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jazjelspen · 3 months

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my angel baby [part 2]

(alastor w/ angel daughter reader)

[caution: NOT PROOFREAD oh and angst hehe]

(notes: alastor joins charlie and vaggie in heaven to convince them about the hazbin hotel. angel reader physically resembles a fawn. )

[tags: @luujjvi @c-lunette @mokisano @ghostdoodlen @wildfire153 @anonymousewrites @bewitchedbymadness @thisbitchreallyneedssleep @22carolina08 @original-person]

[remember if you want to keep in touch with a particular series I write, let me know in comments or messages you want to be tagged! you will only be tagged once unless specified that you want to be tagged till the end of a particular series!]

(also once again, apologies if alastor’s last name isn’t actually altruist qwq it’ll stick till the end of this fic but I’ll try not to mention it as much)

For the first time in years, you feared being in heaven.

Not that you felt unsafe, just that you felt incredibly uncomfortable seeing your serial killer dad who's now a demon be invited to be in the place where light and goodness is it's main foundation.. even reassuring yourself that it was temporary didn't calm you down when you were flying away from him. For your own sake you even avoided where the welcoming was happening.

Ahh but.. it also didn't help that he was following you around after the show without you knowing.

After the angels had performed their song to welcome in the princess of hell, her apparent partner, and-- him.. everyone sort of went their separate ways and the visitors from below started to relax in their new yet temporary places of stay. You felt a bit of relief when you assumed Alastor would also be setting himself in to relax as well.

During heaven's performance you decided to take a breather at a local coffee shop, one where you thankfully always had a spot there where you could hide away from the huge windows of the cafe.

Although right after that, unbeknownst to you at the time, Alastor was looking for you, but obviously pretended as if he was looking for a good bite to eat.. unfortunately for him he had to behave and he couldn't eat a living walking thing until after they came back home.

Oh how bummed out he was.

You were in a far corner inside the shop, as mentioned before anyone that was able to look in through the windows wouldn't be able to see you since you were out of view. Drinking your favorite beverage that the shop offered and eating a filling snack to relax your body and mind. Safe to say you were now more in touch with your feelings and weren't overly panicked as you once were.

'Why is he here.. is he an advisor to the princess? a companion?.. some kind of servant?.. she's really young though, perhaps she's ward to him or something.. but she has her.. dad.. and I'm sure he must be alive still.. ' You thought, different theories and ideas passing by in and out your head trying to make sense of the situation.

'perhaps.. he's here to see me?..' you hoped, then scolded yourself right after,

'nono.. I can't be wanting that.. sure he raised you but he's a monster. he killed you, _____. get a grip..' you sighed deeply while massaging your temples in frustration 'even if he seemed to not.. have meant to do that. he tried to kill someone else anyway, that poor man could've died instead of you.' you tried to reason with yourself, coming to a single conclusion in the end.

Eyes glued to your drink. staring at it with intensity.

"I regret nothing." you claimed to yourself in a low mumble, not enough for anyone close to hear.

Ahh.. but you did miss him very much.. the version of him that you grew up with at least.

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You were in your warm and humble home with your father. It was a fairly cold night with rain dropping onto the roof of your home yet the warmth of the house seemed to make the cold seem almost cozy to you.

Your small footsteps could be heard running around the house, as your little seven year old self ran around you seemed to be giggling uncontrollably with a peculiar circular item in your hand.

"No running in the house _____, remember what I told you." Alastor exclaimed in slight irritation as he could hear you from afar while he was cleaning up the table from the dinner you two just had, he started slightly missing the times when you didn't know how to walk and when you simply just blabbered baby nonsense.. he definitely doesn't miss the sleepless nights of baby crying though.

You huffed and puffed as you then plopped the item on the sofa, it was a disk, a record. You then climbed yourself up and once your little body landed on the cushions you then picked yourself up once more to then grab the disk and turn to the small table right beside the sofa where a large phonograph rested on.

"Papa!" you exclaimed, "Papa! Music music!.." you pleaded, your little voice begging to once again turn on the music playing machine.

Alastor faintly chuckled at your little demands, amusing how such a small thing dares to command but nonetheless he found it silly at how you tried. "Yes yes my dear, I'll be right there." He then set the last few dirty dishes away to be cleaned soon since he couldn't say no to listening to some tunes before bed.

You smiled brightly as your little feet playfully tapped on the cushions, almost jumping. Noticing your developing excitement Alastor hurried over to you.

"Ah-ah-ahh, no jumping on the sofa my dear. I'm excited as well but I can't have you break your little head open, that'd be no fun at all!" Well.. that and he didn't wanna ruin his cushions, but nonetheless he cared for your wellbeing the most even if he wasn't fond of admitting it.

His hands gently took the disk from your hands, carefully setting the disk on the phonograph to have it play your favorite tunes. Once you two heard the amazing first few notes of jazz was when Alastor settled down beside you on the sofa and you started clapping in delight.

Alastor looked at you almost fondly, letting out a small huff of delight at your reactions. Your innocence seemed to be something that contained him from wanting to continue his murder spree, although his bloodlust always wins in the end, he seems to always willingly pause his life for you.

Plus, he loves jazz just as much as you do.. why would he miss out on this?

Your fit of giggles dwindled down but didn't stop, in a sudden burst of energy you jumped off the sofa and then started dancing similarly yet obviously a bit more goofy to how you've seen couples and single dancers dance in the nights of Mardi Gras or just parties your father took you when he would be invited. Your little dance moves seemed to be fiddled with confidence yet they were so off from what you were trying to attempt, nonetheless you were happy, and that's what Alastor secretly liked to see.

"Dance with me papa dance with me!" you pleaded again, your smaller hands grabbing his larger one and tugging at it, trying to get him to stand up.

"_____ darling no tugging, besides I just sat down my dear and I'm exhausted." He sighed, his constant smile always present yet he was visibly a bit tired from the day he had.

But oh how you persisted, and how darn adorable you were as a kid. "But papaaa!.. pretty please! I wanna dance how you and that singing lady did the last time we went on those big loud places!"

"Parties, dear." he corrected you, but let out a long sigh and got up. Because no matter how tired he was or how annoyed he seemed to be he didn't mind keeping you happy.

So that's what he did, he danced with you. Swinging you, twirling you around to the melody and the beat, your cheers of glee and uncontrollable laughter motived him to keep up with your excitement. Not only that but your smile, genuine and pure, it was what he needed to get himself to match your energy. Jazz music was what always connected you two and it always brought you together no matter what.

At the end of the song Alastor ended it by gently throwing you up in the air and catching you, letting you get your last giggles out. You both laughed together, your bond ever growing stronger. You truly did tame this bloodthirsty killer without even trying or knowing, of course you were too young to know.

Once the giggle frenzy ended you both finished your dancing with a long sigh, the phonograph ending it's segment. You then suddenly yawned and rested your head in the crook of his neck over his shoulder, snuggling for warmth and for a sudden need to sleep.

"Seems like my little fawn needs sleep now, almost past your bedtime young lady." Normally he'd scold you a bit more strictly as he usually did, but seeing as how you were basically ready to fall into a pile of dreams he just felt no need to do that.

"Sorries papa.. I forgot.." your little words muffled by your face hidden in his neck.

Alastor was never one for being touched, let alone hugged or snuggled. Oh but he had no right to complain, he's had you this close since you were a baby.. to him this just felt normal now.

Of course no one but you could be this close to him, you're his little girl after all.

"No need to worry, my dear." He stopped in front of your bedroom, carefully opening the door with a creak following after. With careful footsteps he walked towards your bed, pulling the blanket away to then gently place you on your cozy sheets with care.

Alastor gently moved any misplaced hairs away from your face as he then pulled your soft and warm blanket up to your neck. Your sleeping face reassuring him.

"Sweet dreams sweetheart." His usual smile softening a bit more before backing away and slowly heading towards the door of your room, lingering for a few extra seconds to take one last look at you before slowly closing the door and heading off to bed himself.

After the click of the door closing can be heard, you mumbled "Goodnight papa.." with a smile, even if in the end Alastor didn't get to hear it.

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You missed him, dearly.

A weight fell on your chest, your eyes begging to form tears. You missed when you had that childhood innocence, when you didn't know what he was capable of, when he was nothing but a saint to you.

It still hurt after all these years, you thought he was a good man.. a bit strict, blunt, a bit too true to himself and definitely peculiar but.. the Alastor that raised you would never do that. Until you were obviously proven otherwise.

Oh but I guess you were too into your reminiscing that you didn't notice the background gasps and small shrieks of surprise and fear, and you didn't yet feel the eventual stares and eerie presence right in front of you.

"What don't you regret, my dear?"

You choked on your drink in surprise almost spitting it out,

that fucking radio voice again.

For heaven's sake how did he find you?? He couldn't have seen you through the windows. Did he follow you??.. did you just not notice.. Oh geez maybe getting used to having your guard down during all your years in heaven definitely didn't help with this situation.

You continued coughing on your drink, even punching your chest a bit to get that last good cough out. The radio demon pulled the chair in front of you to sit across from you, not waiting to ask permission.

To him he didn't need to, he's your father after all.

Once you calmed down you immediately avoided eye contact, only giving him a once second glance to confirm it was him in hopes your ears were playing a trick on you-- they weren't.

"How.. how'd you find me.." you mumbled in slight fear.

"Oh how would I not! Sweetheart I'm your father of course, as your father I must have those parental instincts.. I always know where you are!" he exclaimed, seemingly proud of this.

"I'm guessing those 'parental instincts' didn't kick in when you stabbed me, huh." you spat with attitude, unafraid to be rude to him with so much sin he's committed.

A sharp static sound came from him, as if in slight shock at the disrespect and comeback you gave. "Watch the attitude young lady, you're still an Altruist you know."

You scoffed, hating at how indifferent you felt about your last name.

"Not by blood though.."

"I raised you, don't forget that." he spat back, starting to get irritated.

"And because of that I owe you?"

"Yes, yes indeed! Smart girl you are."

You scoffed at his response, finally getting the guts to look at him in the face. His appearance frightened you, disgusted you even.

Is this truly the man that raised you?

"As a matter of fact, I actually don't." you crossed your arms in annoyance and a huff. Your eyes couldn't help but to slowly drift to off to the people behind him and you see fellow angels you know continue to stare in awe or fear, of course at Alastor. With all eyes on you and mostly him it made you feel a little embarrassed. You cowered down a bit and your wings went over your head and shoulders a bit as if to hide you behind a 'curtain' of sorts.

Alastor obviously noticed this, but could care less about the stares.

You sighed, "Look, Alasto--"

"I think you mean to call me 'father'." he interrupted as he obviously seemed a bit sassy about it. "Even 'dad' is just simply fine and dandy with me!"

"No, I can't," you frowned, wishing you could "I won't. Not after what you did to me, to that man that night, and to every other poor soul you hurt."

Your face slowly scrunched up in disgust "You don't deserve my forgiveness, my mercy."

In embarrassment and feeling tears want to shed you grabbed your drink and got up to walk out, before you could get past Alastor though he grabbed your wrist harshly.

"Uh-- hey.. let go--"

"I didn't mean to do what I did, my dove." His voice turned into a weird version of gentle, almost uncharacteristically gentle. "I never intended to take your life away."

He sounded genuine.

Could he?.. Would he?..

Maybe, just maybe--

"No." you spat, "Maybe you didn't mean to hurt me, but you definitely meant to hurt others. That's something I can't forgive and I'm sure your victims wouldn't neither." you glared at him, setting your foot down. "I refuse to call you my father, not until I know that you repent for your sins but knowing you I highly doubt that." You snatched your wrist away and for a slight second you stopped caring about what others thought when they'd see this "Besides, you killed me two weeks after I turned eighteen.. don't even include the years that passed since the 30s and present time so clearly you can't control me anymore old man."

But Alastor wouldn't go down that fast nor easily.

His sharp smile widened, you felt immense dread.

"Oh little one, no matter how far you are or how much you try to disown me you are forever connected to me. I made you who you are and you can try to run and fly off however long you want but in the end you're tied to me whether you like it or not. Even in death."

He seemed deathly serious with his statements so much so that you could've sworn you could see his shadow giggling and smirking in a way that seemed even worse and more than evil.

Your breath quietly hitched in fear in noticing this to the point where it even forced you to take a step back. He let out a sinister chuckle before you couldn't help but speed out of the shop and flew out.

You couldn't handle him, he was shameless when showing this side of him.. how could he be this shameless and normal?? How could he act like this and be proud about it? He killed people and doesn't regret it, you being the only exception just didn't feel right and it wasn't fair!

Not to you.

He may have been able to silently control you and vaguely manipulate you to believe he was anything but a bad person back when you were alive and young but now your eyes are wide open and so is your heart.

You have such a bad feeling about this whole thing, he was up to no good he just couldn't be-- he had to be using the princess as an excuse to do something shitty.

Good thing you had plenty of connections, if you just played your cards right...

Hey.. wasn't there something about a court meeting happening soon?

On the other hand Alastor stayed sitting there still chucking devilishly, his intentions and true feelings smeared and unclear.

With a snap of his fingers a cup of black coffee appeared and he began drinking it with a sense of casual glee and eyes closed in delight. Until he felt eyes on him, two nearby to be exact. He opened one eye to look at the angels staring at him and they both seemed like more biblically accurate angels, both having one eye and all. The radio demon shot them an evil grin.

"Oh adolescents these days, rebellious aren't they." He cackled before going back to drinking his coffee, the angels creeped out by his interaction soon scurried away from him.

The fear. He enjoyed it, just not really from you.

(thank you all who asked for part 2!! of course I had to deliver since you all really wanted it and honestly I love adding flashbacks to memories Alastor and the reader had when they were alive, makes their ending on earth just that more painful (as if it wasn't clear I love angst). Honestly I don't mind making more parts for this! If the demand is consistent and you guys still want to keep up with it I have a few ideas to keep this going! Once again thank you so much for reading!! Now I must finish writing for other stories lolllll!)

(p.s: i highly recommend listening to any mitski song while reading this I think it fits well especially with the flashback scene hehe)

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daisy-mooon · 6 months

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Behind the jokes and badassness, Captain Marvel is a fascinating character to me, because of how death follows her.

She causes an explosion. That explosion, which gives her powers and her immortality, canonically kills her. The Kree Empire resurrects her and makes her as Kree as they can. She shares Yon-Rogg's blood and his life, she's his creation, she's his victim, she's the one who causes his downfall, she's the one that destroys the system, the society, the planet that allowed her to be abused.

It's the Kree that see her as a killer and Annihilator. She's a monster of their own making, but it influences every species and planet she touches. Her victories cause death and her mistakes cause more death. Carol's triumph, the death of the Supreme Intelligence, results in the death of probably millions of Kree, and by consequence, almost causes the death of Hala's star.

"I'm only human" Carol says, before killing the Empire that is the reason that she can't ever be human again.

"We'll be back for the weapon," Ronan says, but that weapon will kill everything he stands for.

"Your life began the day it nearly ended," The Supreme Intelligence says, coldly, calculatingly. It's an AI. It doesn't have a good concept of death. It doesn't fully grasp that Carol had genuinely been killed that day, because she's still in front of it. Carol kills it.

"Death seems to follow you," Dar-Benn says, before she causes an explosion with the bangles, trying to defeat Carol. The explosion kills Dar-Benn.

Death follows Carol. Death follows Carol! Mar-Vell is dead. Maria is dead. Talos is dead. Soren is dead. Ronan is dead. Minn-Erva is dead. Korath is dead. Dar-Benn is dead. Yon-Rogg is, probably, dead. The Supreme Intelligence is dead. Natasha is dead. Tony is dead.

The only people in Carol's life who aren't dead are Kamala, Monica, Yan, Valkyrie, and Fury.

She watches helplessly as Dar-Benn almost murders Kamala after Kamala tries to save Dar-Benn's life, tries to find a way to solve the violence without death.

She watches helplessly as Monica gets torn into another reality, which for all she knows, she could die in. The tear in reality that was caused by Dar-Benn's death.

She tries to hide Yan's existence from her friends and tries to warn him and his people. The Kree soldiers aren't fighting to maim, they're fighting to kill. He escapes death by his own fighting skills and the fact that the Kree would rather focus on killing Carol than him.

Valkyrie and Carol interact once, and she only calls when she needs help after a fight, not during. Think about it. Valkyrie and the Bifrost could have helped the trio enormously. But Carol doesn't call until the fights are over. It would be very easy for a regular Asgardian warrior to die compared to superhumans.

And Fury... have you seen how often Fury comes close to dying? He's alive from skill and luck. He is lucky that he isn't dead.

Captain Marvel is so, so fascinating. Her story begins with her own death, and the more it goes on, the more death happens around her. Nobody is safe. She causes almost all of them, even the ones of her friends - not directly, but through the consequences of her actions. The consequences of her victories and mistakes. The consequences of her anger and revenge, her power and powerlessness. It is caused by both the Human and Kree sides of her, by both Carol and Vers, Captain Marvel and the Annihilator.

Carol is immortal. She can't die. And death follows her anyway.

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dickpuncher420 · 5 months

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mizu’s quiet private moment of anguish after she kills kinuyo……and then having her go from that to ruthless unfeeling killer who singlehandedly takes down an entire army in the span of a single episode. the way that little glimpse of emotion is forcibly taken away from her. all the hatred and betrayal she’s been subject to her entire life whittling away at her bit by bit until she hardly feels human anymore. and then when she finally Does feel something, feels remorse and pain at the reality of what she’s been forced to do and become…….the hate and betrayal swoops right back in and strips that humanity away again. i feel like i’m going insane…mizu isn’t a monster the rest of the world made her this way!!!! waaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!

#can anybody hear me. this show has me by the balls and will not let go #bes #dick punches #blue eye samurai

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black-rose-writings · 9 months

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Things I have gathered about Danny Phanton without having ever watched the show (from posts and fanfics):

There's ghosts and they're kind of assholes, but they're also all friends and have christmas parties. Their presence is treated as a mild annoyance by everyone except the ghost hunters.

The main character is a dead 14yo. Sometimes. He's also trans.

There are adult professional ghost hunters around. Literally all of them seem like they are just taking out their serial killer urges on ghosts. "Man is the real monster" trope in action. At least some of the ghost hunters are a Men In Black parody.

The dead 14yo actually the most competent at removing ghosts from the mortal plane.

There is another 14yo who is not dead and also hunting ghosts. She's somehow also more competent at it than the adults.

The MC's parents are ghost hunters and want to torture him into perma-death. That is somehow not the biggest problem with their parenting.

(Like, I get that adults in kids' media need to be kinda dumb and immature for the premise of the show/book/movie/whatever to work, but I'm getting the feeling the adults in this show cross the line of 'plot necessary dumbass' into 'fucked up and abusive' territorry.)

One of the ghosts is tiny, piloting a giant mecha suit and dedicated to skinning the MC and hanging his skin on his wall. He somehow also has a cool rocker girlfriend and thinks this will impress her. Jury's out on whether or not that's a good strategy.

There is a ghost called the Box Ghost, who demands to be taken seriously. Nobody takes him seriously.

The MC's nemesis is another dude who is sometimes dead. He looks like a vampire and swears in food. He also wants to kill the MC's dad (for mostly valid reasons) and bang his mom (for no good reason at all) and adopt the MC as his son(mostly because of his hangups around the parents, not because said parents suck at being parents). In a villainous and fucked up way, because he's the main antagonists. He's also a billionaire, has a cat, and is weirdly obsessed with american football (IDK jack shit about american football, but the level of obsession is treated as not normal by the characters so I will assume it is weird and just how americans be like).

There were 3 seasons, but half of the fandom is convinced the third one may have been a fever dream because it's so bad.

