#baby i’ll be your frankenstein

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

  “Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around. 

  Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

  “I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.” 

  “Wha’?”

  “Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

  Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

  “Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair. 

  While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him. 

  Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him. 

  The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention. 

  Someone. 

  Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side. 

  Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

  He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

  Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

  They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it. 

  Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough. 

  Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie. 

  He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

  He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

  Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

  And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

  The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

  Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

  With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

  “It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

  If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

  Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

  NOW, 1989

  “Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

  “Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

  You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

  Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand. 

  When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

  Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

  You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

  Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying. 

  You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job. 

  You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan. 

  So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

  Your mother was murdered.

  Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

  Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional. 

  The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

  Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

  And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery. 

  Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself. 

  You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

  You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

  Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace. 

  The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

  Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells. 

  He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting. 

  So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

  When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead. 

  “Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

  It was a little odd, but you did. 

  When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

  “I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

  “I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

  Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

  The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

  You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him. 

  You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

  You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

  “Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

  You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

  “Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

  But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

  You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

  What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

  “YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring. 

  “He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

  You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

  “Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

  “Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

  You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

  You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.” 

  Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

  Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss. 

  “I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

  And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

  You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked. 

  “I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

  “Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.” 

  You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

  Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

  Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

  “It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

  You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that. 

  “That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.” 

  Didn’t feel like it.

  Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

  You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

  “No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

  Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

  “Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

  “You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands. 

  “And I can. Please, let me do this.”

  You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

  After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

  You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

  You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

  You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

  Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

  Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

  “It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it. 

  You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

  “So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject. 

  “It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university. 

  Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

  “See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?” 

  You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat. 

  “Okay, spill.”

  Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

  “Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!” 

  This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile. 

  “Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush. 

  “Steve Harrington.”

  “STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

  “Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

  “Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

  You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

  “Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.” 

  You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

  “And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again. 

  “Does he flirt with you?”

  “No.”

  “See him flirt with any girls?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

  “Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

  Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

  You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

  “He’s on the spectrum?”

  Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

  It got quiet for a few moments.

  ”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

  You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most. 

  She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

  ”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

  “Reefer Rick?”

  “Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

  Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

  Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

  Munson.

  You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

  You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

  Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

  “I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

  “Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

  You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

  Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

  Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

  “Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

  “No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

  “How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

  “I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

  Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

  “H-He’s your favorite…?”

  “Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

  “You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

  You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you. 

  “Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

  Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

  “He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

  Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

  You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

  You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

  You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea. 

  “Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

  Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

  Maybe a drink would calm you down.

  You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

  “The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now. 

  “What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

  “Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

  You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

  Oh, shit. 

  Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

  You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

  ”Funny seeing you here.”

  You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

  “Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

  You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off. 

  “It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

  “I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

  “Oh.”

  He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

  OH, THANK FUCK. 

  “Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

  “So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

  “Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

  She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

  “Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

  “Hey, Carol.”

  Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

  “You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl. 

  “Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

  “Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

  “You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

  Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

  When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

  Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

  “Oopsie.”

  But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

  “Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy. 

  Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

  Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

  At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

  You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

  Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning. 

  You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

  You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

  You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

  “You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

  “You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

  “Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

  He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

  “You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

  He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

  Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

  “I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

  “Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

  “Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it. 

  Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

  ”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

  “You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

  “Wall.”

  “Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

  “Great Wall of China.”

  Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

  “Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

  Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense. 

  Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

  ”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

  “Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing. 

  “Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

  “Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

  And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

  At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

  Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

  Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

  “Does that feel good?”

  You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.” 

  Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

  Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

  You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

  All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

  You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

  To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

  Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

  “I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

  You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

  When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

  The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

  The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within. 

  She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

  You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

  Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

  “Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

  Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

  You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you. 

  His right arm was out, palm up.

  He was waiting for you.

  You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

  Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

  “Sissy. . .”

  “Sissy…”

  “SISSY!”

  You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

  She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect. 

  What the hell?

  “You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

  You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways. 

  You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

  “It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

  “Oh my god…”

  “So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

  You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

  “Ooh, your knees…”

  You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

  “I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

  “Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

  Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

  “You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

  Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist. 

  “Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once. 

  “Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

  “It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

  “Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

  You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

  “Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

  “It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

  “Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

  “That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

  “Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

  “I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

  You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

  Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

  You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

  “─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

  ”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

  “And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing. 

  “That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

  Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning. 

  You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

  You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

  But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

  You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

  You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

  “Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

  You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

  “I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

  You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

  “Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

  “THAT WE DO!” 

  You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

  “What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

  “Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

  “Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

  “Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

  “Mm. White wine?”

  It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.��

  “Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

  You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

  “He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

  You shot him a glare.

  “Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

  You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers. 

  You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

  When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

  Then your eyes snapped open.

  Oh, god. You were a loser.

  After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

  A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

  “Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

  “Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

  There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

  “Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation. 

  “She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

  “I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

  “Yes, we got a free soda!”

  Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

  You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a  reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

  “Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

  Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

  “Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

  “Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

  “You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

  “All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.” 

  “Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

  “I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

  “I bet you can.”

  After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

  You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

  Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

  You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house. 

  Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder. 

  And it was coming from outside your front door.

  You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

  Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home. 

  You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

  “Uuuhhhnng…”

  This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

  ”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

  You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

  “Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

  You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

  “OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

  Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

  Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life. 

  “Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!” 

  You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

  Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs. 

  You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

  “Stop it!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Go away, I’m just a girl!”

  The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

  Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

  You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

  You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

  Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located. 

  On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature. 

  You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it. 

  Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

  The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

  When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

  Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

  His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

  “It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.” 

