck, baby. Look. at. that. Making such a mess on daddy."

You regain your composure, leaning back up and maneuvering yourself on your feet on either side of the bench so you can easily bounce on him.

He helps guide you with his hands firmly planted on your ass cheeks as you grip his shoulders and begin to bounce up and down on him.

"Fuck. Just like that, baby. Just like that." He praises you, bringing one of his hands up to your hair and tugging on it until your head falls back. "So fucking proud of you for taking my cock so deep." He grunts out, and you know he's close from his erratic breathing and sweaty forehead.

"Will you cum in me, Negan? Please?" You ask innocently.

"Fuck, doll." He says out of breath. "Don't fuckin' tempt me."

"But I want it, daddy. Please.. want you to fill me up so I can sleep with it dripping out of me tonight and think of you." You say even more innocently than before, wanting him to give in.

He looks up at you with a serious expression on his face as you continue to ride him. "Damn, baby." He grunts as you bounce faster and more deliberate, desperate for him to spill inside of you. "How the hell am I supposed to say no to that?"

You lean down to kiss him hard as he suddenly holds your hips firmly in place against him. His head drops back further, pulling him away from the kiss as he lets out a long, hoarse groan, following it with short grunts with each rope of cum that pulses out of him.

You make out for minutes until his dick finally softens and you lift yourself off of him, shielding yourself from the cold as you snuggle into his jacket that's still wrapped around you.

"You think anyone saw us?" You ask as he tucks himself back into his jeans.

"Fuckin' hope so."

tag list: @loganlostitall @chaospossum @negansbabydoll66 @redqueenphoenix @n3g5nx @crustyweirdo @youngpersonaathletebear @sadgirlzluvdilfs @ilovebill-and-gustav @neganscumbucket @manipulatorpoem @im-a-goddamn-cat @raininhell @mahogany-cherry-wine @daryldixmedown @munsonslovergirl @sanctuaryforthelost @thelauraborealis @carlgrimesbbg @c3linesworld @blueheisenbergtragedy @startwinklekitty @darlingmadelinee @oceandeepthirst @jschlattsqtip @lavenderchai @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @neganswoman @n7crophiliac @cats-writing @alldevilsarehere90 @natykacenka @queermilfs @stasiaangelsinner @lupa-03 @sadgirlzluvdilfs @pamago-bb @javier-penas-wifexx420 @motelprincess444 @thatonefroggirl @myhappyplaceofstuff @darlingmadelinee ily babies.

[dotthings]

Some spn Cas history (because yay facts!! Facts are fun!!)

Misha was a guest star in S4. Castiel was originally planned to be a 3 episode and done character, but Misha was so electrifying as Cas, had great chemistry with Jensen, and Cas turned out to be such a compelling character, the show kept him around.

Misha was promoted to regular in S5 and continued in S6.

He was dropped from the show for S7 because Gamble and Singer decided to write out Cas. The network did a lot of fans a solid for once, called up the EP's, and went "hahahaha you aren't really planning to get rid of that fan favorite pretty angel are you???? hahaha ok no really bring him back" and literally refused to let spn get rid of him.

There was for sure a listlessness factor in S7 once Cas was removed. J2 were the anchors in the early seasons. In later seasons, J2M really became the show's center supports, more than just J2. (No, this is not arguable. This is reflected in canon story, and Cas's growth as a character and plot role and emotional role and in promotion for many years. No, I don't care who is offended that I said it. It's not a point of argument).

Jeremy Carver took over as showrunner in S8 and brought Misha in for an 8 episode arc, so Misha was a guest star in S8. Carver wanted to rebuild the character and in S9 Misha was promoted back up to series regular, and he stayed at that status the rest of the series.

Originally, Misha's regular status was denoted by having him third in opening credits after Jared and Jensen, before the "guest starring" section. Eventually Misha was given an "and" credit.

The "and" credit is a contract status thing. It's for series regulars of particular note, usually for a particularly noteworthy performance. Tony Head was "and" status on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. When he stepped back to recurring, Alyson Hannigan became the "and" status.

Some have tried to paint Misha's "and" designator as a sign of his lesser importance, but it's the opposite. It's a promotion and a sign of respect.

A further note, zero fans have attempted to supplant Jared and Jensen as the "top leads" of the show, but it's abundantly fair to label Misha a 3rd lead, given the proportion of Cas's plot and emotion impact on story and Misha's longevity and status. It's semantics, really. If someone gets offended if you say he's a 3rd lead, they're aren't worth your time. Eh, okay, "main character" isn't wrong either, but I'm suspicious of people who break out in hives over calling him "3rd lead"--but main character is a descriptor for Cas's role. SPN at times had 3-4 series regulars, with J2 as the only two constants the entire run of the show, which is why we say J2 are the 2 top leads. But Cas and Misha's importance are also facts.