There was a finale that everyone pretends didn't happen because it sucked.

There is at least one time travel fix it episode and the time travel ghost wears way too many watches.

The MC has two living friends - Wade from Kim Possible, but thinner and leaves his house, and a jewish goth vegan.

The MC has a clone and she's a baby and a gremlin.

The ships all have the weirdest fucking names.

Somehow half the named characters being dead is not the angstiest part of the show.

I kinda want to know how someone came up with it and what drugs they were taking. IDK if I want to try some or avoid them, but it would be good to know either way.

#danny phantom #if anyone has actually seen the show how close am i?#I'm probably going to find out soon enough myself because I do kinda want to watch it

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pseudowho · 2 months

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Calamus et Gladius

(help me find the Higuruma artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

Stolen from a foreign army to participate in the Culling Game, speaking little to no Japanese with just a rifle for self-defence, the reader partakes in a bittersweet dance of death and love, with Higuruma Hiromi.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, enemies to lovers, murder, use of firearms, the desperate smut of two traumatised people who fall hopelessly in love.

This is long, but I make no apologies, because the payoff is worth it.

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You were used to violence. You were used to senseless bloodshed. Used to rains of bullets, flinging shrapnel, your ears ringing with explosions and screams.

Yet, it was your own screams that rang through you, as an enormous gavel split the earth where you had just stood.

Your entire unit was dead, almost fifty men and women lured into Tokyo Colony One, and you scrabbled back on grazed hands, kicking feet, as this ink-haired monster stepped slowly through the rubble and gore, black eyes fixed on you with the rage and fervour of a justified killer.

He appeared to hesitate only briefly as your face crumpled up at him in tearful rage and despair, desperation. You did not move to grab the rifle on your back; a threat of retaliation would be your downfall.

Despite being the only one of your unit who had had something new, something alien awakened within them, you had developed no fantastical technique. You had no mystical weapon. You had no roiling blue flames engulfing your fists. You had only the ability to sense others like you, and the horrifying stop-motion beasts that now sullied your sight. It was enough, at least, to hide.

"Please-- please--" you begged, the last attempt of a cornered woman. Your back pressed against the wall, the wide street around you a no-man's land of rubble, overturned cars and bloody splatters. The man's hand tightened on his gavel, his other raising to swipe flicks of black fringe off his forehead. He frowned, stopping. You noticed his distinctive hooked nose, crinkling in disgust.

"English," he offered, thickly accented, neither a question or a statement. You gulped, nodding with urgency, any dialogue an opportunity to re-establish his humanity.

"Innocent," you insisted, hands raised in front of you, disarming, "I'm innocent." That word, the man seemed to recognise, and he blew air through his nose, snorting in mirth.

"Innocent?" He asked, sarcastic.

He knelt down in front of you, his eyes still offering no mercy, but he spoke to you so conversationally. He reached one long finger out, tapping the rifle on your back, coming back round to stroke you teasingly along the side of your cheek, holding it so tenderly. His words washed over you, meaningless, until you caught one you could understand as he stood up.

"...sorry." His arm raised, the head of the gavel blocking out the sun, and you took your chance.

Your hand darted, and you flung a handful of brick dust into his eyes as he spat, staggered, cursing. You brought the butt of your rifle round to slam into the side of his head, and although he barely faltered, you ran for your life, darting down alleys, your heart bursting in your ears.

You heard no footsteps chasing you. He could have...but he didn't.

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Just one easy kill.

The others had all gone down so hard, Hiromi thought, stepping into his swing, barely missing the foreign woman, the gavel making a buckled crater in the tarmac instead. Hiromi tsked, annoyed, kissing his teeth. Watching her squirm on the floor to save her life, a worm from a bird, Hiromi's gut churned-- ugly.

Murder was so easy. The power to beat scum at their own game was intoxicating. Hiromi stepped after her, so far removed from his old self. His usual self? He wasn't sure.

His keen eyes built the woman's character, hawkish and unforgiving. Young...naive. Soldier...killer. No Japanese...lazy. Pleading...pathetic. Not fighting...coward. By the time she began to beg Hiromi, she was already barely human in his eyes. Swiping his hair upwards, and tightening his grip for the deathblow, he spat, "English."

She caught his eye, and Hiromi felt the barest seed of guilt in the back of his mind, an itch he could not scratch. She had nodded at him, tears brimming in her eyes, hands raised in placation.

"Innocent," the woman had insisted, "...innocent." Bile rose in Hiromi's throat at the familiar word, and the audacity she had to use it for herself, as if she wasn't rolling in the same pigshit as the rest of them. Hiromi's lip curled, smirking as he rubbed his nose with the side of one long finger.

"Innocent?" He stabbed. Hiromi knelt, talking at you as if you understood.

"What's that? You're the good guy, are you?" He mocked, reaching out to tap the rifle on your back, feeling you flinch beneath him, "Is it this, that makes you innocent, hmm?" He brought his hand to your cheek, stroking it with the blade of his finger, swiping away the tears that had cut a track through the dust and grime, "Or this pretty face, hmmm? Are those big, teary eyes what make you innocent? Don't make me laugh. You're scum, just like the rest of us. And natural law is at play here." He cupped your cheek once, squeezing it with the barest of sincerities in his apology as he stood.

"Sorry," Hiromi offered, lifting his gavel and feeling power churn through him, just and righteous as your executioner.

Hiromi cursed as he felt a spray of grit flung into his face, immediately disarmed by the sordid pain of sand in his eyes, further disorientated by the ear-ringing slam of something into the side of his head. He staggered, faltering.

"Oooh, you piece of shit," Hiromi cooed, vicious, spitting with venom, vision completely obscured as he tried in vain to clear his eyes. He felt you disappear, and he leaned against the wall, laughing despite himself at having been bested. He smiled, the barest tinge of admiration for your tenacity threading through him.

"Alright," Hiromi sniffed, rubbing his nose again as his vision began to clear, "catch you later, I suppose."

Hiromi tried to forget you. He tried to forget his humanity, but each life he took made him sicker, infected by this game.

Every time he closed his eyes, to sleep in some strange home-less, love-less bed, your eyes met his, impeaching him.

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Resources soon ran thin, for one who held no territory. You had your army pack, and rationed out your meagre foodstuffs, always hungry, always on-edge. You had never fought alone, in war.

You had managed to develop quite the skill at hiding, and concealed yourself, cloaked in plain sight, from even the most powerful of those left in the game. Every day that the stragglers were picked off, the stakes ran higher. Every explosive battle you ran from, dodging the falling debris thrown by titans, you felt your inherent value as an easy kill increasing.

You thought of the hook-nosed man who had let you go. Despite his willingness to kill you, you craved human contact, and found warmth in the memory of the heat of his gaze, his hand on your face, desperately trying to translate the words he had spoken to you as he caressed your cheek.

One dewy dawn, you had taken position on a sheltered rooftop, giving you equal measures concealment and oversight. With your rifle drawn, flat on your belly, you felt the ebbs and wanes of a familiar power draw closer. Curiously, it made your belly clench, eager to see the man who could have chased you, but didn't. You were itching to know why. Itching to behold him again.

Your heart leapt as he stepped into the street, at least four stories below you. Even from this distance, you could see the intensity of his furrowed brow, the noble bearing of his shoulders beneath a great black overcoat. His tie hung, dishevelled, loose-knotted. He was hunting.

He paused, tiptoed on a breath...before rolling, gracefully dodging as a knife of Cursed energy ricocheted through the street, splitting it. You gasped, your eye moving away from your rifle lens, watching in awe as he took to battle with another man. While he seemed to hold his own, he appeared distracted, and was buffeted, winded by an almighty hit, knocked onto his back, elbows on the ground.

A strange panic overtook you as your hook-nosed man's assailant bore down on him, power surging, preparing to murder--

-- a gunshot. A brittle, echoing bang. The assailant's head snapped forwards, and he fell, killed instantly, face first on the ground in front of your hook-nosed man.

He panted, his face sprayed with blood. With a few owlish blinks, his eyes tracked upwards. You held your breath, adrenaline coursing through you. As the man stood, eyes fixed on you (in rage? murderous intent? thanks?), you jolted to life and took aim on him.

He did not raise his hands. There was no standoff, as he made no move to save his own life. In the moment that he accepted his death for the attempt he had made on yours, something in you both softened, seeing each other as you saw no others. A gentle impasse. The intimacy of differentiation.

It took everything you had in you to break eye contact, and run.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Hiromi mulled beneath the shaky warning of your rifle.

You were afraid, he thought as he gazed up at you, so sickeningly grateful for having been chosen by you. The mist of his opponent's blood drifting through the sunrise, picked Hiromi out as somehow preferable, in your mind.

And, why should you not be afraid? He saw you beneath him, again, your eyes soft and begging him for mercy. You had been defenceless and entirely in his palm. He had been relieved, he recalled, that he could kill someone easily. The begging made you passive. Hiromi could have vomitted, sickened by himself.

He stood, arms raised slightly to his sides, his profile illuminated by sweet morning sun, waiting for death to take his hand.

Hiromi felt embraced by your eyes. Wanted. Some companionship, in death...until you refused him his end. The red string between you both seemed to snap as you broke eye contact and ran.

Alone, as the sun broke above the skyline, Hiromi whispered; "Thank you."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

There was no way out. Starving and desperate, days had passed since you had saved your hook-nosed man, and you had crept through haunted streets to a convenience store, unusually well-stocked with food and drink.

You bit your tongue for your own stupidity at having walked into such an obvious trap. No amount of being able to hide one's Cursed energy could compensate for being seen walking into the shop. Crouching now, behind shelves of ramen, tears trembled on your lashes, an aching lump in your throat.

You heard a mocking voice, cooing at you, laughing at you, and you blushed with indignant tearful injustice, not needing language to know when you were being assaulted for your sex. You were afraid of death. You were more afraid of being used beforehand.

With nowhere to hide, and no grit to throw, you tipped your head back and thought of those black embering eyes, holding you in his gaze.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Are you hungry?" The voice chirped, teasing, mean, "Come out, baby. I've got something here in my pocket you can taste." A filthy laugh. Slow, easy footsteps. Willing to rape you before he killed you. Hiromi felt himself burn with fury, ready to wring this man's neck with his own two hands.

Hiromi walked the streets easily, now. His power had come on in leaps and bounds, and he both trusted in his own abilities, and feared nothing of death. Not since you had held his life in your hands, and thrown it straight back in his face.

He was a disordered eater at the best of times, but, a sudden faintness from hunger sent him seeking food. Hiromi knew some dirty little spider had built a web at an abandoned store, and did not fear a man who sought to ensnare the desperate.

Let him try me, thought Hiromi as he approached, lit by the sickly orange glow of streetlights, and see where it gets him.

Just a few steps from the entrance, Hiromi paused mid-step, his heart hiccuping in his chest. It was you. Inside the store, your Cursed energy faltering and so overwhelmed by that of the spider. Hiromi's lips parted, to call for you, a hand in the dark. He stopped, gritting his teeth. No-- this would not do, he thought, as he began a hunt of his own.

The spider was so obviously distracted by excitement, thrilled to find a woman in his dirty little trap. He had found you, by the time Hiromi reached you, in time to see you flung, body smashing against the counter, curling and coughing. Hiromi stepped behind the spider, seething, overburdened with terrible strength.

You had looked up in time to see your hook-nosed man wind an arm round your assailant's neck, throttling him, dragging him backwards out of the store. The hook-nosed man's face was twisted, ugly with rage...and for what? For you?

If your Cursed-energy had been no match for that of your assailant, his was dwarfed by that of your rescuer. Still coughing, doubled over on your hands and knees, you crawled to the entrance, watching the streetlights flicker above your hook-nosed man as he choked the life out of your assailant, merciless in his conviction.

You knelt there, drinking in his profile, in that sickly orange glow. His sharply squared jaw. His black overcoat, shrouding him like Death itself. Panting and cursing as his arms shook, your assailant fighting weakly beneath him. Choking the life out of a man, a murder most intimate. For you. Killing, with his bare hands-- for you.

Time hung in suspended animation in these small hours. Your rescuer sighed, the tension releasing from his shoulders as he knelt back on his haunches. He appeared devoid of guilt, at having carried out his sentencing. Slowly, as if fearful of what he would see in your eyes, he turned to you, kneeling in the doorway of the shop.

Your eyes met. You studied each other in silence. He had a way of making you transparent. You had a way of making him exposed. His panting slowed, palms flush to his thighs, offering you a cautious smile, as your eyes glimmered in the dark.

"English," he spoke, by way of greeting.

"Nose," you returned. He frowned, uncertain.

"N..?"

You reached up to stroke your nose, and repeated, with a smile; "Nose."

His hand reached up to mirror yours, realising, and he burst into laughter, rich and genuine. You blushed, burying your face in your hands as he continued to laugh. He wiped his eyes, fingering the hook in his nose again, looking at you with those deep embering eyes that wholly undressed you.

"Nose," he repeated, chuckling, "Subarashī." Your bit your lip in mirth, looking anywhere but at him as he tried to catch your eye again, mischief twinkling in his.

Hiromi stood, stretching his shoulders back with a husky groan, tipping his neck from side to side. He stepped over to you, and you felt, ridiculously, so teenagerish as the odd duality of your hook-nosed man made your belly twist. You saw a long-fingered hand enter your line of sight. You looked at it questioningly. The fingers wiggled in invitation.

With a shaking hand, you took his. He pulled you up and smiled at you, swinging your hand briefly in his before releasing it, waiting for you to step into the shop before he followed. You browsed for food, as if Saturday-Night-Snack-Hunting as a couple, in safe silence.

Shivering as the adrenaline wore off, your stomach clenched with terrified nausea to hear explosions, shouts, drawing ever nearer in the street outside. Your hook-nosed man looked up, hangdog eyes wide, flicking from you, to the street, and back again. He gritted his teeth, bundling packets of food into the pockets of his overcoat.

You found yourself manhandled, his heavy coat suddenly on you. Your rescuer's hands moved deftly, smoothing the coat across your shoulders, searching for words, irritated by his intelligence in one language and his stupidity in another.

"Cold-- hungry-- go," Hiromi pressed in broken English, spinning you as you protested, urging you through the back door. You turned in the doorway, your eyes begging him to...what? To go with you? There was no time, no time--

Hiromi materialised his gavel, and crouched, snarling at you: "GO!" He roared, steeped in regret as you sprinted away, guarding your life like a child.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Your hook-nosed man began to leave you breadcrumbs; tickets to safe havens, food, shelter, beds. You felt the vestiges of his Cursed-energy wherever you followed his trail, haunted by the path of devastation he left to build you sanctuaries.

Your dialogue budded, and combined with his notes and signs, you began to learn more about him. His notes, secreted away in scrawled English, street signs flipped to point in alternate directions, and crude maps drawn on dust-caked windows, all added colour and life to him.

Hiromi took a little joy, his cold heart popping to life, at the little hearts you drew in the dust; signs of acknowledgement, a tiny thrill.

You found yourself drawn to a bookstore, and scoured the shelves, looking for a particular something, a matching pair. You found hints of him in the pockets of the hook-nosed man's overcoat; a business card, in Japanese. A handkerchief, curiously embroidered with two gold initials-- H.H. A set of housekeys with a key-finder fob. A pair of chewed pens. You still thought of him as "Nose".

Hiromi still thought of you as "English", as he caught himself differentiating you from the others. Still steeped in this depression, this black-dog-misery and ugliness, he saw you, a light in the dark, who hid yourself to protect yourself as well as others, from needless violence.

They were all ugly...except, perhaps, for you.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You sighed as you slipped into the hot bath, water up to your chin in the great, deep basin of this luxury hotel. You were impressed there was still a hot water supply, and you felt a gleeful coil of naughtiness, knowing you would never usually be able to afford to stay in such opulence, all marble tiles and gold taps.

Fighting for survival did not negate the fundamental craving for little joys, and you took advantage of the selection of complimentary soaps, scouring yourself free of grime with happy hums. You sang to yourself, quiet in the evening hush, just you and your languid splishing--

-- oh. A cautious approach. A familiar power. You clasped the lip of the bath, sinking your body under the water.

"...hello? Nose?" You called out. You heard the click of a lock, quick feet stepping in, locking the door behind him. A single held breath.

"...English?"

You blushed, pressing your lips to your knuckles, white from how tightly you gripped the bath. Hiromi's cheeks prickled faintly, hearing soft splashes from the bathroom, seeing your clothes discarded over the bed, your rifle leaning against it. You cleared your throat, wanting to talk, not knowing where to start.

"Mhm." Hiromi smiled at your little squeak, sitting with a groan and creaking knees, his back against the wall beside the bathroom door. Separated by this thin wall, he reached a hand around the doorway behind him. You giggled to see his long fingered hand offer you a jaunty wave.

"Konbanwa, English," he offered. He jolted to feel your little hand, warm and wet, squeeze his. His thumb grazed over your knuckles, smooth, examining, probing in a way that made your belly tight. You reluctantly released his fingers, humming in thought as you reached out of the bath into your backpack, searching for something.

Momentarily, Hiromi felt something gently tap the side of his head around the bathroom door, and he giggled, a noise which made you paddle your feet in delight. He reached up, taking a Japanese-English dictionary and phrasebook from your hand.

"Ahhhhh!" Hiromi hummed, genuinely thrilled, "Yoi aidea." He skimmed through the book, hunting again, and you paused, listening.

"Good idea!" He stated, confident, and he squirmed to hear you laugh at his janky pronunciation. Hiromi wanted so dearly to see you, to know you were uninjured, and instead scoured his little book again.

"Hurt?" He asked you. You softened, responding automatically.

"Ah...no, I'm...hmm," you flipped through your own book, "...uhm...daijōbu desu?"

Hiromi hummed, satisfied. You talked this way, for some time, gently brushing the outskirts of each others' language and personality. Hiromi corrected you. You corrected him. The bath grew cold. The light began to die behind the windows, casting you both in deep shadow and amber glow.

At some point, in the conversation, your hands had trailed together again. Hiromi now leaned sideways against the wall, his cheek pressed against it, eyes closed as his fingertips grazed the inside of your wrist.

You lay in the bath, shivering, feeling your heartbeat between your legs from such an innocent, intimate touch-- except, it did not feel innocent in intent. Perhaps, that was what made you squirm.

"Stay safe," Hiromi whispered to you, his fingers drawing circles on your palm, his next word crumpling your face with barely restrained tears, "Afraid."

Hiromi bit his lip in anguish, eyes squeezed shut to see you in his mind's eye, so desperately touch-starved as you pressed a kiss to his palm. He felt your lips remain, nose ghosting against his pulse. He imagined those lips on his own, and he was filled with an anxious need to taste you, to lift you from the bath, wrap you up in the bed and his arms, safe.

Fully distracted by thoughts of you and your sweet cries beneath his body, Hiromi almost missed you holding out your book to him, pressed open at the start-- and a name, your name, written neatly on the page. You offered this, all the while wanting to step to him from the bath, and offer him the feel of those clever fingers, examining the rest of your body.

"Oh..." Hiromi whispered, reverent, squeezing your hand as he swiped his thumb over the faint imprint of your written name, repeating it aloud slowly. Hearing him speak your name, almost had you climbing out of the bath and into his lap. You closed your eyes, imagining him crying it out as he peaked, buried deeply inside you. You burned with the urgent need to know him.

Just a few seconds later, Hiromi's hand reached round the corner, offering his own book back to you, with his own name written in your own alphabet, jolted and square.

"Higuruma...Hiromi?" He hummed, happily.

"Hiromi," you repeated, and he hummed again, delighted by your name on his lips. You tucked your dictionary away, thrilled, reaching for a towel.

