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hotluncheddie · 24 days

Text

Day 4: Edging

"Bi Freak"

Ao3

wc: 3.5 | rated: E | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, established relationship, bisexual Eddie Munson & Steve Harrington, mean dom Steve Harrington (kinda), degradation, sub top Eddie

written for @subeddieweek <3

📸 📸 📸 📸 📸

‘Jesus, are you hard?’ Steve asks, incredulous at how fucking ridiculous Eddie’s cock can be at times. Even walking just behind him Steve must spot how Eddie’s hands shift to tug at his belt buckle, the way his gait is a little more awkward than usual.

Eddie freezes, readjusting again as Steve saunters past. Cheeks feeling a little hot over being caught. He was Subtle, or so he thought, but his jeans must just not be tight enough to hide his boner.

They're walking back to the beamer after eating at the diner in town. A few familiar faces around since its summer. The two of them included, back over from Indi for a visit to see Wayne for his birthday.

Unfortunately, seeing Wayne means staying with Wayne and while that is wonderful, the walls of the trailer are still, absolutely, the width of paper mache. So, Steve had decided the concept of sex was much too mortifying in those conditions. A different consensus from when they first got together, Eddie had pointed out. But, Steve had just laughed and kissed him, in that condescending way that just made the whole situation so so much harder, figuratively and literally.

Its been a week, basically, and Eddie’s getting desperate, and Steve is getting mean.

Eddie jogs to catch up to Steve's long strides. ‘Did you see her though? Christ Steve she, she's a vision. A fucking goddess dude.’

‘I saw I saw.’ Steve shoves his hands in his jacket, Eddie looming in close at his side.

‘Like she was something then, but now? Bigger and better, did you see? You saw them right?’ Eddie moves his arms around, cups his hands, clenches his fingers. A horny interpretive dance.

Steve sighs, faux wistfully. ‘Every day I almost forget how much of a tits guy you are, and everyday you just gotta remind me, huh? Munson? What's up with that?’ Steve jabs his elbow into Eddie’s side. Grins at the cackle it elicits.

‘You know I fundamentally disagree with that question, Stevie. No one should be subjected to a choice like that.’ Eddie laughs, swooping in close to Steve's neck for a moment, in that way he loves. Steve’s elbow coming out to make him back away.

Steve pulls his keys out of his pocket, the car coming into view, parked in the furthest corner.

‘Your tits are amazing by the way.’

Steve laughs again. ‘Thanks dude, I know. Lucky for you my ego is big enough to handle your crazy libido.’

Eddie grumbles, kicking at a can. ‘Only crazy because of the damn “no touching” rule you set.’

‘Aww’ Steve coos, ‘baby cant handle a little teasing anymore?’ He smirks at Eddie, unlocking the car but not opening the door, instead watching Eddie slump over, pouting.

Steve stalks around to the passenger side, opening the door for him and pulling his arm, shoving Eddie down onto the seat with a hand on his head.

Eddie whimpers, feels pre-cum leak out of his tip and soak into his boxers. Fuck, he’s hard - worse now. Steve’s not let him have more than a peck, more than a nighttime spoon, for days.

‘Wanna know a secret?’ Steve asks.

Eddie’s slumped on the passenger seat, feet still on concrete. He rubs his hands over his burning cheeks and peeks up at the sunshine being blocked from above. Steve leaning a forearm in the car hood, looming over Eddie, caging him in.

Steve steps right up into Eddie space, shoving his knee onto the seat right between Eddies thighs. crushing his cock. Steve leans in even closer, breath ghosting over Eddie's ear, making him shiver.

‘I know how she tastes.’

Eddie feels like all his air gets gut punched out of him, feels his fucking pupils dilate so much his vision goes blurry. He makes a strangled sort of moan. His boxers flooding with cum.

‘…Did? Did you just?’

Eddies panting so hard all he can really do is nod his head.

‘You’re so pretty.’ He slurs, staring up at Steve, haloed and lovely and how did Eddie get so lucky?

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, but he smiles down at him, strokes his cheek and looks at him with eyes full of stars. ‘You can go again through right?’ He asks.

Eddie beams. ‘Fuck yeah!’

Steve laughs, shaking his head. He closes Eddie’s door and gets behind the wheel. Puts on his sunglasses and lays his hand on Eddie’s thigh. ‘No touching while I’m driving. Let's go break into my parents house.’

Eddie leans back in the headrest, grinning. ‘By break in, do you mean use the spare key?’

‘Sure do baby. They won't even be there.’ Steve says, and pulls out of the diner parking lot.

Back at Steves Eddie sprawls out in his bedroom, familiar in its ugliness but the mattress has always been to die for.

Eddie listens to the sound of Steve moving through the house, not sure what he’s doing. But they’ve fallen into routines like this before, Eddie waiting upstairs while Steve did whatever it was that made a big empty house like this run smooth. He works the same magic on their apartment; structuring Eddie enough to not get overwhelmed by chores and eventually listening to Eddie’s please to not do it all himself. Steve could work himself to the bone and still ask if Eddie needed a glass of water. But now they have a chart, and Eddie’s always had a knack for laundry.

But, at times like these, brain directly attached to his dick and almost nowhere else, Eddie wants to be directed.He wants Steve to do exactly as much as he wants, do so exactly as he pleases, Eddie almost an afterthought.

Yeah, Eddie wants that. He shivers, hears Steves footsteps on the staircase.

‘Unzip your jeans but don’t take them off.’ Steve says, coming into the room, searching for something.

Eddie complies quickly, standing. Steve walks out of the room.

Steve walks back in with his shirt off. Looking Eddie up and down, face blank.

He lifts the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt and shoves it in his mouth, saliva soaking the fabric between his teeth, cool air hitting his exposed nipples. ‘Show me.’ Steve says, calm and neutral, like Eddie is his doll to play with.

He pulls at the waistband of his boxers and his eyes burn as he watches Steve. Refusing to blink, refusing to miss the look on his face once he sees the mess.

Steve’s eyes roam Eddie’s face for a moment, steely and almost cold. He looks down, raises his eyebrows. Eddie feels his cock twitch at the attention, at the judgment.

Steve looks back up. ‘Look at it.’ And Eddie glances down, breath hitching at the sight of his cock covered in his own cum, some of it starting to crust but the tip still shiny and wet, leaning against the sodden fabric of his boxers.

Eddie looks back up at Steve, sees that he watched his whole reaction. Pupils blown wide and Steve's hand has migrated up to tweak at his own nipple. Jealousy burns in Eddie’s gut; that he’s not allowed to touch Steve like that, not yet.

Eddie whimpers again, he wants to kiss him, wants to eat him.

‘Fuck’ Steve murmurs, like he can read Eddie’s mind. Maybe he can, or it’s just how good Steve has gotten at reading Eddie’s face.

‘Colour?’ Steve asks.

‘Super fuckin’ green.’ Eddie says around the fabric, grinning, watching Steves smile bloom right back

‘Good’ Steve pecs his top lip. Eddie surging forward, chasing, letting the wet hem fall.

Steve stops him with a finger on his chest. His expression smoothing back into one of mild disgust. ‘So needy.’ Steve drawls. ‘Take off everything but your boxers.’ And he’s gone again, leaving Eddie to struggle out of his clothes in a rush.

Steve walks back in, now only in his boxers too, Eddie can see the outline of his cock through the material and it makes his mouth water. It takes him a second to register that Steve’s holding the Polaroid camera now too.

‘Show me, like you did before.’ Steve says, fiddling with the camera, waiting.

Eddie does as he’s told and he feels goosebumps dabble over his skin, heat rushing south so fast it makes his nipples hard.

Steve takes a photo of eddies cock covered in his own, slightly crusted, cum. The flash taking Eddie’s breath away.

But Steve just leaves again, without a word. Eddie stands stock still and hears the shower turn on, the faint sound of the camera again.

Steve comes back in flapping the polaroids. He sets the camera down and walks back over to Eddie, handing him a damp wash cloth.

‘Clean yourself off.’ He says, leaning on one hip, looking board. ‘And fold your clothes on the desk, boxers on top, they need washing.’ Eyes flashing to Eddie’s, bitchy and judgmental. Eddie moans, even more heat rushing south, his gut churning.

But Eddie does as he’s told, ignoring the heat between his thighs, Steve’s eyes on him as he settles the clothes in a neat pile. ‘Good. Now grab a pillow and kneel down. You’re gonna watch my photos develop while I shower. That sound okay?’ He asks, condensing, but the question is laced with sweetness, infused with the knowledge that Steve knows Eddie loves him like this, loves being talked to like this. But he can end it any time. Any time either of them want.

Eddie just nods, bites his lip, turning to the bed to grab a pillow and situate himself on the floor.

Steve bends and lays the photos in front of where Eddie’s kneeled. Then strokes his cheek with a thumb, making Eddie preen, blinking his eyes closed slowly.

The crack of the slap registers after the feeling, Eddie’s head turned slightly to the side. Low moan distant to his own ears.

He blinks his eyes back open, looking up at Steve’s and his pretty face. He thinks there must be spit sliding down his chin, because Steve’s thumb comes to wipe something away, dipping into Eddie’s parted lips gently, for a moment.

And then Steve turns swiftly for the door, stopping just at the threshold. Eddie eyes snapping back up from where they were looking at his ass and Steve’s stifles a smile. Eddie’s own growing slow and dopey on his face.

‘You can touch, I want you hard once I’m back. But if you cum again I’m not doing anything with you for a week.’ He says and Eddie blinks at him. Nodding as the words filter through his brain.

He closes his eyes once Steve leaves and the water turns on. Lets his fingers dance towards his cock, cheek hot and tight and he moves it at the same time he wraps around himself, shoulders hunching around another guttural moan.