Misha was "guest star" in S4, 7, and 8. Eventually he got "special guest star" credit during his guest starring era on spn, another indicator of an actor/performance/character of note, but not a series regular. He was a series regular for S5, 6, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15. (No this is not arguable. These are production facts. Some people still, after all this time, try to erase his regular/main character status on spn, and they aren't working in facts).

[tragedynoir]

— introducing 009: CELESTIAL BODIES + [ link ]

until October 15th 2023: stand a chance to win a free copy of this template by joining the giveaway!

a google doc template made for planning a novel or piece of writing that is inspired by space. this document features 9 pages of celestial illustrations that I drew especially for this template. this template contains a lot of functional elements (e.g. dashboard with to-do-list, drop-down menus to track progress), and is also made to flexibly accommodate any length (including large amounts) of writing and planning. every purchase of this template comes with a light and dark mode. this premium template and static previews can be found in the link above or in the source link.

features:

two templates for one — light and dark mode versions of this template

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I hope you enjoy this template, and all likes + reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Cherry Bomb

Sirius Black x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, oral (female receiving), soft!dom sirius, underage smoking, brief underage drinking, rough sex, pretty good sex imo, this all leads to a bigger plot i promise !!

summary: you’ve got a plan, and that plan starts with a simple shag with a simple man. sirius black.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: i used two beautiful prompts from this beautiful account @eloquentmoon and they are as followed.

11. “Louder, let me hear you”

28. “I want to have my way with you”

i listened to fat bottomed girls by queen during this and god did it help. anyway, enjoy :)

~~~

If boys could be considered easy, Sirius Black would be the easiest boy in all of Hogwarts. To shag Sirius Black, a girl only needs to meet a short list of requirements. One, she must be fit. Two, she must not be a virgin. And three by far the most important, she must be desperate for Sirius Black.

That’s why he was the first on the list. He was the easiest.

~~~

You stare in the mirror for a few seconds. Everything seems alright. Your dress is tight, your makeup is done, and most of all your plan is set. You turn to your friend and gesture to yourself.

“You’re stunning, as always. I don’t get why you’ve been insisting on doing this. What’s the goal?” Your friend says.

“Some fun I suppose.” You look at the clock on the dorm's wall. “I better be going, parties not going to last forever. Neither is Mr. Black’s smoke break.”

“Have a good time then.”

You grab your purse and start for the door. “Will do. See you tomorrow.”

After a few minutes of walking, you find Mr. Black exactly where you predicted him to be. He’s sitting on one of the benches, a cigarette between his lips. You casually step out into the moonlight, your hand rummaging through your purse. An unlit cigarette is held between two of your fingers, you make a sound of disapproval as you continue pretending to search your bag.

“All right there miss?”

You look up from your bag and shake your head. “Forgot my wand in my dorm.” You pretend to just notice the cigarette between his lips. “Mind helping a lady out with a smoke?”

“Why of course,” he answers. He gestures for you to come closer, and you gladly comply. “But I’m going to need your name first.”

“Why’s that? All I’m asking for is a quick light,” you reply.

He smirks. “If you know mine, I feel it’s only polite to know yours.”

“I don’t know yours, so we’re even. Anyway, how about that light now?”

Without another word, he pulls out his wand. You stick the cigarette between your lips and lean down. He’s surprised, you can tell from the way his eyes shift. Nevertheless, he lights the end of your cigarette. You lean back and take a long breath of smoke. It feels all too familiar in your lungs. You take a step back and pull the cigarette from your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“Y/n y/l/n.”

“Pardon?”

You look down at him. “My name, it’s y/n y/l/n. I’m from Ravenclaw, probably why you haven’t heard of me.”

“I’m Sirius Black from Gryffindor,” he replies.

“Ah Gryffindor, that’s where I’m heading actually. Heard there’s a big party up there, why aren’t you there?” You ask, sticking the cigarette between your lips again.

He shrugs. “Needed a small break. ‘Suppose it’s a good thing, right? Or else you wouldn’t have that precious fag between your lips. Perhaps it’s fate.”

“I don’t believe in that nonsense.” You pretend to check your watch. “Seems like the time is flying by. I’ve got to run before all the firewhiskey is gone.”

You drop your cigarette to the ground and smoosh it with your boot. When your eyes meet his again, you’re happy to see the slight shift. He’s curious, you can tell. Good. Curious is good. You give him a small smile.