  He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation, 

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

  “Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

  “I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

  It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

  He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

  You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

  “Do you like music? This is Sinead O��Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

  He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

  “Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

  A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

  Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

  “C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

[oneforthemunny]

I'd imagine that every time Halloween rolls around, Rockstar!Eddie and Nepo Baby are on the cover of at least one magazine with a spooky Halloween photoshoot. I'm seeing a werewolf eating (out) a fair maiden. Or a pregnant Nepo Baby tied to a table and a Rockstar!Eddie getting ready to sacrifice her. Or them recreating a scene from the biggest horror movie of the year.

Only over the years, as the kids accumulate, it goes from Playboy to Parade. And instead of tits with fang punctures, you've got a line of tots in skeleton pajamas.

(This was originally meant to be a blurb prompt and I got carried away so now I think it's more just a Spooky Thought I had to share with you. Whatever, Happy First Day of Fall! 😂)

oneforthemunny's spooky stories: rockstar!eddie x reader's time warp

or how halloween looks through the years for rockstar!eddie and nepo baby!reader :) ps pics below are for inspo that i used not specific more of just how the photos looked or what the idea was based off of!

October 31st, 1992

“Look at you.” Eddie grinned, dimples and shining eyes when they rolled over your frame. “My bride.” 

That you were, both in and out of costume. It was the only recognizable part of yourself right now, your engagement ring. Your skin had been tinged a pale green, the SFX artist made your ‘gashes’ and ‘stitches’ look far too real for your liking. Tonight, you were the bride of Frankenstein, instead of Munson. 

“Look at you.” You pouted, eyes rolling over his costume. Not Frankenstein, but… a vampire? “What-What are you wearing?” You huff, throwing an arm out at his costume. “We’re supposed to be Frankenstein and-” 

“-Technically, it’s Frankenstein’s monster.” Eddie grinned, fake fangs making his smile more sinister looking. “I had a last minute change. Dracula and Bride of Frankenstein together? That’s scandalous. So much better, baby, believe me. No one’s done this before.” 

You rolled your eyes, shifting the torn white dress to cover yourself. “When did you change your mind? While I was in makeup for six hours?” 

Eddie laughed, hands running down your skin. “I like your hair.” He muttered. “Think you should do this more often. Pretty metal look for you, baby.” 

“Yeah?” You hum, running a hand lightly over the electrified updo. “Too bad it’s a wig. Maybe I’ll keep it. Put it in the dungeon for you, when you want to get really weird and freaky.” 

“I always wanna get really weird and freaky with you.” Eddie growled, a low rasp in his tone that had your knees shaking. His lips ducked down towards yours, the fake blood around his mouth making your stomach turn. 

“No,” You shake your head. “Get these pictures first, then you can kiss me. I’m not sitting in makeup again, Munson, my ass was falling asleep. I was sitting there for so long.” 

“I can help you with that.” Eddie growled, a playful smack to your barely covered backside that had you shrilling, glaring at him through white contacts. 

October 31st, 1993

“You can barely even see the bump.” You huff, cradling your bare stomach in the mirror. “It just looks like I’m bloated.” 

“You’re out of your mind.” Eddie shook his head, inked hands cradling your torso. “You look so pretty.” 

Your lips settle in a pout, turning to the side, pushing your stomach out further in the pink, frilly lingerie from the 60’s. The sheer robe tied at your collarbones, flowing over your frame beautifully, parting so your belly could poke out. It wasn’t the pregnancy announcement you expected to have, but a fun one, regardless. One that would leave a shocking impression when it was sent to the press. 

Eddie’s ‘costume’ hung around his waist, arms crossed over his bare, tattooed chest. You grinned at the green, scaly suit- designed to subtly resemble Creature From The Black Lagoon’s monster. 

You smirked to yourself, looking at Eddie through the mirror. “My parents are going to hate this.” You grin, nearly proud. It made Eddie’s heart skip. 

“Good.” Eddie snorted with an eye roll. “Not their baby. Not their choice.” He shrugged, hands roaming protectively over your soft, stretched skin. “Victor shouldn’t hate it too much, right? It’s a movie reference, at least.” 

You laughed lightly. “True, and I’m… more covered than last time, right?” You grin, smoothing your hand over your exposed skin. 

“Definitely, much more reserved than last time.” Eddie grinned, chin hooking over your shoulder. “We have to be more appropriate, Button, now that we’re going to be parents.” Eddie mocked your father’s posh, droning tone, quoting what Victor nagged about over the last brunch you had together- a month ago when you told them you were expecting. 

Eddie’s lips pursed at the pinch still unfaltering in your brows, hands still smoothing over your belly. “Hey, look at me.” Eddie rasped, hand cradling your jaw gently, pulling your eyes to meet his. Those soft eyes that made your heart skip a beat every time you found yourself in their gaze. 

“Fuck ‘em, alright? This isn’t their baby, it’s our baby.” Eddie muttered. “You wanna do this? We don’t have to. I’ll tell them all to go fuck off if you want me to. Or we can do something different. Do the Mummy things if you want to. Just say the word. Your call-” 

“Ed.” The smile he’d been looking for graced your face finally. “I still want to do the photos. I’m just… I’m having a moment. I’m hormonal, and-and I’m just having a moment.” 

Eddie grinned, plush lips pressing a kiss to your nose. “Have a moment. You look hot, though.” 