Then he remembers the photos.

He looks down and laying in front of his bent knees there’s two polaroids. The one of Eddie is almost fully developed, his dark thatch of hair speckled with globs of his own cum, white in contrast and just as noticeable in half crusted patches over the pink flush of his cock. It’s a mess.

Eddie works himself at the sight, getting to full hardness with a strangled gasp. Remembering Steve eyeing it, remembering what he’d said that caused Eddie to finish so quick.

The other is still only half developed. But the photos edges are rendering sections of the familiar Harrington bathroom, white tiles and blue walls, shower curtain and the edge of the large ornate mirror. Tan skin starts to become clear, Steve’s big hand holding the camera aloft, taking his own photo using the mirrors reflection, the back of his head.

Eddie’s hand speeds up and he watches, wide eyed, as Steve’s broad shoulders come into view, the arch and strong length of his back. Eddie bites his lip again, harder, as Steve’s back ends in his bare ass perched on the counter.

The dark ring of a plug just visible between his cheeks.

Eddie strangles a cry, gripping himself hard at the base, stifling his orgasm and feeling tears spring at his eyes. Steve’s must’ve been wearing that all through their time at the diner, all through the day. Stretched and wet and Eddie clenches his thighs together, covers his mouth with his palm and squeezes his eyes shut.

‘Fuck. Fuck!’ He mumbles behind his hand, breathing shakily through his nose. Steve is something else.

Finally the shower shuts off and Steve returns. Eddie still kneeling, panting heavily, cock hard and leaking between his thighs. Still coming down from the brink. Steve just smirks at him, running a towel through his hair.

He lays down on the bed, settling against the headboard. He trails his fingers over himself, tracing his nipple and stomach before giving his cock a few tugs, getting it hard.

Eddie watches the whole thing, hands still gripping his thighs.

Eventually Steve’s eyes slide open, that little smirk on his face. He opens his arms for Eddie, motioning him in.

Eddie scrambles up and into them, kissing and sucking at Steve’s neck and shoulders. Cock already grinding desperately between Steve’s damp cheeks.

‘You liked the pictures baby?’ Steve whispers, smile in his voice, mouth hot on Eddie’s ear.

Eddie shivers and pulls back, disbelief on his face. ‘I can’t believe you.’ He gushes.

Steve smiles at him and his cheeks are flush from the shower, his damp hair is falling into his forehead. ‘Fuck, you’re so pretty.’ Eddie says, always always amazed by Steve. He needs him, wants to be inside.

He grinds again, catching Steve’s hole, relishing in Steve’s eyes rolling slightly. ‘Get me wet first.’ Steve demands pulling at Eddie’s hair, shoving his head away.

Eddie bites his lip, cock twitching, he pulls at Steve’s thighs, bending him in half. Dips low to lick a long wet stripe across his ass. Tongue pressing at Steves hole, breaching the already stretched muscle and fucking his tongue in until there’s spit sliding down Steve’s crack.

Eventually Steve pulls Eddie off by his hair, chest all flushed and nipples hard.

Reaching over Steve gets the condom and lube from his bedside table. He doesn’t live here anymore, hasn’t for years. But the remnants of their sneaking around before Steve up and left with Eddie and Robin are still there. He never completely fell out with his parents, but he didn’t really tell them where he was going either. They continue to essentially ignore Steve and Steve continues to sneak into their house whenever he’s in Hawkins and fuck his boyfriend in whichever room he pleases. It’s not ideal, but it works.

‘Gonna show me what that useless cock can do?’ Steve goads, sitting up to roll the condom onto Eddie and slicking him with lube.

Eddie whines.

He hitches Steve’s thighs up, forcing him Back flat, hands beneath his knees. Steve sighs into the touch and Eddie watches his length get slowly swallowed by Steve’s tight, wet heat.

Eddie bottoms out, watching his length disappear. He feels his balls draw up, ears ringing and he’s so close. He’s so close.

The slap makes him stutter, eye wide as he stare at Steve. ‘Do not cum.’ Steve seethes, finger in eddies face, like he’s a misbehaving child. Eddie moans, gripping Steves thighs to hold himself still, breathing deeply through his nose to stave off his orgasm.

He stays buried in Steve, willing himself back down. Panting, he feels tears prickle at his eyes again. ‘That’s it.’ Steve soothes, hand coming up to stroke over the red mark he left on Eddie’s face.

Eddie breaths, eyes closed, feels the tendrils in his gut uncoil slightly. No longer right on the brink.

Eventually he opens them, Steve’s eyes on him. Eddie leans down, hands either side of Steve’s face. He starts moving his hips again, building a steady pace.

‘You should’ve touched yourself in front of her today.’ Steve says, looking up at Eddie with that closed off look again, haughty and judgmental. Eddie moans. ‘What do you think she would’ve done? If you got your stupid needy cock out in the diner, you think she would’ve laughed?’ Steve asks, voice mean and even, the only sign of arousal the flutter of his eyelashes as Eddie thrusts especially deep.

‘Fuck Steve.’ Eddie pants, thinking about it. ‘I used to think about that while you were at Scoops’ He admits, eyes watching Steve, watching his smirk broaden.

‘Yeah? You would’ve got your big dumb cock out on the counter for me while I scooped ice cream?’

Eddie’s hips stutter, he’s getting close again. ‘Yeah, used, u-used to go jack off in the bathrooms after seeing you at that mall. In that outfit. Fuck Steve, wanted you so bad.’ Eddie whines.

Steve coos, finger trailing up Eddie’s sweaty neck. ‘Who knew the freak would be so needy’

Eddie whimpers feeling a blush spread down his chest. He moves his hips faster, wanting to get in deeper.

Steve cracks, moaning. ‘Fuck, make me cum baby, get me there.’ Steve says, gripping his own cock now. Other hand holding him in place with the headboard. Eddie going faster, deeper, grazing that spot he knows so well inside Steve.

Steve throws his head back, releasing all over himself with a shout, soft hair splayed across the pillow and cheeks flushed pink. Eddie slows, grinding. He’s so close again, so achingly hard he can feel his pre dripping out, filling the condom.

‘I think I would’ve let you. Maybe Played with your cock while I worked.’ Steve pants. ‘But only if you cleaned up after yourself.’ And he scoops up some of the cum from his stomach and chest, feeding it into Eddie’s slack mouth.

Eddie sucks, swallowing and tasting salt, flooding his mouth with saliva, some slipping out down his chin. ‘’Teve.’ He pleads, garbled. Begging for permission. His eyes wide and wet, hips unable to stop.

‘You wanna cum baby?’ Steve asks, holding Eddie’s jaw with his spit slick fingers, fucking his own hips down onto Eddie’s cock.

Eddie nods, whining, digging his fingers into the sheets, trying not to think about what will happen if he comes too soon.

‘What are you baby? Are you my little freak, my little perv?’ Steve teases.

Eddie shivers, nodding, his whole body shaking in an attempt to stave off his orgasm. Shame writhing filthily in his gut, threatening to spill.

Steve pulls Eddie closer, kissing his cheek and letting him burrow his face in Steve’s neck. Eddie licks over his moles, wants to mark him, burrow his cock inside and never leave. ‘Thats it, my dumb thing, fucking me so good.’ Steve pets over Eddie’s hair as his hips speed up, thrusting into Steve harder, the sounds of skin slapping echoing through the house.

‘Cum for me.’ Steve whispers, hot breath sending shivers down his back. Eddie’s rhythm turning sloppy and desperate as he thrusts deep one last time. Cumming and crying out into Steve’s neck, tears slipping onto Steve’s skin and Eddie clenches his teeth so hard his jaw cracks.

He cums for so long he’s almost numb, shaky and boneless as he falls on top of Steve.

Steve holds him close, threading his fingers through Eddie’s sweaty hair and whispering praise in his ear.

Eventually Eddie moves slightly from on top of Steve, letting his softening cock slip out and his head rest on Steve’s chest. Listening to his heart beat. ‘Good boy, you’re my good boy Eddie.’ Steve says softly, threading his fingers into Eddie’s curls to massage his scalp.

Eddie groans, boneless and satiated. ‘Was I too mean?’ Steve asks from above him.

‘Fuck no. Made me cum my whole brain out.’ Eddie slurs, pressing his forehead between Steve’s hairy pecs.

Steve tsks him, tugging at Eddie’s hair. The sharp pain making Eddie hiss and he sucks one of Steve’s nipples into his mouth, clamping down on top of him so he can’t wriggle away.

‘Okay, okay! Quit it, you monster.’ Steve laughs, shoving Eddie’s face off.

Eddie sits back in his heels, laughing, finally taking the condom off and tossing it onto the floor. ‘You want another shower before we head back to Wayne’s?’ He asks, petting distractedly at Steve’s pink hole, still shiny with lube.

‘Ye just gimme a sec.’ Steve says, stretching, making Eddie’s fingertip slip inside. ‘And quit playing with that, what are you, a perv?’ He asks, smirking up at him.

Eddie grins, lunging back on top of Steve and biting his shoulder.

Steve yelps and Eddie scoops him up, carrying him bridal style to the bathroom.

‘Oh! Stevie, remind me to put those polaroids in my wallet. I think I’ll get a lot of use out of ‘em.’ Eddie says, dumping Steve on the closed toilet and turning the shower on.

