#they had a gnarly nightmare

[b-blushes]

it is time for SUPER STRONG AND POWERFUL SATURDAY!!!!!!!

[moonstruckme]

hi! I wondered if you could do a steddie x fem!reader comfort fic?? it could be anything like r has period cramps, a migraine or maybe she has a nightmare? thank you so much!!!

Hi my love, thank you for requesting!

poly!steddie x fem!reader ♡ 608 words

If Eddie wanted to wake up to an empty bed, he would be single. 

It’s the cold that gets his attention. When Eddie stretches out a leg, seeking either you or Steve to latch onto, his foot only goes sliding across the sheets to dangle off the other end of the bed. He sits up. 

The fuck?

He stumbles out of Steve’s bedroom feeling like he’s in the intro scene of a horror movie, all cold and disoriented and in his boxers, but the blue light of the TV leads him to the living room. There, he finds you and Steve all curled up and cozy, relishing in your shared body heat without him. 

“Hey, I’m pretty—” 

Steve shushes him harshly, clamping a protective hand over your head on his chest and looking up like Eddie’s mere presence is a scandal. (Which, to some, sure, but not usually to his boyfriend.) 

“She just fell asleep,” Steve whispers. “If you wake her up, I will kill you.” 

Eddie blinks. “Okay,” he says, quieter now. “I didn’t realize things were so dire, considering she was sleeping the last time I saw her. I was going to say that I’m pretty sure if my snoring wakes you guys up, I’m the one who’s supposed to go to the couch.” 

Steve breathes out. He reaches for Eddie’s hand, kissing his knuckles while petting the top of your head softly. 

“Sorry. Sorry, it’s just, I’ve been trying to get her to go back to sleep since, like, two.” Eddie glances at the clock below the TV. It’s nearly five. When his gaze returns to Steve, the other boy smiles sadly. “She had a bad dream.” 

The sound that leaves Eddie is soft and entirely involuntary, his knees bending so he can crouch in front of you both. “A real bad one, huh?” 

You’ve been having a lot of stress dreams lately, but none gnarly enough to keep you up for hours like this. He feels bad that he wasn’t there to comfort you. 

Steve nods, pretty mouth twisting ruefully. “Yeah, she was pretty upset. Crying and all that.” 

Eddie’s heart heavies. He has the urge to reach up and touch your leg, but he thinks Steve might tackle him. 

“She thought she might need a distraction before she could get back to sleep,” he goes on, “so we came to see what was on TV.”

Eddie looks at the two of you. You, breathing deep and even on Steve’s chest, and Steve, one arm curled around you with the other undoubtedly asleep and with nowhere to rest his head. 

“And you got yourself trapped,” Eddie deduces. 

Steve sighs. “Yep.” 

“Okay.” He worms a hand underneath your curled legs. “I don’t think she’ll have problems sleeping anymore.” He starts to lift you, ignoring the flurry of hushed protests from his boyfriend. 

“Fuck—don’t—wait—” 

You make a low, throaty sound, and Steve glowers. 

“Hey, baby,” Eddie grunts, hoisting you up to his chest (gently, he swears). “Ready to go back to bed?” 

“Oh.” It comes out of you in an exhale, and feels like a hand squeezed around his heart. You let your cheek go soft against his shoulder. “Yeah. Sorry to leave you by yourself.” 

Eddie smiles. You know him so well. “I’ll give you a pass this once,” he says, glancing back at Steve. The other boy is standing like he’s forgotten how to work his legs, rubbing around his eyes and beginning the trudge to the bedroom. “You could’ve woken me, you know.” 

“You were snoring,” you hum. “You wouldn’t’ve heard us.” 

Steve huffs a laugh, and Eddie’s smile goes guilty. “Fair enough.”

[princessfbi]

Tommy’s arms are warm as they wrap around Buck. + bucktommy

Tommy’s arms were warm as they wrapped around Buck. Warm and big.

Buck was still getting used to that. Big arms that could wrap around his waist and still have room to tighten. Big chest for him to curl up against and pillow his head. Big hands.

God, Tommy’s hands were huge.

A stubbled cheek scratched against his own before a soft kiss pressed into the column of his throat. Buck melted against the warmth, folding into Tommy as the bed dipped with their weight. Buck let out a noise from the back of his throat as he slid into Tommy's lap.

“You’re okay,” Tommy reminded him. Reminded him because Buck had asked him to. Something he should’ve done before the first time he slept over. But Buck had been foolishly hoping that they had gone away.

He hadn’t had a nightmare in the first two months of dating Tommy. They had started staying over after the first month. Tommy still took things slow— painfully slow if anyone asked a hot and bothered Buck when all he wanted was to feel Tommy toss him around a bit and then kiss him until he couldn’t see straight— but sharing space between each other had felt as natural as breathing. A hooked ankle under the table. A hand held in the car. A lean into each other’s weight while Buck inhaled the masculine scent that still sent a shockwave through Buck’s system. It’d been easy to feel safe and unguarded around one another to fall asleep in bed together.

Two months in and Buck had thought— stupidly— that they were gone. That every night would involve him curled up on Tommy’s chest or Tommy pressed to his back or Tommy’s head pillowed on his bicep while he clung to Buck’s waist. That every night would be perfect. Untainted.

Then the first nightmare came. It’d been an ugly, gnarly twisted monster of a thing. One that made Buck’s skin slick with a cold sweat and the oxygen trapped in his lungs. Seeing Tommy’s freaked out expression while he held Buck’s hand through a panic attack that sent him flying to the bathroom to puke had been almost worse than the nightmare itself.

Guilt and embarrassment had eaten away at his already frayed nerves. Tommy had sat down beside him on the too cold tile and rubbed his back while Buck retched. Then Tommy did the only thing he could do in that situation.

“What can I do?” He had asked.

“You’re okay, baby. Just breathe,” Tommy whispered into Buck’s skin, a firm but gentle hand rubbing across his sternum.

“Remind me I’m okay. That it’s— it’s not real.” Buck had said with his cheeks burning with humiliation and his eyes pointed down at his lap. Tommy had curled two fingers under his chin and tipped his eyes back up.

“Eddie’s fine. He’s at home. He’s okay,” Tommy said over and over again.

Buck must have been talking in his sleep. It was the only explanation for how Tommy knew that Buck’s nightmare had tasted like copper. That the ground had shook beneath his feet, making it impossible to get to his friend as he bled out on the pavement. How he’d reached and reached, screaming his name as something dragged him further and further away. His throat was raw from screaming when Eddie’s head and lulled in his direction but there hadn’t been a face. Just a sheen filter over a lifeless expression that would’ve broken Buck.

Tommy pressed his big palm flat over Buck’s racing heart and pulled Buck further into his lap, scooping up Buck’s legs so he could hold him fully.

“He’s okay. You’re okay. It was just a bad dream.” Tommy murmured into his hair as Buck curled his fists into Tommy’s sleep shirt.

“Sorry…” Buck croaked because even through the haze of the lingering panic still choking him, he could see how late... or rather early it was and Tommy had a shift.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Tommy said, tightening his hold around Buck until the pressure started to ease away the tight ball of tension in Buck’s chest. “Just breathe for me.”

Buck breathed and it was stilted and ragged but it was real. Real and warm like Tommy curled around him.

It helped. It helped more than Buck could possibly say.

[snzhrchy]

Hi hru 👋🏾

I have a request for Wednesday on Netflix maybe you could write xavier and the reader having a fight and then he suddenly kisses the reader. Only if you want

— ☆ THOSE FEW DAYS !

xavier thorpe x fem!reader

synopsis; you’re just concerned about your boyfriend’s issues but it leads to a terrible argument between you two yet you both still long for eachother.

warnings; none :)

taglist; lmk if u wanna be on it !

Ever since the arrival of Wednesday Addams in Nevermore and the unfortunate expulsion of Rowan, your boyfriend, Xavier Thorpe had been acting rather, unusual, to say the least.

Yes, he did lose his roommate and he was being tormented by frequent nightmares of a creature — it was enough to make one lose their sanity. Yet today, in particular, he was acting odd.

You noticed that today, he was feeling uncomfortable, bothered by the slightest conversation, as if he were scared. He also was making an attempt to cover his neck either with his collar or hands. You observed that the reason as to why he was hiding his neck was due to the large red scars that were planted on it — worst of all, they were fresh. They looked as if a creature had attacked his neck as it appeared that maybe claws were the cause of it.

You overheard him informing Wednesday that the scars were due to fencing class yet you knew him better than anyone — he wasn’t that careless to get injured so terribly in fencing. It was probably due to another cause.

Eventhough, deep down you knew you shouldn't inquire him about his latest injury something had urged you to question him about it. You wanted to know why he looked and felt so terrified. After all, you were his girlfriend, shouldn't you have a right to know?

Reluctantly, you made your way to his art studio which was an old shed he had cleaned out. You knew he was in it due to the slow hum of the music you could hear from the outside and the small light rays that penetrated out of the shed's windows.

Xavier would visit the shed whenever he was in distress. Lately, he'd been visiting it quite often as he was tortured by all his horrifying dreams and the events occurring in Jericho. The rumours of the creature in the woods weren't helping either.

One, two, three. You knocked thrice onto the door, patiently waiting for the man inside to let you in. After a few moments on waiting, the door finally opened to reveal an anger-stricken Xavier, who leaned against the doorway of the shed.

His palms were coloured in different shades of blue and red, indicating that he was painting. Whereas his eyes were both avoidant of your gaze. He kept glancing at his shoes, not even bothering to greet you — other times, he'd let you in, showing off anything new he had painted.

You broke off the awkward silence with a small cough, 'can I come in?' you lightly asked as you attempted to smile at him. Still not meeting your eyes, he replied with a simple 'sure,' and moved out of the way so that you could enter.

You looked around and were horrified at the sight of the inside of the shed. Nearly every corner was filled with sketches, drawings and paintings of the creature - some scribbled messily while others were decorated in detail. You now knew that his nightmares were only getting worse even with his multiple therapy sessions, he still wasn't getting any better.

'So what do you want?' Xavier asked with no emotion. You turned to look at him after finally tearing your eyes away from the gnarly pictures he had drawn. 'I just wanted to check up on you, see how you're feeling,' you replied, 'I noticed your scars and I wanted to ask you...' you trailed off, unsure of how to continue since you noticed that his expression hardened.

'Why? So you could blame me for all the murders?' he snapped. You had no idea what Xavier could possibly mean by that statement. Did someone blame him? Was that he was feeling so sour?

'No, I don't blame you at all and you know that. I was just here to check up on you and-' before you could finish, you were cut off by Xavier: 'well, I don't need you checking up on me, I'm perfectly fine. Stop pretending like you ever actually cared,' he shouted.

All the worry you had about him left you immediately, you yelled back at him as he yelled at you. You both were shouting back and forth, throwing cruel words at eachother. Until, you had had enough. Your eyes and cheeks were now stained with tears, your lips were bleeding due to you biting them aggressively and you wanted nothing more than to leave.

His harsh words were enough for you to finally leave his shed, filled with rage and sadness. Clearly, he was not feeling alright and took out his anger on you. You were just trying to check up on him, what could've caused him to feel like this?

To be honest, you were angry at him, terribly angry. You stormed into your room, trying to block off any thoughts you had about him. Yet you couldn't since no matter how foolish he acted, you still liked him.

Rave'N was suppose to be a fun and eventful night for any outcast. Well, any outcast except for you. Ever since your argument with Xavier, you didn't bother talking to him, even when he attempted to apologise to you.