"It suits you. I love it." Hiromi understood just one word you had uttered, and it sent joy creeping down his spine. He pressed his forehead against the wall.

Pull yourself together, Hiromi, he thought, it's just loneliness and desperation. Nothing else. No amount of logic and self-chastisement stopped his mouth from moving independently of his mind, as he flicked through your dictionary, imbued with your name.

"Bed. Stay. Please." Silence. Hiromi pressed the corner of the dictionary to his head, cursing himself under his breath. Idiot, pathetic little moron, stupid--

"Yes."

Hiromi's stomach swooped, missing a step, hearing you climb out of the bath. You steeled yourself, blushing furiously, to wrap a towel around yourself and pad out to the bedroom. Hiromi turned his back to you, but not before seeing the graceful curve of your leg, the wet cleavage of your breasts, the towel barely skimming the tops of your thighs. He breathed slowly, clawing back his self-control as you dressed behind him.

A long, slow whistle, belonging to neither of you, broke the silence, and your blood ran with ice water.

Voices spoke, Hiromi spitting threats, in this language that still gatekept against your understanding.

You jacked sideways, still topless, seizing your rifle as Hiromi demolished the doorway with a single wide swing of his gavel. You heard laughter from the corridor, and you hurriedly pulled your top and Hiromi's overcoat on, fixing your rifle on your shoulder to take aim.

Hiromi backed up to you, wrapping one arm behind himself and around you, fingers splayed against the small of your back. You understood none of the venom spat between Hiromi and this hidden assailant.

Your nerves on a knife-edge, you sensed movement behind the shattered brickwork of the doorway, and fired, a deafening blow in this enclosed space. A spray of blood and an enraged shout through the drifting plaster-cloud saw you hit your mark, and Hiromi exclaimed, shocked and delighted, squeezing your waist.

"I've seen better shots than that from her, bastard" Hiromi warned, "and if you think she's easy prey, you've got both of us to take down."

"Hiromi," you gasped, hyperventilating, "Hiromi-- Hiromi--"

Silence through the room; Hiromi's ears rang. He pocketed your dictionary, and grasped your cheeks, eyes fixed to yours and wordlessly reassuring you as he turned you towards him from the doorway. You felt your heart bounding in your chest, hands loosening on your rifle as you drank him in, breathed the same air, panting, together--

--it was all too fast. Hiromi's eyes fixing behind you. His panicked shout. Being thrown sideways onto the bed, a glassy smash, a scream that may have been your own--

Hiromi and your hunter plummeted in an outward spray of glass, two inky blots fading into the night.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You had searched so desperately. Nothing could assure you Hiromi was still alive. There were no breadcrumbs left in the dust; nil but blood, and so much of it, beneath the shattered hotel window, so many stories up.

You had run your hands through it, clotted with the rubble, needing to feel him within the grisly spill-- alas. Too many residuals passed over this land. Too many battles fought, too many lives spent and saved, for clairvoyance to be what repaired your fractured heart.

You steeled yourself. Adversity goaded you to try harder. To do better. You took to the hunt yourself. You amassed points from potshots, hidden in curious places to execute nasty little opportunists who sought dominion over the weak.

While you had had no experience of the Kogane-- the odd, winged shikigami which acted as an interface between the players and the game-- in your passive state, they now became regular visitors, updating you of your points total. You had assumed they could not speak your language-- you were wrong.

Witnessing, from afar, one day, another player asking Kogane a question, your stomach rolled with nausea and hope as you called the black-tailed beast to you.

"Kogane?" The creature appeared with a pop. Your mouth opened, and closed, faltering over your words.

"Kogane, is-- is Hiromi Higuruma a player in the game?"

Silence-- and an answer; "Higuruma Hiromi is a player in the game--"

All of the air left your lungs in an enormous gasp, a heaving cry of relief as you doubled over, your hands cupped over your mouth and nose, tears streaming down around your fingers, before the Kogane had even finished giving its report.

"Thank you-- th--thank you, Kogane," you sobbed, blinded by your own tears. This tiny demon, to whom manners meant nothing, hung impassively. It disappeared with a pop as you spun away, cloaked with conviction.

You turned on a pinhead, cocking your rifle ready, and stalked off through the ruins; all of your steeling wisped away like ashes, your heart on the battlefield, knowing your vulnerability was out there, alive.

You decided now, with a smile at the thought of those beetle-black eyes, to hunt not for business, but for pleasure.

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Hiromi felt the damp all the way to his bones, in these heavy, wet clothes, made heavier still by the excruciating weight of his crimes. The theatre door swung closed behind him, and he leaned his back against the wall, crouching, the palms of his heels pressing so hard into his eyes that he was blinded by lights.

He had fallen beyond salvation, and it gnawed at the rotten wood of him, eating him alive. Feeling his brain judder, his tie too tight, the walls too close, the silence too deafening, Hiromi tried to collect himself. He pressed his palms to his thighs and breathed; in through his nose one two three four five and out through his mouth one two three four five.

Feeling his heart rate slow, full of equal parts light and dark, Hiromi called out into the gloom, straightening slowly.

"Kogane." The creature appeared with a pop, waiting, patient. Hiromi spoke your name, and then, hesitant--

"...is she a player in the game?" A heartbeat. Two. Three.

"Confirmed--"

Hiromi did not hear the rest, buckling to his haunches with a primal cry of gratitude, and a few moments of dry sobs as his fingers raked through his hair. Chest heaving, he breathed again, one two three four five, one two three four five.

In the space taken for one breath, Hiromi decided not to find you. You, who had always chosen not to fight. You, whose pleading eyes still haunted him. You could not be sullied by his rot.

Hiromi stepped out into the night, a porcelain man checkered with cracks, seeking only to rebuild a world worthy of you.

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He's here.

Climbing the stairs, fine piano music rang distant, its notes bittersweet, cherries in kirsch. Your feet carried you unbidden and you ascended, the notes becoming sweeter, feeling him, closer, playing this Siren's song.

Stepping into the doorway of the skyline bar, he must have felt your approach. The lights were low, refracted through a hundred hanging glasses, a hundred under-lit bottles of vim and vigour. The room sprawled out in an expansive, long C-shape, and your heart stuttered to see Hiromi at the end, pale fingers moving across the piano, white-shirt-shoulders burdened by the weight of his song.

You felt him build in the music as you approached, each note demanding more of him, and more and more and more and more--

There was only the briefest hitch in the music, barely perceptible, as you slid onto the bench beside Hiromi. He did not look up, his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes pressed tightly shut.

Consumed by the need to feel his skin on yours, you reached out, your hand ghosting over his. In a flash, Hiromi's hand darted up to grab yours, fingers tangled, as his other hand continued to move, playing this bisected song. A few moments passed, this way, with Hiromi pressing his lips and nose to your knuckles, his face contorted, conflicted-- pained.

"Go," he whispered, breath fanning over your hand, "bad."

"I...I don't--...bad?" You turned towards him, to hold him, and he jerked, twitching away from you, and you felt your heart tug along with him.

"No. Me. I...am bad." You shook your head, more and more fervent as Hiromi twisted away from you, quietly cursing, husky, tortured. He tried to release your hand, and you refused, plaiting your fingers in his, steadfast in a way that filled him with an animalistic urge to appreciate you.

You turned from him, your other hand resting upon the high keys, pressing gentle, uncertain notes. Overwhelmed by your closeness, and your insistent faith in him, Hiromi softened to watch your profile, backlit from the liquid glow of the bar. Your small hand, moving softly over the keys. Your heart beating like butterfly wings in your throat.

"No. Not bad. Lost. Lonely. Sabishī."

Every moment of belief you handed him, pulled Hiromi closer to the light. Swallowing thickly, he brought your joined hands to the keys, laying his palm over the back of yours, overlaying your fingers with his own. He pressed, soft insistent touches, on your fingers, guiding them to play. You felt your belly coil with odd pleasure, captivated by Hiromi's hands, all at once gentle and rough, smart and instinctual--

"Hiromi--"

"No. Stop." Hiromi tensed, his voice rough, fraying alongside his self-control. His hand shook over your own, the notes stopping now. Heat burst through you, certain he felt it too, this dangerous need, and his name forced its way out of you again, a challenge.

"Hiro--"

Hiromi spat venom again, growling and cursing as he stood, lifting you by the waist, sitting you upon the keys with a spray of notes, his arms shaking as they pressed beside you, trapping you in. Nose to nose, his breath on your lips, his face twisted with fury and need, Hiromi whispered to you.

"Stop. My name--" Hiromi shook, on his last thread, half a step away from using you--

When your hand snaked to his tie, tugging him closer, your other hand sinking into the back of his hair, Hiromi snapped.

His lips pressed to yours, hot and hungry, his body closing the rest of the distance to be flush between your thighs. Your mouth opened to him, feeling his urgency as he drank down your stolen breath, one hand tilting your head back to consume you, the other dragging through the plush rolls of your belly and hips.

Every kiss was hot and anguished, punctuated by Hiromi's low rolling voice, not needing language to feel the fervour and vice on his lips-- "--won't be gentle-- I'm sorry I-- I can't--"

You insisted your understanding on him the only way you knew how; fingers working his tie off and draping it round your own neck, locking your legs around him to press his aching cock against your core, undoing his shirt in a desperate flurry, all notes and fingers and tongues and moans.

You tasted rum in his mouth, all spice and brown sugar, and his hand wandered to your throat, feeling your pulse there before tilting you backwards, arched against the hood of the piano. With your head rested back, he spoke to you, shirt now unbuttoned to his navel, cock straining against the material below a trail of black hair.

"--making a mistake to let a monster put his mouth on you, English-- let's see what sounds you can make." Your khaki t-shirt was pulled off over your head, where Hiromi let it catch around your hands, twisting it to bind you. Hiromi kept you gripped this way, leaning over you, caging you in as he gripped the cups of your bra between his teeth, yanking them down to free your breasts.

Hiromi shuddered and moaned, feeling a drop of pre-cum soak into his boxers, as he flattened his tongue over your nipple, rolling, tasting, pulling you between his lips, nuzzling from side to side like an animal. You mewled, jutting your hips involuntarily, and Hiromi pressed back, pleasuring you with rough, sharp thrusts against your clothed pussy.

Hiromi leaned back, releasing your nipple with a hard suck, gazing down at where he fucked himself against you, mesmerised by the way you shivered and humped against his cock. Unabashed, his words falling over you like strange-eyed constellations, Hiromi fucked you with his voice--

"--cum like this, and I'll give you my fingers...cum like that, and I'll give you my tongue-- fuck, I'll eat you alive, you fucking goddess--"

As Hiromi spoke, all twisted rage and growls, his hips slammed into you, spurred on by your squeaks and whimpers, gripping the fat of your hips to ram your core against him. The pleasure was brutal, all harsh fabric friction and Hiromi's unrestrained adoration, and you tried to hold yourself together as you were dragged to orgasm, your frantic hands pressing disjointed chords on the keys beneath you.

Hiromi wanted to, needed to cum like this, with you, knowing he'd be able to continue fucking you after until he collapsed in your arms from exhaustion. Pausing only briefly to reach into his boxers, and angle his angry, throbbing cock upwards so the bulbous tip pressed between his waistband and belly, Hiromi's eyes rolled back in unadulterated ecstasy as he continued to fuck you against him.

You were both close, having been unfinished even by yourselves for weeks, and Hiromi's eyes burned into yours, feral with the need for you to finish with him, feeling your thighs tense around him as you babbled, fully understanding your meaning behind the nonsense--

"--gonna cum-- please-- Hiromi-- harder--"

You pressed back against the piano, arching with a high-pitched cry as hot pleasure burst through you, from your deeply aching clit outwards, crackling through your fingers, all white-hot sparks and embers. Watching you convulse against him, angling his hips to rut his trapped cock tip, feeling his thighs and belly set alight with the force of his orgasm, his hands planted either side of you, back twitching as he came with a bark.

Still riding the last waves of your orgasm, you watched him in fascination. The sight of Hiromi's cum spurting in long, white ropes onto his navel and yours, his agonised, fractured gasps, had you humping against the underside of his cock again, dragging out your peak to hear him whimper, cock twitching against your core. Your hand drifted to his belly, stroking the cum between your fingertips in a blissful haze, squeezing a thumb under the foreskin of his exposed cockhead, stroking his slit with his own lubrication.

Hiromi convulsed and growled at you, clasping your hand against him, dopey and shaking as you drank his reaction from his eyes, thumb still circling his cockhead, slippery with his seed.

"St--st--aaaaahhh..." You shushed Hiromi's weak cries, grazing your tongue over his lips, delighted as he twitched in your hand, weak little spurts of cum oozing onto your fingers. Hiromi let you continue like this, for a few seconds, before wrenching your hand away, plaiting your fingers into his own and nuzzling into you furiously. His heart leapt to hear you giggle as he bit into you, still to desperate, everything still not enough to take away this pain and this filth and this misery--

His other hand wandered down, stroking down the rolls of your belly, pinching, nails grazing, digging in all the way to your belt, undoing it with military efficiency. Not bothering to undo the button, he yanked down the zip instead, giving him enough room to manoeuvre his hand between your skin and the fabric, shucking your underwear aside to cup the wet heat of your pussy in one long hand.

Dipping his hand out to collect the cum off your belly, he thrust his hand back inside against your pussy again, teeth gritted and bared as he drank down your reactions now. He was satisfied to see the playful glint in your eyes flicker, your eyebrows raised in shock and overstimulation, teeth sinking into your lip as he rubbed your clit roughly, cum-sticky fingers rubbing broad strokes side to side across it.

"--two can play at that game, sweetheart...feels good? More? Harder?" Hiromi pressed you, in these words you didn't understand, and laughed, darkly satisfied as you wiggled beneath his hands, one hand resting lightly on your throat as you tried in vain to scoot away from him, your breath releasing in airy whimpers.

"No answer?" Hiromi moved his fingers faster, harder, your pussy squelching with your mixed cum inside your trousers, feeling you writhe beneath them, "I'll decide for you then."

Hiromi urged your orgasm to build, faster and harder this time, teeth gritted as he dragged you to the edge, growling into you as his tongue flicked roughly over your nipple--

"--come on-- know you can do it-- I'll go as hard as you like, come on, good girl--ah, there-- good girrrrllll..." Hiromi softened his movements, fingers undulating against your pussy as he pulled another orgasm from you, moving one finger from your throat to dip into your mouth, shuddering as you sucked it around your cries and whimpers.

Hiromi felt his cock beginning to stir to life again, and he committed you to memory like this, draped over the piano, wet breasts heaving, his seed dripping down your belly, eyes glazed, body supple.

Another word, that he did know in English, slipped from him, as he dropped to his knees before you, worshiping at this otherworldly alter in the moonlight; "Beautiful."

You blushed, voice catching in your throat as Hiromi smiled up at you, soft and captive in his sincerity as he unbuttoned your trousers, easing them, with your underwear, gently to your ankles, and off. Feeling suddenly so exposed, so flawed, you squeezed your eyes shut. You felt Hiromi grip your ankle with such tenderness, pressing a long, languid kiss to the delicate bones on the inside.

"English," Hiromi called, beckoning you back to him. You shook your head, blushing, eyes still closed, and he insisted. "English, please--" your eyes opened, uncertain, and Hiromi hummed in satisfaction as he began to kiss his way up your inner legs, "--beautiful."

Sighing and leaning back, one arm over your eyes, your heart bursting with the oddity of having fallen in love like this, you felt safe behind your language barrier as you spoke without a filter; "Oh, Nose. I love you. I really do."

Hiromi paused, stunned and ecstatic, his lips still on your inner thigh. He shocked you both, at how quickly his grasp of your language had come along; "And I love you, English." Hiromi chuckled with genuine glee as you clapped your hands over your face, mortified. Hiromi nuzzled into you, wickedly playful, but soon overtaken by this violent urge again--

"And...I love--" you squealed as you felt Hiromi force your thighs apart, sinking his tongue and nose quickly between your folds, groaning as he tasted the heady mix of his and your cum around your clit. His cock, almost fully hard again, throbbed, tightening his waistband as the blood rushed to it again. Hiromi reached down, releasing his cock with a sigh.

He took his time, lifting your thighs over his shoulders as he lapped at you, dipping his tongue into your entrance, tasting you, teasing you. You leaned, watching him again, and he looked up at you, hooded eyes burning as he nuzzled his nose against your clit, and held his own cock in his hand, stroking slowly. You felt jolts of voyeuristic pleasure, watching him masturbate himself to the taste of you.

"I...I like that," you whispered to him, your hand moving down to graze your nails against his scalp. You watched Hiromi like pornography as he shuddered, his cock leaping in his hand, your eyes fixed intently on his hand gliding up and down his length as you felt your pleasure beginning to crescendo yet again.

"More, I--" you moved your hand in the air as if you were the one stroking Hiromi's cock, mimicking faster movements, "--faster, Hiromi." Hiromi hummed in understanding, groaning sandy little groans into your pussy now as his hand sped up, jacking himself off harder, feeling your pussy clench around nothing beneath his tongue as you watched him, your keening cries getting higher and higher until--

-- you came again, trembling with the fluttering soft pleasure of your third orgasm, thighs clamping around Hiromi's head as he sucked your clit gently between his lips. Hiromi panted, gripping the base of his cock, delaying his high, fingers wet with more pre-cum, desperate to drag you to the floor and finish using you.

Pulling his mouth away, his hands trembling on your thighs, Hiromi's face was unreadable as he looked at the floor. Standing, dishevelled and sweating, looking up at you with feral hunger, his cock still twitching in his hand, you could see the barest vestiges of Hiromi pleading you for permission, with those exquisite dark eyes--

All it took from you was a nod. Hiromi pounced, wiry arms deceptively strong as he lifted you, legs locked around his waist, nose nuzzling against yours, teeth nipping your lips with a rumble. Hiromi whispered his mother tongue against your mouth, reaching out one hand for his overcoat, and tossing it into the floor, before laying you on your front, sinking his teeth into your shoulder blade with bruising force.

"--you're beautiful, and you're good, and I don't deserve you-- fuck, I need you now, I--I need--"

Hiromi panted above you, barely restraining himself from slamming into you immediately as he looped an arm round your neck and chest, pulling you up and forcing your back to arch. Ghosting his nose over your ear, he whispered your name, making you shiver and squirm, certain you'd break unless you felt him inside you soon.

"Ready, English?" You trembled, nodding, head tipped back as his cock grazed against your slippery folds. One hand cupped your arse, stroking softly, before slapping, Hiromi captivated by its plush jiggle against his fingers, how you cried out, how your skin flushed so deliciously.

Not holding back, Hiromi slammed into you, one forearm planted to the floor while the other restrained you against him, cupping your breasts in one squeezing hand. He shook, cursing, his teeth in your shoulder, as he felt the tip of his cock kiss your gummy walls, feeling your pussy clench around him in shock.

Prone, hands clawing at his overcoat, Hiromi felt enormous inside you, so swollen and plush after waiting to be filled for so long. You whimpered, resting your head sideways against his clutching bicep, feeling the muscle tense and jump as he rammed into you at a relentless pace, still speaking husky reassurances to you in his native tongue.

"--rest, just-- keep still and let me hold you, I-- I can't slow down anymore--"

Feeling simultaneously used and protected, caged in like this for him to chase his own pleasure, your breath came in ragged gasps, both hands now clutching the forearm across your neck and chest, head swimming with the instinctively blissful fullness of his cock, tightly sleeved within you. You felt your belly jolt from the force of Hiromi's thrusts, and pressed up towards him, proud to hear him moan in response.

Hiromi fucked you with abandon, needing this release, needing to shed his sin and worthlessness, his heart leaping to feel you fall apart beneath him. His hips began to stutter, strength abandoning him as his orgasm approached, moaning deep breaking moans in your ear, nipping, holding your neck in his teeth.