“Thanks.” You muttered, eyes fluttering to look up at him through the strip of false lashes. “Not bloated?” 

Eddie snorted. “Definitely not. Very pregnant. Very, very hot.” 

October 31st, 1994 

“Ed, is she looking?” You say through a smile, eyes still trained on the camera. 

“No, she keeps looking at you.” Eddie huffed, lowering the camera. “Looking at your webs.” 

No crew this time, oh no, Eddie wanted to do it all on his own. The set up wasn’t elaborate, but your costume was. The Black Widow, finished with webs that attached to your dress, hung around you for the perfect dramatic effect Eddie was looking for. In your arms, your little itsy bitsy spider, Persephone. 

“Sephy,” Eddie cooed. “Fuck, babe, where’s the rattle thing? The lamb?” 

“I grabbed it. Look behind you.” You nodded, cradling Persephone closely, her little hands reaching for you and pulling the fake spider arms with her. “You’re just a pretty little spider, aren’t you? The cutest little spider!” 

“Found it!” The camera bounced on Eddie’s chest, shooting you a dimpled grin that had you flushing. “Look at me, Sephy! Look at Daddy!” 

You fixed her in your arms, cradling her to your side. “Is she looking?” 

“Yes, she is!” Eddie lilted in that babbling baby talk that had your heart swelling. “Look at my little spider. That’s so good, look at Daddy!” 

“You sure you don’t want to be in this one?” You asked, hoisting Sephy up higher into your arms, swaying her lightly. 

“Nah,” Eddie shook his head, looking down at the camera, pulling out the film. “Just wanna look at you, baby.” He winked. 

October 31st, 1999

“Kensie,” You coo, looking down at the red faced four year old, desperately trying to keep her from tearing off her ears, two fuzzy clips that mimicked a cute werewolf. “We just need to take a couple of photos, and then we can change and go Trick-or-Treating, I promise.” 

“I wanna go no-o-ow!” Kensie wailed, a piercing sob that had you cringing, the twins stirring in their black bassinet prop. 

“Kensington,” Eddie grit, adjusting Persephone’s cape. “Trick-or-Treating hasn’t even started. There’s nothing out there right now. No candy.” 

You glared at him lightly, though Kensie’s sniffles did ease. “No?” She asked, head tilting to the side sweetly. 

Eddie shook his head, green painted frown softening lightly. “No, baby. Doesn’t start until six. We have plenty of time.” 

“Better quit frowning, baby.” You hum, tapping your finger on Eddie’s creasing forehead paint. 

This year's theme was a take on the classic, creepy show from the 60’s. What better way to celebrate your still growing family than this? Everyone else was favoring the Addams Family this year, but not the Munson’s- Munster’s. 

“Are you ready, Mrs. Munson?” Phil asked, looking up from his camera at you. 

You nodded, fixing your dress while you stood next to Eddie, one hand on the bassinet. “You think they can tell?” You grit through your smile, your dress snug when you turn towards him. 

“No.” Eddie gritted back, eyes flickering down to your abdomen, just starting to swell with baby number five. “You look good, baby, always do.”

#oneforthemunny #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #dad!eddie munson #dad!rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x nepo baby!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson au #eddie munson au #eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #eddie munson smut #oneforthemunny spooky stories #dad!eddie x mom!reader #eddie munson x pregnant!reader

[prefer-to-be-vilified]

Wednesday: I want to make a good first impression so I printed off some flash cards to prepare for dinner with your family. Can you go through them with me before we leave?

Enid: Sure! *reading card* I introduce you to my mom, what do you say?

Wednesday, making an awkward attempt at being flirty: Is she single? *winks*

Enid: Oh my god Wednesday! Please, for the love of god, don’t ever do that. The answer is ‘good evening and how are you doing’

Wednesday: Good evening and how are you doing. Got it. Next one.

Enid: My dad asks how your studies are going, what is your reply?

Wednesday: Easy. Last semester I studied the habits of a monster who was murdering people in the woods. I successfully learned of the identity of both the monster and the sociopathic teacher who was controlling him in a crazed attempt to murder every outcast attending Nevermore. This lead me to be captured, stabbed and almost killed before your daughter was forced to risk her life to save me, fighting a Hyde twice her size while I ran off to fight an undead pilgrim with a sword.

Enid: Baby no. The card says ‘I’m a straight A student at the top of my class’

Wednesday: Damn, I was close on that one.

Enid: No you weren’t. But okay, moving on. You sit down at the dinner table and my brother brings up sports, how do you engage him in conversation?

Wednesday: I know this one *clears throat* I am so bummed I couldn’t catch the game last night, I was arrested after new evidence surfaced in the murder case I’m a suspect in.

Enid: Is that why you were so late back to the dorms last night!?!

Wednesday: No. I fell asleep in the morgue fridges again, I told you that. I’m just saying what’s on the card.

Enid: Wednesday, that is not what it says.

Wednesday: I feel like I’m being gaslit right now.

Enid: You wrote the cards!

Wednesday: That sounds like gaslighting.

Enid: Whatever. Let’s keep going, I doubt this could get any worse. My mom’s cooking red meat for dinner, what do you bring to drink?

Wednesday: Espresso martini’s.

Enid: That’s weird, unnecessarily complicated and illegal for our age. But it’s the most normal response you’ve had since we started so I’ll allow it.

Wednesday: Made exactly as my mother does, with one glass spiked with cyanide. We Addams’ believe that a formal dinner without any deaths is a dull affair.