You went with your friend and roommate, Yoko and instead of moping over Xavier, you decided to actually enjoy yourself. It was a party after all, you were suppose to enjoy yourself here. The drinks and loud music were finally making you forget all about Xavier.

After a couple of drinks and a few dances with Yoko, you were finally exhausting yourself. Tearing away from Yoko and the dance floor, you finally sat down on a table you presumed to be empty to rest a bit before going back.

'I see you're enjoying yourself here,' a familiar yet unexpecting voice called — the last voice you wanted to hear right now. Sighing, you turned to look at the unwelcomed face of Xavier. You raised your brow, 'So? It's a party,' you replied, not even bothering to pay attention to him.

'Hey listen...' he began as he sat himself next to you. You knew what to expect, for the past few days, Xavier had been attempting to apologise to you for his harsh words yet you didn't bother listening to any of his apologies; most of the time, Yoko would just tell him to leave.

You sighed and turned to look at him, 'you've told me that same apology multiple times but you have to realise that I was really hurt by your words... I was just worried.' This was probably the longest conversation you both had this entire week.

'Xavier, I understand you were hurting back then but I just kinda wished you ta—‘ before you could finish your statement, you got interrupted by a pair of lips on yours.

It was a surprised gesture but you reciprocated it almost immediately; you missed this so much. You’d never admit it but you really did miss Xavier loads. Just by kissing him, all the events of the past few days were lost; you just wanted to be with him.

Once you two pulled apart, Xavier looked at his shoes, avoiding your gaze again — it looked as if he was embarrassed of his actions.

‘I’m really sorry about that, y/n. I shouldn’t have done that,’ he stated apologetically. Deep down, Xavier longed for things to go back to the way they were. He felt upset and he missed you so much.

‘Hey, it’s alright. I’m kinda over it besides, you were just on edge back then; we both said things that we regretted. I understand,’ you gently spoke. Xavier looked at you with hopeful eyes yet he didn’t utter a single word.

The last thing Xavier expected you to do was stand up and offer your hand to his, inviting him onto the dance floor.

‘Come on,’ you said as you happily dragged him to the dance floor.

[runninriot]

Love Me Til It Hurts

written for @steddiesongfics

song: Neon Noir by Ville Valo (2023) | rated: E | wc: 1.368 | cw: blood, blood drinking, blood kink (kind of), sexual content | tags: Monster!Eddie Munson, Monster Lover!Steve Harrington, Steve is a Freak, and Eddie loves him for it | also on ao3

Becoming a monster had always sounded kind of… intriguing.

The reality of it, however, sucked big time.

And maybe that’s just due to the circumstances of how it happened. Because nearly being eaten alive by demon bats in a place that resembles more hell than Hawkins (or- now that he thinks about it, maybe it just shows Hawkins’s true face because his hometown kind of always had been hell) and the fact that it fucking hurt to be transformed into the human-monster-abnormality that he is now.

So, yeah. Becoming a monster had been a literal nightmare.

Being one, on the other hand, is even crazier than he’d ever imagined it would be.

Sure, it was scary at first, to suddenly see the world in a different light. Literally. And to suddenly be able to hear sounds he’d never heard before. To smell and taste flavours he never even knew existed. But he soon learned to accept it, made peace with his new self and all the traits that come with it.

Being a monster is kind of fun, to be honest, and to feel superior in a way, to be stronger, taller, more powerful than he could ever have dreamed of being is just a bonus. A little cherry on top. Something that keeps him sane whenever the memories of their final fight against Vecna replay in his mind.

Because now, he’s able to protect his friends. To watch out for them. To make sure they’re safe.

And giving up part of his humanity for that is a prize he’d be willing to pay all over again.

That and the fact that being this new, better version of himself changed his life in ways he never thought would be possible.

He’s been living in the Harrington home ever since they brought him back, with Steve helping him discover and... explore all the changes he’s been going through.

And that had been a wild ride from the start.

Nothing and no one could’ve prepared Eddie for finding out just how much of a freak Steve Harrington would turn out to be.

Because he is. Oh God, he is. Maybe the biggest freak of them all.

Freaky in a way Eddie still has a hard time believing is not just some side effect from being bitten by the same gnarly creatures, or maybe from swallowing that bat’s blood when he ripped it apart with his teeth, looking all rough and grimy and too fucking sexy, bleeding and bare chested and-

Where was he?

Oh, yeah.

Whatever it is, however Eddie got so lucky – he cherishes every moment of it. Because ever since coming back wrong, everything in his life suddenly went right.

🩸🖤🩸

When Steve offered his blood to Eddie for the first time, he nearly lost it because- shit, that was better than any trip. No drug could ever compare to the effect Steve’s blood had on him, finally scratching that itch that had been driving him mad ever since his transformation.

But it didn’t stop there, no. What Eddie initially thought was just one of the endless self-sacrificing acts Steve is known for, turned out to be so much more. Because somehow, Steve found a liking in Eddie’s new form.

It took Eddie a while to figure it out. To understand why Steve suddenly always came so close. Always in his periphery at least, always touching when they were sitting next to each other. Always right there, waiting for Eddie’s next blood rush, too quick to offer his wrist or neck for Eddie to sink his teeth in.

Look, call him stupid or whatever, but how the hell could Eddie have known that fangs and wings would do it for Steve?

And he should have been offended, really, when Steve finally confessed. Because-

    Honestly, Steve? You’re telling me I had to literally die for you to finally notice me?

But let’s be real. Eddie would gladly let himself be turned into a fucking worm if it meant he could have Steve in return.

Yeah, that man’s definitely worth dying for.

If anyone asked him, he’d deny it but Eddie had a crush on Steve long before the world went to shit. But never – not even in his wildest dreams – did he dare to fantasize about a future where he’d know what Steve looks like underneath his stupid polos and illegally tight jeans.

And now he does.

Knows all the parts of him, even the hidden ones. Because Steve is a goddamn monster lover, in every sense of the word.

🩸🖤🩸

The first time Eddie realised Steve’s quiet whimpers were more than just a response to the pain of having the skin of his neck pierced by razor-sharp teeth, was a true revelation. He still remembers how embarrassed Steve had been when Eddie noticed the dark patch at the front of his sweats. He was still visibly half hard and Eddie – lost in the daze of drinking his blood – couldn’t stop staring.

He tried to apologise, tried to tell Steve that it was okay, that is was probably just his body’s reaction to being drained because that shit’s not normal, is it? But Steve just shook his head, took Eddie’s large, clawed hand and placed it right above the wet spot in the front of his pants.

Eddie nearly choked on his own tongue, overcome with a desire to take and claim, to touch Steve where his blood was pulsing hot and hard beneath the damp fabric.

He needed Steve in ways that should’ve scared them both but- did he mention that Steve’s a freak?

Because he didn’t even wait for permission, didn’t stop one second to consider how dangerous this was, or could’ve been, when he crawled into Eddie’s lap like a love-sick dog, whining and whimpering so sweetly against Eddie’s lips as he kissed him, deep and unafraid, uncaring of the bittersweet iron they could both taste when he pricked his greedy tongue on Eddie’s fangs.

It was fucked-up and dirty and so fucking frightening but Eddie couldn’t resist, couldn’t reject the offer when Steve was so ready to give him more than he ever dreamed of.

And it remains a dream, a wonderful fantasy each time it happens. Each time Steve gets this look in his eyes, full of want, full of unhinged desire to be taken apart. To be claimed by his monster, to be fucked and kissed and loved- God, Eddie loves him so much.

He worships him like a king – Eddie’s inferior to no one but Steve – and what he gets in return is more than just a taste of what his new form needs to thrive.

When his humanity takes a backseat while his monster self takes over, and the rioting rush of primal desire is clouding his senses, Steve’s touch is the only thing keeping him grounded. And it’s so much more than just sex. More than just two creatures giving in to their godless impulses to take and be taken.

It’s a beautiful mess very time Eddie leaves a trail of dark red love confessions on Steve’s skin just to kiss them better. And it feels like rebirth every time Steve comes with Eddie’s name on his lips, every time he falls to pieces in Eddie’s arms.

Every time they share each other’s blood and cum and spit, every time they crash and fall, sweat-drenched and breathless, it’s like Eddie is being transformed all over again, bathed in Steve’s light, graced by his lover’s mercy – really letting himself become the monster he is because his boyfriend likes him like that.

His boyfriend Steve, the freak. The one reason for Eddie’s stone-cold heart to keep beating.

Steve Harrington, the monster lover. His beautiful, insatiable boy, always so greedy for more.

   “I love you, Steve,” Eddie whispers as he lets his hand glide over naked, burning skin. Careful this time, not to break any more of it.

   “Love me, Eddie. Love me ‘til it hurts.”

Oh. But how could he not, when Steve demands it like that?

He’ll never get enough of it.

Because, yeah, being a monster is fun. But being Steve’s monster is everything.

[falling-heights]

Yandere Geto x Non-Sorceror Pt. 2

"The bear loved the deer, it was obvious.

It ripped the deer's throat out,

and then licked the dying deer

with the most passionate affection."

Part 1 ▪︎ Part 2

It sounded like a knife against rope in the darkness, grinding, grinding, grinding away.

The sounded wafted the room, it raped what little sanity was left in your mind. That grinding, grinding sound that seemed to chisel a hole in your skull. It echoed in the room constantly, at all hours. What more were hours to you now? Perhaps it was only moments. It was so hard to tell in the black room. You had stared into nothing for so long you swore you could see colors in the abyss, dancing with the shadows.

Snapping twine.

Grinding against rope.

It had been longer than any time before since you had seen that man. Almost long enough to almost miss him, as much as you hated him. The one with the sweet voice, who brought only pain, only torment. The reason you were sitting in a wet, concrete prison. Did you prefer the rats? It seemed you were just trading one form of torture for another.

Irregular scratches that sounded like mindless chewing.

Grinding against stone.

You could not count the days anymore, in the beginning perhaps, but you weren't sure whether you stopped because you lost track of the days, or if you lost the ability to count. Hours seemed like days now, you did not bother. It was more or less a reminder of how much you were losing.

Days, months. How many more were left? How many more would you see, and be forced to live through? Would this be everything you had left until you finally died? And what did you even have left anymore? Your youth would be slipping soon, and your beauty was already certainly gone.

You were not sure any living thing could come out of this looking recognizable to what it once was. You could not see yourself, not since he put you in here. Yet, you felt alien, changed, mutated into some gnarly creature. Your hair was matted beyond much help. You weighed a fraction of your original size. At times you would trace your ribs and spine, no longer surprised by how hollow they felt, nor by how tight your skin felt across your frame. Like well-stretched canvas, dry and aged.

Tooth against stone.

Grinding against sto- no, that wasn't it was it?

It had grown fervent with your thoughts, the sound, more eager. It grew louder, almost violent. Closer to the prize than ever before. Scratching, scratching away. The noise was wetter than you noticed before, more like chewing.

Snapping rope, like ripping tendons.

Teeth grinding against bone.

Your sweat-drenched body shot upright, suddenly awake from the dream you didn’t know you were having. You felt flesh ripped open above your ankle, and that awful awful sound of chewing. Fear seized your being the moment you felt pain, and your hand instinctively lashed out. Your palm connected with wet fur, and something cried out in a small screech as it hit the adjacent wall, but you could not see.

Those goddamn rats.

How could you have slept that? How tired were you, how weak?

When was the last time you had anything to eat?

You did not know anything anymore. You wanted it to just be a nightmare. You wanted to wake up and know that you still have a life, something worth wanting.