His legs buckling beneath him, Hiromi cried out in bliss, his arm shaking around you, hips flush against your arse, cock twitching long, hot spurts of cum inside your walls, feeling you pulse around him, sucking him in. You revelled in the glorious feeling of him twitching deep inside you, your belly hot and clenching as his seed seeped out between your clenched thighs. Hiromi lay above you, panting, pressing soft kisses into your hair, using his arm to roll you sideways with him, covering you both with his overcoat.

With his arm beneath your head, the other lazily stroking the curve of your waist and hips, Hiromi laughed lazily behind you.

"You love me, English, hmm?" Hiromi laughed again as you clapped your hands to your face.

"Stop, Hiromi, stop--" you cried, blushing all the way to your toes as he squeezed you closer, "-- or I will shoot you." Hiromi lifted his head, peering mulishly at you, one eyebrow raised. You scowled, pointing to your gun, and then at him, and he gasped in mock horror.

"Ara ara," he rumbled, teasing you in alien words, "so violent when you're meant to be happy."

You remembered these sweet small hours the most, after the horrors that came. You remembered lying in each others' arms, sticky and teasing. You remembered sneaking to the bathrooms, splashing each other at the sinks as you cleaned up as best as you could. You remembered laughing as Hiromi cursed, trying to clean the residual cum off your clothes. You remembered Hiromi calling for you, afraid, anxious, before you ducked back up from behind the bar, your arms full of snacks and drinks. You remembered lying beneath the piano, gazing out across the city, flicking peanuts at each other, sharing slow, lazy kisses. You remembered naively seeing a future between you, a happy life with none of this unthinkable chaos.

It was your fault, you cursed yourself, vomiting and wracked with sobs, staggering away from the devastation. If you had been able to develop your power, and pose a real threat, Hiromi wouldn't have been burdened with such a liability.

Lost in each other again, nose to nose beneath the piano, your instincts had kicked in just fast enough to kick Hiromi away, saving his life as the floor between you both split with dreadful electricity. A strange-haired, wild-eyed boy burst through the room on a voltage, bottles smashing, the floor splitting, your rifle disappearing into the chasm as Hiromi shouted for you, urging you, ordering you-- you were sure, to move, to run, to save yourself and leave him.

You could do none of them, your military training meaning nothing to this god. You could do nothing when Hiromi stepped into his path, defending you, fighting tooth and nail. You could do nothing as the floors split beneath him, dragging them down in lightning flashes, horrifying rumbles. You had fled from the collapse, leaping flights of stairs one at a time, possessed by some strange force. You had not felt Hiromi again. Powerful though he was, you could not see how he could walk out of such a fight alive.

Putting all the dregs of your energy into hiding, refusing to let Hiromi's sacrifice be in vain, you cried yourself to sleep, nose in Hiromi's overcoat, his cum still cooling between your thighs.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Each day merged into the next. Time had lost meaning. While you had the urge to fight before loving Hiromi, to have loved and lost him broke you and the future you may have had. The battleground was no place for someone such as yourself now. You cursed the injustice of it all.

Cold, dirty and exhausted, your head rested sideways against an industrial bin, praying the rain would wipe your soul clean.

You had translated his business card, with your little dictionary--

Lawyer. Higuruma Hiromi, Criminal Defence Lawyer.

Knowing this detail of his life, a sweet overlay of understanding dawned upon you, his character suddenly so understandable, his anguish shooting through you like knives, and all too late, too late--

"...English?"

Your head jerked up, to the end of the alleyway. Silhouetted, dripping in the rain, bleeding and bruised but impossibly alive--

Your face crumpled, pressed into your wet sleeves, shaking. Slow splashing footsteps approached you, Hiromi kneeling in front of you, a hand coming out to graze through your hair.

He opened your dictionary, dusty and bloodstained, before flicking to a dog-eared page;

"Found you."

#jjk #higuruma hiromi #higuruma smut #higuruma angst #higuruma fluff #higuruma hiromi x reader #jjk hiromi #hiromi higuruma x reader #hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi smut #higuruma #higuruma x reader #higuruma fanart

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hastyprovocateur · 2 months

Text

Daichi and Seki called Akemi a "Pig" with "little options," but Mizu called her "magical forest creature" who can have "anything she wants."

Taigen and Mikio called Mizu "Monster" but Akemi called her "beautiful" "not scary" and "not a killer."

I know Akemi later told Mizu that "I should've killed you" and Mizu called Akemi a "Fucking brat" but YOU DON'T GET HOMOSEXUAL BANTER, THAT WAS LIKE THIRD BASE FOR THEM

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #akemi blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai mizu #bes akemi #mizu #akemizu #mizemi #mizu x akemi #taigen blue eye samurai #ringo blue eye samurai #seki blue eye samurai #netflix blue eye samurai #bes netflix

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sea-lanterns · 6 months

Text

SAW

synopsis: (slasher! AU) as a devoted follower, you would do anything to please your master.

featuring: arlecchino (columbina mentioned at the end)

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, mentions of death, death traps, brief mentions of child traffi.cking, sadism, master x follower dynamic, praise, pet names (she calls you doll, babydoll, etc.) mockery, lap se.x, thigh riding, strap on, biting, hickies, rough se.x, spa.nking, manhandling, mentions of th.ree.some, implied th.ree.some at the end.

art credits: junji ito's "house of marionettes"

Fastening on the metal bear trap onto an unconscious victim’s head, you hummed an eerie tune to yourself knowing your beloved master was watching you from above. It didn’t matter that you were currently sitting in a padlocked room with a man about to die right in front of you, you just wanted to please your master by any means necessary. Even if it meant killing all these people by sending them into death traps.

You tightened a certain screw on the trap before smiling to yourself and leaning back. The man in front of you was no innocent man, he was a criminal, a monster, and he deserved this fate whether he liked it or not, causing you to smile in sadistic pleasure for the upcoming end of his life.

“Tight as a button.” You hum to yourself, looking up at the security camera located in the far right corner of the room. You knew your beloved master was watching, and you couldn’t help but give it a little wave to show that you had completed the task she assigned you. “I did it…” You exclaim softly, smiling at the flashing red light on the camera. “I’m gonna head up now, okay?”

You stood up and paid no mind to the unconscious man you just doomed to suffer a fate worse than death. Humming all too nonchalantly before leaving the room and locking it shut, ensnaring the man to leave him dead before making your way down the hall with a skip in your step. Various screams of terror and pain rang out from the other death traps as you made your way over to a secret door. The sounds of torture like a song to your ears while you pushed the passcode buttons to unlock a passage to a room.

“What an awful melody…” you murmured to yourself, glancing back at the trap rooms to listen to one more scream of terror. “It’s beautiful.”

The door to the secret passageway popped open and you moved inside with ease, your body slipping through as you maneuvered through the narrow hallways of the abandoned building. “Abandoned” as it appeared to the public, people unaware of the multiple deaths coinciding within its walls for the police have failed to track down the mastermind behind these deaths.

The mastermind to which you served and dedicated your entire life to.

Navigating your way towards another hidden door, you pushed it open to see a tall woman sitting idly in front of a bunch of security cameras, her lean figure illuminated by the many monitors and making her seem like a god of some sort. A pleasant shiver runs down your spine when you see her, and you immediately take a bow and keep your head down low.

“Master, the player in room 14 is ready to begin his game.” You say with grace, glancing up at the taller woman in hopes of pleasing her. The woman doesn’t move for a moment, but her chair creaks slightly as she slowly turns around to face you. There she was. Your savior, your master, your goddess. The one behind the torture games, the mastermind behind all the killings…

Arlecchino, the Jigsaw killer.

“Come, sit.” She says calmly, staring at you with those X-shaped pupils of hers that had you pressing your thighs together. “On my lap, come on sweet girl…”

She points down at her legs and you immediately walk over to plant yourself on her lap. Arlecchino wrapped her clawed hands around your waist before leaning forward to take a deep inhale of the scent in your hair. “Did my doll tighten the trap like I asked…?” She whispers into your ear, exhaling with a small groan as she squeezed your hips tighter with her hands.

“I did. I followed everything you taught me to, master,” you say obediently, looking up at her with the brightest of smiles. “Did I do good? Are you proud of me?” If you had a tail it would for sure be wagging…

Arlecchino chuckled huskily before leaning down to kiss your neck. “You did wonderful, pet…” she says in a dark tone, running one of her nails over the bare expanse of your neck. “The drug should be wearing off soon. Would you like to watch his game with me?” She asks in a polite tone, almost mocking with the way she smiled at you so tenderly.

“Am I allowed to?” You ask softly, staring up at her with wide, doe-like eyes. Arlecchino groaned at the sight and had to keep herself from just shoving you onto her desk and fucking you raw right there, but she had enough restraint and took a deep breath.

“Do you have to be cute, my doll?” Arlecchino husks, staring up at you with those crimson eyes of hers. “You make it impossible not to devour you…”

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment and you couldn’t help but glance away shyly. “Sorry, master…” you say softly, causing Arlecchino to scoff before smiling. “Don’t apologize, I was merely teasing…”

She pinches your cheek with her fingers before tilting your chin over to look at the monitor in front of you. “Let’s watch his prolonged suffering together, my pet. It looks like he’s starting to awaken…”

Adjusting comfortably on Arlecchino’s lap, she kept a firm hold on your waist before watching the man in the room start to awaken. He looked dazed, clearly confused why he woke up in a green-tiled room with a metal contraption stuck to his neck. He had no idea that he was about to die if he didn’t meet the requirements for Arlecchino’s game, and the thought slightly amused you as you watched him groggily stumble around the room in delusion.

The metal contraption attached to the man’s neck was Arlecchino’s infamous “bear trap.” A simple, yet deadly death trap designed to enclose multiple spikes into a person’s head if they did not complete the challenge on time. It was one of Arlecchino’s favorite traps, as it was a trap designed to kill instantly, yet instill tremendous amounts of fear into the person, as the idea of being Iron Maiden-ed in the face was too scary not to think about…

“Ah…perhaps it’s time we give him a call,” Arlecchino hums, giving your cheek a sensual kiss. “Don’t forget your mask, my pet. The adorable marionette one that makes you look simply stunning…”

You nod obediently and grab the porcelain mask on the table, Arlecchino grabbing her own rubber mask that mimicked a slack-jaw puppet. It was so kind of your master to make you a mask of your own, one that was the perfect complementary pair to match hers so that it looked like you were a couple.

You were, but it was hidden under the facade of a master and follower cover.

“Let’s give him a wake up call, shall we?” Arlecchino grins, turning on the camera and setting up the voice distorter. When the man looks up at the TV in the room, he sees two masked people, you and Arlecchino staring back at him with the creepy and unsettling puppet masks that sent shivers down his spine. It was unsettling with the way you two presented yourselves, and he immediately began shouting at the screen for answers.

“Quiet down, will you?” Arlecchino’s voice ran through the mic, gripping your waist tighter before covering your ears. “You are disturbing my precious doll with your foul words…”

The man refuses to shut up, causing Arlecchino to glare at him through the holes of her mask. She pushes a certain button and the wires of the bear trap suddenly inch closer to the man’s face, causing him to scream.

“That’s better.” She smiles sadistically, removing her hands from your ears so you could hear. “As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me with your incompetence…”

She begins explaining the rules of the “game” giving the man a chance to escape before the inevitable closure of his death.

“You were put in this room for becoming involved in a child trafficking ring. To escape, you must find the key to the exit behind one of the tiles in this room. You have ten minutes to complete this task, failure to finish it before the intended time limit will result in the bear trap around your neck closing.”

The man’s eyes widened and you had to keep yourself from chuckling out loud.

“Your time begins now.”

Arlecchino then clicked off the camera and pulled off her mask, watching as the man began scrambling to search for all the tiles. There had to be at least a thousand tiles in that room, as every square inch of the walls and floor were covered in small, marble tiles. Ten minutes was being generous, but even within that extended time limit, you knew it was almost impossible to find the key as each tile was carefully adjusted to look normal and not out of place.

“So, what should we do while we wait for his ten minutes to be up?” Arlecchino hums, pushing her nose against your neck. She seemed to be implying she wants something intimate with you, but being the obedient follower that you are, you looked up innocently and tilted your head.

“What does master want to do?” You ask in a gentle tone, Arlecchino smirking with the most intimidating gaze.

“I want to do something sinful, my dear…” she says in a gravelly tone, practically growling into your ear before tugging at your pants. “Indulge in your master, will you?”

Another scream rips through the monitor and you couldn’t help but grow a little wet at the way Arlecchino was keen on fucking you in the middle of a game. She slowly moved her hand up your thigh and you could feel just how sharp and strong her fingers were as they squeezed the ball of flesh above your jeans. The way she could so easily kill you had you on a rush, and Arlecchino groaned at the way you started to warm up against her lap with how wet you were.

“Doll, you’re just begging for me to touch you, hmm?” She chuckles into your ear. “Need my cock in you that bad, huh? You’re lucky I decided to wear it today…”

Her hand moves down to unzip her trousers, revealing a thick strap on that you knew you could take easily with some prep. “You…You were wearing that the whole time?” You exclaim with surprise, a surge of heat pulsing through your core. “I was sitting on it the whole time…?”

She throws her head back to laugh at your stupidity. It was so endearing with how innocent you were when it came to these sorts of things. “I’m surprised you didn’t feel it,” she chuckles through her amusement. “It’s a girthy thing, almost too big if I do say so myself.”

“It’s not big…!” You quickly retort back, pouting at your master before holding onto her shoulders. “I can take it. I can take it all.”

“I don’t doubt it one bit, sweet girl,” Arlecchino grins amusedly. “However, you do need quite a bit of prep work to take such a stretch. Fortunately, you’re already semi-wet, but…” She gives you a wolfish grin before toying with the belt loop of your jeans. “I’ll need that cunt of yours dripping more if you’re gonna take me now…”

You let out a small groan before unzipping your jeans to begin kicking them off, the eagerness of getting her strap inside you too obvious not to notice, as Arlecchino found it difficult to keep a straight face. “Easy there, dollface…” Arlecchino purrs lightly, squeezing your cheeks together with her hand so your lips form a small pout. “I’m in no rush, and neither should you.”

You let out a small noise of complaint at this, before obeying her words and going at a much more leisurely pace. Once your pants and underwear were off, you sat back down on Arlecchino’s lap and whimpered at the feeling of her rough trousers against your aching hole.

“Mmm…quite a delicious sight already…” Arlecchino husks, wrapping her arms around your waist once more. “But not quite wet enough. I think it’s best if you grind against my thigh for a bit, hm?”

She stares up at you with that incredibly intimidating —yet sexy— look, rows of sharpened teeth glimmering at you under the lamplight air of the room. You had no idea how such a hot woman would be the face behind the infamous Jigsaw killer, but you weren’t complaining. She was yours and you were hers.

“Yes, master.” You respond in a soft tone, beginning to shift your hips so that you could start grinding against her pants, panting slightly from how stimulated you already were from her dirty talk.

Arlecchino chuckles and leans back, relaxing in her chair as she watches you grind and ride her thighs with resolve. The sight of you trying so desperately to appease her was such a turn on, and for a moment she forgot that she was currently overseeing a man’s death just rooms away from where you two were sitting. “That’s my good girl…” Arlecchino murmurs, unable to contain her groans as she fixes the shaft of her strap so it sits upright. “Just a little more and you can ride me silly.”

At her encouragement, you only grind harder, whimpering at the pleasurable feeling of her trousers providing friction to your already sensitive clit. There was a pulsing sensation that you could not deny, and as you kept grinding your hips on her leg, you felt yourself growing more wet.

“Goodness…you soaked a spot right on me,” your master smirks almost predatorily, “I think you’re ready to take me, sweet girl…”

As an extra precaution, Arlecchino grabs a bottle of lube from the corner of the table and squeezes a helping of it onto the impressive girth of her cock. The clear liquid drips down her shaft slowly, and Arlecchino gives the length a few shallow pumps before angling it so you could move.

“Come on, just like we practiced.” Arlecchino hums, thumbing the tip of the shaft before watching you hover over the head with a bit of hesitance. “I’ll go slow, don’t worry…”

You grip the edge of her shoulders before slowly sinking down onto the head of her cock, the wide tip slowly spearing you open before you whimper and start to feel resistance.

“Ugh…fuck…” Arlecchino grit her teeth and had to resist the primal urge to slam you down and start thrusting into you. She knew she promised you to be gentle and wanted to keep her promise no matter how tempting it may be to break.

“Easy there, easy…” she grunts and slowly eases her hips to help you adjust, watching as you slowly inch down bit by bit. “Master…” you whimper out softly, biting your lip before taking a deep breath. “I think I need more lube…”

“No, you’re fine. This is enough.” Arlecchino groans, shifting your hips with her hands before kissing your neck reassuringly. “Just need to find the right…angle…”

You let out a yelp when you suddenly sink down all the way, your hips meeting hers as all of her shaft had somehow fit into you with one swift motion.

God you severely underestimated the size. It didn’t look that long, and it wasn’t. But oh lord was it thick. The girth of it enough to stretch you wide open and have you squirming in her lap to adjust, letting out pathetic whimpers as you’ve never felt so stretched open before.

“M-Master…” you gasp, the breath knocked out of your lungs as you feel Arlecchino’s teeth graze your neck. “Too big…”

“What?” Arlecchino practically laughs sadistically in your face, X-shaped pupils almost glowing with amusement. “Didn’t you say you could take it all? That it wasn’t too big?”

You whimpered when you were reminded of your confident words.

“It’s not too big, babydoll. You said it yourself.” A sudden shift in her tone had you fearful for a moment as you suddenly felt a sharp thrust pulsate against your inner walls.

“Ah—!” You start to let out breathless pants and gasps when Arlecchino begins to thrust madly.

“You were so confident earlier, what happened to wanting to take it all immediately?” She mocks, grinning with pleasure as you writhe in her grip. If there was one thing you learned while working under Arlecchino, it was that the woman was a lot stronger than she looked under that lean muscle. Practically pinning you down until you couldn’t move, before making you bounce up and down her lap till the tip of her cock was all you could feel.

“Don’t tell me my doll is defying orders now.” Arlecchino growls, slamming you back down until your pussy practically wraps itself around her length, gripping it for all that it was worth, while you lolled your head back in absolute bliss. “N-Nngh…master…” you moaned out pathetically, the stretch burning you wonderfully while you cling to Arlecchino for sanity. “Slower…please…”

Arlecchino scoffs at that and gives your rear a tiny spank, laughing at the way you recoiled in surprise.

“Slower? You want me to go slower?” She was mocking you again, the sadism evident in her voice. “Babydoll, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

She spanks your read once more and bites your neck rather aggressively, a dark hickey beginning to form at the base while she continues ramming her girth into your cunt. The way you were holding onto her so tightly —and pathetically— gave Arlecchino a power strike of ecstasy, the woman animalistic with her ruts as she digs her claws even further against your ass.

“You’re dripping so much, my sweet girl,” she groans into your throat, “Such a mess, I’ll need you to clean everything up for me later, right?”

She sneers at the way you whine at her words before shaking your head in obedience.

“Yes, master!”

“Good fucking girl.”

She suddenly lifts you up and places you on her desk, the bright blue monitors illuminating your body like a heavenly light while Arlecchino thrusts more brutally into your flesh. Rough hands prying your legs further apart as she pushes you down to deliver a passionate kiss. With one final push, you feel your body twitch before a squeal leaves your lips and cum drips down your thighs, your climax reaching a beautiful finale, as the monitor above you plays the sound of the man screaming to death in his room. The trap had closed around his head and ensnared his head in a casket of spikes, leaving him to bleed out in the tiled room of door 14.