“Nice to meet you Sirius Black from Gryffindor, ‘suppose I’ll see you up there, till then,” you say, giving him a small wink before turning on your heels and starting for the doors.

“Nice to meet you too Y/n y/l/n from Ravenclaw!” You hear him call from behind, but you don’t acknowledge it.

Phase one is done.

It’s almost an hour later when the second phase begins. You’re dancing to the beat of Queen’s newest hit, your hips swaying in a way you hope is entrancing. One or two shots of firewhiskey have been down your throat already, and you’re tempted to reach for a third, but that’s when you see him.

He’s across the room, his dark eyes practically glued to you. Despite how much you’ve planned this moment, you can’t help the butterflies that take over your stomach. Sirius Black, one of the most popular boys in the school, wants you. You lick your lips and watch as he lifts his hand, gesturing to you to go to him like he had earlier in the night.

You inhale one last breath before beginning the walk to him.

It’s the last time you’ll walk straight for a day or two.

And so, phase three begins.

~~~

You gasp as your face meets one of the pillows on his bed. You try to get back up on all fours, but it feels nearly impossible. With one of Sirius’s hands presses down on the small of your back, while the other grips one of your hips you’re lucky your legs haven’t given out yet. He fucks you relentlessly, and you’ve never loved anything more.

“Fuck Sirius,” you moan, you can’t catch your breath. Your orgasm is close. “Sirius.”

“Louder, let me hear you.” His voice is like music to your ears. “Let them all hear you love.”

“ ’M gonna cum Sirius,” you say, a bit louder than your previous words. “Fuck I’m so close please don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

You cum a few seconds later, your whole body shaking as you do. Sirius doesn’t falter for even a moment, making your orgasm ten times more pleasurable. When you’re done, he pulls out and flips you over onto your back. Your eyes meet and you almost audibly moan.

How could someone be so bloody handsome?

He lowers himself so he’s on top of you, his body held up by his two hands placed on either side of your head. You wrap your arms around him, and as he thrusts inside you once again, you let your nails drag down his back. He kisses your neck sloppily, causing you to whimper.

“Have you never been shagged properly?”

You can’t help the small laugh that leaves you. “I suppose not.”

“Something mustn’t be right because your pussy is by far one of the best I’ve ever had.” He presses himself so deep inside you, that you wince in pain. He’s reached your cervix. “So soft, so warm, so tight. In fact, I think I need a taste.”

He pulls out of you again and quickly kisses down your body, pausing only to suck hard on one of your nipples. After that, his tongue is on your stomach, your navel, your...

“Sirius, what are you-”

“I want to have my way with you.”

Your back arches as he begins to lick your clit. Your thighs clench around his head, and your hands move to his hair. You squeeze your eyes shut, the pleasure almost too much for you to handle. He eats you out as if he’s been starved his entire life. His lips and tongue are so soft, so warm. Your second orgasm comes far quicker than the first.

“Perfect taste.”

He begins to crawl up your body, his mouth shining with your cum. You don’t hold yourself back from kissing him, in fact, you’re the one who initiates it. You love the taste of yourself on his lips, it’s one of the most attractive things you’ve ever encountered.

After a minute or two you push him down onto the bed and crawl on top of him. From the way he’s grinning up at you, to the way his gorgeous hair is sprawled out on the mattress, you can’t help the words that slip from your mouth.

“None of the gossips ever mentioned how empowering it is to have the great Sirius Black underneath you.”

He raised a brow. “I thought you didn’t know who I am.”

“I uh...” You give him a small smile and begin to move your hips back and forth, his cock sliding between your incredibly wet folds. “I knew you didn’t know my name, so I pretended not to know yours. To make it even.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but it also wasn’t the complete truth either.

Sirius’s eyes flutter shut, his hands moving to grip your hips. “I know your name now y/n y/l/n.”

“And you will remember it,” you reply. “Not like all those other girls whose names you forget the next morning.”

“Course not love.”

“It’s not a question.” You lift your hips and slowly begin to sink down on his cock. His fingers dig into your skin, you place your hands on his chest. “It’s a statement. I’m going to spell it out for you.”

You start to rock back and forth and up and down, just the way you know drives guys mad. Sirius is no different. Except, unlike the others, he doesn’t bother to hold back from moaning his approval. You lean down after a few minutes, so your lips are almost touching his ear, and with each movement of your hips, you say a letter of your name.

So, by the time you reach your third orgasm and Sirius reaches his first, your name is properly engraved in his head.

When everything is done and you’re both spent, he holds you in his arms. Your head rests on his chest, and you listen to his gentle heartbeat. The two of you share a cigarette in silence. It’s not uncomfortable in the slightest. Sirius Black has that effect on people.