Huffing, wide-eyed, and begging that by some miracle your eyes might adjust to the pitch black, you mustered your strength and shoved your body back, soon finding a cold stone wall. Letting it guide you, you crawled into a corner, curling up to somehow hide. Your leg throbbed but you dared not touch it.

The air stilled as you listened above the sound of your ragged breathing, waiting for something to make itself known. A silent standstill between you and the hungry little beasts that came before you. Those who had known this life much longer than you. What more were you to them? Food? Trespasser? Fellow prisoner? All of them, it should seem.

The stale air was interrupted by the distant sound of steps descending stairs. Heavy, trodden, pounding through you like a drum.

Light flooded the room as the only door opened, and you watched the rat that had sampled flesh scamper off through a small crack in the wall, and you watched it bitterly, thinking, if only you were that small, if only there were a way out.

He walked in with a smile more real than you had ever seen before. He was not drunk like you had hoped. And for once, he was not alone.

Two bodies accompanied him, and your eyes widened when you saw just how young they were. Their heads were dipped, hands laid out plain in front of them against their drapes. The two girls walked behind him reverently, in an almost ceremonious fashion. Their matching yukatas did not ease your wariness. A strange air of formality enshrouded all three souls that stood over you.

The girl- child? to his left stifled her stiff actions to cover her face with her sleeve, though you could still see her nose wrinkling in disgust. The other seemed to swallow her own breath, and her eyes were widened with nausea.

"It's a pitiable sight, isn't it?" Geto hid his amused smile with his hand, eyebrows scrunched in a faux display of sympathy. You didn't know how your state did not affect him, how he could carry himself as he did while those around him seemed to gag on the air itself. "Well, no matter. It seems we've reached the end of this entertaining affair. Mimiko and Nanako will assist in getting you ready."

Ready? Ready for what?

He only smiled down at you warmly, oddly proud, a hint of pride behind his slanted eyes. Your lips parted to sound the words to your question, but all you mustered was a sharp inhale. Glaring at the man from your corner, you shut your mouth apprehensively. You did not want to speak to this man, to give him the satisfaction of another lecture, but the strange nature of this left you feeling uneasy. There was just something off about it.

He stood idly as you were dragged by the two girls from the safety of the corner. You did not have much strength to resist, and you realized that perhaps your neglect was intentional, to ensure that you would take this easily. The rags from your limbs were ripped off, and buckets of water were dumped onto your body. It was cold at first, and your body grew rigid as you gasped for air at the sensation. But then the girls knelt to your level, soaking the dried blood and dirt off with sponges drenched in hot water. Soap leaked into the bloodied bites on your ankle, and you cringed in pain as it stung. All while your tormenter watched from the other side of the room.

Your eyes met his for most of the session, defiant and indignant, angered by shame at this exposure to him and your inability to fight it. His were more indifferent to your suffering, nothing new, but he seemed more calm than what you were familiar with. No homilies, no veiled hatred, no more shame in his old hedonistic ways. He simply stood from a distance and watched, waiting patiently until you were clean.

A sigh of relief nearly escaped your lips at the foreign feeling of nothing on your raw skin. The blood had been washed away, along with the grime caking your body. It made you feel a little more human than you had been allowed for quite some time.

An undone kimono has draped over your hunched figure, finally covering your body from prying eyes. An ivory comb was raked gently through your hair, though you winced visibly whenever the teeth caught on a matted tangle. It took ages to finally smooth the mess on your head.

"My, how close you are to looking like something almost human," The young girls stopped their actions, shying away from the man, and leaving you covered, but still vulnerable in an undone kimono. Geto approached, seemingly more alert with a wide smile that stretched across his face. He then turned, sternly glaring at the adolescents. "You may take your leave now, I have no more need for your assistance."

A bottle of some sort of spirit was held delicately in his hands. When the girls finally moved, you noticed a small wooden table sat in the middle of the room, glasses on either side and a singular plate.

When did he even set this up?

All common sense however soon left when your eyes landed on what was on the plate. Fresh bread, fluffier than the clouds you once dreamed of. Some kind of beef glazed in what you hoped was gravy. That singular plate looked like the closest thing to heaven that you had seen in a long time, and your mouth watered, desperate for a taste. And there was only one thing in the way, the very man that physically stood between you and that moment of paradise.

You soon had to give your attention over to him when his body blocked the vision of the table entirely. He had placed the bottle on the table as he passed by, and he stooped now in front of you, on your level. He was close, eyes boring into your face, examining your features painstakingly, as though looking for error. His gaze did not remain on your face as it trailed down to the rest of what skin was exposed to the naked eye.

They stopped, uncomfortably focused on the loose drapes that covered your chest. A hand approached, silently prying at the cloth with his index finger, almost toying with it in a manner that made you nauseous. He soon dropped his hand once he seemed to get bored with teasing you, eyes connecting with yours.

"Had you been born under more forgiving circumstances, this could have been easily avoided," He said lowly, he seemed to be considering things, turning over possibilities in his head, before he conceded with a shake of his head and a shy grin. He stood suddenly, stepping out of the way so that the table was in your direct path. "I apologize for making you wait, you must be hungry."

You looked to him hesitantly with wide eyes, wondering briefly if this was some sort of trap, if he was only teasing you and would snatch the food away from you at the last moment, never to be tasted or savored. He simply cocked his head, motioning you to move, and you did not wait a moment more, practically lunging at the table and ripping into the food with your bare hands.

A moan nearly left your mouth the second the food met your tongue. Memories of a normal life flooded your mind. It reminded you of times you would spend with friends or lovers in restaurants well above what you could ever afford. Times that your father spent the whole day cooking for your overworked family. Things you would never know again. Tears sprang from your eyes briefly, both celebrating and mourning everything at once.

Geto seated himself across from you, watching in sick amusement as you ate with a vicious appetite. There was no silverware provided, no cloth to wipe your mouth or hands. He wanted a show, one which you eagerly gave. He wanted to make you look like a pig, and you did not protest, sacrificing a small moment of dignity for a privilege that may never come again.

As if you had ever cared what this man might think of you.

He only spoke once your appetite seemed quelled and your chewing slowed. Your eyes shot to the frosted glass bottle that he was holding earlier, as he picked it up once more. There was script on the label in a language you didn't understand; it was something you had never seen before.

"I have been waiting to open this gem since I found you," He sighed happily, twisting into the cork with a corkscrew. You were uncertain of where he had been hiding it, but you knew he wasn't nearly stupid enough to allow any sharp objects within your vicinity.

Maroon liquid was poured into the glasses parallel to you. The color was darker than most wines, and viscous, like nothing you had ever seen. This was no ordinary liquor.

"Drink, you must be parched," He said gently, as though he were treating a houseguest to something from his private collection. Though your stomach churned at the consistency of the liquid.

"What is it?" You asked. When you did not automatically take the glass, he moved it to your side of the small table expectantly. Though he did not answer at first, only looking at you with that same expectation. Unnaturally dark, it swirled and thrummed in the cup forebodingly. You only looked at it uneasily, there was nothing about it that seemed normal.

"You seem frightened by it," He commented, amused, as he poured it into his own glass. "I can assure you, this should not be the source of your fear. You may see this as an offering or a gift, it doesn't matter. The intent is unchanged regardless of what either of us call it."

"What are you offering?" Speaking nervously, you were unable to hide the tremor in your voice.

"I am giving you a brief chance to escape what you are about to witness," He finally answered. Your breath slowed, as you looked at him, lost on what to say or think.

How is it that he could be so calm, pretend to be courteous, after all that he had done to you alone? How much more has he done to think that this sort of interaction was normal?

"And we are celebrating, this may very well be the most important day of your life." He added when you only blinked at him. You perked up at this, morbid curiosity taking hold.

"What are we celebrating?"

"Your Ascension. To a higher being."

You didn't say it, you knew you didn't have to when his smile only grew, in a knowing smugness. How could you know it wasn't laced with some kind of drug or poison? You couldn't, and he would not provide the comfort of assuring you it wasn't.

"What's to come will only be harder for you if you refuse. It's your own choice to take what I am offering, but this is the only time that I will offer such charity."

What could you do in this situation? You could drink, and hope that it isn't tainted. There were really only two things that it could: a sedative, or a poison. If that were the case, then you had to decide if either were worth it, and what you might be risking if you refused it all together.

What could be gained by drugging you? It was hardly in your favor, you would be left vulnerable, open to whatever he wanted. You shuddered at the thought of this man taking advantage of you and being unable to fight it. Though, could you even now? You were weak, tired, half-starved to death. He could easily have his way, and all you would have to show for it is being present for it in the moment.

A sedative, at the very least, might allow you to escape whatever he had in mind. You greatly feared what his intent if he was willing to torture you sober. How much worse would it be if he was offering you a way out?

If it was a poison, then there was really only one path, one decided end for you. He could simply be offering you a way out instead of what was to come. Would that really be so bad? No more pain, no more torment. You could just swallow your will to live, go out on your own terms, and die knowing that this was the kinder option.

So, you exhaled and lifted the glass to your lips, feeling any hope of living through this drain along with the liquid in the cup, until both were empty, to the very last drop. He simply nodded and downed his own glass.

"Won't it affect you?"

He laughed. "You think me so weak as to let something like this affect me?"

His response left you feeling strange, in a way you didn't understand. What left you feeling worse was the rising dread in your body. How your heartrate quickened, how acid burned your throat, how horrifying it was to wait.

Geto was quick to move.

His hand swept over the table, brushing the empty plate and glasses to the floor to lean overtop of it. His hands grasped either side of your jaw, pulling you to meet him halfway. Fear struck your heart when his lips met yours, along with something far more sinister.

It was a gentle, innocent sort of kiss. The kind that you might expect from well-seasoned lovers. His thumbs softly caressed your skin as he held you there, savoring the moment for himself.

In that moment, you thought of your mother, and wondered if she had hoped that her daughter might have better luck. If she had hoped that you might have lived to experience all that she had as a daughter, wife, and mother.

It was beyond certain that you would never experience those things again. Regret settled in your gut as something else rose to your lips. Your body shot to the side of the table, as you pulled away from Geto and vomited the meal that was potentially your last.

He tutted, returning to his side of the table, with his chin resting on his hand. "That was quicker than I had hoped."

You looked to him as his face began to distort grossly, melting into the walls, and you along with it. The feeling was beyond anything you had experienced, death-like fear and euphoria dancing together in your mind. You were both floating and sinking, drowning and falling. And Geto was the one to catch you, cradling your head in his lap and pulling your face into his chest.

There was only one thing you could make out before you slipped into sleep.

"Your suffering will be over soon, pet," He pulled away just far enough to look into your eyes. They shone with admiration, as though looking upon your weak form in an entirely new light, as though you were now something completely different. "We will have what is owed to both of us in due time."

His lips kissed your forehead sweetly, whispering other nonsensical things to you until you were a limp body in his arms.

What could he have planned?

Looks like I'll need a part 3 for this one

Check out my other jjk stuff if you like this!

[loveinhawkins]

When Dustin bikes past Steve’s car, left abandoned and empty by the edge of the woods, for some reason the first thing that comes to his mind is a phone call from last summer.

July 5th 1985.

He’d picked up the phone before his mom could get to it, thank God, because Steve hadn’t bothered with any pleasantries, just said in a garbled rush, “Henderson, your house, is it—you’re safe, right?”

“I mean, I’ve not used the toaster yet,” Dustin said, eyeing the bagel he’d set out for breakfast, “but the house is still standing.”

“No but, like—” Steve snatched a breath, almost like he’d been running. “Like, no-one’s… y’know, watching you or anything?”