“Hah…hah…looks like he didn’t make it.” Arlecchino pants, grinning all too wildly before kissing your neck affectionately. “Good girl. I knew I could count on you…”

As she nuzzles your neck with her face, you hear the door behind her suddenly creak open before gentle humming fills the room. Arlecchino turns back to see who had entered, before smiling at the sight of the other person.

“My, my, I see you’ve had your fun with her already.” Came a familiar, feminine voice. You looked up to see a shorter woman wearing a pig mask shutting the door, lithe hands reaching up to pull off the atrocious mask, and revealing a petite, yet beautiful woman you recognized as Columbina. One of Arlecchino’s most dutiful proxies.

“Goodness, she’s certainly soaked your pants, Arlecchino.” Columbina tuts with faux astonishment. “I can’t believe you two started without me.”

“You were taking too long,” Arlecchino chuckles back, caressing your cheek with a clawed nail. “You should’ve been faster.”

“Ah, I was too busy setting up the victims for the next few games,” the pigheaded woman sighs, strutting over to pinch your cheek playfully. “Looks like this little one will have to make it up to me now…”

You instinctively melted under Columbina’s touch, nuzzling your face into the soft, sweet palm of her hand. She cooes affectionately at the sight, before giving your head a little puppy-like pat. “Good girl…”

“She is, isn’t she?” Arlecchino grins, picking you up once more to sit on her lap while she rests on her chair. “I think this sweet thing can spare us one more round. For Columbina’s sake, right?” She lifts your chin with a finger, staring at you as if almost daring you to say no.

“Of course, master…” you say obediently, arousal starting to drip down your thighs once more at the possibility of a threesome.

“Atta girl…” Columbina giggles, pressing up behind you and kissing the back of your ear. “Just the perfect doll for us to share…”

You only bucked back your hips at that, ready to give whatever these two women wanted from you.

#arlecchino smut #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #slasher au #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin women smut #genshin women x reader #genshin imagines

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spaghettiposts · 2 months

Text

A Fools Love

Ghostface!Tara x Reader

Summary: You're a fool who falls in love with Tara Carpenter, a fool who's hopelessly devoted to her. No matter what.

Warnings: Dark themes, blood mention, stitching, Tara being a cold-blooded killer, attempts at writing slight horror (not really), and minor fluff.

Words: 1.4k

Your mind was unresponsive as you ran through the late streets of New York. Only having one goal in mind; Find Tara.

Streetlights were the only light keeping you from tripping on hazardous placed trash bags—or people. It was late, later than you’d be awake. Never for Tara though, and you knew perfectly well what she was doing.

You tried your best not to dwell on the way your stomach churned, passing it off as concern. And if your eyes watered, you’d wipe them away. Someone had to stay strong.

Wear a hoodie, be discreet.

Is what she told you. You zipped up your sweater, tossing over the hood and placing the first aid kit into your pockets.

Gloves too.

You climbed up the ladder from the side of the building. Darkness overlooked where you stood, nobody could possibly see you and if they did you weren’t easily identifiable.

This was fine.

Tara always kept you safe, your safety was her number one priority even before her own. Which drove you insane, but drew you further into her heart. Despite her problems, you couldn’t deny the unconditional love you had for her. Even at the expense of loving a cold blooded killer.

So yes, Tara kept you safe. She was never one to mess around with these things, you doubted she could with how long she had been doing it. Killing sprees left and right.

You hesitated at your words, pausing. Shaking your head firmly, you corrected your mind. No, Tara wasn’t a monster. Instead, you replayed moments from how well she had been doing these past months. How she tried, endured, and concurred that hunger inside of her.

If she did, you wouldn’t be here.

Slip-ups happened to everyone, this just happened to be a more serious—lawbreaking—one.

Potentially, you didn’t know the exact details of what happened that was so severe your girlfriend insisted you make an appearance. An odd request that left your heart pounding wildly, this never happened. The last message she left on your phone was one reminding you to bring a first aid kit.

Her location is already pinned on your phone, as was yours in hers. A safety precaution. Meaning you had no trouble finding the brunette.

You lifted your fist to knock on the window after making sure it was the right one. Immediately the curtains withdrew, allowing you to see her face. Tara sighed in relief, letting out a shaky breath. Her posture relaxed instantly, and you briefly heard the sound of a knife clattering.

Within seconds she tugged on your wrist, pulling you inside. Before you had the opportunity to ask any questions her lips were on yours, a hand cupping your jaw. You let out a gasp in surprise at the intensity of the kiss, falling back into the familiar pattern of her lips on yours, trying your best to match her need.

But then you realized where you were. More specifically with who you were with, Tara who’s hands weren’t the soft ones you loved to feel but instead masked behind those cold gloves she wore. Gently, you pushed at her shoulders.

Tara furrowed her eyebrows, a glimmer of hurt flashing in her eyes. She tried to push back into you only to be met by denial. You whispered a small ‘not now’, heart clenching at the familiar black robes on her.

The smaller girl bit her lip, understanding, and wandered off. You sighed, peering outside to make sure no one could’ve seen before locking the window; pulling the curtains closed.

It didn’t take long to locate Tara again. You found her leaning against the wall next to the room where you presumed the crime scene occurred. Another sigh left your lips as you tried to make an understanding of what you were dealing with.

“I slit her throat before she could…feel it.” You heard her mutter. Something she’d do to reassure your feelings. Inform you. You didn’t know if it comforted you or made you feel worse. Either way, you nodded, swallowing down whatever you were feeling.

Noticing how uncharacteristically shifty she was acting, you looked downwards. Her hands subtly turn away from you, the cloth sticking to her skin. Was that dampness?

“Tara, what the fuck?” You seethed, grabbing her cloth-covered hand. Tara winced as you lifted the sleeve to find her poorly wrapped arm. Blood stained the gauze and you wondered if any traces of it were left. Your chest heaved as you looked around the room—towards the floorboards, towards any surface that could’ve been incriminatingly laced with your girlfriend's blood. “How—? What happened, you said you’d be careful!”

Tara huffed, pulling her arm away to hold it, “I am careful. The bitch fought back.”

“You told me she didn’t feel it.” You raised an eyebrow, that bubble of irritation forming in the pit of your stomach.

“It was a quick death, a microsecond is what she felt.” Tara spat, shoving her shoulder into your own as she walked into the bathroom. “Right now that isn’t the problem.”

You wanted to scream, yell, throw something, break something. Right now that wasn’t the problem my ass–Clenching your fists and letting out a heavy breath, you followed your fleeing girlfriend. She was perched against the bathroom wall, squeezing at her wrist which drew you immediate concern. You hated how easy it was to love her.

You could tell she was in pain–hell, you could see it. Through the bandages, you could see how deep the cut was. Undoubtedly, she’d need stitches for it. Which is why, despite the heated frustration you felt, you let it go. Sliding down the wall next to her, you crossed your legs, taking her arm in your lap. Before she could protest, you waved the box in your hands from earlier.

Opening the kit you begin your work, unwrapping the gauze and placing it in a bag. Your face scrunched as you were met with the sight. Not wanting to waste any time, you grabbed the needle, silently apologizing for what you were about to do. Tara never liked looking at her injuries, they reminded her of failure. You tried your best to understand it and knew how she felt when her head came to rest on your shoulder, nuzzling her face further into you. She didn’t want to look.

How a psychotic killer could be this adorable was almost laughable.

“Comfy?” You asked.

“Mhmm.”

But she was yours, so you didn’t laugh. Tilting your head, you pressed a kiss on her forehead, cutting the last thread. Tara mumbled what you believed was a thank you before rolling up her sleeve again. When her fingers inched closer to yours, you didn’t hesitate to intertwine them. How could something so wrong feel so right?

Another thing you would never understand.

“I think– I think our blood might be mixed.” Tara huffed on your neck, sending shivers down your spine and worries through your mind. She squeezed your hand before you could get too lost, “There’s…two options.” You squeezed back.

“We could burn the place, or sneak her out and bury her in the woods.” She explained shakily.

You shook your head, leaning the rest of your weight back on the wall. This was crazy, this was why you stayed home. Anything could happen, multiple possibilities but all you could see when you closed your eyes was Tara being pushed in the back of a police car. Away from you, gone. Forever. And maybe you were crazy too, crazy enough to want her to stay.

Your heart pounded against your chest as you closed your eyes, leaning back against the tiles. The sounds of sirens echoing close and far off simultaneously. Your mind raced, as the seconds of calmness that had only recently surrounded you felt all too fleeting. Anything could happen, multiple possibilities but all you could see when you closed your eyes was Tara being pushed in the back of a police car. Away from you, gone. Forever. And maybe you were crazy too, crazy enough to want her to stay.

But your heart had made its decision, of whom it belonged. For your heart was traitorous to Tara Carpenter. Completely and sinfully loyal to her. No matter what.

And if Tara wanted to burn the apartment.

You’d hand her the match.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #scream franchise #scream movie #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x y/n #wlw #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna marie ortega

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starberryes · 2 years

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don't you (forget about me) | steve harrington x reader

“Oh, great, she’s here,” Steve says, stepping away from the door. "First of all, Harrington," You scoff, glaring at that mop of hair with all the rage you can muster. "I have a name. Second of all, we are talking here—” Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever—" "You did not just roll your eyes at me—” Dustin sighs. "Here they go." (or: You've always thought Steve Harrington was a weirdo. When you find out you might be in terrible danger, he might be just what you need.)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!henderson!reader (she/her pronouns used), lots of henderson siblings bonding <3

words: 13.9k

a/n: gif by @dailysteveharrington. thank you all for being patient and i hope you all like it<3 i loved this season and i love steve so i hope you enjoy this lil enemies to lovers fic. this fic is a one shot, but let me know if you'd like a sequel once vol 2 is out bc its a bit of an open, ambiguous ending ;) also some fun facts before this fic starts: dustin's dad appears at will's funeral in s1 and there are several theories about him-- officially, he and dustin's mother are divorced in canon. i'll explore that in this fic. ST4 SPOILERS. this is set in season 4 ep 3 "the monster and the superhero" and follows vol 1 canon also sorry if this doesnt follow canon pretty well i mostly did it from memory cause the wiki still isnt fully updated 💀

disclaimer: this fic discusses the topic of an absent parent, please proceed with caution if this is hurtful to you. also warning for canon typical violence and cursing. english is not my first language so please let me know if there are any mistakes.

📼 NOW PLAYING: Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Mind

Your mother had always been slightly overbearing and fearful, but the murder of Chrissy Cunnigham you think might actually kill her. Or at least will force her to lock you in your bedroom and flush the key down the toilet.

“You can’t go anywhere without telling me,” your mother tells you over breakfast, worriedly overcooking her bacon. “You hear me? I don’t want you running around town without me knowing. Or better yet, don’t go anywhere at all!”

You glare at Dustin’s chair, where your brother is munching on toast and eggs, hoping your mother takes the hint. She does, and so she shakes her head and says, “Dustin’s different.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Maybe this killer has a thing for pretty girls,” your mother shakes her head, shivering. “Chrissy Cunningham was such a nice and pretty girl, right your age.”

“You don’t know what that killer was thinking!” You groan. “Why can Dustin leave but I can’t?!”

“Dustin’s not an eighteen year old girl with an easily breakable neck.”

“He’s easier to man-handle!”

Dustin frowns, finally looking up from his breakfast. “I’m not!”

”Besides, do you even know where he was last night?” You ignore your brother’s protests, choosing to point at him as he scoffs in offense. “I bet you don’t, because he’s always sneaking out!”

“I’m not always sneaking out!”

“I try my best with you, Dusty,” she sighs, finally sitting down. “But your sister is right, you’re difficult to keep track of. You’re always running around, like those little legs have minds of their own.” She points the spoon she was using for her coffee at your face. “Don’t you throw that in my face, (Y/N).”

“Mom, you’re right,” you nod, sipping your orange juice, trying to appeal to her soft spot. “He is difficult to keep track off, and there’s a dangerous killer on the loose. How about I keep track of him? Make sure he’s not getting into any trouble, hm? I’ll make sure we’re always safe, together.”

Of course, you were planning on bolting as soon as you were out of your mom’s sight. You mom’s cat Tews meows somewhere across the room, as if he knows not to trust you. That damned furball.

“What the fuck? No!”

“Dusty! Language.”

“Mom,” Dustin says, exasperated. “I don’t need a babysitter. Much less a babysitter that’s also my annoying older sister.”

“No, you have Steve Harrington for that,” you mutter under your breath, and Dustin manages to kick you under the table. You glare at your little brother, then turn to address your mom once again. “I promise we’ll stay together. I know— no, I understand that it’s scary out there right now, but I can take care of myself. And Dustin. You have to trust me.”

“I trust you. It’s the murderer I don’t trust.”

“Mom—”

“Let me finish,” she stares pointedly at you, and you promptly shut up. “I don’t want you two sneaking out. But, it’ll make me feel better if the both of you are together.”

Dustin covers his face with his hands. “Shit.”

“Yes!” You squeal. You stick out your tongue at him, and he rolls his eyes. “Guess you’re stuck with me, Dusty.”

“Screw you.”

“Dusty, it’ll be fun. (Y/N), don’t taunt your little brother,” your mom scolds both of you into silence. “It’ll be like old times, won’t it? Aw, you two used to be thick as thieves back then.”

Dustin sighs, picking at his toast absent-mindedly. “Was there a murderer on the loose back then too?”

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

After breakfast, you give Dustin a ride until you arrive in a neighborhood that is most definitely not Lucas Sinclair’s like he told you it would be. You turn to stare at your brother before you unlock the car’s door, confused.

“Where are we?”

Dustin looks at your shoes. “I told you. Lucas’s.”

“Okay, you might lie to me whenever you want, just not to my actual face, Dustin.” You roll your eyes, and he mirrors you. “Seriously, why did you make me come all the way down here?”

“Why do you care?”

“I know we’re doing this to get mom off our backs, but there is actually a killer on the loose,” you say. “So, excuse me if I’m also a little wary about dropping you off at unknown locations, or whatever.”

“Fine,” Dustin sighs. “I’m here to see Max and Steve.”

“Steve?”

“Harrington.”

You blink at him. “Fucking Steve Harrington?”

“See?” Dustin rolls his eyes again. “This is why I didn’t tell you! You are extremely uncool about Steve, you know.”

“I’m not!” You try not to dwell about how defensive you sound even to yourself. “I’m extremely cool about him. I’m extremely cool about the fact you hang out with that douchebag with stupid hair.”

“He’s not a douchebag! I don’t get why you hate him so much.”

Because you remember him and his friends making fun of you all throughout High School, his sneering and stupid stares. Like your brother, you’d never fit in— you never liked going to parties or drinking and you never made an effort to be liked by him and his group of popular dorks, instead you spent most of your days in the library, reading, hiding from Steve and his friends. Whatever honorable things Dustin saw in Steve Harrington you think he might have imagined them.

Now, in your last year of High School and with Steve becoming a social pariah, you don’t have to hide the fact that you still dislike Steve as much as you did back when he was still King Steve. Steve, for however much Dustin insists that he’s changed, upon first meeting you had tried to sweet talk you as if he didn’t know who you were. And you had barely kept it together enough to tell him to fuck off. Ever since then, you and Steve Harrington had hated each other’s guts. Your mutual dislike of each other is not lost on Dustin, who continues to mostly ignore it and tiptoe around it as best as he can.

“He’s not not a douchebag,” You murmur. “Why is he hanging out with two fourteen year olds during spring break? Isn’t the barf bag, like, supposed to be in college, going to frat parties, having a life of his own?”

Dustin doesn’t appreciate the way you talk about him, clearly, but he still replies, albeit unhappily. “He’s helping me with something.”

“With what?”

Before Dustin can respond, someone knocks on Dustin’s window. You jump, surprised, but it’s just Steve and Dustin’s friend redhead Max, looking bored and impatient. You groan and reach over Dustin’s seat to roll the window down.

“Do you mind?” You say to Steve. “We’re talking.”

“Oh, great, she’s here,” Steve says, stepping away from the door.

"First of all, Harrington," You scoff, glaring at that mop of hair with all the rage you can muster. You ignore Dustin’s groan. "I have a name. Second of all, we are talking here—”

Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever—"

"You did not just roll your eyes at me—”

Dustin sighs. "Here they go."

“I did not roll my eyes—”

“You absolutely did!”

“There was something in my eyes.”

“That something was lies!”

“Jesus fuck,” Steve finally throws his arms up in exasperation and turns to your brother, ignoring your insults. “You done talking to your lovely sister there, Henderson? We got a counselor to see.”

“What?” You frown at Dustin, irritation immediately melting into concern. “What’s he talking about?”

“Steve, shut your mouth,” Dustin glares at Steve, who shrugs and finally steps away from the car. “Nothing, (Y/N), seriously. See you later?”

“No.” You shake your head. “What does he mean a counselor? Are you seeing Ms Kelly?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I promise. It’s—” he looks like he’s scrambling to think of an excuse, then his eyes land on Max. Something flashes across her face and she speaks next.

“It’s for me.” she says, “Chrissy died in my neighborhood.”

“She’s kind of freaking out,” Dustin says, and when you finally turn to look at Max you realize how tense she is, her shoulders square, with her lips forming a straight line.

“Oh. That sucks. Hey, Max.”

“Hey,” she greets, awkwardly. It’s part of her charm, you think.

“See?” Dustin asks. “Can I go now?”

You nod, a little shaken up for some reason. Maybe Chrissy’s murder still made you feel slightly ill, and the mention of it made you feel even worse. You couldn’t imagine what Max might be going through. It didn’t help that they had found another body this morning, either.

“Ye— yeah. Sorry. I hope everything’s alright, Max.”

“Yeah,” she nods.

Dustin nods to the door. “Can you unlock the car, then?”

You wordlessly comply, and as your little brother steps out of your mom’s blue Ford Cortina, you talk to Max once again. “Ms Kelly is great help. I’m sure she’ll make you feel better. She really helped me this year, you know, she’s a great listener.”

“Yeah, I know,” Max says. “I’ve been thinking about seeing her for a while, a—actually. I’ve heard she’s well… you know… fine, or whatever.”

“Hey, there’s no shame in that,” you shrug. “Lots of people go to see Ms Kelly… Actually, now that you mention it, Fred Benson, the guy they found this morning, was seeing Ms Kelly too. And Chrissy Cunningham.”

Dustin pauses before closing the car door. “What do you mean?”

You blink, slightly confused as to why you’d even bring it up. “I’ve seen them in Ms Kelly’s office before. I’m not sure why I’m even mentioning it, sorry.”

“No, no, (Y/N), that’s…” Dustin says, then doesn’t finish. “You’ve been seeing Ms Kelly too?”

“Yeah,” you nod, a little ashamed. You think about telling Dustin about everything that’s been going on, the nightmares, the guilt— but then you glance at his friends looking expectantly at him and cower. So you don’t continue.

It’s Steve who breaks the silence. “Henderson, chop chop, let’s go.”

“I’ll see you at home?” Dustin says, a little softer.

“Yeah, yeah. I was gonna go to Dinah’s near Ave Park, but do you think you’ll need a ride later?”

“Steve’s got his car,” he says. “Don’t wait up, okay?”

You nod, watching him leave.

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

It’s around eight PM, and Dinah is painting her toenails as you skim through one of her books, the soft hum of the TV in the background, entering through the open bedroom door. Her parents are watching the news, the news anchors are urging people to stay home and to lock their doors to be safe of this new serial killer.

Dinah’s house is your usual hangout spot beside your own. You don’t have many other friends, and there’s only so many times you can force Dustin to watch The Breakfast Club before he’s fighting you for the remote.