Enid: *considering faking her own death to get out of this dinner* I’m just gonna finish these as quickly as I can. My mom asks you what your favourite book is, please say something normal.

Wednesday: Frankenstein. I greatly admire Mary Shelly and hope to beat her record and have my first novel published before I’m 19. And once the time comes I plan to pay my respects to her genius as I temporarily emulate her morbid nature by making love to your daughter for the first time upon one of our mothers graves. Enid’s never been a patient woman so I presume it’ll be whoever drops first.

Enid: …just ‘Frankenstein’ is fine baby. And we’re not doing that. My dad asks about your hobbies, how about you pick something that won’t make my family question my sanity for choosing to date you.

Wednesday: Murder, serial killers, grave digging, exorcisms, murder mysteries, creepy abandoned buildings, waking the dead, killing the undead, centuries old mental asylums, making out with your daughter, reading and working on my novel.

Enid: Scratch out the first ten and we have a winner.

Wednesday: Your censoring of my personality is making me sound very boring Enid.

Enid: Parents like boring sweetheart and you love lying. You’ll have to time of your life pretending to be normal, I promise. Okay, last one. My mom begins— seriously?

Wednesday: We don’t have all night Enid.

Enid: *rolls her eyes* my mom begins clutching her throat, choking and foaming at the mouth, she has been poisoned for being mean to Enid, how do you react?

Wednesday, casually leaning on her desk: I’ll have what she’s having am I right? *slips an empty vial into her pocket* I don’t know who I should frame yet, I’m thinking I’ll know in the moment.

Enid:

Enid: You’re lucky I love you.

#this is unnecessarily long but her autistic ass would #wednesday #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #wenclair #enid x wednesday #wednesday netflix #wednesday 2022 #incorrect wednesday quotes #incorrect wednesday addams #incorrect wednesday #ptbv

[sstormyskyess]

Spooky Season

author's note: happy halloween fellas! hope that your halloweens are filled with candy and fun costumes just like the boys here!

cw: just fluff

word count: 1300+

TF 141 x GN!Reader

Simon “Ghost” Riley [costume parties]

♡ Ghost loves dressing up in a fun costume every year because it lets him both take part in the festivities while also keeping his comfortable sense of anonymity.

♡ Even if it's just a face of nicely done make-up you decorated his face with, just having anything covering him up keeps him feeling secure. It’s only a bonus to watch your cute little focused face as you’re applying the make-up, telling him to quit smiling so much so you can get everything lined up properly.

You have a smile on your face when you show Simon the costume you bought for him. A Frankenstein’s monster costume—in the largest size, of course—to match with your mad doctor costume. He took it from your hands with a chuckle. “How long did it take you to find this?” You laugh and set down your own costume on the bed. “An hour or so. You’re too big for your own good.”

Soon enough, you have his make-up done just right and his outfit straightened out just so. Then, you’re on your way to the party that Laswell and her wife were holding. “Love, I’m trying to drive.” He scolds you when your finger comes up to brush at his face and clean up some of your handiwork that had gotten smudged at some point. “You have to look perfect! Just gimme a sec…”

Once you get to the party, you immediately start getting compliments on your costumes and your face beams with pride, putting a little smile on his face. After a couple hours of mingling and indulging in snacks, candy, and Halloween-themed cocktails, you’re sitting on the couch together and the costume contest starts. It’s a close match between yours and Price’s dragon costume, but the final vote places you and Simon at the top.

He revels in the way your face lights up when the results are announced, dragging him up to the front of the room to get a little round of applause. His cheeks warm up and he silently thanks your make-up skills, since the face paint covers up the way his cheeks turn pink from the attention.

John “Soap” Mactavish [scary movies]

♡ Despite the fact that Soap is a massive scaredy-cat when it comes to spooky Halloween movies, he adores watching them just for the adrenaline rush.

♡ They’re even more fun when he has someone to grab onto when he inevitably falls to his weakness to jumpscares; once you’re dating, you will be the unfortunate victim to his antics. Half of the movie you’re getting jostled around because of his big arms wrapped around you when he’s freaking out from the monster that just popped out of a closet all of a sudden.

You yelp, not at the jumpscare on screen but because, for what felt like the hundredth time, Johnny has yanked you to his side with a shrill scream. “Oh, Christ—!” He squeezes onto you tight, pushing the air from your lungs. The evil ghost just jumped at the screen with a grumbly roar and now one of the main characters on-screen is getting mauled to death. Yikes.

“Johnny, you look like you’re about to piss yourself!” You laugh, a pout on his lips from your teasing. “It’s scary!” He wails, despite his eyes still locked on the screen and watching with suspense. You wrap your fingers around the bicep currently crushing you and give it a squeeze. “You’ll be okay, handsome. Now can you let go of me?” Johnny just nuzzles closer and squeezes you harder. “I can’t! What if the ghost gets me?” His pout dramatically deepens and you sigh.

“Well, if you squeeze me to death just know that I’ll be haunting you for as long as you live.” You muse, resting your head on his. His eyes snap to you and widen at that little comment. “You wouldn’t. Right?” He gives you an incredulous look. “I dunno, baby, if you keep choking me out like this you’ll just have to find out.” He gasps and huffs childishly, grumbling into your shoulder about how mean you are.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick [apple picking]

♡ Gaz loves apple pie. It reminds him of his childhood so he makes it a yearly tradition to make at least one [he will eat more than one whole pie by himself] pie every autumn.