📸 📸 📸 📸 📸

Tag List: @pearynice @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @scoops-aboy86 @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor @marvel-ous-m

#longer one today #the doc for this used to be called 'bi freak wet and needy'#so had to keep the history #its finally done omg this has been on the back burner for SO long #i hope u enjoy 🥺#hotlunch #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #sub eddie week #subeddieweek #my fic #<3

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mirandasidefics · 5 months

Text

But Home is Nowhere

Lucien X Plus Size F! Reader, Azriel X Plus Size F! Reader

Part 1 Summary: Reader is pulled into Prythian by an unknown force and comes face to face with members of the Night Court. However, the welcome is less than warm.

A/N: This is my first ACOTAR fic and first story I've even considered posting since 2013, so please be gentle. The story is fully outlined, but due to the fact that I work full time and really weird hours updates will be once a month. Use of cisfemale descriptors used. Key: (Y/N)-Your Name, (e/c)-eye color, (h/c)-hair color.

Content Warnings: Minor violence, minor self-harm, mentions of body issues/past self-harm.

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You gathered your belongings as you did everyday before heading into work. ‘Phone, wallet, keys, charger, make-up…’ the list in your head prattled on as you secured each item in the black backpack. Once satisfied that you had everything you needed you swung the leaden object over your left shoulder. Pausing before the near full-length mirror at your door you tucked a strand of (h/c) hair behind you ear. Your (e/c) orbs roamed over for anything that could be out of place. It took a considerable amount of effort not to let your gaze pause on the parts of yourself that you hated. You pulled the dark red sweater down, covering your large and sagging lower belly and too wide hips. You debated on going back to put shapewear on so your muffin top didn’t hang over your dark black skinny jeans too much, but you were already running late. You quickly slipped your dress flats on to your feet as you whispered a small affirmation to yourself. ‘Everything happens for a reason.’

You were not looking forward to today. The laundry list of to-do tasks was miles long. Hours of work meetings, followed by even more hours of research and writing for your thesis. You were always writing. You paused again to double check that you had the required USB drive that held your many months’ worth of research. A quick glance reassured it was safely tucked away on the hook in your pack, and you stiffly grasped the handle of the front door. No sooner than pulling the door open, your feet tripped over the lip of the frame, and you plummeted down through the threshold.

Bracing for a faceplant against concrete, you were surprised to find soft grass under your fingertips. The grass was a deep rich shade of green and still held the wetness of early morning-dew. Slowly lifting your head, you glanced around the spot where you fell. You immediately noticed that you were no longer at the threshold of your duplex if the wide expanse of grass was to be trusted. Slower still, you raised yourself up on your knees. The sky you looked at was now clear of the pale grey clouds you spied out of your bedroom window only minutes before. The bright yellow-white sun was high enough above to indicate that it was midday. A chilled and briny breeze floated across your shoulders and caused strands of your hair to blow away from your face. You pushed your glasses a little further up the bridge of your nose as you took in the distant buildings to your left. Not a single one of the simple brick and mortar buildings appeared to be more than 3 to 4 floors in height. Further down you could make out some shops and an open square. It reminded you more of a smaller European town than of a bustling city suburb. Yet the buzz in the air told you that there was much more than what met your eyes. You could only make out a few figures as they darted through a bustling crowd. Despite the feeling that there were a large number of inhabitants in the city beyond, there wasn’t a single sound of a motorized vehicle. Your head tilted up to examine the vast blueness above you, looking for any sign of the planes that constantly passed over your home, but the sky was also empty. You held your breath, willing for the sound of a jet engine to be heard in the distance. All was silent, except for the brush of the wind and bubbling of water. You turned toward your right an observed a large house that sat just along the river’s edge. Your eyes followed the winding path of the turquoise water as it stretched into a decent sized bay, complete with docks and what appeared to be old wooden sailing ships. You felt like you had stepped back in time.

Panic began to seep into your bones. You could clearly tell that you were no longer in your own city, but where you were…that was wholly unknown to you. Was this even real? Maybe you hit your head when you tripped and this is all just some dream. Yeah, that had to be it. You reached for the backpack that had landed at your side when a shadow flew over you. A heavy thud was heard to your right and your head whipped up to look at the dark silhouette that now towered over head. You initially thought there had been the shape of wings along the figure’s outline, but after blinking away the shards of sunlight that your hand didn’t block, you determined that it must have been your imagination.

“Well hello there,” a velvety smooth tenor reached your ears, “You’re not an associate of Ms. Quinlan’s, are you?”

“W-What?” Your voice trembled, a strong metallic scent radiated from the man as he knelt down. Your breath caught in your throat. He was absolutely stunning. You mentally slapped yourself after feeling your jaw literally drop. You could have sworn his eyes held flecks of starlight in them. However, his humorless chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.

“Do you know Bryce?” He surveyed you this time.

“I don’t…I don’t know any Bryce,” You couldn’t help the rise of your flight response start to kick in, “Where am I?” A part of you didn’t dare look away, but you had to gage your possible exits out of the periphery of your vision. The man continued to stare and evaluate you. You swallowed thickly in an attempt to clear the non-existent obstruction that was your unease and opened your mouth to ask another question. Before you could speak the man cut you off, placing his hands in his pockets.

“If you’re not here for or because of Bryce,” Something about his darkened expression filled your bones with fear, “then, unfortunately, I’m not in a position to readily trust you. I must protect my people. I hope you understand that my actions are nothing personal.” Confusion laced your features at his words and you clutched your bag tightly against your chest.

Without warning your entire body froze as what felt like ice cold claws scratched against the surface of your skull. Fear gripped you tightly, the need to run or fight back utterly demolished as you locked eyes with the man. He truly didn’t appear to be bothered in the slightest over how terrified you were.

‘Mother above…he’s going to kill me.’ Your mind reeled and you were certain that you would have emptied your bladder had you not done so before exiting your home. You couldn’t get your voice to cooperate, to beg for mercy as the claws gripped your skull harder. You couldn’t even scream as you felt the flesh tear near your right temple. Your heart beat erratically, hoping it would give out before you could feel any of the pain that was sure to accompany your death. It took all of your mental strength to dampen the fear down and whisper the prayer you incorporated into your own practice so long ago.

“Mother hold me, let me pass through the gates into that immortal land of milk and honey. Let me fear no evil, feel no pain, and let me enter eternity.” Eyes still locked with the man you saw a glimmer of…you honestly had no clue what emotion it was that passed over his expression. But as soon as it passed the feeling of the claws were gone and air rushed back into your lungs. The man stood to his full height and continue to stare at your gasping form. A rush of nausea swept over you and you heaved. The stomach acid burned your throat more than normal after not eating anything for well over 24 hours.

You spit the remaining mucus onto the grass and you were suddenly hauled up to your feet. His grip on your forearm was so tight you could already feel the bruises forming. While the man’s features appeared calm and unbothered, his eyes simmered with caution. However, he remained silent as darkness converged on you both. Your stomach rolled and plummeted with the sensation of your body in free fall, but the man’s grip never lessened. Suddenly your feet impacted against solid stone. Your vision blurred and your other arm reached out towards anything to purchase itself to keep you up right. Your throat burned again but the stomach acid never reached your mouth. Your outstretched hand finally found a wall and you clung onto it for dear life.

The surface was cool and rough to the touch. You chanced a glance around and found yourself in a small dimly lit room. The walls and floor appeared to have been carved directly out of the stone. The dampness to the air clued you in that you were not inside a building, but some structure more akin to a cave. The room held no furniture, unless you counted the metal sconce that held the only source of light. You did a double take as the light itself was strange, appearing to be condensed to the size of a lightbulb, but it was quickly obvious that there was no material encasing its source. Was there even a- your thoughts were interrupted by the screeching of metal hinges as a single wooden door swung open.

A second man appeared in the entry way and ducked down to avoid hitting his head on the top of the frame. Once he was fully inside the room you couldn’t believe your eyes. You blinked several times yet the insanely large bat like wings never disappeared. You attempted to take in his dark appearance, but shadows seemed to swirl around him. He wore a scaly leather outfit that appeared to be some type of armor. You couldn’t tell if it was multiple pieces or a single body suit in the dim silver light, but that didn’t matter as soon as you saw the first of the seven blue stones intermingled into his outfit. Your eyes widened. The first man handed the newcomer your bag, allowing you to get a good look at his winged back. You immediately noticed there were no straps that held the wings in place. Nor were they attached to the clothing he wore, but rather connected to and protruding from the skin underneath. With this realization the room spun as their soft voices drifted over towards you, but you couldn’t make out what was said as your knees gave out and everything went dark.

**********************************************************************

When you finally awoke the room was cold, dark, and damp; which sadly reminded you that recent events weren’t just a dream. You found that you were now alone, but weren’t sure if that was a good sign. There was no telling if either of the men-no males- would come back. A part of you hoped that someone would at least give you answers, even if just to tell you that you would rot away in this cell. If that was the case, why didn’t the first male just follow through with killing you? What caused him to stop and bring you to this place you now found yourself? Unsure of what to expect you backed yourself up into a corner on the opposite side from the door. A dim light filtered through the wood panels and space between the door and ground. You could hardly call what you sat upon a floor given all the dirt and rocks. Unfortunately, it did little to comfort you while the room was largely in shadow. Despite your best efforts and desire to make yourself as small as possible, your round and plump frame wouldn’t allow you to curl your knees towards your chest. So, you opted instead to sit with your legs stretched out in front of you, ankles crossed. A false picture of being unperturbed with your current circumstances. The longer you sat there in the silence, the more your anxiety seeped into your muscles. You shook your foot trying to expel the nervous energy. Your ears strained for any semblance for sounds of life beyond the door. Surely there had to be other prisoners or guards. Unless you really were just left for dead. You fought back the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“This is fucked,” You mumbled, “I’m fucked. What the hell is happening?” You could feel the panic rise up your throat. Your heartbeat increased and your breath became shallow. You ran your fingers through your hair, pulling at the roots. Tiny pin pricks of pain blossomed as the (h/c) strands became taut. You felt pain, or rather discomfort. You’ve felt that in your extremely vivid dreams before, but it gave you an idea. Moving on to your hands and knees you began to feel around for any rocks or other items you could use. If you could find something and make it sharp enough, maybe you could wake yourself. The door looked the same, but maybe it was different. Maybe you werein a different REM cycle, meaning a different dream that just piggy backed off the first. Afterall, there was no way to determine if the male that took you was going to come back. ‘This has to be a nightmare.’