Then it hit Dustin: remembering Steve, finally somewhat lucid, muttering sheepishly, “Yeah, we might not wanna go to your house… Well, I might’ve told them your full name.”

Dustin took pity on him, answered sincerely. “No, we’re all good, Steve.”

He didn’t even tease about how, if the house was being watched, then Steve phoning him probably wasn’t the smartest move, because the line would’ve been tapped.

Maybe everything at Starcourt had sharpened his senses, because Dustin could now hear that Steve’s voice was slurred around the edges, like he’d just woken up, breathing harshly as if he’d ran to the phone; and he had a sudden image of Steve jolting awake, wincing from the gnarly bruises on his face, Dustin’s safety being his first thought.

Steve breathed out in a whoosh of relief. “Okay… good. Great. I’m, um. Gonna sleep. Yell if you need… I dunno. Something.”

And then he’d hung up before Dustin could work out how to say that he didn’t really mean it, when he complained about Steve not “resisting” whatever nightmare cocktail of drugs he’d had forced into him.

There was a little knot in his stomach for the rest of the day—a quiet mixture of panic and concern. The next time he saw Steve, he acted like he’d never made the phone call, so they never talked about it, and the knot faded away until Dustin almost convinced himself that it wasn’t there anymore.

But now, as he brakes then steers himself round to Steve’s car, the knot has returned—along with a little prickle of goosebumps that he usually only associates with any and all Upside Down shit. This isn’t quite a Code Red, he knows that, but he also knows that it’s…

It’s something.

The knot doubles in size when he peers into the car windows, sees that the keys have been left in the ignition. When he tries the door handle, it’s unlocked.

He bikes to the nearest payphone. He’s memorised Steve’s work schedule, knows that he’s not in today, that Robin has the late afternoon to closing shift.

He listens to his gut and dials Eddie’s number.

At first, Eddie thinks that Dustin’s calling him for a ride because his bike got a flat tire again. But as Dustin explains, he gets quieter and quieter until he’s just making anxious little hmm noises.

“I think I know where he’s gone,” Dustin adds, and Eddie’s sigh is a bit like Steve’s had been that morning he called, like he’s been holding his breath.

“Oh, thank God. You’d know better than anyone, Henderson.”

Dustin hangs up the phone after promising Eddie that he’ll stay by Steve’s car until he arrives.

He thinks about the relief in Eddie’s voice when he said he had a hunch about Steve’s whereabouts, like Dustin is the chosen one for understanding what makes Steve tick. Eddie’s joked about it before; he’d called it “sibling telepathy” when Dustin had silently communicated his popcorn order at the movies, and he’d nudged Steve in the ribs when Steve’s nose wrinkled meaning Gross, dude. Then Steve had huffed a laugh, nudging Dustin back. Okay, okay. I’ll pay for it, you little shit.

But Eddie gets Steve, too, Dustin thinks; that’s why he called him. And yeah, it’s different than the way Dustin understands Steve, but it’s significant enough for Eddie to make the cut of Steve Harrington Interpreters in Dustin’s mind.

Eddie’s van comes into view, and he actually uses his turn signal perfectly as he parks next to Steve’s car, like the panic has made him extra cautious.

“I’ll leave my bike here,” Dustin tells him as Eddie hops out.

Eddie’s lips turn into a thin line when he sees Steve’s keys. He nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll—okay.” He takes a breath, looks Dustin up and down. “Uh, I’ve got a coat if you need it, man.”

Dustin rolls his eyes, and Eddie at least smiles through his concern. It’s started to rain, that slow misty kind that clings to the skin, but Dustin reasons that he’ll be fine; he’ll be warm enough once he gets moving.

Eddie eyes the trees nervously. He jerks his head back to the van. “There’s—you need a flashlight? Just in case, um. Just in case?”

Dustin shakes his head. “It’s not that dark,” he says, not unkindly; Eddie kind of has a thing now for always having a flashlight on hand. Dustin can’t remember the last time he’s even come this close to the woods after March—his eyes keep darting down to the ground like he’s going to see vines there instead.

Eddie nods again, sighs. He checks his watch, then says, “Two hours tops, okay? And if it gets too dark and—just come back the way you came, even if you’ve not—” Eddie swallows. “We’ll figure it out.”

Dustin acts like he agrees and leaves his bike with Eddie—but there’s no way he’s gonna turn back, not without Steve.

He heads for the railroad tracks.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the roof

lilac, chapter four

a/n: we're getting somewhere, we're not there yet, stay in your seats, but we're making progress... planting seeds and all of that....

summary: “are you scared of heights?”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, renovating an inn, nightmares, crying, rupaul's drag race references, repairing a leaky roof, acrophobia (fear of heights)

word count: 1528

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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As your frantic breaths began to slow down, you gingerly lowered your shielding palms from your face, letting them drift down atop the duvet that draped over your curled-up knees. 

“I am awake, it was just a dream,” you softly repeated the mantra you had echoed since the moment your eyes snapped open, “he’s nowhere even remotely close to here,” the nightmare you’d roused from stayed too sharp in your mind to simply shake off, every little detail stood out and singed into your flesh as if it had really happened, “he can’t–… I’m safe, nothing is gonna happen, everything is okay…” from the snapping tone of his voice to the dark ink that slithered across his skin in the shape of an unsettling snake, wrapping all the way from his shoulder to the back of his dominant hand, “I did it, it’s over, he’s not here right now and he never will be again…”

It took another minute or two before you managed to get your legs to cooperate and swing over the edge of the mattress, gently lifting yourself up to a stance. You hadn’t even been awake for that long and you already had a stomach ache.

Prickly feet carrying you to the window, you cracked it open and breathed the fresh air in deeply, morrow birds chirping as they landed on a gnarly branch on the shrub closest to the house. 

Leaning against the windowsill for a moment, your neck then twisted and caught sight of your reflection in the mirror that hung on the far side wall. A complicated feeling began to brew within your belly as you saw the new uniformity of your complexion, all of the lavender bruises and all the angry marks haven finally healed completely. 

The overwhelming liberation, that you now didn’t bear reminders on your skin anymore, mixed with the sour tinge that you even had to endure it to begin with, all added up to tears beginning to well up in your eyes. 

The wounds were gonna take a lot longer to heal than just when you couldn’t see them on your body anymore…

Sucking in a deep and grounding breath, you swiftly wiped your eyes and walked over to your dresser. After you’d compiled a little clump of clothing in your arm and you tugged open the drawer that homed your tops, your fingers instinctually went to the short pile of long-sleeved shirts before they froze, remembering that you now didn’t have only that option to choose from. There were no more mortifying clues that could poke out if a hem rode up too much, you could wear whatever you damn pleased.

With a soft t-shirt stretched over your skin, you leisurely made your way down the stairs, an eager voice drawing your attention to the sitting room that stood at the bottom to the right. 

“Oh my god,” a smile couldn’t help but bloom on your weary features as you watched the small town’s sheriff clasp his palm over his mouth as he stared intently at the tablet propped up on the small table he sat at. 

“Good morning Otto,” you poked your head in, prompting the wrinkly features of the uniformed man to momentarily face you. 

“Ah, morning,” he rumbled, removing one of his earbuds as his eyes still flickering to the screen every few seconds. 

“You know I could just help you get some better wifi at your own house so that you don’t have to lean on ours to watch episodes of Drag Race.”

“What,” he gasped, clutching his chest as if his badge was instead the prettiest brooch made out of silver and pearls, “are you trying to get rid of me?”

A genuine smile blossoming upon your lips, you scoffed, “never.”

“Well, then pull out a chair,” he offered, beginning to turn the screen for you to catch a glimpse, “watch the rest with me before my shift starts.”

“No,” you quickly redirected your vision to the corner of the ceiling, “because I know that you’re further along in the season than I am, and I don’t want any spoilers.”

“But–”

“No!” you light-heartedly stuck your fingers into your ears as you scurried out of the room, “la, la, la! I don’t wanna know who gets sent home!” 

You were supposed to be looking at your laptop. You were supposed to be making the inn a proper website and contacting various travel agents. That’s what you were supposed to do, yet here you were, staring out the window, completely entranced as you watched Pete take care of the task that he’d so generously offered to fix for you. 

On the bed in an unoccupied room, there you sat, computer in your lap but your eyes firmly out the open window. He was almost like a cat the way he just casually perched out there on the roof as if it wasn’t a big deal.

With an angular crowbar in his gloved hands, you watched as he carefully jimmied off the broken roof tiles, messily stacking them beside where he’d securely piled up his other supplies. 

Your bottom lip found its way in between your teeth as you watched the muscles on his forearms flex under the efforts that the task took, the sleeves of his shirt haven been pushed up all the way to his elbows just before he’d crawled out there. 

“Hey,” not lifting his eyes from the work before him, his gruff voice seeped in through the window like the mild breeze, “could you hand me the trowel?”

Not truly comprehending what he’d just asked, you hummed distantly, “huh?”

“The spatula-looking thing you use for cement,” he craned his neck to finally catch your hypnotised gaze, “I forgot to bring it out here.”

With a light shake of your head, you forced yourself out of your daze and spotted the tool among the small pile of potentially useful items for the task all clustered on the floor, “uh, yeah, sure, of course,” hastily ridding yourself of the computer in your lap to get up and grab it.

Poking your head out of the open window, it dawned on you how you couldn’t just extend your arm to give it to him. It might have been the haze still lingering, but before you even had a chance to ponder the consciences, you found yourself crawling out onto the rooftop, feet becoming wobbly on the wavy tile as soon as you glanced down at the distant grass. 

“Wow,” Pete’s sharp reflexes steadied you at once, rushing to your side to steady your balance. With one palm firm on your waist, the other locked around your arm, the fuzzy sensation persuading your vision to find his chocolaty gaze instead of the terrifying plunge, “I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got–, uhm…” you muttered hazily, “uh…” your breathing growing ragged before you snapped out of it with a clear, “here!” and pressed the requested tool against his broad chest. 

Cocking a brow in subtle amusement, he grasped it, “thank you,” though the other hand still stayed fast around your arm. Tilting his head in an attempt to catch the gaze you’d hastily averted, he then asked you, “are you scared of heights?”

Scoffing sharply, you narrowed your eyes back at him, “no, I’m not scared of heights, what are you talking about?” though when his dark eyebrows raised in disbelief at your unconvincing tone, your eyes then rolled in your skull, “alright, fine, maybe a little… but that’s a perfectly natural and rational fear for a person to have!” you bellowed defensively, slowly lowering your centre of gravity and tensely sitting down the mossy surface, “it’s not like I’m scared of, I don’t know, tomatoes or something…”

He eventually let go of you when he’d grown confident in your position, his then brisk movement across the roof, back to his task prompted you to continue babbling nervously, “how are you just walking around out here like it's just a sidewalk or something? You could slip and fall to your death at any moment!”

“I would have to get very unlucky to die from up here,” he casually informed, keeping track of you out of the corner of his eye as he worked the premixed bucket of cement open, “it would just be a lot of serious injuries, but most likely not immediate death.” 

Hoping that he could physically feel the glare you shot in his direction, you grumbled, “you do know that doesn’t make me feel better, right?”

Catching your eye, he exhaled slowly before offering, “you want me to help you back inside? 

“Uhm,” your vision flickered back down to the grass below, the green blades minuscule from up here, “y-yeah, that’s properly a smart idea…” adding awkwardly as he hoisted you back up to your feet, “I really don’t wanna fall down and go splat.”

Chuckling gently, “I won’t let that happen,” he supported you back to the window and helped you inside. 