♡ The first autumn after you started dating, he saw a couple online going to an apple orchard for a date and he knew he needed to take you on a date just like that. You end up coming back home with enough apples to make as many pies as your hearts desire.

“Kyle! We’re not gonna have enough apples if you keep eating all of them!” You scold your boyfriend, watching him shrug and take another bite out of the apple in his hand. “We have plenty, sweetheart, don’t worry!” He said between crunching down on the bite he took. You shake your head and take the canvas bag full of the apples you picked just a couple hours ago away from the kitchen table, much to his dismay.

He follows you like a lost puppy and puts his chin on your shoulder while you prepare the homemade pie crust, pressing it into the pie tin. “How long is the pie gonna bake?” He asks with his hands on your hips. You pick up your phone and scan the recipe quickly. “Um… one hour.” Kyle groans. “That’s so long.” He whines.

You roll your eyes and turn back to getting the pie crust squared away before you get booped on the nose by Kyle’s flour-covered fingertip. You gasp and look back at him with a playfully offended glare. “Oh, it’s on now.” You grin and pinch some flour between your fingers to flick it at him with a giggle. It takes a good fifteen minutes before you’re finally able to get back to making the perfect pie, the two of you somehow ending up play-wrestling on the living room floor with your giddy laughter filling the room.

John Price [pumpkin carving]

♡ At this point in his life, Price has perfected the art of picking a good pumpkin to use for all the recipes he loves: pumpkin bread, pumpkin soup, even just fresh roasted pumpkin seeds.

♡ He gets to use his uncanny talents even more when you eventually drag him out to a pumpkin patch to find the perfect pumpkin to carve into a jack-o-lantern. He’s all smiles as he watches you crouch down to pick up and assess each one, giving you little tips along the way.

“Be careful with the knife, doll!” John calls from the kitchen. You roll your eyes and start to cut into the top of the pumpkin along the line you traced with a washable paint marker. “I’m not a baby, John!” You reply, a playful annoyance in your tone. He chuckles when he walks back in, watching your eyes squint while you try to cut the hole perfectly, fully focused.

He takes a seat at the table across from you, placing the pumpkin carving kit down in front of him and waiting for you to finish the first cut. "Did you pick a face for him?" He hums in thought when you pull your phone up and show him a picture of the design you picked out from your short Google search. “It’s a bit complicated, yeah?” You scoff and put a hand to your chest with a confident grin. “I can handle it, no problem!”

The night ends with your original pumpkin being used for pumpkin puree because you managed to goof up the design on your first try. You’re a bit down after having to use another pumpkin, but John is extra supportive of you the whole way through. By the time you put the candles in the bottom of the freshly made jack-o-lantern and put it on the porch, John has made the both of you a pot of pumpkin soup that you eat up the rest of the night.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john price x reader #tf 141 x reader #simon riley headcanons #john mactavish headcanons #kyle garrick headcanon #john price headcanons #tf 141 headcanons #mw2 headcanons #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #gaz mw2 #price mw2 #john soap mactavish x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #kyle gaz garrick x gn!reader #john price x gn!reader #mwii #mw2 #modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #storm's creations #sstormyskyess

[binkszamsstuff]

Red

Very dark Steve! Mob Steve! Non con! Reader and Steve have a child. Angst!! Lots of grammar and spelling mistakes I’ll edit in the morning or never who knows🤷🏻‍♀️❤️

Red. the pain, the hurt, the passion, the love, everything was red. He was toxic, he was the obsessive. And you were his feen, his drug, his obsession , his love. But the days blurred, the lines no longer were standing, they had fallen. The fights, the late nights, the guessing and questions that went unanswered by him. It was a house on fire, it was red.

There was no time in the day to plan, with his anger, and yours. It was spontaneous, the fight had started because of steves affairs. The lying, the cheating, he ruined you, tore down all walls, made you just as obsessed with him as he was with you. Just to leave you in the dust, to cheat. To add gasoline to the fire that was you, or what was left of you anyhow.

Peggy was a glossy, classy woman with the perfect bubble of power and wittiness. She was everything you weren’t. You were messy, hazed with trouble, a woman gone mad by a man who drove her there. You were his frankenstein, you were old pieces of yourself glued back together again. The young, innocent, naive, funny, charming, and free girl was now chained to the scars he left.

You ran out of the house in the early morning, he came home late yet again. You had stayed up waiting for him, going to confront him in his act. Thats exactly what you did, but the end was not what you pictured. You hopped that he would hold you, say you were wrong, make love to you like in the beginning.

“Are you cheating on me?’ you asked quietly, you sat on the bed. You couldnt took at him.

“I dont want to have this conversation with you, it’ll only hurt you” steve spoke. That was all the answers you needed. You started to yell, scream, through insult after insult.

“I knew it! You’re scerwing peggy! Huh you’re fucking your secretary!” you yelled in his face crying. He rolled his eyes at you and shoved you to the side going to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

“Im tried of this steve” you sobbed walking to the closet grabbing any bag in sight packing up everything.

Once steve heard you say that so defeated he knew that you were serious about leaving him. You and him had lots a fights because of his actions but everytime he kissed it better. He drew back in promising his love and that it will never happen again. But it always does. Steve now had his suite jacket off, his selves rolled up, strands of his hair in hs face,

“You’re not leaving me” he stated

“Watch me” you said back in anger, masking the sadness.