As you stare at the wall you wonder how you’re supposed to move forward with the plan. You never expected such aftercare from the school player or such kindness during the shag. He’s a very giving lover, contrary to the popular belief that he’s simply another boy who enjoys using girls for his pleasure. You take one last long drag of the cigarette before handing it back to him and closing your eyes.

“I think I quite like you, y/n y/l/n,” he suddenly says, his voice barely above a whisper.

This plan might be harder than you thought.

[uniteds]

stuff that happened in the 2022/2023 football season that should send us into a coma but we’re too desensitized:

1. the whole ass world cup in the middle of the season. what was that

2. manchester united sacking ronaldo and announcing a sale of the club in the middle of the world cup

3. ronaldo getting dropped at the world cup and his replacement scoring a hattrick immediately after

4. keeping up with the belgians (world cup edition)

5. keeping up with the belgians (courtois saying he doesn’t respect kdb after stealing his missus)

6. ronaldo stans beefing with a little moroccan girl

7. the kingdom of saudi arabia buying newcastle united and then telling the premier league that they didn’t and the premier league going “oh okay if you say so”

8. megan thee stallion being romelu lukaku’s date to lautaro martinez’s wedding

9. pique cheating on shakira and then shakira releasing a diss track about it

10. shakira figuring out pique cheated on her because someone ate her strawberry jam and pique doesn’t eat strawberry jam

11. apparently the girl pique cheated on shakira with (clara) cheating on pique with pep

12. wagatha christie libel case

13. real madrid dropping a video accusing barcelona of fascism and the government of cataluyna getting involved

14. the pope coming out as a manchester united fan

15. the one napoli fan that basically made zielinski strip on the pitch

16. mount vesuvius park shutting down because napoli fans wanted to fake an eruption as a celebration

17. frank lampard taking everton into a relegation battle, getting sacked, and then taking chelsea into a relegation battle

18. on that note: chelsea were in a relegation scrap and finished 12th

19. mourinho lost his first ever european final to sevilla europa league black magic

20. whatever the fuck borussia dortmund did on the last day of the bundesliga season

21. anthony martial’s ex wife chasing his first wife down a french motorway with a baby in the passenger seat

22. psg suspending messi because he took an unsanctioned trip to saudi arabia and then unsuspending him two days later because they didn’t want people talking about geopolitics

23. the absolutely bizarre messi apology video released by psg

24. spurs refunding their fans’ tickets after being embarrassing

25. pep’s heartbreak over the fact julia roberts is a manchester united fan

26. chelsea scored one goal in the month of april

27. chelsea and spurs had six managers between them and won one match combined between march and april

28. mourinho fighting anthony taylor after the europa league final

29. milan derby in the ucl for the first time since 2005

30. luis enrique saying he’s cool with the spanish players having sex during the world cup as long as they’re not having orgies

31. luis enrique saying he doesn’t have sex anymore unless his wife wants to

32. man city charged with 115 counts of financial doping and trying to get the barrister in charge disqualified because he’s an arsenal fan

33. mourinho wire-taping himself to catch referees being corrupt

34. ryan reynolds and mac from it’s always sunny in philadelphia buying a football club and that football club getting promoted

35. pele died rip

36. women football awards sponsored by shein and klarna having a category for “male football ally of the year” and it’s just random men that went to one (1) women’s game

37. barcelona negreia case (how do you say calciopoli in catalan?)

38. infantino saying he feels gay, african, like a migrant worker, disabled, arab, and qatari

39. infantino saying he was oppressed as a child because he was ginger and italy is not safe for gingers

40. david alaba’s father in law getting arrested for being one the leaders of a far right group plotting to overthrow the german government

41. richarlison being tumblr’s it girl for a month and then not scoring a goal for the next four

42. juventus being in the middle of another corruption scandal and being docked points because of it

43. two teams getting investigated by the british government for playing football the weekend the queen died

44. gavi getting a yellow card in the first minute of a football match

45. pogba’s brother was arrested by french authorities for being part of a group-organized extortion attempt against pogba

46. richarlison getting a tattoo of neymar’s face and neymar paying him 30k to get it removed

47. iker casillas coming out, puyol implying they had a thing, and both of them retracting it in the most misha collins way possible.

48. sane and mane fight

49. zlatan retired from football

50. barca withholding about 50 million in wages from their players and somehow frenkie still didn’t want to join manchester united