“Please, please let there be something,” You crawled through the darkness, eyes straining to make out any shapes. Your hands finally found a smooth stone about the size of your palm. In the darkness you couldn’t tell if it was granite or something else, so you went ahead and bashed the side against the stone of your cell wall. The side of the object splintered off as if the stone was made of glass.

“Obsidian…” You smiled to yourself. The obsidian shard would be sharp enough to draw blood wherever you managed to drag it along your skin.

“Where to cut, where to cut…” You felt along your body, the scars on your covered legs sang with expectation. Were you willing to risk taking off your pants in this place though? Were you willing to take off any of your clothing? Finally deciding against the removal of your clothes you crawled over to the door and lowered your hands to the soft light that filtered through. Pressing the shard against the palm of your left hand you hoped that there would be no feeling as you dragged it against the skin. Oh, how wrong you were.

“Fuck!” A searing pain erupted over your hand as the makeshift blade tore at the skin. You sucked in a breath through your teeth as blood pooled at the seams of the cut. The obsidian hit the ground.

“Why did you do that?” A deep tenor filled the space near the back of your cell and you screamed. The sconce on the wall lit up. Your head whipped around to the opposite corner from where you had been sitting. Your eyes took in the retreating shadows as they revealed the male that you really didn’t want to see. The cobalt stones again caught your eye as your gazed wondered over his form. The wings were still there. You cradled your bleeding hand and you backed away from the known male that stared you down. You figured that you were about to pass out again as the shadows behind him seemed to writhe and undulate around his frame.

“Don’t come any closer,” You tried to keep your voice steady, but you wanted to kick yourself for how pathetic you sounded. The male rolled his eyes and walked towards you before crouching down. His wings stretched out and angled themselves so as to not drag along the stone beneath. The sight of their movement took your breath away. They were real. All of this was real. He grabbed your hand and began to exam it. Your attempts to pull it back failed as his grip was tight. Clicking his tongue against his teeth he locked eyes with you, hazel orbs boring into your own. Despite yourself you noted just how attractive he was as he continued to scrutinize you. He continued to look at you expectantly and you realized that he must have asked you a second question. He sighed and gave you back your hand.

“I’ll be right back,” He stood and left. As soon as the door shut you scrambled to your feet and retreated back to your corner. Had he been in the room with you the entire time? If so, why was the light off? And…you felt pain in your hand. You glanced down at the jagged cut, the blood had yet to start to congeal and clot, but it was superficial at best. Honestly nothing to worry about. You’ve done worse to yourself before. But…you felt pain. Real pain, not just a semblance of a memory of pain as you’ve dreamt of before. This was no dream. Everything pointed to this being a very real place. And you were in very real trouble. Especially if you ended up in-

A soft knock on the door brought you out of your thoughts. Whomever was there didn’t wait for you to respond as they entered. A man-no again male- with long red hair and almost equally red-brown eyes walked into the room. He wore a simple off-white billowy linen shirt that appeared as if it was from the Renaissance or possibly the Victorian era. Honestly, you were really sure. The history of the fashion industry wasn’t your area of expertise. He also wore a simple pair of dark brown pants. He was definitely different compared to your captor and the winged male. He appeared…warmer. Maybe it was the soft smile that graced his lips. However, his eyes-which you now saw that the left had a long scar that ran down towards his jaw- held a certain sense of sadness to them. Pity.

“Hello,” He held out his hand towards you as he cautiously approached, “Can I take a look at your hand?” He seemed friendly enough, but you still pulled your hand closer toward your chest. You shook your head and backed away, not trusting your voice. The red head looked back at the door, where you saw the winged male patiently waiting.

“She does understand our language correct?” He turned back towards you after receiving an affirming nod from his companion. He took a tentative step closer. You felt like you were being treated like a wild animal.

“Stop!” You hissed, “I’m perfectly fine. You can leave.” The male just stood, his gaze trailing to the blood that dripped down your forearm.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” He stated, “I need to heal your hand. Will you let me do that?” You paused.

“What do you care if it heals?” You squeezed your hand into a protective fist causing blood to gush out faster, “Isn’t it easier to just let me be?”

“Honestly I don’t care,” His demeanor changed like the flick of a switch, “If you don’t want help then that is your choice. My question then is why cut yourself in the first place?” You held his stare. You didn’t want to answer, knowing that it wouldn’t make any sense to the stranger.

“This is going no where Lucien,” the winged male finally re-entered the room, “Just heal her hand so I can begin my questioning.” Lucien scoffed, but did as requested. Grabbing your wrist, he tugged you away from the corner you backed yourself into. You held your breath as he pried your fingers open so he could get a look at the cut. You honestly tried to pull your hand free, but he was clearly much stronger than you. Almost unnaturally so. You were left with nothing to do but to watch. You heard a faint whirring sound, before he hovered his free hand over the injury. A warmth enveloped your open palm and was accompanied by a slight metallic scent to the air. Within seconds your skin had stitched itself back together. All that remained was the trail of drying blood. You stared at the healed skin, mind racing with jumbled thoughts. It didn’t make sense. Nothing in the world could do that. It was like…magic. Your breath caught in your throat. Just where the hell were you. You flicked your gaze back to Lucien standing before you, only this time you noted the golden mechanical eye and the arch of his ears. The pointed arch of his ears. The jumbled thoughts became cloudy and you felt darkness start to descend.

*****************************************************************

“There,” Lucien let go of her hand, which was something that he would immediately regret. It took less than 30 seconds for her wide (e/c) eyes to flutter shut. He watched as her knees gave out as she crashed towards the ground. His reflexes were fast enough to allow him to catch her before her head hit the hard stone. Azriel was immediately crouching next to him.

“That’s the second time she’s fainted,” He whispered, cursing under his breath. He removed her outer sweater and placed it under her head before standing up to speak to the male beside him.

“How long has she been down here?” Lucien questioned also rising to his feet. This didn’t sit well with him. The woman was clearly frightened, and there was no absolutely no trace of any lingering magic emanating from her. So why was she being kept beneath the throne room in the Hewn City?

“A few hours,” Azriel explained, “Rhys found her this morning. According to him, she literally just appeared. Much in the same way Bryce did. Fell flat on her face outside their home on the Sidra’s edge.” Her face was pale, honestly, too pale for Lucien’s liking. He knelt down beside her, straightening out her legs so they weren’t tucked under at an odd angle.

“Does Feyre know?” The Shadowsinger remained quiet. Lucien looked up at the male. Azriel couldn’t meet his eyes. That wasn’t a good sign. There was no way that Feyre would be comfortable with having a defenseless and harmless human female locked away. It was unusual for Rhysand to keep things from his mate, not without there being a definitive threat.

“This human has no magic. Absolutely none. She’s completely powerless,” He spat out, “There are no traces of any spells surrounding her either. Whatever brought her here, she had no control over. Its likely she had no knowledge of what was happening either.”

“That’s what I need to find out,” Azriel stated simply. If he was irritated with Lucien’s outburst he didn’t let on. “So now that she’s healed and you’ve completed your assessment, you can leave.” This really didn’t sit well with him. Bryce had been brought right into their family home when she arrived. So, what was it about this human that set the High Lord on such edge that she’d been banished from what would probably be the safest place for a human in Prythian? Lucien really didn’t like what was happening, but knew better than to argue with the Spymaster. If anyone did get answers out of the woman it was going to be him. However, he wouldn’t let this injustice go to the way side. So, without so much as a word to the Shadowsinger, Lucien left the cell. He was determined to have a very stern word with the High Lord.

Part 2

#acotar x reader #lucien x reader #azriel x reader #plus size reader #BHINfic #lucien vanserra x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #lucien acotar #azriel acotar #lucien vanserra x plus size reader #azriel x plus size reader

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exhailodile · 2 months

Text

FROM MY POLL: Alastor x fem sinner!reader

sorry for being so late

ANYWAYS

Reader is a doe, who knew Alastor as a human(they are both cannibals, this is 5 years before Alastor's death) .

You two were oddly close, you were the only he showed PDA to. Even just small things like a touch on your shoulder, leaning against you, saying you look nice, or even just a flick were how he showed his affection to you. He tried to deny his feelings for you, until you died in his arms.

This is the dress you’re wearing during this time

——PAST——

“Y/N L/N. You have been sentenced to death for your crimes against the country.” A police officer spoke, his voice monotone and loud for the people of their country to hear.

You struggled in the chains that kept you from moving freely. “You have the wrong person!” You shouted as if you were attempting to convince yourself.

“Silence!” He spoke again. “Tomorrow as the clock strikes 12, your death will come.” And with that, they began to take you away.

Struggling, tears fell down your face in fear. You didn’t want to die. “No! Let me go!” The crowd of people left fast, all returning to their homes. Except for one person, who stayed standing in place as others pushed past him. Eyes wide and terrified, he couldn’t say anything. “Alastor!” You cried out before you were taken away successfully.

Eyes swollen from the salty tears, you heard a guard speak. “Be quick.” Pitter Patter of shoes hit the concrete floor. They were quick paced and made you look through the bars. The feet stopped as they saw you. Alastor.