You weren’t sure what had made you feel more dizzy, the petrifying altitude, or the way his secure touch felt like it nearly burned through your layers of clothes… 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[roguelov]

Imagine a reader who has chronic nightmares and is afraid of falling asleep meeting and being comforted by Morpheus! <3

Angst? But with fluff? A bit of hurt/comfort??? HELL YESSSSSSSSSSSSS

At first you were accustom to the constant nightmares, although it was irksome and annoying to wake up with your heart pounding up in your throat, but you eventually accepted this was your fate. However, over the last month these nightmares leave you fearful to even sleep now. You held off sleep, drank an ungodly amount of caffeine, tried meditation and even some over the counter medication but none of it worked. Once you closed your eyes, you were tormented only to wake up minutes later and doomed to repeat the process.

Your disruptive sleep also gained the attention of the one responsible for such nightmares. Morpheus sensed the minor disruption, along with his nightmares moving onto the next dreamer suddenly. Curious, he turned his gaze to you. He watched as you appeared in a warped version of Fiddler Green with a slew of his nightmares lurking about. He watched as your eyes adjusted to the darkness only for you to instantly cower at the crunch of twigs and dried leaves. You swore under your breath, recognizing the place.

Then the hunt began.

A nightmare - a mix of predatory beasts and mythology - charged. Your breath hitched and your legs immediately knew what they must do: run. You ran and ran. But, the running was futile. The nightmare leapt high into the air, landing on your back. You screamed, you pleaded, you cried, then you disappeared.

You had woken up.

From then on, Morpheus was intrigued by you. He watched you a few more times, and each time a small ache in his chest grew. Nightmares were essential. They forced mortals to face their fears, to overcome them, yet this? This was not it. You were being tormented, instead of aiding he was hindering you.

So, when you fell asleep, Morpheus was ready.

This time instead of seeing the gnarly trees with its spindle like branches mimicking claws, you saw an endless field of an assortment of flowers.

“Is this to your liking?”

You whipped around. Your heart leapt up into your throat, ready for the nightmare to begin. It was no nightmare, nor monster. It was a man. He slowly approached you. “No nightmares will plague you tonight,” he said softly, like reassurance from a lover.

“How - how do you know that?” You asked, stepping back from him. “Who are you? Where am I and -“

“I am merely a friend at this moment,” he continued. “Please, allow me to right this wrong.”

He extended out a hand. You eyed it unsure of any of it.

“You will be under my care, let me offer you a sweeter night.”

What do I have to lose?

You stepped forward and slowly put your hand in his. His eyes softened. You cleared your throat, “What … what did you want to show me?”

“So much, my dreamer.”

For the first time in so long, you slept so soundly. You woke up with a long happy sigh, and with the feeling of your stranger’s hand in yours. Later that night, you were eager to fall back asleep. A voice warned you of a possible nightmare, but when you opened your eyes seeing the grand field you knew nothing would harm you again. And when your eyes meet your stranger’s dazzling blue, you felt so at peace. As if welcomed back home.

He extended his hand out again, “Where to now, my dreamer?”

[shadowsingercassia]

Unfated Mates | Chapter 2: "Rhys?" "Leave, Y/n"

RhysandxReader

Summary: Rhysand's mate (Feyre) had died and he tried to act like he's fine and try to forget his feelings through you but the thing is, you won't let him get away that easily. How long will it take for him to cave in and talk about his feelings?

Warnings: angst, mentions of injury, blood, death, alcohol and vomit, oral sex (f receive), language, Rhysand being a dick (let me know if I missed anything!)

Words: 2.6k

I just read over it twice!

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Rhysand was walking through a forest. The trees were tall, their braches gnarly, twisting into one another in a way that you couldn't recognize where one ended and the another started. Rhysand took cautious steps, his boots sinking slightly in the muddy trail. A bright moon was shining over the trees, casting an eerie glow to the scenery.

The locks of his inky black hair caught in the moonlight as he walked through the forest. As he neared the center of the forest, the trees cleared, creating a clear circle and in the middle of it was a figure, laying on the ground.

He approached it, carefully and inspected it's face. It was a female, her hair a pale brown. Her eyes were closed but Rhysand finally realized who it is.

Feyre

His breath caught in his throat and everything around them went black, only Feyre's face was illuminated by the pale moonlight, as if ghe moon was a spotlight.

This time, Feyre's skin was soft and smooth. Rhysand ran a finger down the line of her jaw.

But wherever he touched, she bled and now blood was running down the side of her neck, creating a small pool of red.

Rhysand jolted back, retreating with small steps, his eyes glued to Feyre's form on the ground.

That is until he slams into something - or someone - and as he turns around he comes face to face with Amarantha.

This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare. It's not real. All a nightmare.

Her fiery red hair was falling in waves down her back and then Rhysand couldn't move. He couldn't move as Amarantha's nail traced the side of his face. Couldn't move as she wiped away a tear that Rhysand didn't even know had escaped his eye. He couldn't move as she came closer, pressing her body to his.

He couldn't move as she sank a dagger into his chest

***

Rhysand jolts awake, a layer of sweat covering his body, the air reeking of it. Silently he pushes the covers aside, and sits on the edge of the bed, cradlingq his face in his hands.

The door creaks as it opens, and his head turns to look at you over his shoulder. Tears fall down his red-rimmed eyes, staining his pale cheeks. He hasn't had proper sleep in a long time or a proper meal.

He was about to say something, but his throat is clogged with the tears and the sobs. He could see your eyes soften and he thought you felt pity.

Your footsteps were quiet as you approached him, sitting down on his bed at an appropriate distance from him.

He knew that what he had said had hurt you, perhaps more than he could ever imagine and it broke his heart, to know his words had pained you.

And yet you were here, your hand rubbing his back soothingly, words of comfort tumbling out of your lips. Rhysand didn't want to believe he deserved it, he couldn't save his mate, Feyre was gone and he couldn't save her and now...

Now she was dead and he was being comforted and cared for. No, no, no, he didn't deserve it. He couldn't deserve it.

Rhysand didn't speak, at all but he supposed silence was better than accidentally hurting you again. Oh, how deeply he regretted what he said. He should have fallen on his knees and beg for your forgiveness and that was all he could think of for the past week.

"I'm sorry..." he said, hoping yoy would understand what he was referring to. Almost immediately, he saw your eyes soften impossibly more and he felt something in his chest clench. Because what he saw in your eyes wasn't pity... no it was... understanding and it came crashing down to him. You had lost your mate as well. And what he had said?

Regret swirled in his chest, making his heart ache. He didn't focus on what you said, too lost into his inner turmoil. He was a horrible person, he said all those things to you and now realizing you had also lost your mate... he just added it to the list of reasons to hate himself.

Before he even realized it, he spoke. "You should... leave" he said, his voice strained and then quickly added "I'll be fine." He tried his best not to sound rude, especially after what he did... he needed to get it out of his head.

"Rhys, are you sure?" You asked him, leaning a tad closer. Rhysand shouldn't ever think of taking out his feelings on you, but all of this weight on his chest, he wants it to go away, if only for a moment.

He told himself no. That he couldn't use you as a distraction to his feelings, but every part of his body screamed at him to take your face in his hands and kiss you until he forgot about Feyre.

He could hold back, that's what he told himself. That he could shove down that need for a distraction.

And then you leaned closer,and Rhysand thought that the proximity felt... no, he wouldn't think like that. He has a mate, and even if she's gone he will never be with another female, he will never get over Feyre.

"Rhys?" You spoke again, your voice so soft. Rhysand's fingers clenched into fists. Sensing the sudden shift in the air, something that you couldn't quite recognize, you pulled back slightly.

And nothing could prepare you from that cold tone in his voice. "Leave, Y/n," it was that same tone, anger masked by coldness.

But you've had enough.

"Why, Rhysand? Why are you pushing me away and deal with your emotions on your own?! I'm trying to be here, comfort you and all I get in response is 'leave, Y/n'!" Your voice holds all the irritation that was bubbling beneath the surface.

Rhysand was stunned. He didn't have any words to say. Mostly because he didn't think you would snap like this but he also didn't have anything to say because you were right. He was being a dick and has been treating you like shit.

"You know what? I'm not going to bother with this anymore, because I can't stand you pushing me away like this! It's fucking stupid!" You say irritated. You stand up to leave, and he didn't stop you. Because everything you said was true.

The door slamming closed snapped him out of his thoughts.

***

You were done. No, you were fed up by his behavior. If he wants to treat you like this, then so be it.

Tossing and turning in your bed, you decided to just stare up at the ceiling, letting your thoughts swirl in your mind until dawn.

Rhysand was your best friend, he had been for as long as you can remember, but lately, he hasn't been acting like it. You couldn't understand why, because he has never been like this. He always used to yearn to be comforted by you, to hold you in his arms and tell you about his problems. But that's not the case anymore.

Now, he closed himself off. And it pained you. Although you had reacted like that similarly when your own mate had died, at least you didn't push him away.

It was so confusing. What were you supposed to feel? Pain? Anger? You didn't know, yet you found yourself in need of answers to the endless questions that plagued your mind.

Why did he refuse to talk to you?

Why close himself off this way?

And many more questions that you couldn't get out of your head.

***

Dawn awoke, bathing Rhysand's room in rays of bright golden sunlight. He couldn't sleep after you left. He just curled up in his bed and cried until his tears stopped falling.

And he continued to lay in his bed, until there was a knock on the door.

"Go away," he didn't say her name, just simply telling her to go away.

"I'm not leaving," said a voice. Not her. No, it was Morrigan. Grunting, he pulled himself into a sitting position and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

Morrigan opened the door and her heart broke at the sight of Rhysand. Dark bags had formed beneath his eyes, already red from crying. Exhaustion was clear on his face, and Morrigan could tell that Rhysand hasn't been sleeping.

His frame seemed thinner, his clothes hanging loosely on his body.

"You need to eat," she told him and then Rhysand realized that she had brought a tray with food. On plates was a huge breakfast, containing both savory and sweet pastries, along with some bacon, waffles and many other breakfast foods.

He had to admit, he was starving but he found himself unable to take a bite as the tray was placed before him.

"I'm not leaving until you take a bite," she took a step closer to him and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Yet, Rhysand refused to eat. "Eat or else I will spoon feed you" she threatened him and Rhysand rolled his eyes and grabbed a croissant.

He felt the flaky texture beneath his fingertips and he took a moment to assess the pastry before taking a tentative bite.

Morrigan looked slightly annoyed by his ridiculous behavior, but she was grateful she got him to eat. "I promise I didn't poison the food." The ghost of a smile tugs on Rhysand's lips as he took another bite.

He eventually managed to eat two pastries and then declared that another bite and he would throw up. Morrigan understood that he hasn't eaten for a long time and it would take a while until he can eat much without getting sick, so she took the tray and left the room.

Without Morrigan there, his thoughts drifted back to you. He should apologize, but what should he say? Or do?

Should he drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness?

Should he bring you something, like a small gift and apologize?

Or perhaps he should just prepare an apology letter.

No, none of these ideas seemed appealing to him. Maybe he shouldn't apologize at all. No, no that was even worse.

He didn't want to see you, not right now, not after yesterday, and everything. You probably didn't want to see him either.

Memories and thoughts came back crashing on him. Not only of you, but of Feyre as well. It happened occasionally, his mind drifting off, too suddenly for him to notice when it happened.

The cuts on Feyre's body, the blood, his mate's blood staining everything even his hands. His stomach churned when he thought of his bloody hands as he held his mate in his arms, as if trying to bring her back.