“It was all Matty could talk about,” Dinah continues to rant. “I can’t stand this murder talk any longer! I can only hear about Chrissy Cunningham’s missing eyeballs so many times, (Y/N), it’s way too fucking gruesome, but it’s all everyone in this town seems to care about.”

“It’s a pretty pressing issue,” when Dinah glares, you shrug. “I’m just saying! You know I agree with you. I don’t want to hear about it anymore.”

“Chrissy was always so nice, wasn’t she?” Dinah shakes her head, putting her nail polish back in her nightstand, then wraps her arms around her legs, hugging herself. “And Fred had a future in front of him. It’s so unfair. They had a family that loved them.”

“Dinah, I really don’t wanna talk about it,” you say, feeling yourself shiver. You don’t want to think about poor Fred or Chrissy, or the families mourning them. You try to focus on the book in your hands, but the words start blurring together, becoming harder and harder to read.

You blink, confused, then realize Dinah is still talking.

“It’s the truth, isn’t it? I think about their dads too. Chrissy’s dad was crying so much at her wake. Do you think your dad would ever cry for you like that?”

You finally snap to look back at your friend. She’s staring at you like you’re small, like an insect she could stomp on. You’ve never seen her black eyes seem so soulless, so empty.

“Maybe they’ll be tears of joy, don’t you think? After all, weren’t you the one who made him walk away?” She tilts her head to the side, a sneer forming in her lips. “They could be a family without you.”

There’s something wrong in Dinah’s eyes. There’s something wrong about all of this, but you can’t point to what, where are you, when, why…what…?

When you blink, Dinah’s eyes look normal again.

“(Y/N),” She asks, frowning. “Are you there?”

You shake your head. What the fuck was all that?

“What?”

“You were staring at me like you weren’t all here,” she explains, grimacing. “Where did you go just now?”

“Sorry…” When you speak you feel a dull ache around your temple, and you lift a hand to rest against it, trying to soothe the pain aimlessly. “I think I need some painkillers or something, my head’s killing me.”

“Again?”

“Yeah,” even before spring break you had confided in your friend about the headaches and the nightmares— you never told her why, but she at least knew you were seeing Ms Kelly.

Dinah stands up, careful not to stain the carpet with her fresh black nail polish. “I’ll ask my dad for some Tylenol. Stay here, I’ll be back in a sec.”

Before Dinah is out the door she’s interrupted by the doorbell, which rings once, twice, three times and more. Dinah frowns, as her dad yells I’m coming, Jesus!

“Someone’s impatient…” you murmur, hand still resting on your temple.

“Hey,” Dinah, who has always had great hearing, says. “I think it’s your brother.”

You frown, and when Dinah’s father confirms it’s your brother by yelling out that It’s little Henderson!, you and Dinah head downstairs to find a heavy breathing Dustin, Max, Lucas and even Steve Harrington, looking as if they just ran a marathon.

Dustin’s eyes land on you. “(Y/N)!”

“Dustin?” you say, “What are you doing here? You need a ride ho—?”

Dustin runs to hug you by the waist, almost knocking the air out of you.

“Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Is your nose bleeding? Do you feel—?”

“Woah, Dustin,” you don’t know what to do with your hands— you and Dustin hadn’t hugged since he turned twelve and he and you both deemed it lame. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

Dustin finally lets go of your waist to grab you by the face and inspect it properly. He roughly pulls your face down and tries to pull up your nose to look at your nostrils. “No nosebleed yet?”

Steve tries to stop him. “Dustin, buddy—”

Lucas adds a sustancial, “Dude.”

“Dustin!” you push his hands off your face, feeling your cheeks heat up when you notice everyone looking at you. “What the hell are you doing?”

Your brother opens his mouth to speak, but then seems to notice Dinah behind you and seems to think better of it. “We need to talk,” he says instead, “Like, right now.”

“Right now?” You ask. “I already told Dinah’s mom I’m staying for dinner. Dustin, what the hell is going on with you?”

Dinah clears her throat. “I’m… just gonna go get that Tylenol.”

“Tylenol?” Dustin asks when she walks away. “What for?”

“I have a headache.”

“Shit,” Max says, still by the door frame with Lucas and Steve.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dustin curses, deep in thought. “It’s already started.”

“What?” You ask as Dustin starts pacing back and forth.

“We need to find out how to stop this right fucking now,” Dustin starts pacing back and forth. “Think, everyone.”

“Maybe Robin and Nancy found something in the library,” Steve offers.

“Yeah,” Lucas nods. “C’mon, man. Let’s go find them.”

“Okay, yeah. Okay, okay.” Dustin calms himself down, manages to stop his pacing. “Let’s go wait for them at the Wheeler’s. (Y/N), let’s go.”

You throw your hands up in disbelief. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

“(Y/N),” Dustin says, his voice unfaltering. Dustin is never serious about much, and this renders you speechless. “I need you to listen to me for once in your goddamn life, okay? We need to go. Now.”

“Okay, Jesus,” you say finally. “Dinah’s mom is making Lasagna so this better be worth it, Dustin.”

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

On the way to Nancy Wheeler’s house, you learn two things: One, Dustin knows where a serial killer might be hiding, and two, your brother thinks you’re cursed and are going to die in, give or take, twenty four hours.

You glare at Steve Harrington in the rearview mirror. “What the fuck have you been giving him?”

“I’m serious!” Dustin yells. “I knew you wouldn’t fucking believe me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, because he looks genuinely frustrated, but a second dimension and a supervillain? Does your brother think you’re stupid? Just how many movies has he been watching? “I just think D&D might actually be getting to your head, Dustin. There’s no way what you just told me is real.”

“Lucas and Max know it’s real too!”

Both of them nod furiously.

“Are the other two fourteen year olds your only source?”

“Steve too!”

Steve winks at you through the rearview mirror.

“Even worse,” you say.

“Listen,” Lucas tries to reason when Dustin groans in frustration, cursing under his breath at you. “I know this sounds absolutely crazy, I wouldn’t believe it either. But I promise you it’s all true, and if we don’t do something soon about it you’ll end up like Chrissy and Fred.”

An involuntary chill runs down your spine every time you think about them.

“Guys,” you say, slowly, “I know things are scary right now, but I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for the murders besides a demon supervillain.”

“I didn’t believe it at first either,” Max shakes her head. “Not until I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Didn’t Ms Kelly’s file say the others who were cursed were also having hallucinations?” Steve asks the kids, looking for a place to park. “So, have you gotten any weird visions lately?”

Hallucinations? You think back, but can’t seem to pinpoint anything similar to that. Except tonight at Dinah’s place, before Dustin and the rest had rung the doorbell. Suddenly you grow a little paler, uncomfortable at the memory being brought back. That had been weird, but you were exhausted and knowing a serial killer, Eddie Munson, who apparently your brother knew, was out there still was making you restless.

“I wouldn’t really call them visions,” you murmur.

“Shit,” Dustin breathes, looking at you with wide eyes. “It’s spreading faster.”

“Listen, Dustin, I may be going through some shit lately, but I promise you I’m okay. I just need some painkillers for my head, seriously.”

“(Y/N)!” Your brother takes you by the shoulders and shakes you. “Your life is in imminent danger! You don’t need painkillers!”

“I do if you keep shaking me like a ragdoll!”

“Listen,” Lucas says, grabbing Dustin and prying him off you despite his protests. “Just stay with us tonight, okay? We’ll sleep at the Wheeler’s and it’ll make Dustin feel better, right? We’re all tired.”

“Dude—”

Lucas cuts Dustin off and whispers, “We’ll wait for what Nancy and Robin have to say and then figure out how to convince her later, yeah?”

Dustin sighs. “This was so much easier when El had her powers.”

“So yeah? You’ll stay the night?” Lucas asks, hopeful.

You see all three of the kids staring at you and cave in. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.” You say, at the same time Steve parks right in front of the Wheeler residence. Before you can even step out of the car another car pulls over by the garage and Nancy Wheeler and another girl you don’t know step out of it.

“Nance, Robin!” Steve exclaims as he stops the car and steps out. “Had fun at the library? I sure didn’t.”

“It went well, I think—”

“We have a situation,” Dustin is quick to interrupt, reaching over your space and popping his head out from the open window. “It’s my sister. We think Vecna cursed her.”

“Whatever that means,” you mumble, getting out of the car, Dustin trailing behind you and slamming the door shut.

“She doesn’t believe us,” Max explains.

“Well, I personally would be more weirded out if she did,” The girl you don’t know shrugs a little. You recognize her now— she worked with Steve at Scoops Ahoy last summer before the fire at Starcourt, and now works at Family Video. You’ve spoken a bit with her before.

“She’s been having visions, headaches, nosebleeds,” Dustin continues, “like Fred and Chrissy were, according to Ms Kelly’s files. I think Vecna is preying on vulnerable people, people dealing with...” he looks at you for a second, then back at the girls, settling on saying: “Some shit.”

“We found some articles about Victor Creel at the library,” Nancy says, then motions at the house with her chin. “Let’s talk inside.”

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

Nancy and Robin turn out to be as crazy as the rest of them— they tell the story of Victor Creel, infamous in Hawkins for murdering his entire family, and about how he was supposedly possesed by the devil according to some conspiracy newspaper. They want to talk to Victor, but the problem is that he’s now a patient at Pennhurst Mental Hospital and completely unreachable to the public. They plan to go first thing in the morning and the rest of the group seems to agree.

“We’ll need a disguise,” is Nancy’s big plan.

You never quite get that Tylenol, because the strongest thing Ms Wheeler has is green tea. You think everyone’s lost their goddamned minds.

“So what do you want me to do while all of you plan?” You ask, sitting on the couch. Nancy and Robin leave to Nancy’s room. Max and Lucas are by the desk in the corner speaking softly, Dustin is pacing around the room impatiently as he usually does when he’s this restless, while Steve is sitting on the couch beside you, playing with Dustin’s (or is it Mike’s?) walkie-talkie. “Am I allowed to eat something? Because I’m starving.”

Dustin snatches the walkie-talkie from Steve’s hand. “You’re gonna break that.”

Dustin’s, then.

“We don’t know yet,” Lucas says, walking over to where you are, holding Max’s hand gently. “We’re hoping the girls find out something from Victor. In the meantime…”

“You can eat,” Steve concludes. “... Right?”

“Right,” Max nods.

“We have to do something soon,” Dustin’s the most anxious you’ve ever seen him, even before you took him to see The Empire Strikes Back. “We don’t know how much time you even have once the visions and all the hallucinations start. We said twenty four hours but we can’t be sure.”

“If it helps, they started today. At Dinah’s.”

“You snapped out of it, right?” When you nod, Steve shrugs. “Henderson, I think we have time to order some pizza, at least.”

“And a movie?” You ask, finally relaxing into the couch. You toss away your shoes and hug them to your chest. “Does Mike have The Breakfast Club somewhere around here?”

“Not that movie again,” Dustin groans.

You throw a pillow at your brother, who manages to dodge it easily. “It’s a great movie!”

“It lost its charm after the thirteen time you forced me to watch it with you.”

“The Breakfast Club?” Steve asks aloud. “(Y/N) Henderson is obsessed with The Breakfast Club? Is that why Dustin is always renting it at Family Video?”

Dustin huffs, offended. “Why else would I want to rent that stupid movie?”

“Molly Ringwald,” Steve answers, at the same time you yell out, “It’s not stupid!”

When Nancy comes downstairs she informs you that sadly no, she doesn’t have The Breakfast Club, but that she should. She does have the soundtrack, however, and you think about asking to borrow it tomorrow before she goes back upstairs to order a pizza.

A while later it’s almost midnight, everyone around you is tired, except maybe for Dustin, but the majority wins and you all decide getting some sleep is the best option. You agree, but know that you’re probably not getting any sleep tonight, either; you’ve been having nightmares every night for the past few days and you don’t believe today is going to be any different.

When the lights go off and everyone is already starting to doze off, Dustin is quick to turn his flashlight on.

“Dude! Turn that off!” Steve moans, launching a pillow straight into his face. Dustin doesn’t dodge this one this time, much to Robin and Steve’s satisfaction, who chuckle lightly.

“C’mon, Dustin, what the hell?” Lucas groans.

“Shut up! I’m trying to see if I can find something else in Ms Kelly’s files!”

“Dude,” Max sighs, “you’ve read them each four times already.”

“You won’t be able to find anything if you’re exhausted,” Nancy tries more softly. “Just try to sleep for a bit, okay?”

“Dustin, c’mon,” you reach for his hand— it’s a bit uncomfortable from your position on the couch and his on the floor, but you do it anyway. That seems to soothe him slightly, to see you still offering comfort, like you’re still yourself. He manages a weak nod, and he squeezes your hand slightly before turning the flashlight off.

After a few minutes, Dustin starts snoring loudly. Steve, who you’re unfortunately stuck sharing the couch with, chuckles.

“He’s a good kid,” he says.

“Yeah,” you can’t help but agree. You wouldn’t trade your dork brother for anything. “He’s great. When he was little, he used to wet his bed all time after watching scary movies with me, and he’d wake me up to change his sheets so my dad wouldn’t yell at him for ruining them.”

“Steve raises a silent eyebrow at you, sounding amused. “And you actually did that?”

“I forced him to watch them. I felt bad,” you smile at the memory. “He would offer to wash the dishes for me, though.”

“Your moral compass is stronger than mine,” he hums.

“You know, he…” you start, unsure if Dustin would be upset if you shared this, then decide it’s not as embarrassing as telling him he used to wet his bed, and continue, “he really admires you. God knows why, Harrington, but he worships the ground you walk on.”

“Henderson?” He asks, a little in disbelief. “I don’t know—”

“I’m serious, Harrington. He loves you,” You hoped you didn’t sound jealous. There had been a time where you thought Steve was almost a replacement for you as an older sibling, but as time went on you realized how important Steve was to him.

“Well. I’m pretty loveable.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure.”

“He’s pretty loveable, too,” Steve says after a few beats of silence, more softly now. “I don’t have any siblings, did you know that? So it’s… uhm, really cool to have him around. Even if he’s kind of a little shit sometimes.”

“Such a little shit,” you agree.

The rest of the group seems to be asleep already, or maybe they don’t care about the conversation enough to join you. Steve starts telling you about the time Dustin burrowed his hair gel and almost set fire to his bathroom, and you have to cover your mouth to stifle your giggles.

It’s not long before you start to feel abnormally cold, and can’t keep your body from trembling. Steve’s gentle voice is gone. The room is dark around you, and realizing that you must’ve fallen asleep while talking with Steve at some point, you hug yourself trying to seek some warmth. You try to grab a blanket from somewhere. Jesus, it’s spring for fuck’s sake, it shouldn’t be this cold. But you realize that despite the darkness you can see, and when you look up at the ceiling, you find a grandfather clock that most definitely doesn’t belong in the Wheeler’s basement.

“(Y/N).”

The voice calling your name is unfamiliar and it makes you feel ill almost immediately, like your stomach has turned into nothing but knots. You try to speak, to ask who it is, but nothing comes out, you can barely even breathe.

“Do you think you could ever keep living with this guilt?” The voice asks, somehow you feel as if the voice is right behind you, whispering into your ear. It’s like nails scraping against chalkboard in your eardrums. “Knowing what you did to your family?”

You want to turn around and find the voice, but you can’t, you can’t, you can’t. The clock is ticking, haunting you, calling for you. You want nothing but to run away from it, but you can’t move— you’re glued in place somehow, maybe in fear, you can’t tell. Everything is uncertain, except for the clock. The clock, you know, it’s real.

It’s counting down. You know what it’s trying to tell you. It’s coming for you and you can’t escape it. It’s only a matter of time now.

“Soon, (Y/N)...” It whispers. “Soon, I’ll come for you, and no one will be able to help you, (Y/N)... (Y/N). (Y/N)!”

You open your eyes with a gasp to find Steve’s arms around your shoulders, shaking you slightly. His eyes are wide, a little frightened. When you look around you find Lucas and Max draped all over a chair, their chests rising slowly, asleep. Dustin is in a sleeping bag on the floor, near Robin and Nancy, hugging each other tightly in their sleep. Steve is the only one awake.

“Shit,” you say, placing your hand in your heart. “Did I wake you?”

“We were talking and then you just went somewhere,” he says. “You don’t remember?”

You suddenly feel very cold. “I thought I was sleeping. I saw…” You think about telling Steve, but it seems pointless now, almost. What would you tell him? You saw a clock? “I think it was one of those hallucinations you guys keep talking about. You’re really freaking me the hell out, you know.”

“Fuck, I think Dustin’s right,” he says.

“About me being cursed by a being from another dimension? Are you kidding?”

Steve does manage to look apologetic. “I know it sounds bonkers, but that’s because it is. I’ve seen it.”

“What? This other dimension?” You were starting to think Dustin and his nanny were just trying to play an extremely elaborate joke on you.

“The Upside Down, but no,” he shakes his head, and then his eyes land somewhere around the room, focusing on one of Mike’s many posters. “The monsters.”

“Vecna?”

“Others,” he says, then murmurs, “Haven’t had the pleasure just yet.”

“The demoger…? What was it?”

“Demogorgon, yeah,” he grumbles. “The Mind flayer too. It’s all real. I wish Will and Eleven were here to actually explain this stuff; they are the ones who actually know their stuff about this.”

You have never seen Steve actually sound so… serious, before. It’s all actually starting to freak you out, you decide, and you aren’t sure if you actually want to find out if it’s all actually real or not. You stay silent for a few moments, sleep escaping you. You figure Steve’s fallen asleep until his voice startles you again.

“You okay there, Henderson?”

No, you want to say. You can’t shake the feeling that the voice is watching you, waiting to catch you by surprise. “Yeah,” you mumble, sleepless, scared.

Steve doesn’t seem to buy your answer however, because you feel his body shifting near your side of the couch, sitting right beside you. When you give him a look (he’s so close he can actually make it out) he clicks his tongue.

“See, I don’t really believe you, Henderson. So, I’m gonna stay near you, just in case you get another vision. Or if you want to hold my hand.”

“Screw you, Steve,” You glare, turning to the other side so that your view is Harrington-less. If you do feel better with him beside you, that’s between you and maybe Vecna, if he’s actually inside your head.

In the morning, when you wake up and Nancy and Robin are both gone (probably visiting a murderer in a mental hospital) and Steve is tangled up beside you, you decide you’ve had enough.

“So we’re just gonna wait around to see what happens?” Dustin argues, as Lucas and Max try to reason with him.

“What else can we do?” Lucas asks, frustrated.

“Literally anything else, dude! My sister might die!”

“Okay, Dustin, you need to stop and we need to go home, now,” you tell him, looking around the basement for your jacket.

“No!” he points at you. “You’re not going anywhere until we know what to do.”

“Dustin. I’m four years older than you,” you glare, placing your hands on your hips. “I’m the older sibling. I’ve entertained this enough already, but I left mom’s car at Dinah’s and we need to go get it and then get our asses home before mom loses her shit.”

“(Y/N)! Listen to me!”

“No, Dustin!” You finally snap, taking Dustin’s walkie-talkie from his hand and shoving it into your bag despite his protests. “I’ve had enough about monsters and other dimensions and whatever other nonsense Eddie Munson has been feeding you! We’re going home, now!”

“I can’t believe I’m actually trying to help you!” Dustin screams, “You suck!”

“Well, you’re stuck with me!”

“I wish I wasn’t,” he says, his eyes cold. “I wish you weren’t my sister.”

The chills return like a slap across your face, making you stumble backwards slightly. The room around you turns dark immediately, the only person left is Dustin in front of you. But it’s not him, it can’t be, his eyes have never looked this lifeless.