He walked up to you, hand reaching for your cheek through the bars. “I’m going to find a way to get you out.”

His kindness towards you seemed different than usual. His determined eyes struck you like a sword.

“Alastor I-” You could feel the tears threatening to fall from your e/c eyes.

“It’s going to be alright.” He let go of your cheek and pulled something out of his pocket. A key, it’s sparkling gold shimmered in the moonlight.

“Here,” he grabbed your hand and dropped the key in it. “I’ll cause a distraction tomorrow morning. That key will unlock your cell. I’ll meet you in the forest.” His voice was low and quiet. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Your time is up. Come.” The guard from before yelled from a little ways away.

“I’ll see you then. Y/n.” Alastor began to walk away after holding your hand roughly.

Something about the way he said your name made you feel heat rush to your cheeks.

Throughout the night you kept wondering what his distraction would be and if it would actually get the guards to leave their posts.

When you fell asleep, cold took over your body, and you later awoke from the yelling of guards. “Emergency! All guards to the captains quarters!” The sound of feet pitter-pattering against the stone floors alerted you that Alastors plan was successful.

You grabbed the key from under your yellow stained and muddy pillow. You rushed to unlock you from the cell. The frozen cold bars hurt your fragile skin as you leaned against them in an attempt to free yourself. Suddenly, with a click, the cage unlocked and you almost fell as the door swung open against your weight.

You carefully closed the cells door and tiptoe-ran through the jail bars. Some other people who were trapped in jail cells either yelled at you to let them out or cheered you on. Some even whistled at the sight of your dress flowing around your body, almost showing a little too much.

You ran up the stairs, tripping once before quickly recovering. The different paths all looked the same besides the painting. Thankfully you remembered the way you came when they forced you in jail.

You took two rights and a left before standing in front of the main entrance doors. Suddenly, you heard feet running towards you. Guards yelling, “Find her! Find Y/n!” You barged out the door and ran through your town.

Gasps were made around you as people spotted you, - the one who murdered the mayor and his wife - who were set to pay for your sins at 12.

You bumped into people who you once thought of family as you heard guards yell and chase you.

Finally, you reached the forest. The pine scent rushed through your nose and out your mouth as you took a breath. You could still hear the guards and you kicked off your small heels. You took one last deep breath before rushing it.

Small branches and pine needles stabbed your feet while you ran. You couldn’t care less, all you wanted was to see Alastor. Suddenly as you passed a tree, you felt an arm grab your wrist which pulled you close to the figure.

You felt the figure hold you close to your chest, the eyes fixated on the surrounding trees. Looking up, you saw him. Alastor. “Alastor-”

“Sh. They’re coming.” After he spoke, guards ran past you two, not seeing you at all. After a few minutes he let you go from his chest and looked you in the eyes. “Are you alright, darling?” His pet name made your cheeks flush a soft pink.

“Yes, Alastor. I’m so glad you’re safe.” You hugged him gently, and although he was a little surprised, he returned the gesture.

“We should leave before they come back.” He spoke, almost not wanting to.

You let go, smiled, and followed him when he walk to the right. You heard a shot, it sounded far away. Although something felt funny. It hurt. Why did it hurt?

Alastor seemed scared as he turned to look at you. His eyes went wide when he sude your figure. Looking down at your side, you saw red liquid start pour out. The metallic smell took over your senses as you realized what happened.

You had been shot.

Your legs gave out and you fell to the ground. Alastor ran to you, his warmer hands wripped a piece of his jacket off. He struggled with it but being successful, he applied pressure to your wound.

You could hear guards running and yelling in your direction.

“Alastor,” You tried to get his attention and failing. “Alastor.” Your words were stricter yet no reaction was made. If anything, he pushed against your wound harder. You hissed in pain, finally getting his attention. "You need to go, leave me here, they can't hurt me anymore."

“Y/n. You’re going to be okay- we’ll get you to a doctor- I promi-”

“Alastor, stop!” His eyes went wide and his strength against your side was lifted. “Alastor, I’m sorry I can’t stay with you anymore.” You reached for his cheek and he held your hand on his skin.

“Don’t say that.”

“You know it’s true.” He was quiet. “I need to tell you something.” You prompted yourself on your free arm. Alastor let go of your hand and reached under your back, holding you up.

“You can tell me tomorrow when you’re in the hospital.”

“You know they won’t save me. I’m wanted and was supposed to die soon anyways." He looked at you with uncertain eyes, trying to convince himself you would be okay. You felt your eyes start to get heavy and thoughts started to combine.

Alastor noticed this. "You can't leave me. You are all I have." His hand trailed from your back to your hair, letting strands gather in between his fingers.

"I love you, Alastor." Alastor felt many emotions start to gather in his heart. Fear, sadness, happiness, shock, etc. And before he could process those four words, the hand that once held his cheek fell.

Your muscles slowly died, your senses dying last. First feeling, then sight, taste, smell, and lastly, hearing.

"Y/n! Y/n!" Soft ringing soon replaced his pleas.

That was it, you were dead. Yet, why were you still there? You still felt alive, if that was even possible.

Your eyes shot open. Where were you? There were buildings engulfed in flames, and a red sky seemed to go on forever.

"Is this... hell?" You spoke out loud to yourself. Deciding to try and figure it out, you began to walk around. You could feel something different about yourself. Was it just that you were dead, or maybe this was how you usually felt and you just realized it now. You'd figure it out later.

As you walked throughout this dark place, you saw many different people? It seemed that humans turned into animals or gadgets. You had wondered if you did. You stumbled upon a small town. The people there weren't animals, but grey skinned with pitch black eyes.

"Are you lost, dear?" You heard a woman's gentle voice and turned to the direction. She was rather pretty considering this was... well. Hell.

You didn't really know how to respond.

"Oh my, you must be new here! My name is Rosie, and this is Cannibal town." Her smile was warm and inviting. "If you aren't a cannibal, I recommend not staying here." As she said that you could see some cannibals start inching towards you.

"Oh! I am one, which may be part of the reason I am here." You let out a small chuckle and start to notice the demons smile gently at you, which made you feel welcomed.

"Wonderful. I'll show you around..."

"Y/n."

Your time in hell was quite fun, considering the conflicts. One thing that surprised you, were the exterminations. Angels, coming down once a year to kill demons didn't seem so... holy. But, as long as you stayed safe, you didn't mind so much.

Who knew it would take almost a century to meet your loved one yet again.

"Rosie!" You were as cheerful as ever, "Did you hear? Adam died?!" You were still so shocked at the news.

"I heard, deer." Rosie was like a mother to you now, her wisdom and guidance always warmed your heart.

"Then that means maybe the exterminations might end!" You hopped on your hooves with glee, arms pushed up to your chest.

Rosie smiled and let out a small chuckle. "Deer, the one who killed Adam is a member of that hotel I've been talking about."

"The one that redeems sinners?"

"Correct! I do think you should go there, at least once." She was always telling you to check it out.

"Fine, only a day though. And if I don't like it I'm coming back and you have to stop telling me to go there!" You really didn't want to. You felt at home with Rosie and the other cannibals.

"Wonderful, deer!"

So, that's how you ended up here. Standing in front of the newly built Hazbin Hotel.

"You're doing this for Rosie, Y/n. Maybe you'll meet some new friends who aren't cannibals?" You took a deep breath before opening the doors.

The interior was beautifully made, it reminded you of a previous life, although you couldn't quite remember who's life it was.

Immediately, you noticed the demons in the living room. A spider demon, laid on the couch, seeming to not be listening to... well the Princess of Hell.

You saw a cat-like demon cleaning classes in the left of the entrance. You thought he looked rather cute for a demon(in a way where you just want to take him home and eat him).

The sudden stopping of voices and attention towards you made you uncomfortable.

"Hello! I'm Charlie! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!" The bright demon walked up to you, her smile shining brightly.

You tried to look anywhere except her eyes, "Uhm, Y/n. Nice to meet you."

"Are you here to be a resident here and redeem yourself?" She seemed really excited... it seemed she was getting her hopes up.

"Well... I just want to see how it is here. I don't really plan to stay, I told a friend I would attend for a day." Her smile somehow grew larger.

"Great! Let's introduce you to everyone!" She walked you to the couch, which a bulletin board with "Redemption" in bright colours stood in front of it.

"Everyone, this is Y/n! It seems she'll be staying for a day... so let's make her feel welcome!" You gave a weak smile, "That's Angel, Vaggie, my girlfriend, and Husker is over there." Husker gave a small wave before returning to cleaning glasses.

"Charlie, you better not let her near Alastor, you do know he eats his own kind, right?" The spider demon smirked at his own comment.

Alastor. Alastor. Alastor. His name echoed through your skull.

"Not let who near me?" A slimey-looking blackness arose from the ground before revealing a demon way too similar to your love for it not to be him. The name, the suit, the face. It was him. Alastor.

Angel looked at him before looking back towards me. "Her."

Alastor looked directly at you, he seemed to be struggling to keep his smile

You on the other hand, had a warm smile on your face. "Alastor-"

"Come." He seemed to be keeping up an act in front of these people, just like when you two were alive. You walked to his side and he started to walk up the steps of the hotel.

"See I told you, Charlie." You could hear Angel from the couch.

"I think we'll be seeing her around more." Your ears perked up at Huskers voice. It felt like you could hear his smirk.

Alastor finally stopped in front of a room, only to open it and let you in before him. He shut the door behind him and you couldn't help but feel at piece.

"Y/n?" His voice was uncertain and filled with doubt.

You reached into the pocket of your dress(imagine with me here) and pulled out a crumpled up photograph. Alastor quickly realized what you were doing and did the same, you both uncrumpled it and showed it to each other. You saw yourself in his, and Alastor saw himself in yours.