“y/n i own you, you’re mine! You cant leave me baby” he said getting angry.

“You cheated steve! Again. I-i cant do this i cant sit here and wait for you to love me again. We are not the people we were when we first started dating. I cant and wont be the drunk housewife waiting for her husband whose never gonna come back because his mistress.” you were out of breath from crying and talking so fast while packing.

Steve stepped closer “baby come on its me! Its us! We always get through stuff like this!” he tried to manipulate you with his soft words but this time it wouldn’t work. the naive girl you used died, not even a ghost left of her

“We wouldnt have to “get through this stuff” if you didnt cheat and fuck other women.” you held up air qoutes while talking.

“I love you” steve pulled you in near, kissing the top of your head. You sobbed in his chest, hurt, angry, betrayed. The three year relationship was now smoke, the fire was all burnt out. The engagement ring heavy on your finger, it was a line of whispered lies and i love yous.

Steve drew you to the bed, kissing his way up your neck. His hands sliding down your frame gripping your hips. His false hope whispered in your ear and apologies that didnt have any meaning stuck to you, like a cigarette burn. He took off your clothes and gently laid you on the bed. ‘When was the last time he was gentle with me?’ you thought to yourself as he kissed and licked at you lower lips.

“Say something baby, tell me you wont leave me, that you love me” he begged like he was the victim. You stayed silent, numb.

“prettybaby i love you. Say it back! I need you! I cant live with out you!” both of you now naked on the bed. he pushed himself into your entrance, all you could do was cry.

Steve begged and whined for you back but little did he know the car was running outside waiting to escape him and this burning house.

Steve fell asleep hugging you, his head resting on your tummy his arm wrapped around you. You ran your fingers through his hair, soaking up what was left of the man you used to know, he was burned alive, gone. You slowly pushed him off of you and got dressed, grabbing the bags on clothes and bathroom care you walked out. You looked around the house as you left, the nicknacs and photos of you and steve. The nursery that sat empty. Steve promised children but then came peggy. You kissed your engagement ring and then placed it on the entry table by steves keys.

Getting in the car and speeding off in to what was left of the mess steve made of you.

One year later-

A wail of a new born was calling out to you in the dead of the night. You never got frustrated being a single mother, reminding yourself when you caught yourself being negative that you could still be with steve. Penny was three months old and her blonde curly hair was sticking in every which way. It made you giggle.

“Hi! Mommys here its okay penny girl” you picked her up rocked her in your arms.

She might be steve daughter but you never let her know what pain she was created from, you would never let her end up like steve nor you.

“Mama loves you” you said as she closed her big eyes again just needing comfort from her mom to make her feel better. Steve didnt know that the night that the two of you had sex before you left was the cause of a beautiful little girl. He had tried to call, and text you put after smaing you phone and leaving to state of New York for Washington you knew he wouldnt find you.

You lived in a little white house with a garden in a small town tucked away from the crazy and hurt.

You sat in the rocking chair in pennys room rocking her, your tiredness was catching up to you. Just as your eyes started to close he spoke from the depths of the darkness that was the closet.

“Oh prettybaby you are such a good little mommy, just like i knew you would be” he walked closer.

You screamed. Getting up with penny in your arms backing away from him trying stumble to the door backwards,

“Get out. Steve get out! I-i cant-” you sobbed your hold on penny grew tighter.

“Baby its okay, i wont hurt you. y/n im so proud of you, look at the life you built for our little girl, now i am mad you didnt tell me you were pregnant. But baby she is gorgeous. Now i need you to decide either you come home or we can live out here. Ya know i kinda love it here. Good thinking babe this is great place to rise kids”

You sobbed harder.

“How did you find us” you asked crying, so scared.

“Oh baby dont be naive, i will always find you”

“You cant be in our life, your toxic and i wont rase my daughter in the life we used to have. She wont end up like us! You cant be here! You ruined me!’ you sobbed and hyperventilated. He slowly walked closer like approaching an injured animal

“Baby i know i know, i was wrong and mean and cruel to you. I was blind i thought you would always be there for me. I took you for granted. Shes gone y/n, i got rid of peggy, shes taking a long nap and i aint ever gonna hurt you like that again. I need you baby…..and i need to be in my daughters life. I cant live without you nor am i gonna be able to leave her all alone now too” he explained

“I wanna have a good life, nothing like the one we used to have. You scare me steve and you’ve hurt me” you said looking at little penny who had a frown on hef face, she could read the distress from her mother.

“y/n look at me!” steve grabbed your face in his hands and made you look at him. “I will make it up to you i promise. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you baby. I cant live without you” you shock your head no

“Its okay i get it y/n we need time, but im not going anywhere” steve spoke again.

“Come on lets put penny girl back in ger crib and go to bed” steve guided you to the crib and put penny down. She was right back to being cozy and sleepy. Steve pulled you in a hug while you sobbed into his chest, he was sliding his hand over your hair while shushing you.

“Come one lets go to sleep.” steve took your hand in his and leaded you back to your room. You laid down still crying, steve undressed himself down to his boxers and then joined you. He spooned you.

“I’ve missed you so much baby” was the last thing you heard before falling into slumber because you had cried yourself to sleep in his arms.

The house was burnt but in its ashes something new rose.

Authors note; i know some people will not understand why she didnt fight more, and the reason why was because she was in shock. It been and year and he shows up and shes like oh crap he found me and our now daughter. She is really scared of him and numb. Also steve is a mob boss by the way.