“You took his chance away, didn’t you?” The unfamiliar, bone chilling voice returns. “His chance of having a real family, or at least a father figure. He’s right in wishing you weren’t his sister. He deserves someone better.”

Again you want to scream, but it’s like your mouth is taped shut. Around you Mike Wheeler’s basement seems to fade away into blue, and suddenly you’re standing on your front porch, watching your dad walk away. You’re saying the hardness around your eyes, your lips drawn into a tight line. You don’t look like yourself; you look older, and tired, and disappointed, more like a woman than the girl you were when this happened, the girl you must’ve been.

“Don’t come back again,” you tell your father’s retreating form. But your voice is distorted, so far away.

“How many times has Dustin needed his father?” The voice asks. When you blink you’re somewhere else; not Mike’s basement, not your home. There’s splinters of wood scattered by your feet, like a house just destroyed. Everywhere around you is red, like blood, like the blood in those horror movies you forced Dustin to watch because he made them less scary when he squealed. “Are you proud you broke up your family?”

“I was a kid,” you manage to say, and only now you realize you’ve been crying all along, the salty tears wetting your dry lips. “I didn’t want Dustin to know what he did. I would take it back if I knew he wouldn’t actually come back.”

“But you did it anyway. You did.”

I did, I did, I did, you think, over and over. You close your eyes, hard, ignoring how it almost hurts.

“You miss him too, don’t you? Despite everything. You’re sadder about the fact that he left you, too. He left his daughter behind.”

“Who are you?” You hiss out, through your anguish.

“I’m part of you, (Y/N). Whether you want to or not.”

You’re not alone. When you open your eyes you see him — a monster, vicious even in looks, like someone slowly peeled away his skin, and all that was left of him was muscle and meat, not even blood. Vecna. Around you there are two different bloody columns, and you’re quick to notice they’re holding Chrissy and Fred’s bodies, like morbid museum displays, tokens. He was right, Dustin was telling the truth about everything, and now you were going to die because you didn’t listen to him.

“No,” you want to say, you want to scream. But you’re not strong enough, you can’t—

Hey, hey, hey, hey

You blink through your tears. You manage to recognize that melody in this unfamiliar place. You want to run towards it, but you’re not sure your legs can even respond to your commands right now.

Vecna seems to think something’s wrong, too, because as the song progresses he grows more impatient. “You think you can escape like this?”

Tell me your troubles and doubts

Giving everything inside and out and

Love's strange, so real in the dark

Think of the tender things that we were working on

His hands— his claws are stroking your cheeks, an aborted tender gesture, like he’s trying to soothe his prey before going for the kill. It’s over, you think, there’s nothing but this certain death. But then; you think of the hundreds of times you forced Dustin to watch this movie with you; of you both playing with Tews until he scratches one of you in annoyance; driving Mike, Lucas, Dustin and Will to the movies; getting ice cream at Scoops Ahoy and guggling when Steve gets rejected once again; putting Dustin’s hair in braids and practicong makeup on him when he was younger; asking Will Byers what he was sketching at the park; Dustin and you laughing during dinner because of some stupid joke. You think about last night, sleeping beside Steve, and the way he made you laugh.

Don't you, forget about me

Don't, don't, don't, don't

Don't you, forget about me

You can’t give up. You can’t leave Dustin.

Somehow you manage to pull Vecna off you with a shove, and you run. You run, you run as fast as your legs let you, as your jeans stain with what looks like blood, as Vecna screams at you. You run like you've never run before.

And then you gasp and you’re falling.

“Shit, fuck, shit!” Someone’s arms are around you, and it takes you a second to calm down to realize it’s Steve, and that you’re in Mike Wheeler’s basement and you’re alive, somehow.

“Holy fucking shit,” Max is saying, but you can barely hear her over the rapid beating of your own heart— erratic, but unquestionably alive.

“God, god, (Y/N),” Dustin’s voice stands out from the others, and when you look at him there are tears streaming down his eyes, and you can barely process anything before you’re trying to reach for him despite feeling like you’re not even in your own body.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, Steve letting go of yours. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“I thought you were gonna die,” he whimpers.

“I’m here,” you breathe out. “Oh my God, I’m here thanks to you.”

You realize that the song is still playing, only to notice the headphones in your ears. You see your scattered bag around the room, and the walkie-talkie that Dustin must’ve been looking for already on the floor. Don’t You (Forget About Me) slowly fades to an end before the next song on the soundtrack starts.

“I’m sorry,” Dustin says into your shirt. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were going through something, I should’ve noticed. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” You shake your head, holding your little brother even closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. Fuck, Dustin, I’m so sorry.”

You stay like that for a moment, hugging Dustin on the carpet, Max and Lucas hovering near, and Steve’s hand on your shoulder, grounding you.

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

When you explain to Nancy what happened and what you saw once she comes back from Pennhurst she’s quick to pinpoint the house you saw when you met Vecna as Victor Creel’s house. All of you grab your things and head to that location. You try to not feel so dreadful, and Dustin forcing you to listen to Don’t You the entire car ride and holding onto your jacket sleeve helps soothe your nerves, at least a little bit.

But Victor Creel’s house is something out of a horror story, dark and abandoned as it is, and the only light source in the house seems to be the hole Robin made when she smashed the window.

“Let’s split up,” Nancy offers, and everyone seems to comply much to your dismay.

Lucas and Max leave to investigate with Dustin (reluctantly parting from your side) trailing off behind them, Nancy and Robin head upstairs and you and Steve are stuck together and instructed to stay downstairs by Nancy, the only thing illuminating your way being your flashlights.

You wander through hallways, staring at ruined wallpaper and dusty portraits. Victor and his family seemed so happy in their pictures, and you wonder why nobody, family or not, ever came to look for their things. The house seemed frozen in time, like one day the family had decided to get up and leave everything behind, the house nothing more than ghosts.

“I hate this place,” you comment, trying to hug yourself tightly to keep the cold at bay. “Thinking that people died here is…”

“Horrible,” Steve finishes for you. “Yeah… Fuck this place, man.”

When you turn to a corner, you freeze in place.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re seeing this, right?” You point at a clock with your flashlight, unmoving. It’s the same clock from your visions, the one you saw before meeting Vecna.

“Yeah,” Steve frowns. “Real old. Why?”

“I saw it,” you try to explain through the rapid beating of your own heart. “In my visions, I mean. This clock was in them— well, the second one, mostly. In the Wheeler’s basement last night.”

“Shit…” Eloquent as ever, Steve Harrington. “Has to mean something, right?”

“If anything it proves Nancy and Robin were right. It all started here.” You finally force yourself to look away and continue forward, ignoring the way you feel your skin crawling. You hold up your cassette before re-starting the song. “What would happen if I suddenly got tired of this song? Will it no longer work? Does this mean Vecna will… come back for me?”

“Listen, I— I’m not a genius at this like your brother, or like Nancy, or even Robin,” Steve admits, very honestly. “But I promise we’ll find a way, even if that happens. Besides, Dustin told us how much you love this song. Seems kinda impossible you’ll ever get tired of it if you listen to it every day. And listen, I gotta ask. Breakfast club?”

“What?” You feel heat rise up to your cheeks, embarrassed. You start walking away from the clock, trying to get rid of the chills that had gotten ahold of you just a few moments before. “It’s a great movie.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Steve says, and even though you can’t really see him in the dark, you can hear his smirk, picture his smile. He’s teasing, and you’re kind of glad for it. It helps. “I just didn’t think it would be your thing, is all.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s my thing then?”

“I don’t know. You seem like a Dune fan, maybe.” He wonders out loud, your flashlight lighting the way.

“I do like the book.”

“See?” Steve points at his temple. “I knew it.”

“I think working at Family Video is finally getting to you.”

“I’m good at reading people,” he says, and you raise another silent eyebrow at him. He continues, “I’d always thought of you as a little brainiac, and that you’d liked movies that were kinda difficult. You were always reading in school. I didn’t think you’d like teen flicks and Hughes.”

“Dune is not difficult. And maybe you don’t really know me enough to know what my thing is,” you shrug. “... Or maybe every girl is a little bit in love with Judd Nelson.”

“Yeah,” Steve actually laughs. “Can’t beat that hair.”

And you can’t help yourself, you smirk. You think you might actually be dreaming, or maybe this curse made Steve seem more tolerable than usual. “You give him a good run for his money.”

“We’re still talking about hair here, right?”

Now you point your flashlight at Steve and elbow him.

“I’m just asking!”

“It was a stupid question. And just so you know, there’s nothing wrong about liking teen flicks,” you say, continuing to walk and not waiting to see if Steve follows. “Pretty in Pink is my new favorite movie and my GPA is still 3.5.”

“Oh wow. Pretty in Pink?” He whistles. “You have a soft spot for Molly Ringwald.”

“Who doesn’t?”

He hums in response.

You stay like that for a moment, walking through dusty hallways and trying to avoid spider webs. Even with the flashlights the place looks abandoned and lonely, and there’s a coldness running down your spine that you can’t shake off no matter how much you try. You focus on trying to catch the sound of Steve’s breathing to somehow ground yourself to reality. It feels like ever since meeting Vecna your grip on reality slowly fades away, like someone is unraveling the carpet from underneath you, trying to catch you by surprise. Like you’re falling into an abyss of darkness and you can’t hold onto anything— because nothing around you is truly real. And so you bite your lip to keep yourself from reaching out to Steve and holding on. You can’t think of a moment you’ve felt as uncertain as you do now; but Steve’s teasing and your bickering back and forth is normal, makes you feel like you’re not actually in immediate danger. You figure if there’s a different dimension called the Upside Down, then you can most definitely forgive Steve Harrington for being a jerk in High School. He has more than proven himself to you.

Because the truth is that maybe Vecna will win. Maybe you will never beat this curse. And you’ll end up like Chrissy Cunningham, like Fred Benson, like Patrick McKinney; just dead bodies along the trail.

“Hey, Steve,” you call, slowing down to walk beside him. He turns to look at you, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Uhm. If something… like, happened to me—”

“Woah, woah, wait,” Steve shakes his head. “Nothing will. We beat the curse, remember? With the song?”

“Yeah, but we didn’t actually beat it, did we?” Now you do turn to look at him, and his big eyes almost render you speechless. You don’t know what to call the look on his eyes, but it makes you want to look away from him; makes you want to run. “Listen, Steve, I just— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, quickly. You think he’s noticed how embarrassed you feel, and you look away, embarrassed. “You’re just scared shitless like the rest of us.”

“It’s not that,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry for being such a jerk around you and picking fights with you. You’ve— you’ve been there for Dustin when I wasn’t, and I guess you’re not actually a bad guy. So… I’m sorry I judged you. And thank you, I guess. For being there for Dustin. And… me.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a second. You’re still looking anywhere but him, now focusing your eyes on a spider in one of the many spider webs in front of you. You feel embarrassed and stupid, but a little bit better. You know you’re doing the right thing by apologizing— you know Steve now, better than you’ve ever thought you would. You finally dare to take one look at him and his eyes are still on you, and when your eyes lock, he smiles softly.

“You’re apologizing for that?” Steve asks, and when you nod matter of factly, he tilts his head to the side. “Huh. Never thought I’d see the day Henderson’s sister apologized to me.”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Harrington,” you roll your eyes, but can’t help the small smile forming on your lips. “I’m only doing this because I might die.”

Steve chuckles, nodding. “Fair enough,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too, Henderson. To be honest, I think I kind of deserved it. I was an asshole in High School, so… yeah. I, uh, I’m sorry it took me getting kicked off the clique to realize you’re not half bad.”

“Well,” Now it’s your turn to laugh. “It took me almost dying to realize you’re not half bad either. I think we’re even.”

Steve stops in his tracks, making you stop, too, a little confused. You turn to look at him, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look quite so… earnest, maybe. You can’t name the look on his face, but you can’t look away, can’t seem to be able to keep walking. You’re frozen in place.

“You’re not gonna die, Henderson,” he says, determined. “I won’t let you.”

Your mouth goes dry. All you can do in response is nod. You want to say something, but the words escape you, and so you stare at each other for a few seconds, neither of you saying anything. You wonder if Steve can hear the rapid beating of your heart, if he can make out the way your eyes drop to his lips for a slow second despite the darkness around you both.

Then you hear Dustin yell out, “Guys!” and the moment fades away.

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

Finding Eddie at Skull Rock seems to be harder than it should be, and once you find him you’re made to follow Dustin’s apparently broken compass. You feel like you’re wandering through the desert, with no clear path in mind. Dustin is at the front, with Lucas and Max following closely behind, Eddie (who you now have a hard time believing would ever be able to kill anyone), Robin and Nancy in front of you and Steve.

You find yourself time and time again choosing to spend more time with Steve, that he seems to be the one able to actually make you feel grounded, like you’re not gonna die in the next three seconds. You feel like yourself around him; but different. Steve is different. This whole experience is making you rethink everything you’ve ever known.

You can’t help but wonder in the silence about Dustin and the others, guiding the rest of you through the night time in the forest. Despite all of them being younger than you, they don’t seem to need your help, especially Dustin, who you think is completely in his element leading the way.

After a while of walking in silence, Dustin announces that the compass seems to be going even crazier. At this, Robin pries it off his hands to confirm that it’s true. Eddie and Dustin argue for a second about following the compass and make another Lord of the Rings reference that has you smiling.

“He’s not half bad,” you comment. “Eddie, I mean.”

“I still don’t know what the hell Modor is,” Steve mumbles under his breath.

You don’t try to explain Lord of The Rings to him— you don’t think there’s even enough time. But, maybe one day, when Hawkins isn’t in imminent danger and Steve still wants to hang out with your uncool self for whatever reason.

“What do you think we’ll find wherever this stupid compass is taking us?” You ask him, trying to avoid accidentally stepping on some poison ivy. Just your luck to get cursed and also poisoned on the same week. “You know more about this than me.”

“I’m actually more like, the, uhm, action guy of the group.”

“So you’re telling me you don’t know where we’re going,” You conclude.

Steve nods. “No damn clue, Henderson.”

“Great,” you chuckle lightly.

“All I know is that it’s probably a portal Vecna opened after killing someone.”

“A portal. To the upside down?” When Steve nods in confirmation, you sigh. “I still can’t get used to how crazy this is.”

“The third time you do this you kind of just start going with the flow of things,” Steve admits. “Russian spies, MK-Ultra, different dimensions, monsters— it all just kind of starts to sound like background noise.”

“Dustin and the kids seem to really know about all of this.”

“They do,” Steve nods. “Dustin is like, their leader. Our leader, I guess.”

“My little brother… fighting communists and monsters.” You shake your head. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. How did Nancy? With you and Mike?”

Steve stops for a second to frown at you. “With me?”

“You know, with Nancy and you dating.”

“Me and Nancy?” he asks, then shakes his head. “No, me and Nance just… we go way back, but she’s with Jonathan. That ship sailed a long time ago. We’re friends now. Besides, she’s the one killing more monsters than me.”

“Oh.”

There’s no way to ignore the way your heart skips a beat at this, or the hopeful glint in Steve’s eyes. The rest of the woods disappear and it’s only you and Steve and your rapidly beating heart. The others are lost to you, in their own little world, searching in the dark with their flashlights like fireflies.

“Yeah,” Steve scratches the back of his neck. “And, just in case, me and Robin are not a thing, either. Just friends.”

“Platonic with a capital P!” You hear Robin yell out in front of you.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you at Steve’s blush. “Yeah, yeah, think she got it, Buckley, thanks.”

“You’re welcome!”

“That’s… good to know,” you comment.

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, then scratches his chin. “Is it? Good to know?”

You nod slowly, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe.”

“Maybe. Okay. Maybe is—” he breathes out. “Maybe is cool.”

“Maybe is really cool,” you allow yourself a small smile.

“Really?” Steve inquires, and when he notices his smile he gifts you one of his own. “Okay. That’s great. Maybe is really cool. Cool. Cool beans.”

“Yeah?” You bite your lip, finally daring to look at him.

Steve follows your movement with his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, breathless.

“Hey guys,” Dustin’s voice rings out, the moment gone. “I think we found the portal!”

You both follow Dustin’s voice until you reach a lake, where Eddie explains Vecna killed Patrick when he was running away from Jason and the rest of the basketball team.

“So the portal is… what?” Robin asks, “Underwater?”

Dustin shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

He starts climbing up the boat, and you’re quick to grab him by the sleeves of his shirt to stop him.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” You ask him.

“Looking for the portal,” Dustin says, matter-of-factly.

“You told me this portal is supposed to teleport you to another dimension, one Will Byers got stuck in,” you reply, pulling him away from the boat. “You’re not going anywhere near that portal. None of you kids are.”

“Who died and made you the boss?”

“Three people died,” you note.

“I made her the boss,” Robin quips. “Well, Nancy might technically be the boss, actually. Nance?”

Nancy blinks at Robin’s words. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“Nance says yes.”

Eddie frowns. “Yes to being the boss or yes to—”

“Let’s just go,” Nancy urges, gesturing at Steve to help her drag the boat offshore. Steve complies, and helps Nancy climb into the boat, followed by Robin and then Eddie.

“But what about the curse?” Dustin wonders, looking at you.

“I have this, remember?” You hold up the cassette player, and wink at your brother. “Don’t worry about me, okay? Look after Lucas and Max. Nancy might be the boss, but you’re their leader.”

“Okay, yeah,” he nods, sounding more like he’s talking to reassure himself than anything.

“Compass, please,” you tell him, and Dustin complies unhappily. You can’t help yourself from grabbing him by the cheeks and kissing his forehead like you did when he was younger. Despite being a good leader, a fighter, he’ll always be little Dusty, who steals your waffles and makes really bad coffee. “See you soon.”

Steve offers his hand to help you climb the boat and you take it with a tiny smile.

The trip on the boat is short and dark. Even with Steve using his flashlight to try and light the way, it’s barely enough to keep you from being engulfed in the darkness of the night. When was the last time the moon shone down in Hawkins? There are almost no stars above, the view chillingly dark. You fear what you might find. Nancy stares at Dustin’s compass, trying to give any semblance of direction when the compass starts going crazy.

Steve starts pulling off his socks.

“Steve,” Nancy says slowly, “what are you doing?”

“Somebody’s gotta go down there and check this thing out. Was one of you four Hawkin’s High’s swimming co-captain and a certified lifeguard for three years?” He figures, already working on his other shoe. “It’s gotta be me, no complaints, alright?”

Eddie chuckles nervously. “Hey… I’m not complaining. I do not wanna go down there.”

You watch as Eddie takes something off his pocket and throws it on the boat’s floor. You want to stop Steve somehow, irrationally, because as far as you know Nancy, Robin and Eddie can’t dive, and you can barely float — but the words die on your throat when you look up and Steve is peeling off his shirt.

“Here,” Eddie says, and you realize now he had wrapped a plastic bag around a flashlight and is now handing it back to Steve. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, taking it from his hands.

“Steve,” Robin rasps out before he dives, and Steve stops to look at her. “Don’t… die?”

“Gee,” he scoffs. “Thanks for the encouraging speech, Robs.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Don’t die, seriously,” you manage to tell him, wanting to reach for his hand but stopping yourself. “Or I’ll kill you.”

Steve nods. He looks like he wants to say something else, but keeps his mouth shut before diving underwater.

The silence on the boat almost kills you, as it rocks quietly, everyone holds their breath waiting for Steve to come up once again. Your heart is in your throat, Don’t You still playing softly in your eardrums, the cassette player still on, a constant to remind you you’re still here. Miraculously.

“He’s…” Eddie whistles. “He’s got balls, King Steve.”

“Yeah,” you nod, looking at the water like you’re hypnotized, waiting for his soaked head to pop up.