He stepped closer to you until you were almost chest-to-chest. In one quick motion, you wrapped your arms around Alastor's neck. He felt a little shocked at the movement, but inched his arms forward till they were around your waist.

"Alastor. Oh, Alastor. I've missed you so much." You held onto him tighter as you took a deep breath of his scent.

"I wish I could've met with you sooner, darling." His breath was warm against your ear.

"It's alright now, we're together again." You both stood like that for a minute, just taking it all in. You were there, in that moment.

Alastor broke the silence first. "Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"What you said before you died."

"That I loved you?" You assumed his silence meant yes. "I do mean it, I still feel that way. Even after all this time." You retracted your arms and placed your palms against his chest. "Alastor. I never want to leave your side ever again. The pain of being away hurt much more than death itself."

"I feel the same, Y/n. I never wish to leave again."

You put your face against his, nose touching. Alastor let in a breath of air before letting out three simple words. "I love you."

THE END

I just want to get this out so I don't have to keep rushing it. Ignore the mood changes and bad character personality writing(I can't be bothered currently).

This was not proofread, 2481 words.

Alastor seems like a little twink in this but... I'M DONE... and tired.

Anyways... take a quick breath... and have a nice day :)

#hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin #hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #lazy

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seravphs · 1 year

Text

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO X FEM READER

When you took the job, you knew working the night shift at your local convenience store would be boring. That’s fine; you’re here to make enough to pay rent, not to smile for strangers who don’t care anyways.The appearance of a stranger who seems to have a lot to hide is tantalizing bait to your boredom, but you can’t give in. That is, if you have a choice at all.

wc — 3k

tags — mafia au but not really, implied but never addressed, is he or isn’t he, Gojo is Weird, blood, guns, this is not meant to be a serious gorey fic, its just a fun little way for me to branch out and stretch those writing muscles

They don’t pay you enough to keep guns under the counters, but it’s cheaper to teach you to shoot then it is to pay for security cameras. It would be cheaper not to show you to protect yourself at all, actually, but you’re the sixth cashier they’ve burned through in as many weeks. Even in a town as down as this one is, rumors spread fast.

The wages are shit, but it’s all you’ve got, and college is expensive for a degree as useless as yours is. Four months away from becoming a junior, and you’ve only held unpaid internships and this position as a cashier at a dirty, old convenience store on the wrong side of the train tracks.

You think the owner is hiding something, or maybe that’s just wishful thinking for a job as boring as this one. People come and go, make rude comments, pick up beer and slide you IDs you weren’t trained to check. It’s quiet enough to convince you to let down your guard, then your fingers brush the cold metal underneath the register and you remember the long line of unnamed, unknown girls who came before you.

This is the bad side of town, and you’re stuck here for at least three months, two weeks, and five days more. Lucky you.

At least the work is easy. It’s so far out that management can get away with the grime on the walls and pulsing, fluorescent blue lighting that gives you headaches. Even though they’re supposedly focused on keeping costs low and profits high as possible, the air con is always on blast.

There are no regulars here, not until him - the one customer you get past 3:00 am. The witching hour, if you believed in that sort of the thing.

You’ve taken to calling him ghost, your stranger. He’s just like one - as faded and pale as a memory, hard to discern between reality and the imaginary.

You had just thought he was another one of your kind, a student down on hard luck and keeping ungodly hours. This town would do that to you - strip you of any shimmer in your irises from before you came here and beat you into the ground. There was a little bit of sympathy for him, then. Sometimes you offered him a piece of candy in the bowl by your left hand.

He never took it. Just as well, it probably wasn’t safe to eat.

The bell on the door rings. On instinct, you lift your head, your hand going back to the comforting holster underneath the counter. It’s just him, however - piercing blue eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses and bone white hair. At first, you thought he was just high constantly, cause no one needs sunglasses when the moon is already rising in the sky, but the one time you caught him looking, the whites of his eyes had been clearer than milk.

The temperature shifts subtly when he comes in. It’s hot outside. Summer nights in July always feel disgusting. This town can’t pay for maintenance, so during the day, the asphalt cracks under the sun. Heat waves shimmer off the concrete side walks. It’s cooler at night, but not by much. When your tall, mysterious stranger comes in, he always brings the heat in with him, even if only for a moment. The thermometer’s red line goes up a few degrees.

He has a routine, like a clockwork doll. Heads for the back first, pulling the strings of his black hoodie down as he makes a beeline for the fridge. You think he might be diabetic as you ring up his order: same old, same old. Sugary blue pop, a packet of fruit chews, five hour energy. Something new, this time. You’ve never seen him grab actual food before, though this should barely count. You add the chips to his total. The money’s in your hand before you can ask for it.

Strange man.

Strange men are preferable to scary men, however. Customers come and go, often silent, always in and out like they were never here, but every so often, someone comes in who’s clearly looking for trouble.

And sometimes, there’s someone who’s so clearly dangerous it stops your heart.

He’s wearing a balaclava. It’s a trend now, you try to convince yourself. It’s fashionable.

No one cares about fashion in this town (no one but your ghost, that is).They’re too focused on staying alive. The balaclava wearing man is clad in all black. But the bad news is that he’s coming towards you with a plastic bag in one hand and a flash of silver in the other. The knife twirls over his fingers, over and over, rhythmic and steady like he knows how to use it.

You grip the holster of the gun. To be honest, although you were trained, you’re not sure you can do it. It’s only a comfort, like a child’s favorite blanket.

He thrusts the bag on the counter. “All the cash you have, bitch. Hurry up.”

You’re just a part-timer. You’re not risking your life for a dumb convenience store. Right as your hands move to unlock the cash register, however, the door rings again.

It’s him.

Black hoodie (a new one, with white and blue lettering down the arms), black oval sunglasses, hair bleached brighter than the corona of the sun. Warm air blows into the store, a miniature heatwave.

He doesn’t notice the man who’s currently hustling you for all the money in the store, but the man notices him.

“Get lost, kid! We’re busy here.”

He looks up, surprised. Then he ambles closer, as casual as if it’s a normal day, picking up his usual on the way: a packet of chips, blue pop, candy.

“Nah,” he says, voice calm and cheery. A lunatic, then. “I’m busy.”

“Do you understand what’s going on here?” The potential thief looks like he might be preparing to do something you’ll all regret. You wonder if you could use the gun to save someone else’s life. You don’t think so.

Your ghost let’s his sunglasses slip down his face. His eyes, as they always are in the rare instances he’s let you see them, are startling and preternaturally blue.

The man jumps. He seems confused, vacillating between fear and disbelief. It’s as if he recognizes him, just by the eyes alone.

“What don’t you get? Scram.” His blue eyes flash with restrained heat. “I’m not a patient man.“

Still, he hesitates. You wouldn’t. The words don’t seem like an empty threat.

Casually, your ghost throws his items on the counter for you to bag, pushing the man aside. In one motion, he has the knife. “I’m keeping this as a reward for my generosity. You have five seconds before I decide to take your spleen with it.”

The man with the balaclava looks at his eyes again, flicking between them and his white hair in fear before he comes to a decision. He bolts out of the store. You understand the sentiment a little. When you first met your ghost, with his hair like hoarfrost and eyes like the summer sky, you had felt the strangeness of him shake you too, as if something about him was fundamentally at odds with the world.

Your ghost snaps you out of your frozen stupor when he gestures for you to get on with checking his purchases out. This time, as he throws down his bills, you catch the flash of a shiny watch on his wrist, inked sleeves. His arms writhe with patterns of dragons and koi fish, characters for honor and glory and strength. He has money that people would kill for in this town.

He raises an eyebrow when he catches you looking at the symbols of the kind of wealth that shouldn’t exist this close to the outskirts of nothing. You guys didn’t even have a train that came reliably most days, the tracks scattered with litter and graffiti.

He’s cocky. The way few can afford to be. Real arrogance too, not borrowed, the kind that can make threats at the blink of an eye because they can follow through on them.

“Are you in the fucking mafia?” You ask in disbelief, remembering only too late that the two of you are strangers.

All of the fantastical stories you’ve made up in your head to explain away his strange appearance and late nights are just that: fantasies. Idle fairytales to pass the time. Ways to make your job less boring, soothe the ache of being a washed up nobody in your shithole of a hometown.

You are suddenly very aware of the presence of danger, the hair rising on your arms as your body reacts like an animal.

“That doesn’t sound like a thank you to me.”

His voice is slightly higher than you’d expect from someone in the mafia. For some reason, you’ve always imagined mafiosos would have a deep baritone, but his is smoother, even if it has a rasp to it, like he smokes as a hobby. You’ve never seen him pick up cigarettes.

Even more dangerously, you can feel the thread of attraction between you two, pulling taut. You want to know more, desperately, even when you’ve seen him threaten to gut a man as calmly as he picks out what flavor of pop he wants.

There’s no room for risk when you live here. All the perilous thrills you could want are already imbedded in your daily life. There’s nothing left for any more.

“That doesn’t sound like an answer to me,” you retort.

You shouldn’t be so comfortable with him - you aren’t, really, you’re aware of the fact that you two are technically strangers but if he wanted to hurt you, he could’ve done so already.

He laughs. Blatantly. A snickering kind of laugh, one that’s clearly directed at you, not with you.

“No,” he says, between wheezing for breath. “Not mafia. What, you read too much manga or something? I’m just an insomniac. Oh, that means I have trouble-“

“I know what that means!” You snap, humiliated, warmth burning on your cheeks.

Sue you for wanting a little excitement in this boring job, boring town, boring life. You were an idiot for thinking this lunatic could be the one to provide it.