#steve x you #steve rogers series #steve x reader #steven grant rogers #dark steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steven grant #steve rogers #dark captain america #dark!steve #dark steve x reader #dark steve x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers au #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers angst #mob steve rogers #mafia steve rogers #mob Steve rogers x reader #mafia Steve rogers x reader #Spotify

[sinfulspencer]

Enchanting, enchanted

Prompt: Spencer didn’t think he’d meet Rossi’s niece on Mischief Night at his mansion. And he didn’t think she’d be into him anyway. (Spoiler: she is.)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: dom/sub undertones (sub!Spencer, softdom!Reader), adults with age gap (25/36), dirty talking, light degradation, hair pulling, oral sex (female receiving, implied male receiving), breeding kink, unprotected sex

Words:

A.N.: When October started, I had an idea: two Halloween fics with Spencer Reid being a submissive bitch and a dominant whore. @softreidx knows all about this - thank you for editing this piece. Love you.

Hope you enjoy this. x

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It’s not a secret Spencer Reid loves Halloween.

The cool thing about Halloween is that it's a uniquely American holiday. Despite its obvious origins in the Celtic festival of Samhain and the Christian “All Saints’ Day”, it really is a melting pot of various immigrants' traditions and beliefs.

It became a little more commercialized in the 1950 with “trick-or-treat”.

Today it rivals only Christmas in terms of popularity.

He said those notions so many times to the rest of his team-mates and made sure everyone knew how much he loved Halloween.

Spencer follows Emily inside Rossi’s house. “People would light bonfires and wear costumes to ward off ghosts. Isn’t that cool? How has fire always been a symbol of cleansing? Many people think of fire as an energetic reset button, a force that can burn through anything that no longer serves you or is there to help you!”

Emily takes off her long black coat, revealing a dark red dress she put on because apparently Rossi wanted to throw a masquerade party or something – Spencer was even more excited about that, because he put on his favourite costume.

An Edgar Allan Poe outfit that has been hidden in his closet since forever.

“Spencer, I appreciate your Halloween facts, but tonight I just want to have a drink and not think about ghosts.” – Emily tells him, patting him on the shoulder – “I promise you: tomorrow I’ll be all yours, you can tell me whatever you want.”

Spencer gives her a reassuring smile, nodding his head. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The rest of the team is already in Rossi’s backyard, no matter the low temperatures. Everyone is dressed up as monsters or book characters – Luke didn’t spend that much time thinking about his outfit, mainly because Roxy decided that his Frankenstein mask would be a delicious part of her dinner so he went with a simple vampire outfit.

Penelope, with her orange hair and pointy hat, is dressed up. Matt, with a lot of kids and a quite creative wife, ended up getting dressed as the Slender Man – long white sleeves with long white fingers, a tight black suit and that sparkly red tie around his neck.

Rossi didn’t dress up at all, no matter being the host who actually wanted this kind of party.. which bothered Spencer a little too much.

The young doctor, fixing the hat on top of his head, walks over to the owner of the house.

“Hey, why aren’t you dressed up? I thought we were going to have a Halloween party!”

Rossi looks at him up and down, crossing his arms to his chest. “Because I wouldn’t want to overshadow anyone, Spencer. You know my costume would be the best one here.”

Spencer can’t help, but chuckle at his colleague’s joke. “Ah, it’s a shame. I wanted to see your outfit!”

“Well, not today. I didn’t even come up with this dressed-up party anyway. My niece did.”

Spencer is puzzled. Did Rossi just admit he has a niece?

“Your niece?”

That’s the first time Rossi ever mentions the existence of a niece. At first Spencer thought he was talking about Joy’s children – maybe she had another baby! – but they’re not here, so it can’t be possible.

“Who mentioned me?”

Your voice echoes through the stairs as you climb down, making sure you don’t fall down on your own face. Your heels are high – they’re part of your outfit, which is why you’re not going to take them off unless it’s to go to bed.

However, you hate them right now. And you’re tempted to kick them away.

Spencer turns around and spots you, struggling to walk down while also holding the edge of your skirt so that you don’t trip on your own feet and the dress.

If he forgets how to breathe, it’s not a surprise.

You look absolutely breathtaking with your hair slightly pulled back, dark black makeup around your eyes and lips as red as blood.

Spencer doesn’t know what your outfit is about, but he doesn’t care; as long as he can admire you with it on, and hopefully without it on.

“Yes, niece. You.”

You hum, gripping David’s arm. “Oh, shut up. You told me that you were going to dress up but bailed on me last minute! And Krystall suggested throwing this party, I just sent the texts.”

Rossi rolls his eyes, patting your hand with a smile.

Spencer holds back a laugh, covering his mouth with his own hand. He doesn’t know who you are because he has never seen you before, but he’s definitely starting to like you or at least be slightly interested in you. You are so gorgeous, he’s not going to deny it, but you’re also incredibly bubbly.

And he has just seen you. What are you going to do to him in an hour? Or two?

“Young lady, you’re here because...”

“You missed me too much and you wanted me to come over to meet your team in hope I find myself a partner. I know!” – you exclaim, rolling your eyes before turning your head to look at the young man in front of you – “Ah, you must be Doctor Spencer Reid.”

David puts a hand on his forehead, shaking his head as he walks away. If he stays there, he’s going to witness Spencer melting into your bubbly personality – and he doesn’t really care about witnessing two people flirting with each other.