“Not what you’d expect,” he adds, a little quietly.

“No,” Robin says, and the way she says it— so fond, so genuine. You couldn’t agree more. Steve is so much more than what you’d expected him to be. “Not at all.”

You stay silent for a few more seconds, all of you waiting for Steve to come back. When he does he emerges with a gasp for air, startling the rest of you. Eddie screams so loud you hear it perfectly well over the music.

“Found it,” Steve claims, holding onto the edge of the boat.

“You found it?” Nancy repeats.

“It was pretty wild,” Steve explains that he seemed to have stumbled into the portal, like an open gate illuminating the bottom of the lake and tinting it red. “It was pretty damn big—”

Before he can continue, Steve is pulled into the water once again, and you jump up instinctively, trying to reach for his hand, but he escapes your grasp quickly. He emerges again and you breathe a sigh of relief— but it’s short lived, because Steve is dragged under once again and he’s not coming up.

“Steve!” you yell. “Steve!”

“What the hell was that, man?!”

Between all the screaming going on, the only thing you can think about is Steve, Steve, Steve—

And so you stand up.

“Wait, (Y/N),” Nancy starts, “What are you—”

“You’re not going in there!” Eddie screams, trying to grab you by the arm.

“I—” You start, but can’t seem to decide on what to say. You don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you know you’ll do it anyway. You have no plan, that much is certain, you’ve never fought a day in your life. “I can’t just stay here!”

“Are you insane?!”

Robin pales. “No, (Y/N), wait—”

With one last look at the rest of the guys, you dive into the water and swim. You’ve never been a good swimmer, but you find yourself swimming like you’ve never had, quickly finding the red portal Steve had mentioned before being dragged down here. What you find on the other side reminds you of when you met Vecna— when he showed you your memories, cold, distorted and dark. You briefly wonder if Vecna had managed to drag you all the way here then, but you have no time to dwell on it too much.

Steve is laying on his back, as some creatures bite at his abdomen incessantly, like leeches. They are choking him, curling their tails around his neck. You stand up and run towards him, only to notice the others have followed behind you, their wet footsteps a reassurance.

“(Y/N)!” Nancy yells, making you turn. She throws one of the boat’s paddles at you, keeping one for herself.

You manage to catch it, God knows how. Steve is still struggling when you get to him, and the first thing you do is smack one of the things across the face, forcing it on its back and stopping it from further gnawing Steve’s abdomen. You see as Robin starts stomping on the one who has its tail curled around Steve’s neck, and Nancy takes on the other one.

“Shit,” Eddie murmurs when he looks up the sky and sees even more of them approaching.

One of them starts going after Nancy, Eddie trying to come to her rescue by grabbing Steve’s still working flashlight and smacking it as hard as he can manage. You help Robin by hitting the one she’s stomping on with the paddle, until Steve manages to bite its tail, forcing it to curl itself from his neck.

With more coming, you are distracted enough to barely notice when Steve manages to behead it, his lips stained with pitch black blood.

“Jesus christ,” Eddie mumbles. “Jesus H Christ!”

The adrenaline pumping through your veins, your heartbeat going faster— everything seems to go for so long, when in reality it must’ve been just a few minutes.

“Steve,” you manage to rasp out, walking towards him, only looking at his wounds, unsure of what you can do to help him. “Shit, Steve, are you okay?”

“They only took about a pound of flesh,” he says, making you sigh. “But other than that… Yeah, never better.”

He stares at you when he says it, and you can’t help the way your breath catches.

“You’ll need bandages,” Nancy notes.

“Do you guys know if these bats have like, rabbies?” Robin wonders aloud. Aware that everyone’s eyes are on her, Robin starts rambling about rabies symptoms and death. You and Steve glance at each other.

Steve’s chest is still rising erratically, exhausted, when he asks, “What the hell are you talking about, Robin?”

Before Robin can go on any longer though, the sky is tinted red again, and the screeching of even more approaching creatures gets you on edge.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” you say, and the rest of the group seem to agree.

The five of you break into a run into the forest, as far as you can before Steve’s wounds start to appear more serious, and when Nancy deems it safe enough, you stop near a tree where Steve can lean against, still breathing rapidly. You remember that Nancy said he’d need bandages, and so you take the hem of your pants and start ripping them open.

“What are you—” Steve starts.

“Bandages,” you say. “I saw this in Indiana Jones.”

“Indiana Jones?” Steve asks with a chuckle, looking up at the sky, smiling. “Your movie choices keep surprising me, Henderson.”

You tie the cloth around his wounds as tightly as you can, hopeful that it’s a good enough job to keep him from bleeding out until you guys get out of here. The wounds don’t look too bad, but you have no idea how long you'll stay here for. Nancy, looking over your shoulders, seems to approve of your bandage work.

“Thanks,” Steve rasps out.

“Just don’t die on me,” you nod, staring at his eyes.

“I’ll try not to.”

He holds your gaze, your mouth going even more dry than it already is. “I’ll hold you to that, Harrington.”

You’re interrupted when Steve catches something behind you. It’s Eddie’s jean vest. When you turn, Eddie scrunches up his nose.

“For modesty, man.”

“We escaped now, but there’s more of those monsters than what we saw,” Nancy interrupts, walking around, trying to think. “They’ll come looking for us. We need to get out of here.”

“So,” Eddie starts, running a hand through his mouth. “What the hell do we do now? How do we get out of here, exactly?”

“We need to find another portal, right?” Robin replies. “That’s the only way to get out of here. But we can’t go back to Watergate, it’s probably full of those bats now. Those bats full of rabies!”

“Right now, the most important thing is to defend ourselves,” Nancy says. “We don’t know what kind of monsters are down here. Maybe they’re even worse than that.”

“Hell,” Eddie breathes. “You think Vecna is here?”

“I don’t know… Maybe.”

A chill runs down your spine at the mention of Vecna’s name. Your hand flies to your ear, and only then you realize you’ve jumped in the water with your headphones on, and when you reach the player secured inside your front pocket it’s wet and broken. Through the adrenaline of the fight, you hadn’t even noticed that the song was no longer playing.

“Shit,” Nancy breathes out, looking at your ruined headphones. “The player.”

“It’s ruined,” you lament, seeing the way it’s soaked. You toss the cassette player to the ground, near Steve’s feet, who pales even more, if it’s even possible.

“Fuck,” he says, breathless, the slight reassuring smile he’d been wearing disappears in an instant. He stands up straight despite his body clearly protesting against it. “We need to find another one before it’s too late.”

“Would it even work here?” Robin wonders. “If it’s one from the Upside Down, I mean. Things seem to be… kind of broken here, don’t they?”

“Then we need to get her out of here right now,” Steve urges, and when he starts trying to walk away it’s Eddie who stops him.

“Dude, do you want your intestines to hang out of your abdomen like some shitty Nightmare on Elm Street scene?” he asks, “Stay still! Those bats could be anywhere!”

“We need to move!”

“Steve, wait a second,” you urge after him.

“We could go to my house,” Nancy offers. “I have guns. We could use them to fend off the demo… bats, or whatever. And we need a player. We can use Mike’s, he has one he didn’t take to California.”

Eddie blinks. “You, Nancy Wheeler… have guns.”

Robin grins. “Full of surprises, isn’t she?”

Steve is already on his way despite his groans of pain, and even though the wounds had seemed pretty superficial to you when you wrapped them up, it doesn’t mean that they don’t hurt like a bitch.

“Steve, you’re just hurting yourself even more now,” Now Robin is sighing, exasperated. You briefly wonder how many times she’s had to deal with Steve like this.

“Let’s go,” he says, ignoring her.

“Steve...” you try to stop him, but he turns around quickly.

“Let’s go!”

Robin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Where are we even going, oh great leader?”

“Nancy’s!”

You all turn to look at each other, unsure if following Steve is the best idea, but with nothing else to do and no other ideas, there’s only one thing to do.

And so you all start walking.

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

It’s a while before you arrive at the Wheeler’s, the five of you mostly exhausted from the fight, with Steve clutching his wounds but still leading the way, right next to Nancy. You’re all on edge the entire way back, but despite the lack of music you don’t feel different yet, and you don’t encounter any more demobats, as Nancy had called them.

Nancy’s house seems haunted in this place, just as much as the rest of Hawkins seems to be. Despite housing monsters, the Upside Down looks more like a ghost town than anything. You couldn’t help but wonder how tiny Will Byers had ever survived something like this so young… Nobody ever gives that kid enough credit.

Nancy wastes no time climbing up the stairs; she almost seems unaffected looking at her house like this, so… dead. She hovers near a door and turns to look at you.

“This is Mike’s room,” she nods at it. “His cassette player should be in there. Me, Eddie and Robin will get the guns and look for the cassette in my room.”

You agree to it, and she disappears down the hallway along with Eddie and Robin. You and Steve enter Mike’s room, start rummaging through cabinets. You work in silence. You’ve never seen Steve this quiet, this focused. You wonder if he’s mad at you— he had to be. Now besides demobats and trying to escape, he had to help you too because you’d went and done something stupid and completely irrational.

Steve clears his throat, holding up something in his hand. “Found it,” he calls. “Think it’ll work?” He wonders aloud, as you close the closet door before walking up to him.

“Here,” You say, then pull your ruined flashlight from your back pocket. You hit the back of it against the palm of your hand and the batteries come off. You’re not sure if this might work since the flashlight got wet and stopped working once you jumped into the water, but once you plug them into the cassette player it seems to come to life. Steve sighs, relieved. “Thank God that worked. Let’s get that stupid cassette and get out of here.”

“Sounds good to me,” he quips. He wets his lips, looking around. “You don’t feel any different, though, right?” When you shake your head, he seems to be able to relax a bit. “When we were on our way here, Eddie told me you didn’t waste a second to help me.”

You wait for Steve to continue, but he doesn’t.

“I’ve never been much of an adventurer when we were kids,” you say. “Dustin wanted to climb trees and go camping, and I wanted to stay home and read books. We used to fight all the time because I never wanted to play outside with him, because I was scared of bugs and dirt and I just wanted to stay inside.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to that, but he’s near you, hoving near your hand, like he knows you need the comfort, unsure if it’d be wanted from him.

“If I don’t make it out of this stupid curse, Steve,” you breathe out, legs feeling so shaky you want to throw up, “I need you to promise me you’ll take care of Dustin.”

“He’ll kill me before I let you die,” Steve says, trying t sound lighthearted but failing.

“Steve,” you rag out. “Promise me. Please.”

Steve nods, his voice soft in the way it does when he’s trying to be gentle. “Y—yeah. Of course. You know little Henderson’s like my own little brother.”

“I know,” you acknowledge. “You’ve been a way better sibling than me. I’ve been such a shitty sister and I’m… I’m really glad Dustin has you.”

“That’s not true,” he argues, reaching for your arm in the darkness of the room— you want to flinch away. “He loves you, (Y/N). Seriously, you should hear the way he talks about you when you’re not around.”

You ignore the sting in your eyes and berate yourself for tearing up.

“It’s my fault,” you whisper.

“What?”

“It’s my fault my dad walked away,” you shake your head, tearing your arm away from Steve’s touch, feeling cold as soon as you’re away from him. But you deserve it, you deserve the cold. “I told him I hated him after I learned he cheated on mom and that he had another family, and he never came back. I told him I never wanted to see him again. I’m the reason Dustin doesn’t have a dad now. But— but I was just fifteen, I didn’t— I didn’t know what I was asking—”

“Stop, stop,” Steve interrupts, and suddenly he’s pulling you close to your chest and holding you close.

And suddenly that’s all you need to break down, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. You feel embarrased, stupid for crying about something like this when the world might be about to end, horrifyingly guilty for everything— but for the first time you feel like something has been finally lifted off your chest and you can breathe, here, with Steve holding you. You’re glad Steve stayed behind with you. In truth, you think you might just be glad for Steve.

If someone had told you a week ago you’d be crying in Steve Harrington’s arms you would’ve smacked them. Life can change really fast, huh?

“Nobody is going to die,” his voice is so soft. You’d never thought you’d think of Steve’s voice as anything other than grating, but now you hold onto it like a lifeline. “I won’t let that happen.”

You breathe into his chest. You finally manage to let go of him, thanking God the others weren’t near. You miss the warmth almost immediately, as much as you don’t want to admit it. “Shit, sorry, your bandages.”

“You need to stop doing that,” he quips.

“What?”

“Apologizing so much,” he reaches for your arm again before walking, and you thank him silently. You have to bite your tongue not to apologize again. “Let’s go get that cassette.”

When you both step into Nancy’s room, the silence is almost deafening.

“What happened?”

“The guns,” Nancy explains, her eyes focused on her nightstand, not looking up at either of you. “They aren’t here. But so many things that shouldn’t be are. Like— like my curtains, and these— these toys I gifted my cousin Joanna. They haven’t been here since 1983.”

“We’re stuck in time, dude,” Eddie finishes for her.

“Three years, to be exact.”

“What?” Steve asks, confused. “Three years into the past?”

“... From when Will disappeared, you mean?” You question.

Nancy nods. “Yeah, I… think so. But, (Y/N), If we’re three years in the past, it means The Breakfast Club isn’t out yet,” Nancy swallows, hard, then finally looks up to stare into your eyes.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, his chest rising erratically.

You bite your lip. “She means the song doesn’t exist, either.”

Nancy closes her eyes.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

“Fuck!” Steve yells, “fuck!”

He kicks one of Nancy’s nightstands with so much force he manages to force it into the ground, Nancy’s belongings following suit, scattering around the carpet, making Nancy flinch.

“Steve,” you whisper, trying to reach for him. “Stop.”

Steve sits on Nancy’s bed, hand covering his mouth. He lets you rest your hand on his arm, and he breathes out another curse. He almost looks frozen in place like this, and it reminds you that everything in here feels like it is— ghosts, so many ghosts. You feel like you’re stuck in hell.

“Maybe any song will work,” Robin offers a little desperately, going through Nancy’s drawers, pulling out different cassettes and soundtracks, Duran Duran, Madonna, Elton John. “C’mon guys, one has to work.”

Eddie scratches his neck. “Doesn’t it have to be her favorite song? Isn’t that what Henderon said?”

“Screw it,” Nancy shakes her head, taking in a shaky breath. “We have to try whatever we can. This is our only option.”

“Okay,” you nod, shakily, prying your hand off of Steve’s arm, reaching to cruch own next to Robin and look through the rest of Nancy’s cassettes. “Okay, let’s— let’s try it.”

Robin holds up Total Eclipse of the Heart. “You like Bonnie Tyler?”

“Seems as good as anything,” you nod, taking it from her hands. As the first notes of Total Eclipse start playing, you gulp nervously, praying this might work, that you have at least enough time to get out of here alive.

Steve still looks miserable, but seems a little calmer now. “We need to get out of here right now.”

“How?” Robin sighs. “How did Will ever manage to get out of this place?”

“There has to be a way,” Nancy figures, then something seems to dawn on her. “Will. Will used to talk to Joyce with the Christmas lights while he was stuck in the Upside Down.”

“The Christmas lights?” Eddie asks, incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

As she explains, you can’t help but think that Nancy Wheeler is absolutely brilliant. You can’t blame Steve for falling in love with her before. She’s interrupted by Robin rather quickly though, when she claims she can hear Dustin’s voice— soon enough, all of you start to hear him, distorted and distant, but it's there no less. Quickly Dustin communicates that he thinks there might be another portal in Eddie’s trailer and that seems to be your best shot at an escape.

Robin and Nancy leave to get some supplies for the trip— whatever they can find to use as a weapon, while Eddie wanders off behind them, with the excuse of rummaging through little Wheeler’s action figures. Steve stays with you, as you stare at Holly’s Lite Brite, unsure on what to do.

You trust Dustin and his plan, of course you do. Dustin’s done nothing but prove himself to you these past few days. Still, the thought that everything might go incredibly wrong is almost unshakable at this point. What was it Max said to you? Something about how Vecna’s curse made people feel hopeless and lonely.

“You okay, right?” Steve wonders aloud, searching your face. “You haven’t had any visions yet?”

You haven’t felt Vecna’s pull yet, but you don’t want to be overly optimistic just yet. “I’m okay, I think. Are you?”

You glance down at his bandages, but he only nods. “Yeah, they don’t hurt anymore. I’m more worried about you.”

Warmth spreads all over your cheeks and inside your chest, but now’s really not the time for all of these feelings, and so you try to squeeze them out, to focus on something else.

“I just hope the plan works,” you mumble. “I want to get out of here.”

“You—” Steve shakes his head, looks at you with a look you can’t name. But he sounds frustrated, exhausted. “You just jumped in after me? You didn’t even think…” he trails off. “Eddie said you just jumped. Fucking jumped. You’re unbelievable, you know that, don’t you, Henderson? Absolutely fucking unbelievable.”

You look down at your hands.

“It was stupid, I know, I—”

“Thank you,” Steve murmurs, honesty bleeding into every word he speaks. You look up at him, surprised. “You saved my ass back there.”

The truth is you hadn’t doubted one second— you hadn’t even stopped to think about what might happen to you. Helping Steve was more important to you than anything in that moment, and you didn’t regret it, how could you regret that?

“You saved my ass first, back at the Wheeler’s,” you smile at him. “Even later, in the woods, and at Creel’s house. I don’t know if I could have kept going without you… so thank you.”

Steve stays silent for a few seconds, unsure of how to continue. You can practically feel him grow nervous now, when he clears his throat and begins speaking. “Listen, I know we are on the brink of life and death and maybe world threatening danger, but I kinda need some motivation to get out of here.”

“Yeah?”

“So, now that you know me and Nancy aren’t really a thing, and that me and Robin are platonic with a capital P…”

“Keep going.”

“And since you know, maybe is really cool,” you nod, trying to fight off a smile. “We should, maybe, go on a date together.”

“Hm…” you place a hand on your chin. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I can go out with someone who doesn’t like Pretty in Pink.”

“I’ve never said I didn’t,” he shrugs. “I just haven’t even seen it.”

“You haven’t seen Pretty in Pink, you monster?!”

“You know, I’m actively bleeding out here,” Steve gestures at your last minute bandages, his smile almost as handsome as him, even more so after tearing off a bat monster’s head off. Even more so now that it seems you finally have a plan to get out of this goddamn place. “You’re gonna make a dying man wait?”

“You’re not dying, Harrington.” You smack him gently across the shoulders. “I won’t let you.”

Steve chuckles, his hand finding its way to yours, almost nervous, scared of rejection.

“So? What do you say?”

“I say that if we get out of here alive, and it seems like kind of a longshot right now…” you acknowledge, holding onto his hand and squeezing. “I would really, really like that.”

“Yeah?”

You’re smiling. “Yeah.”

You both might be the people with the worst timing in the entire world— you’re cursed by a demon villain from another dimension, and Steve is bleeding out while you’re both trapped inside the Upside Down, with no clue if you’ll be able to actually escape. Not to mention this is all happening in his ex's house. And yet you can’t help but laugh when Steve tries to reach for the back of your neck and fails miserably.

“I really want to kiss you,” he says, “but my abdomen still really hurts.”

“I have to do everything,” you tease, before closing the distance between you, your lips pressing against his with a sigh.

Steve’s lips are chapped, bloody, raw, and yours must be equally as bad, salty, open and bleeding raw. But despite everything the kiss is perfect, as imperfect and uncoordinated as it is; the way your lips fit together, the way Steve cradles your cheek, and how you hold the back of his neck while Bonnie Tyler plays in the background of it all. Now, more than anything, you feel hope.

When you break off the kiss, Steve is smiling.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. And you just might.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington one shot #steve harington fic #steve x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things scenario #steve harrington scenario #st4 #joe keery #female reader #dyfam #mine #stranger things

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