He taps his cold bottle of pop to your forehead as he leaves, making you flinch. “You’re a weird girl,” he says. “I like you.”

I like you.

The words run through your head relentlessly, little greyhounds with too much energy yapping at all hours of the day. A little chorus of “I like you”s at all hours, making you replay the moment over. Stuck.

This town drives you mad. You haven’t had anything to love in a while in this cold, deserted place. It must be why you’re fixated on him. You’re imagining the obsession because you miss the feeling. The heart is a muscle like any other - it grows atrophied with disuse.

That doesn’t stop you from looking forward to seeing him again.

The next time your beautiful stranger walks in, he’s with a friend. That’s how you learn his name. His buddy looks like even more of a delinquent than he is - gauges, tattoos, piercings, all of it.

He’s gentler, though, more soft-spoken. Voice like a running stream, smile as soft as warm butter. This is the first time you’ve seen your ghost laugh, when too-many-piercings-to-count cracks some joke by the ice cream freezer. He catches you looking, long black hair flipping over his shoulder as his head whips around to face you. Ghost hasn’t noticed. He gives you a smile, but something about it feels wrong. You avert your eyes, and the boys are in the next aisle, hidden from view, a moment later.

“Hey,” Ghost says, his smile genuine. “Fancy seeing you again.”

“You know her?” His friend questions. “I’m so sorry. Gojo’s such a pain in the ass, isn’t he?”

You smile faintly. Something about his friend is terrifying. His eyes seem dead inside, pure black tar, sticky traps.

Ghost shoves him. “Back off. You’re the annoying one, she’s so much more spunky when it’s just me.”

You’re so focused on trying to keep yourself out of danger you don’t even realize the tidbit of information you have until you’re in the grocery store after your shift. As you’re picking out produce you realize - now you know his name.

This town and it’s stupid transit system has you waiting in the biting cold for hours. Your groceries are heavy and the bus petulantly refuses to come.

A motorcycle roars in the distance, dying to a purr as it stops in front of you.

“Hi, stranger,” says your beautiful ghost. “You want a ride?”

“Are you stalking me?” You blurt out.

Gojo wrinkles his nose, offended. “Who’d have time to stalk you? You can just say you don’t want the ride.”

“Wait!” This is a bad idea. This is a very bad idea. This is the worst idea you’ve had in a long time. You should listen to your mother when she tells you not to be reckless. “No, I do. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

His lips curve into a brilliant smile. “I was just teasing. C’mere.”

He pulls a helmet out of nowhere - it’s clearly not for him, because his white hair is messy and windswept. He buckles it under your chin carefully. Under further consideration, he shucks off his black leather jacket and tucks it around you.

“Trust me,” he says. “It gets cold when you’re riding. You’re going to hold on tight, right?”

You wrap your arms around his waist.

“Nope,” he says, taking your hands and pulling you closer so you’re pressed right up against his back. You can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. “You’re going to fall off like that. Address?”

He doesn’t just drop you off, he carries your groceries inside for you and makes you laugh as he helps unpack them.

Too late, you realize you might’ve given your address to a mafioso. Just because Gojo says he isn’t, doesn’t mean it’s true. He’s just hard to resist. You’ve always been weak for beautiful things, starved of it in this concrete city.

That’s when the flowers start showing up.

Did you mention you were weak to the beautiful things?

Massive bouquets of riotous color, flowers that aren’t even in season, that cost a fortune to ship.

Maybe it’s payment for his absence, because Gojo hasn’t shown up for the past week. The flowers keep coming - lilies with creamy white petals, extravagantly expensive roses, massive hothouse orchids. The flowers don’t compare to him.

It’s bad, but you’re addicted. He gives you a thrill like nothing else.

The next time you see Gojo, you hear him first. You’re closing another shift where you haven’t seen him and heading out the back door when you hear a noise like a wounded animal. A soft hiss of air escaping through clenched teeth.

“Gojo!” You gasp. He’s leaning against the bottom of the stairs, chain smoking and clutching his side. Red spills between his fingers, staining his normal white shirts a startling rust.

“Hey, stranger. Fancy seeing you here.”

“This is no time for your little jokes! Let me see that, oh my god-“

“Hey, hey,” he soothes. “No need to fret, it’s not serious.”

“You’re going to bleed out.”

“Nah. I know what that looks like.”

“Just- stay here, okay?”

“Not going anywhere, princess.” He smiles up at you, still fatally charming as his life bleeds out of his side. “You going to take care of me?”

“Against my better judgement, yes.”

Hauling out the massive first aid kit your boss keeps in the bathroom cabinets is a bit of an ordeal, but nothing compared to pulling Gojo’s shirt up and seeing the slash in his side.

“Worse than it looks.”

Well, at least he’s right about that. It doesn’t look like he needs stitches, but he’ll need to be very, very careful for the next few days. You dig through the kit for salve, bandages, and wipes. Gently, you set to work cleaning, then bandaging.

His head tips back, revealing the column of his throat, as he moans in pain. There’s a tattoo right between his collarbones, a stylized eye. Watchful. “Hurts,” he says.

“Serves you right, you big baby. Besides, isn’t this supposed to be nothing for you?”

“I’m not a mafioso,” he says with a smile.

You eye him disbelievingly as you pack his wound.

“There, all better.”

“Not quite.”

“What now?”

“Doesn’t a kiss fix everything?”

You know he’s expecting you to push him away, so just to be contrary, you lean in and gently peck the bandage covering his side.

His hand snakes his way into your hair and gently brings you back up, face to face with him. “Bad girl. You know that’s not what I meant.”

And then he’s kissing you like you’re his nicotine. He tastes like smoke and ash - not particularly enjoyable, but the more time you spent licking his bad habits from his mouth, the more you’re staring to enjoy them. Gojo is everything that’s wrong for you - secondhand delinquency, but he’s such a good kisser. He pulls away and mouthes down your neck, leaving bruising kisses all over your carotid artery.

“Pretty thing,” he murmurs against your neck. “Wanna take you home.”

You think he might be delirious and check him for a fever. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” he whines, forehead against your shoulder now. “Want you all to myself. Don’t want share with the convenience store anymore.”

He’s in no state to go anywhere, by the way he’s babbling. Just this once, you let him come with you.

The streets are quiet these days. Maybe they can smell the spilled blood on the doorstep, a warning flag to anyone who comes into the convenience store. Or maybe the man who waits for you outside is the warning.

“Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

He’s come to pick you up again, black helmet already outstretched to you.

“No. You have anything to do with that?”

He smiles and leans in to brush his lips against your temple. “Everyone knows you’re off limits. You’re mine.”

#sera writes #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x y/n

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jeremythejirachi · 1 year

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Boys Like Girls, Flyleaf, Steve Aoki, More To Play Bamboozle 2023

The 2023 @BamboozleFest will feature @etownconcrete, @ismfofmusic, @whokilledxix, @callousdaoboys and @Jax!

It’s been over a decade since the last Bamboozle festival took place. And now, it has returned. New Jersey’s most beloved festival is ready to bounce back for the first time in 11 years. News broke on Thursday that the legendary multi-genre festival dropped nearly the full roster for its 2023 lineup. For the past few weeks The Bamboozle has been dropping several acts and bands who’re attending…

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hate5sixofficial · 1 year

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E. Town Concrete 2022-10-08 Starland Ballroom Sayreville, NJ

#E. Town Concrete #Starland Ballroom #hate5six

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lxndrys · 1 year

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𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐞 (𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐞?) — 𝐞.𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐲

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> grief and trust don’t mix well. part one of three.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> blood, swearing, violence (weapons)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> ethan landry x carpenter!sister reader

ANY FILM BUFF would laugh at her - laugh at how she fell into classic trope of the horror movie survivors moving away to a different city, with delusional hopes of shedding her tragedy and scars.

But, realistically, what sane person could stay where half of her friends — boyfriend included — were either gutted or were the knife wielders themselves? And, the concrete jungle that is NYC wasn’t a stranger to greeting those with ghosts on their shoulders.

Her ghost? The bloodied and bruised shell of a once keen-eyed, ash-brown haired boy who adored her endlessly; killed by a psychotic fanboy who was nothing more than a whiny bitch when she slit his throat for what he had done to that boy of hers.

His (Dalton’s — her therapist said that part of acceptance was to still refer to him by his name, as opposed to some nameless wanderer in her memory) ghost was a companion through and through each day; he’d trace along her shoulder blades as a feathery reminder that he was still there, even as she left Woodsboro with the others.

NYC, once you peer beneath the facade of entertainment wannabes and elitist assholes, was a haven for ghosts of the past and their harbingers. But, anything was better than Woodsboro.

She only felt his ghost fading from its place in her conscious when she met Chad’s roommate; a meek boy with a tousle of brown curls, that didn’t look at her as if she would crumble at any second beneath the weight of the past. Perhaps it was her soul wanting to be relinquished of the crippling grief that had throttled it for nearly a year — maybe that’s why she trusted this boy, Ethan Landry, allowed him after that year to be in Dalton’s place as the doting boyfriend. Not a replacement, never, rather a step towards accepting Dalton’s permanent fate.

And, abruptly, Dalton was just another Woodsboro memory whether she chose it or not, residing amidst all the slashed youths in the small town.

Mindy, per her tendency to hand out cryptic forewarnings based on movie tropes, had told her how it never ended well for the main character who finds a new love interest after enduring tragedy — naming Sidney Prescott with emphasis in her example.