Rhysand didn't really know what happened before he was leaning over the porcelain lavatory in the bathing chamber and vomiting whatever he had eaten just a few minutes ago.

For the rest of the day, he stayed in his room, Morrigan constantly bringing him food, even if he couldn't eat more than a few bites.

The door opens again. Morrigan

"We're going out, and you're going to come with us."

***

Clad in a white button up shirt and black dress pants, that Morrigan certainly didnt force him to wear, he reluctantly went out the door, seeing his cousin, Morrigan, in one of her too many red dresses.

Rita's was packed with people at this hour and Morrigan led Rhysand into a table where the rest of the IC was sitting.

Including you.

As you excused yourself to go get a drink, Rhysand didn't dare follow you. Silently, he only watched as you downed a glass of amber liquid. Then, your feet led you to the dance floor.

Fists clenched, he stared at you, dancing with men and women shamelessly. Rhysand wondered how much alcohol you had had, even if he found himself drinking glasses of all types of the strong liquors.

That night he drank and drank some more, not caring how drunk he would be or the hungover the following morning. As he downed another glass, Morrigan approached him.

"Slow down, Rhys. What is this? Your sixth?" She jokes, seeming somewhat drunk herself. "Fifth" Rhysand corrected and a chuckle tumbles out of her lips. "Same thing," she answered and then swept him away to the dance floor.

***

You were too drunk, already seven shot glasses of some strong liquor and you were swaying your hips to the beat, letting yourself dance with different men.

A pair of hands gripped your hips. Rhysand. Your head was swimming with all the alcohol in your system but you couldn't care less if it was Rhys or any other man.

You noticed a slight swaying on his feet and you knew that he was also drunk.

His scent filled your senses, making your arousal pool into your panties. Grinding your ass on his now hard length, a low growl reaches your ears. The sound alone makes your thighs clench together.

Leaning your head back, you looked at him. Gods, you had never realized how desirable he looked until now. Perhaps it was the alcohol's fault but you found yourself not caring about what or who's fault this is.

A few strands of onyx hair, messy, as if he had run his hands through it, fell over his brow. His gaze was piercing, eyes violet eyes, now blown wide with lust.

Whoever there was a small part of your mind that wanted to say no, to resist him, after what he did, you didn't want to see him again, speak to him again. Though you couldn't help but want to understand him.

Too lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize he tugged on your hand and whisked you away. Swaying on your feet, you let him take you away to God knows where.

He ended up winnowing you back to his bedroom. Once he finally got you alone, his hands were all over you, his lips placing demanding kisses on your neck. His mouth was warm, firm, demanding.

Possessive.

A trail of arousal trailed down your inner thigh and it caussd you to clenched your thighs tighter together.

His mouth trailed down the column of your throat, nipping gently at the skin at times and coaxing moans out of your lips. A loud moan escaped your lips as his tongue darted out to taste your skin. "Darling... you don't know how much I need you," he groaned.

You felt his hands slide down your back landing on your hips and giving them a firm squeeze before moving further down, to the back of your thighs. He lifted you up effortlessly, although his legs slightly trembled from the amount of alcohol he had, and laid you back onto the bed.

He slowly pushed the strands of your tight black dress off your shoulders and pulled it down, exposing your skin to his gaze.

His mouth moved lower down, leaving hungry kisses down your chest until he reached your thighs. Then his kisses trailed upwards, towards your soaked core. "Fuck, so wet and I haven't even touched you," his words were slightly slurred thanks to the alcohol he had consumed.

You couldn't respond, mostly because of the pleasure and partly because of the alcohol that you, yourself had also downed.

His mouth attached to your core and you threw your head back, lips parting as your moan echoed across the room.

But nothing could have prepared you for his next words. The realization hit you, because it wasn't your name he moaned in that deep, lustful voice.

"Feyre" he moaned against you.

------------------------☆------------------------

a/n: This is my first time writing smut so I would really appreciate any feedback! Also, I deeply apologize for the cliffhanger but I'm feeling motivated so I believe the next part will be out rather soon.

Comment '❤️‍🩹' if you want to be added to this series taglist!

Comment '💕' of you want to be added to my general taglist!

Love, Cassia! ❤️

[artiststarme]

Lonely Once Again

Steve hated being alone. He was used to it, he had to be after ten years of his parents escaping Hawkins to travel by themselves and forget they had a son that needed them. But just because he was used to being alone didn’t have to mean he liked it.

The world was too quiet when it was just you in it. The creaks of the walls, the settling of the floor, the breeze rustling the outside leaves. None of it could stand up to the oppressive silence of it all. So he tried to fill it with people. He filled his home with parties and lured his friends into companionship with promises of beer and weed. But it never lasted.

Steve always ended up alone. When his friends left, he wasn’t shocked. When Nancy left, he wasn’t surprised. Hurt, but not surprised. He was left once again with his battered ego and the suffocating silence that always crept too close.

The Upside Down changed a lot for him. He got adopted by a chaotic group of children and enveloped into their Party. He gained a soulmate in his coworker that he could’ve sworn had hated him before. There was never enough room for the quiet when Robin was around. Her frazzled words and long-winded rants kept character in the air and scared off the threat of silence. Steve never felt alone when she was near.

Their last bout with the Upside Down brought tormenting nightmares, gnarly scars, and a foreboding sense of paranoia. But it also brought Eddie Munson. Eddie was the exact opposite of everything Steve hated in the world. He was larger than life, loud, confident, and passionate about everything he set his mind to.

It didn’t take Steve long to fall in love with him. He put off his declarations out of fear of being abandoned by Eddie, just like Nancy had all those years ago. He stayed quiet in his love, forcing the words down and isolating himself in the process.

But Eddie wouldn’t stand for that. He pried the words out of him with gentle hands and loud love. After that, Steve was never alone in the silence again. Eddie kept him happy with whispered assurances, loud music that screeched in off-keys, and random conversations that Steve couldn’t help but love.

[calypsocolada]

DAYLIGHT | y. itadori

( this is a part two!!!! click here for part one)

synopsis: you and itadori find your way back to each other in shibuya, and maybe out of it too. authors note: hello :) jjk has been a little emotionally devastating so enjoy this lil fic. fuck canon :) gege needs to hand over yuji because he doesn't know how to treat him right. ps this has a happy ending. cw: ANGST, a bit of gore, fluff, fem reader, massive spoilers for s2 of jjk!, character death wc: 1.8k

--------------------------------------------------------

You followed a blood trail, cursed tool clutched tightly in your hands. There were a few options of where Itadori could be and you preferred that maybe another sorcerer found him, maybe Nanami. It’d be total fiction to think he got up and walked away on his own, he was minutes from death when you left him. Either a sorcerer took him or someone else. You didn’t want to even think about Sukuna taking over his body or whoever had left him there to die came back to take him you weren’t sure. But all these possibilities had your head swimming as you tiptoed around the deserted and torn up section of the mall. 

Suddenly the trail of blood stopped, you bent over to get a better look. It was like whoever dragged him here propped him up against the wall for a moment but you weren’t sure where to next. You searched around until you saw a body. It was a young girl, her head had been sliced off at the nose. It was a gnarly and clean cut. Next to her was congealed blood and parts as though something was sliced to bits. Whatever happened here must’ve been straight out of a nightmare. 

Even louder commotion started up top as the ground began to shake and the ceiling above you started to crack and lean, dust started falling down over you. This whole place was about to come down. You ran back the way you came and the closer you got to the ground level the louder the destruction sounded. 

Walking outside could be a death sentence but you’d run into the fray if you saw even a peak of pink hair. As you rounded a corner and skidded to a stop one final blast sounded that threw you off your feet, crashing back down the stairs you’d just climbed. You rolled to your feet as silence fell over everything. Deathly silence. The kind of silence that could either mean the fighting had paused or someone had won. You limped up the stairs, and pressed your hands to the window. 

The destruction meant nothing. It looked like an utter wasteland outside but all you could see was Itadori. He was on his knees near a crater, that must’ve been the outcome of the final blast. You shouldered open the door and limped forwards. The last time you saw him he looked dead, he couldn’t be up and walking fifteen minutes later. So you clutched your cursed tool. 

“Yuji?” Your voice broke through the silence. Slowly he turned. He looked hollow, his face pale, eyes haunted, cheeks wet from tears shed. For a moment he didn’t seem to be there and that made you clutch your tool. It chilled you to the bone to think that maybe Sukuna had taken over, that maybe Sukuna still had control. But then recognition dawned in his eyes and a soft cry escaped his lips. Before you knew it you were running to him, your heart had made up the decision before your head could dissuade it. You dropped to your knees and his bloody hands extended and pulled you into him and he held you, shaking like a leaf. He tightened his hold on you and sobbed softly into your hair. You held him tightly, kissing the top of his head. You couldn’t help the tears that formed in your own eyes, hearing the broken sobs from his lips. His hand tangled in your hair. 

“I thought about you first,” he said, his voice weak and thin. You pulled back. His hands found your face, he was still shaking, fresh tears forming. “You’re all I thought about.” He cried. You bit your lip. 

“Yuji,”

“The destruction, the people dead. I-- I failed. I failed them, I failed you.”

“Yuji, please.” You choke out, grabbing his face.

“I should die.” He says and the shock of his sentence cuts you to the bone. His eyes, unmoving and meaning the words he said. You can’t help but suck in a breath. Shaking your head.

“N-no!” You choke out. “Yuji, don’t-- don’t ever say that!” You say but his eyes fall from yours, he looks utterly defeated. You lift his face gently, making him look at you. “Fuck all of this.” You say, he blinks a few times, processing your words. “Fuck it all. Let’s leave, you-- you and me. Leave all of this behind.” You say. You know it’s stupid, there's no safe place you could go, not while Sukuna still shares a body with Itadori. Tears spill down your cheek. 

“We can’t.” He says and you hate hearing it. Why can’t things be normal for you two. Why can’t you live peacefully? Why can’t Itadori have peace?

“I know.” You lamented, shaking your head. “I know.” You repeated, almost like you were trying to convince yourself. But you could think about it. 

You two could’ve met at a cafe. Itadori bumping into you, spilling your tea. He would apologize profusely and grab way too many napkins. You’d laugh, you didn’t really care about this shirt anyways. 

“It’s alright, really, don’t worry.” You’d say. Itadori scratched at the back of his head.

“I really am sorry, Miss, I should’ve been paying attention.” He’d say and your eyes would meet. 

“It’s just a little tea.” 

“Let me buy you another.” He’d say and not even wait for you to object.

You’d see the tea spiller on campus a few days later, he’d smile when spotting you. 

“Hey! Remember me?”

“How could I not?” You asked, laughing slightly. He’d make you laugh a lot, he was sweet and cute. You two were both heading to the library so you walked together, you sat together and ended up helping each other with some studying. He walked you back to your dorm and you gave him your number. That’s when the texting started. Slowly at first, cute memes here and there, funny tik toks and pictures of Itadori’s dogs from home. You two would get breakfast and lunch and dinner and one night after dinner he was walking you back to your dorm like he always does. You kissed him goodnight and shocked you both. Eyes wide you watched his throat bob. 

“Sorry, I- I wanted- was that okay?” You babbled. Itadori looked star struck. When he’d come back down to earth he’d quickly nod his head.

“Of course! Completely fine!” He stuttered out and he was so damned cute.

“We-- we can pretend I didn’t do that,” You start. “If you don’t feel the sa-” Itadori leaned forwards and cut off the ending of your sentence, kissing you abruptly. He gently pressed you against your closed door, hands sliding around your waist.    