“Who are we to forget what happened to poor Sidney Prescott? Finds herself a new boy toy, and boom, he gets shot. Adore that woman and everything, but once death found her, it latched onto her and fucked up everyone else to make her miserable,” Mindy ranted, her rambles accompanied by the obnoxious crunch of a potato chip. Chewing, she gestured towards Y/N with a half bitten chip, “And, because you’re one of the main characters now in this franchise, you’re not immune to it. There will always be someone after us.”

Y/N decided her forewarning was more of a projection of her thorough dislike of Ethan, as opposed to a semblance of concern.

That’s why, now as she leaned against the doorframe alongside the subtly intoxicated Landry boy, she opted to disregard the squinted glare Mindy cast from the living room.

“Did she just come to this party to stare me down the whole night?” Ethan mused over the resounding bass that rattled the wood grain walls.

“She’s just cautious of newcomers, especially when they’re of the male species,” Tara laughed over the rim of her solo cup, a similar chuckle drifting from Y/N’s mouth a beat later.

“Don’t take it personally, dude. She’ll get over herself,” Chad shrugged, nudging slightly at Ethan’s side with his elbow.

“She might just have to wring you through the hazing process first, E,” Y/N smirked, bright tones of blue and white dynamically moving across the curve of her cheekbones as she smiled at him.

He begrudged an eye roll, the feigned annoyance betrayed by the smile that he reflected down to her. A belittling voice — his father’s — mockingly danced at the rear of his head at this thoughtless moment of adoration, disgusted that this girl was gradually consuming his senses. Ruining the plan.

It was fleeting, interrupted as Y/N’s hand fell upon his forearm, featherlight but enough to cast out the taunting whispers.

“Seriously, she is just quick to assume that everyone who enters our lives is out to slit our throats,” a half-hearted simper wandered across her lips, the gesture never quite reaching her eyes, “It’s nothing against you.”

Ethan hated — or at least acknowledged that he should be — at how an ember of sorrow coiled around the existent knot in his stomach, extending to the tension in his posture as he observed the sadness that festered as a glint in her gaze, as her mind wandered to the sorrows in her memories. The bravado of his father’s contempt for him meanwhile urged him to suppress every last ounce of sympathy he formed for the girl before him; torture him with the recollections of what her friends and perhaps even she had done to Richie.

No, some lovesick - perhaps even delusional - corner of his mind stifled the notion, she did nothing. Not her.

“But, can’t blame her for being so Fort Knox about who’s around us….especially after Dalton,” Chad more or less mumbled to himself, his own caution thrown to the wind by the flush of vodka in his system.

Y/N’s entire posture tensed with a hastiness compared to someone who’s fingertip was met with flame. Whilst this nonverbal response eluded the likes of a muddled Tara and Chad, it didn’t skirt past the attentive eyes of Ethan, whose brewing vendetta for the two teens increased ten fold.

The curly-haired boy seldom knew anything about Dalton; anything he was aware of came from media coverage about last years Woodsboro murders. A golden boy, track captain who died after running in between Y/N and one of the Ghostfaces, ultimately enduring the wrath of the blade meant for her.

“You really can’t handle your alcohol tonight,” Y/N only sighed in spite of the tension exuding from every vulnerability in her facade, “I’m, uh, actually gonna go get some air.”

Tara, with a frown that cast a discomforting tightness around her mouths, glanced at her sister with pity in her doe-eyes, “Y/N/N—”

“No, it’s fine. I kinda can’t stand being around a bunch of frat fucknuts in Ghostface masks, anyway,” the other girl was prompt to interject, sounding profoundly frustrated, something that bubbled painfully beneath a front of nonchalantness. She discarded her nearly empty cup to the adjacent side table, then hastily retrieved her dorm keys from her purse, “See you back at home, T.”

Tara’s mouth shifted as if to continue her actively failing effort to make Y/N stay, choose to ignore or even berate Chad for his loose tongue. Ultimately, however, she held onto reluctant silence as her friend quickly turned her back, agitation in her gait as she departed through the open front door. The younger Carpenter girl blinked away her concerned gaze from the distancing figure of Y/N, and to the Landry boy who spared no second before pursuing her into the October evening before she could.

—

SHE GAZED TIREDLY AT THE VAGUE STARS that simmered through NYC’s light pollution, having settled onto the curb a few houses down from fraternity house; the devastating combination of vodka’s numbing grasp and Dalton’s mention, throttling her sense of direction and desire to be alone.

With her side cradled against the lamppost’s slender pole, arms tucked in a cradle in her lap, her intoxication was bordered by an impression of forebode — as if the ghostly, sweetly bloody fingers of a boy who was failed, raced delves info her rigid shoulder blades. They were ambassadors from a misery far away from the comprehension of the sane, from her friends — Ethan — still in the house behind her.

For a fleeting moment, she screwed her eyes shut away from the flicker of streetlights, replaced by the distinct sense of being in Woodsboro; the blinding white fear of being chased like feeble prey through the corridors of Amber’s house…of being harshly pinned to the bathroom floor by Richie as he tinkered the honed tip of his blade in her Amber-inflicted wounds, only for Dalton to tackle his weight off her bloodied chest….of heaving in a crumpled mess on the floor as Richie brutalized Dalton….how she clawed her mangled self off the bathroom mat, grabbed the scissors from the marble counter and slit Richie’s own throat. How Sam assumed the responsibility of his murder so she would be spared the media scrutiny.

All memories that the acrid anodyne that is vodka couldn’t touch with its palliative influence.

Cramped fingers shakily reached to apply pressure to the wounds she could see within the dim light projecting from the hallway. Dalton subtly gasped through gritted teeth, his blood now painting her hands and her own wounds distanced in her mound of worries.

“Come on. The ambulance i-is on its way…Sam and Tara are w-waiting downstairs,” Y/N urged through the agony that trembled through her frame as she attempted to propel him off the tiled floor. He quickly thwarted her limp effort by bracing his hand against her forearm.

“I think I just…I think I just need a second, Y/N/N,” he almost panted through his clenched teeth.

Glancing up in his flurry of pain, he could see her with horror petrified amidst the lacerations and tears on her face, it being no different than the feeling devouring his chest as she begrudgingly nodded at his words.

“Y/N!”

The pale hand that sought to extend through the hopeless, burdensome gloom of Death retreated at the presence of Ethan’s voice.

Her eyes dubiously opened to allow reality to resume, Ethan’s lanky frame bounding into her periphery. A low oomph split from his lips as he dropped himself entirely onto the vacant side alongside her on the curb, their knees fleetingly touching in his maneuver.

“You didn’t have to leave the party,” she mumbled, an exhausted gesture towards the residence that still thrived with drunken twenty-something’s and questionable music.

“And what kind of boyfriend would that make me?” the corner of his mouth faltered with a half-hearted quirk, observing as her head bowed, chin coming to a lean against her chest as she toyed with the hem of her costume.

Stress stretched a horizon beneath her ragged eyes as they shifted tiredly towards him, murmuring of a vague appreciation, and his reluctant hand reached forward to ease away the flyaways that dropped away from her updo.

“Do you want to talk about it?” a previously stifled morbid curiosity fell through the cracks in his caution….a question perhaps his father or sister would have fashioned into this conversation. His discomfort with the fumbling in his thoughts prompted a quick amendment, nervous hand snapping away, “You don’t have to or anything though, just wanted —”

An intense stare then bridged between their eyes as his agitated hands eased into a heap on his lap.

“I know,” her chest deflated with waning misery, her response subtly slurred amidst the breathy alleviation, as the fabric of her costume was dampened by a few lithe tears.

Y/N sucked in her cheeks, the teary glint in her subtly bloodshot eyes betraying her on every front, her bottom lip now gradually quivering as she looked down. A burrowing ache washed over her like the long laggard waves on a beach, the ache clashing with the alcoholic temptation to just lay everything out, reveal to Ethan just how fucked up she is even if he could already see it.

“But this night is miserable enough,” was her ultimate decision as she dryly chuckled. Mindful of her costume, she steadied her knees against her chest, leaning her cheek against her kneecap.

The moonlight cast a grayish, silver lining onto her features as she peered towards him with a lopsided smile encouraged by the alcohol in her system.

That deranged whisper of macabre desire wilted beneath the smile she cast towards him, vanishing into a recess of his mind where everything that could ruin this — her — resided.

And that’s was how it was most days; a thrashing tug-of-war between the instilled desires of his family and those of a boy who adored a girl he could never be worthy of.

“I should probably get home before Sam finds out where I am…and throws away the key after locking me in my room,” she exhaled with exasperation, shifting herself to the curb’s concave edge to stand up. The movement up from the curb was ultimately cumbersome, telling of the dregs of alcohol that stirred in her system still.

Stifling the bitterness that cooled in his veins at the mention of his brother’s assumed killer, Ethan reflected her movements as to ease her subtle swaying by settling his hands on her biceps.

“Whoa, whoa, you good?” he murmured, breath fanning over the rouge and silver tears on her cheekbones.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” a dampened smile accompanied the slurred facet of her voice, hand clasped around his wrist that relaxed against her shoulder.

Beyond his own control, crimson flushed against the collar of his homemade knight costume — adequate conversation was always an embarrassing shortfall of his, a flaw his father prided on deriding him about.

“You don’t have to answer,” Y/N teasingly rolled her eyes, a light nudge spared to his arm upon regarding the scramble for a response within his chestnut eyes. Her hand then rose to brush away at his tousled hair beneath his costume’s headpiece, “Walk me home?”

He nodded, the gesture nearly too earnest, “Always.”

And he tried not to engross himself in the thoughts of about having to see Quinn. About how every inch of his moral being fell nauseated at the notion of abiding to their family’s plan for retribution. About how he wanted to keep Y/N as far away from them.

#ethan landry imagine #scream #ethan landry x reader #scream six

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