You wish you could stay in that dream but Itadori reached forwards and kissed you, snapping you out of the thought. The destruction was back, the hurt in your chest. The longing for something better, something quieter ached. It was just a soft press of his lips against yours. He pulled back then pressed his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath. 

“We’ll find a way out.” He says. “One day, out of the world of curses and sorcerers. Just you and me.” He whispers.

“Promise?” You ask. 

“Promise.” He vowed

Just you and me. 

You’d think that in your last moments. You’d think that as you fought some blue haired curse. You’d think that as Nanami and Nobara were killed. As things swirled into a storm of darkness and death. As you were pushed to your limits, giving it your all because you and Itadori were going to make it out. You’d go through hell if you could stay by his side. 

Just you and me.

But the blue haired curse would touch you. It was the same way Nanami and Nobara were touched. You looked at Itadori and the expression on his face was something of utter pain and loss. Because no one got away unscathed from this curse. It was going to take everything Itadori loved. You were no exception. You reached for Itadori and smiled at him as everything went black.

Itadori screamed as he bolted upright in bed. You startled awake, blinking rapidly in the dark. Itadori breathed heavily beside you. You're not sure how late it is but the room was slowly being softly lit by the early morning daylight. You reached for the light and flicked it on. His cheeks were wet with tears as he turned and met your eyes. 

“Hey, you okay?” You asked. He blinked a few times and then grabbed you and pulled you tightly into his arms. You gasped a laugh, gently hugging back after a moment. “Nightmare?” You ask.

“Uh huh.” Itadori mumbles against your shoulder. You close your eyes.

“What about?”

“I- I don’t remember,” Itadori starts, his voice muffled. “I just felt like I needed to hug you.” He says and that makes you smile. You two fall back in bed together, Itadori holding you as though you were going somewhere. You reach and flick the light back off. Itadori reaches and pulls the covers over you both, pulling you into his warmth.

“Babe?” You ask.

“Hmm?”

“Are we still going to Nobara’s halloween party?”

“It’ll be fun, don’t you think?” He asks as you reach up and run your fingers through his hair, pushing the curls from his forehead. He’s practically purring against you as he kisses anything close to his lips. You giggle as his lips meet your neck. 

“I think I’m mostly going for the drinks.” You giggle out as he pulls you on top of him, warm hands dipping under your tank top as you straddle him. 

“You're gonna make a cute Barbie.” He says as you roll your eyes in the darkness. He sits up and one of his hands makes its way to your cheek as he pulls you down to his lips and kisses you messily. You laugh against his lips.

“We should really go back to sleep, cowboy, it’s almost morning.” You say but his lips are trailing away from yours, kisses peppered down to your neck and you can’t help but lean against him and sigh contentedly.

“We have some time,” He mumbles against your throat sending chills down your body.

In the daylight morning you and Itadori cook breakfast. It's nice and peaceful. You wondered what dream had made him wake up like that, with tears in his eyes but he claimed to not remember. You guessed it didn’t matter in the end because it was just that, a dream.

[dimicul]

bear with me 🍎

🧸 ushijima x reader, some fluff basically, him being him, sharing headphones, not fully finished but yk yolo

You loved the route back home.

It’s a tricky one to find, hidden behind clusters of large trees and bushes, almost hidden away from the public eye. Honestly, you weren’t sure how you found it, but you just remember swatting at the scratchy branches and peering over the makeshift wooden bridge in front of you. The sun always leaks through the leaves, kaleidoscopic patterns of gold on your head, your shoulders, your bike as you trudge past. It’s a short path, not exactly a shortcut, but it’s quiet. Hidden away from the main highway by your school. Nice and tucked away.

Dirty, busted up converses dig into the soil as you balance on the bridge, hands clutching the handles of your bike. Slow and measured steps. The fall below isn’t bad, you think. Maybe five foot. Your eyes stayed glued on the wooden beams, inhaling sharply as you make your way to the end, the buzz of cicadas filling the silence.

You hated them. Their merlot red eyes, beady and vehement. You can’t count how many nightmares you’ve had imagining their webbed wings fluttering in your face, all up in your hair, making a home for themselves.

He was never scared though. Never.

“Are you close?”

You turn your head a bit, your cheek brushing against the windbreaker collar. “Yeah, yeah…”

An almost ghostly smile tugs at the corner of Ushijima’s lip, and he nods, expectantly, his own hands on his bike. You inhale. He knew you were scared. Hell, of course you were, every single damn time. But you didn’t want him knowing that.

You take another step, a groan under your weight. Eyes widen.

“You’re fine. It was my bike.”

“Ushi,” You warn weakly and swear the bark beneath you shivers the same when he chuckles, full and baritone. He takes a few steps closer, the whirr of his bike chain accenting the buzz.

“I don’t understand why you take this path if you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.” You reply hastily, brows furrowed. Ushijima hums, oakmoss eyes narrowing a tad. “It’s just… Not stable..”

“We can always turn around.” He offered quietly, his own eyes studying the trees towering above you both. “What if you fall?”

Jeez, way to stress a girl out. “I won’t. I’ve been doing this for a while.”

Ushijima hums, but says nothing. You were adamant on showing him your secret path to and from school. He didn’t get it. Why didn’t you just take the normal path, like him and Tendou? What was wrong with biking down the road? It had to be safer than crossing a gnarly bridge.

Determinedly, you shove that ugly feeling of embarrassment down and push past, converse against oak, bike wheeling beside you. You make sure to note how the wood beneath you looks so similar to his eyes.

“Isn’t it pretty, though?” You muse as soon as you finally cross the bridge, onto a patch of grass near an opening of brambles. Ushijima wasn’t opposed to nature, although he didn’t particularly like the bees or butterflies, like Tendou or you did. Bristling, the man takes another calm step down the bridge, eyes drawing from the trees, the oak, the buzzing of cicadas.

“You risk your life everyday because it’s… pretty?”

You scoff playfully, your bright eyes on him, lips tugging into a smile. God. His heart races picks up a little, fingers flexing against the handlebars. Ushijima isn’t a man of cheap pleasures, but when your lips tug into a cathartic grin, he has no choice to slip.

“You’re so dramatic, Toshi. I’m not gonna die. It’s a five feet drop.”

“You are small. You could easily injure your ankle. Or fall into some poisonous nettles.” Ushijima grunts, giving the bridge a wary look but still continuing calmly to steer his bike over to you. You raise a brow.

“I’m a big girl, I think I can handle it.”

Ever so stubborn. A deep sigh leaves his lungs and he easily steps over the rock in the way, his bike effortlessly gliding to you. Your eyes meet his and you grin.

“So? What’dya think?”

It’s a path, hidden in the woods, away from everyone. Someone could chase you in here and nobody would know. A poorly crafted bridge. Cicadas swarming everywhere. It wasn’t even safe, not for someone like you, who could easily slip and fall. Ushijima rolls his jaw subtly, umber eyes on your expectant smile.

“It’s… nice.”

“What? Just nice? It’s so pretty! Look, they’ve even got a small lake down there!” You point below the bridge, a cool blue catching his eye.

“If you drank that, you could possibly catch som—“

“Why the hell would I drink— Okay, big guy, let’s head out.” Shaking your head with a smile, you hum and pull yourself out onto the pavement. Ushijima follows suit, and hides his frustration as best as he could. Why didn’t you just listen?

Your hands dig into your school blazer pocket and you fish out your jumbled up earphones and your small phone. Ushijima sighs.

“Wha happened to your phone case?”

You blink, pausing to lean the bike against the bus stop wall as you stick the headphone jack in. “Oh, it just got all yellow, I need a new one.”

“You’ll end up cracking it.”

You shake your head, smiling, tilting your phone in his face. “Nah, look! Not a single scratch.”

The man bristles and steers his bike beside yours, crossing his arms, neutral expression as he watches you scroll on your phone. You had so many apps, the brightly coloured widgets making his eyes hurt.

“Wanna listen?” As always, you offer him an earbud. He takes the small white bud and hums, putting in his ear. Before opening his mouth to complain about the ear-bleeding level of volume, your smile catches him off guard.

He loves watching you listen to music. Maybe because you’re so visceral about it, head bobbing up and down ever so slightly, wide eyed and smiling slightly as you listen to whatever K-POP lyrics filled both your ears. Mouthing the lyrics, nose scrunched up. So silly, out in front of everyone. And yet his heart thuds.

“I like this one… Though I’m not sure about the beat.. Here, you pick,” You ramble and thrust the phone in his direction and he grunts.

“You don’t like my music.”

A shrug. “So? I like you.”

His breath hitched. How did you just admit that so freely with a stupid grin? He shakes his head, dark hair falling into his eyes, the phone comically small in his grasp. He scrolls down your playlist.

“Do you think you’d ever win a fight against a bear? Like really?” Your genuine tone catches him off guard as his fingers tap on the Study playlist he made for you. Ushijima huffs, brows narrowing.

“Where did that come from?”

You shrug again, shuffling up onto your bike seat, leaning against it. Ushijima hopes you don’t fall off of it like last time so instinctively, his strong arm holds your bike firmly. “Just wondering, ya know? I feel like I could take one on.”

“Impossible. I suppose it depends on the bear.” He says begrudgingly, tucking your phone into his pocket, stepping in closer so the wires didn’t came apart. “But I doubt that will matter if it’s you.”

“The heck is that supposed to mean, Toshi?”

Ushijima sighs again, barely. “A bear hit could fracture you easily. They’re much larger and stronger than you are, you couldn’t simply outrun them.”

“If I had my bike?” You point out. Ushijima makes a mental note to not let you walk down that path on your own.

“No. They’re fast creatures. Up to 30 to 40 miles per hour.”

“How the hell do you know that?” You frown at your boyfriend. Ushijima doesn’t elaborate, simply explaining with narrowed brows.

“You would easily be mauled and killed, a human your size and with your stamina. Grizzly bears can overpower humans easily. So no, you couldn’t, not even with a weapon.

“That’s — I could shoot it in the face!” Outraged slightly, you gesture a gun. “Or maybe I can fight with it until it becomes tired.”

To your surprise, Ushijima flicks your forehead.

“No. There is no chance. Statistically speaking. Unless you know how to use a knife properly, which we know you can’t.”

Your shoulders falter at his words and you sigh, rolling your eyes and fishing out your phone out of his pocket with a small ‘sure buddy.’ Ushijima bristles, gaze flickering to your face. A beat of silence passes.

“Maybe a cub.”

[oceanlipgloss]

POTION

RAFAYEL.

+ about: one summer noon, Rafayel becomes an unwilling part of the cat population. I did him dirty; can he can get an F in the chat?

+ warnings: humour slaughterhouse aka very, very lame jokes (crack is the foundation, fluff is the cement)

What a diabolical creature.

Huge eyeballs, bigger than jellyfish. Staring at him. The eyes of a serial killer or a netherworld monster. Pointy ears, sharper than traffic cones. Eavesdropping on every sound. Gnashing teeth, the ugliest smile he had ever seen.

And now he, too, looked like that.

A creepy cat.

The tiny doodle watched him from its high vantage point on the white wall. Not just a cat, but a smiling cat. Not just a smiling cat, but a demon drawn in black marker. Very hard to ignore.

He could not bear to glance at the mirror. For the first time. Plum fur shot up in spears and spikes, likening him to a downy porcupine.

A glass of soda floated into his thoughts.

Cool droplets flowing down his throat.

Lying down on the floor.

Falling asleep in the summer sun.

Waking up.

A gnarly cat.

Potion.

Somehow, somehow, he had drank a potion, shimmering and clear.

Thirst sure has its perks.

Where had that stuff even come from?

Familiar in flavour—bubbles and lime.

Even as an artist, he thought about how that was all much too surreal. Absolutely wild. Truth be told? A concoction of nightmares combined.

Violet cat. Nice colour palette, but useless paws. Unable to hold a paintbrush. What meaning was there to life now? Would she accept him for he had become?

The insecurities were a terror.

Dramatic as he was—rightfully so, for once—he had screamed at the top of his lungs. The only sound that rang out in the messy studio was the loudest cat noise he had heard to date, however.

A shrill meow.

This had to be some sort of eldritch curse or divine punishment, didn’t it?

The God of all cats was avenging those backstabbing furballs for the endless slander he had subjected them to. It’s all his doing, yeah?

When plagued by anger or fright, cats hiss. Now a wrathful cat himself, he hissed as well.

Familiar hands, scooping him up.

So weird.

Her palms, warm against his sunlit fur, but also much, much bigger. To his newfound bundle of a form, that was too unfamiliar; she had always been shorter, smaller.

No sparkle of surprise.

Was the potion her plan all along? Start location: sinister doodle on the wall.

Nothing made sense.

Actually, naked walking jellyfish, tree-climbing sea turtles, and grass-eating sharks would’ve all been way more credible.

Inspiration!

Facing his reflection wasn’t an option, but he so desperately wanted to make sure this wasn’t a figment of a sick hallucination, so he almost had the urge to say, ‘draw me like one of your French cats’ just to see if he had now really become a member of the world of felines—but his tongue could only muster cat-voice.

Instead, a pop of colour gleamed in his mind.

He wanted her attention, and cats like affection. Why not make use of the situation? Blame it on the catty qualities later.

With shiny eyes he would have liked to ask, ‘would you still love me if I was a cat?’

The perfect answer and just what he was longing for.

Warm fur pressed against her neck. Fingertips tickled a soft stomach. Giggles chimed in pointed ears. Mellow weight on her chest.

So much doting. Her lips kissed the tip of his eraser-pink nose. Compliments poured onto his head like paint in all colours.

He felt really, really hot. Fur, glee, embarrassment.

Cats can’t blush, but in his flustered mind cherry-red mingled with plum-purple on the tips of his ears to gleam like crystal powder.

An unusual picture.

Steady, steady. Her heartbeat was steady. His heart raced into next week. It was worse now, though. Cat hearts double up the speed of human ones. Drowsy with sunlight.

What a long, long day.

One good thing came out of it.

Love. So much love.

Once this nap ends, will he have two legs again?

Summer sunshine would butter his studio pale yellow and bright white by then. He would be sprawled out on the floor, sketches scattered all over. The cat would continue to stare at him from on the wall.

The cat.

Everything was that weird cat’s fault. Those big, evil eyes followed him as he painted, stalking his every movement and creation. He hated it so, yet did not have the heart to erase it. She had climbed up there and drawn that little traitor.

What a silly, hideous thing, haunting his subconscious.

What a diabolical dream.

+notes: dude, I can't believe that my first Rafayel fic is...*flailing hands* this. Something so silly...listen, memes and silly crap occupy an entire apartment complex in my brain, but what did I actually just write? No fucking clue. 0. Null.

All I know is that this is my first ever crack fic. And at the time, I thought it would be funny. Now I don't know if my opinion still stands. I merely wrote this in 3hrs 17mins. Not even a 4hr timeskip between coming up with the idea and writing it. I was that excited for the crack.

Was it worth it? No, maybe. Yes, perhaps. Idek. However, I'm not sorry for making fun of Rafayel, of course. Affectionately bullying him and being sadistic happen to be favourable pastimes of mine. I love him, bro.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

[drowsystarlight]

I like the idea of Death the Kid having a walk-in closet full of pristine branded clothes (honestly a Special kind bc he values style and comfort). He’s rich and lives in a Mansion with multiple rooms. Suits are his casual attire and he’s just that type of person. He never needed a material thing that he couldn’t just get. He can buy that shit. If a dress shirt ceases being symmetrical? Ditch it. Buy a new one. His customized blazer got damaged? Replace it. Easy. No son of Death would wear anything less than perfect.

Meanwhile, Blackstar is the type to keep the same five pairs of clothes until they’re literally breaking down at each seam.

Tsubaki even has to beg him to buy new stuff, or gift it to him on birthdays (even those ones get worn down for years, too). He grew up under Sid’s care and i bet he never had the luxurious life Kid had. Maybe Sid bought him clothes out of his own salary as a teacher and Blackstar knew that, so he treasures the clothes he gets. Assassin clothes, hand wraps, tank tops, sleep attire, old hand-me-downs get cut up and recycled into bandages or wraps for training, etc. Maybe he knows how to sew because he wanted to keep wearing a specific star-filled tank top Sid got him for his 13th birthday, so he asked Nygus to teach him. He wasn’t good at it at first but hey, practice eventually makes perfect. When he goes to missions and fights, he repairs the damage in his clothes. He’ll keep wearing the same shit until it gives up on him and even then, he really doesn’t want to let it go. Shoes are his worst nightmare because all his running wears it down fast.

It’s easy to write him off as a slob. Blackstar wore nothing formal; he looked like shit when he tried, too, slobbering for food when he attended the Academy’s founding anniversary. The boy didn’t know class, or finesse, or elegance. Everything he did screamed fucking reckless and immature. Obnoxious. It showed in his clothes, tattered as they are—because why else would it be so worn down if he was a careful man?

Being friends doesn’t exactly erase the impression, but it opens a bridge to ask. When Kid finally asks Blackstar why he circles through the same two tank tops whenever the group hung out outside the school, he’d say he liked the star designs. It suits me, he’d brag, and Kid is just jealous of his great clothing sense. Typical. But Maka eventually, secretly, tells Kid it’s just a special top because he’s had it since the both of them were twelve (everyone knows Blackstar would rather eat dirt than admit to being attached to things). Sentimental and Blackstar didn’t feel like they belong in the same sentence, but that thought felt odd now that he knew. Especially after he sees him discreetly check the stitches after an intense basketball match.

Death the Kid would notice every new stitch on Blackstar’s uniform after a mission since then. From afar, you don’t see it because it’s hidden well, but up close (maybe when they’re sparring, or sitting next to each other, or that day when Blackstar carried him through Excalibur’s wretched cave—though he foolishly shrugged that off). He can see it if he paid attention long enough, if Blackstar doesn’t move around too much for a moment. Stitches on top of old fixes, or the odd bits of his tank top turning out to be patches he couldn’t really hide. When he points it out again, they’re alone together and Blackstar happily shows it off (“I’m the best at everything, including sewing! Marvel at my craft!”). Kid admits ti thinking he’s a slob, and then the man would proceed to poke and prod at him for his branded stuff. There’s a reason why everyone saw him as a spoiled brat, after all; on the walk home that day, he ponders if he really is. (Liz and Patty say yes.)

Maybe it only really hits Kid, how much he’s really changed, when he lends Blackstar some pajamas after a gnarly night fighting against kishin eggs. Blackstar refused until he shoved the soft, flawless cotton in the man’s hands—told him to shut up and What, so the great Blackstar can’t handle wearing neat pajamas? He’s only ever seen him in tank tops but the sleeves didn’t seem to be the source of Blackstar’s discomfort. Having a spontaneous sleepover with the others, having Patty cause chaos in the name of fun—their antics eventually result into a rip of threads that only Blackstar seemed to be startled by. He apologizes as he returns it the next day, early in the morning, as neatly folded and packed in a paperbag as he could. Maybe Tsubaki did the folding. Blackstar is shit at folding clothes or wearing stuff that weren’t creased to hell and back.

But by then, even if there’s a stitch on only one sleeve, Kid keeps it. Seeing it makes him smile. The damage was repaired with a star-shaped stitch—(how did he even do that?), but he doesn’t wear it yet. He tells himself it would drive him insane, knowing something is off, but he hangs it with his other clothes. He didn’t need to replace it this time; Blackstar fixed it, and it wasn’t ruined. It’s better.

[bettyfrommars]

After I saw your blurb game post I just had to run to your inbox

E4, *, 💜

Very excited to see what I get ☺️♥️

Gia you sweet angel, you can have whatever you want 🫠 blurb game

Your Person is that babe Drifter!Eddie, your Place is a Concert Venue, and your Thing is a Payphone

18+ONLY, hints to monster Eddie, yearning, scars, allusions to physical fights and angst, gender neutral reader

word count: 764

Eddie had been on the road for so long, he often forgot what day it was. Was it Saturday or was it Tuesday? You were never far from his thoughts, and the weeks all blurred together.

He wasn't supposed to feel this way, especially not about someone he'd met while on a short visit back to the Midwest.

He took a rubber band out of his pocket to tie his hair back before he picked up another heavy piece of equipment to load it onto the stage with ease. It was the summer of '98 by then, and he'd taken a job as a roadie for Pantera on their European tour for Ozzfest. He hadn't known why at the time, but he needed to get as far away from the states as he could, far away from whatever connection bound him to you.

He was scared shitless that you'd see who he really was and run. Worse yet, what if he woke up from one of those nightmares about the Upside Down and he hurt you? Nah, he wouldn't be able to live with himself then.

He overheard one of the new guys ask, "which one is Eddie?" To which Dimebag Darrell pointed in his direction and said, "the one over there, the one with all the gnarly scars."

It didn't bother him anymore, not like it had in those years right after it happened, when he was so full of rage, he'd pick stupid fights for literally no reason. Back when he wanted to transmute his pain onto others and make them hurt as bad as he hurt.

Backstage that night, while Phil growled out the lyrics for the song This Love, the music pounded in his chest and watching the action under the bright lights made him forget who he was for a second. Through the deafening throb of the crowd, he made his way down along the backstage hallway where he remembered seeing a payphone earlier.

He'd had your phone number written on the back of his hand in black marker for the longest time, and before it faded completely, it was committed it to memory. He always had a way with numbers.

He stared at the box for a hot minute before yanking the receiver off the metal cradle with a curse, as if he'd just lot a bet with it.

He dropped in the quarters for long distance, punched the keypad, it rang, and he held his breath. In the space between the second and third ring, he realized he hadn't remembered to take the time difference into account. Shit, what if he woke you up? No, it had to be the middle of the day still where you were.

If you were still in the same place, if you even wanted to hear from him.

He panicked a little when a voice finally came on the line, but it was your answering machine. Much safer talking to a machine than a real person, so he took a breath to prepare what he would say.

"...just leave your name and number at the beep and I'll get back to you..."

The beep was a long one, felt like it would never end.

He cleared his throat. "Hey, it's me, um, it's Eddie. I know it's been a while but I'm out here in Italy or some shit and I----"

But then your voice came on the line, your real voice this time, and you sounded winded like you'd been exercising or something.

"Eddie? Oh my god, Eddie? Are you still there?"

If only you could see the huge ass grin that spread across his face.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "I'm still here. How are you?"

You'd been screening your calls, waiting to see who it was, and maybe you'd get back to them later. Since you were on the other side of the apartment, you worried you wouldn't get to the phone fast enough. You'd slipped on the rug and bounced off the wall, landing on your knees in front of the sofa.

"I'm good, I'm..." you trailed off, feeling a wave of relief and happiness so strong, you almost burst into tears. "It's good to hear your voice again."

He ran his thumb along the plastic divide, feeling all lovesick goofy. "Well, I figured, you know, it wouldn't hurt to check in, make sure you're okay or whatever. This tour is nuts, I wish you could see it."

You climbed up on the sofa to hug a pillow, smiling into the receiver.

"Tell me all about it."