His plan is already working because he could see how Spencer kept staring at you. And you probably told Rossi that you might have looked up the cute Doctor in his team, which led him to make the decision to invite you over to his mansion to celebrate Halloween.

Maybe...

Maybe Dave’s plan was to actually get you and Spencer to like each other.

After all, he’s the only single in the team.

Luke is with Penelope, Matt is married just like JJ, Emily has a girlfriend and Tara is starting to reconcile with her ex girlfriend. They’re all taken but the young and pretty Doctor Reid – David thinks he’d be perfect for you.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Doctor Reid.” - you say with a huge smile on your face, holding out your hand before pulling it back - “Ah, wait. You don’t like shaking hands. My bad.”

Spencer can feel his cheeks heating up as soon as your eyes meet. David has probably talked to you about him many times - and he had, which made Spencer seem so incredibly attractive and interesting to you.

Usually Spencer is much more nervous around pretty girls like you, but he’s dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe and it’s Halloween night. He feels different, a little more blunt than usual.

Or maybe not, because he keeps fidgeting with his hands.

“I didn’t catch your name, sorry.”

“Y/N. I’m Y/N.”

Spencer bows his head down for a second, taking off his hat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I feel like I should bow to you because of your outfit.”

You giggle.

Spencer’s heart drops in his chest. He made you giggle and that sound was so heavenly, as if a God came down from the sky and caressed his cheeks.

“It’s just a little something I whipped out in a hurry. Unfortunately they lost my luggage at the airport. I had to borrow Krystall’s clothes.” - you mumble, straightening your dark skirt - “They’re comfortable, though! I should dress up like this on a daily basis.”

“They didn’t steal your makeup, though.”

You shake your head, stepping down the last stair. “Exactly! I was so relieved. I’ve spent much more money on makeup than all my clothes. It would’ve been a disaster to lose my beauty bag.”

Spencer stares at you in silence, taking in all of the details of your beauty.

Perfect lips, perfect hair, perfect eye shape, perfect voice, perfect in general.

There’s nothing he doesn’t like about you and it’s weird because he has just met you, but he can’t keep his eyes off you. You don’t mind at all, you like being admired, and you’re definitely hoping Spencer will admire you much closer than this - and not in front of anybody else.

“Wow, everyone is dressed up.” - you whisper, glancing at the rest of David’s team in his backyard - “I can’t believe I was so convincing with that text.”

“You used David’s phone for real?”

You shrug, running your fingers through your hair. “I may have done that. I’ve never celebrated Mischief Night before, so this was my chance to do so. And here we are! Look! You’re dressed as Edgar Allan Poe, I’m dressed as Lilith!”

Spencer doesn’t say anything, but his whole body is reacting positively to your answer. You know who Poe is, you know that Spencer has dressed up like this, you wanted to celebrate Mischief Night - which means you like that holiday, and probably Halloween as well.

Maybe Spencer has found his soulmate.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Spencer blinks, focusing on your face again. “Huh? Sorry, I was…”

You give him a smile, pointing to the backyard. “Let’s just go, I’m hungry and I want to show off my makeup. I didn’t spend two hours putting this makeup on just to stay locked inside of a room. I need to show it off!”

Each time you move around the living room, either to fill your glass with wine or have a smoke with David in his backyard, Spencer has his eyes on you. No one can blame him because you are absolutely adorable, with all of your interesting and fun anecdotes on your holidays in the Rossi’s mansion with Krystal, Joy and her son.

No one was expecting Rossi to have a “found niece” at all, if they had to be honest.

However you are a beautiful surprise and David is happy that he has finally introduced you to his whole team, because he could see how ecstatic and at ease you were for the whole dinner. You tried your best not to ask them what was the most wicked and naughty thing they saw while working on a case – you were hoping to have this discussion during another moment of the night, and not while you were eating, but you were too excited.

As JJ and Luke spoke about the last most gruesome case, Spencer couldn’t keep his eyes off you the whole time. You looked like you were having so much fun hearing about Emily or David being disgusted in front of remains or blood, because you never thought David was this sensitive over bodily fluids.

Either way, you listened to every single person in the team speaking about their most disgusting moment over the years and you laughed each time with all of them.

You felt like you were a part of this team, as if you knew them for your whole life.

It’s not easy to find people like these, people you can connect with in the blink of an eye. You feel proud of yourself for convincing David to throw this little party, because now you feel incredible.

Maybe it’s the wine...

Anyway, it doesn’t matter.

Penelope has already given you her number, which means you’ll get to hang out with her and gossip every single time about who-knows-what. Luke has found out that you are a dog lover, which means you’ll get to spend a few dinners at his place to play with Roxy and take her out for a walk whenever Luke will ask you to.

And since you love cats as well, Penelope will let you play with Sergio.

Spencer didn’t speak much throughout the dinner. You were expecting him to spit out more interesting facts about every single person’s costume at this table, but he kept his mouth shut and listened to the others talking.

At first you thought it was because of your presence right there at the table, but then Penelope kicked you with her shoes without the others seeing, and you noticed Spencer staring at you as if he was about to eat you.

You’d probably let him.

Before the whole party started, you were getting ready in the bathroom of the guest room when David came by to ask you how you were doing. You showed you all your makeup as he sat on the edge of the bed and you blabbed about how nervous you were to meet his colleagues, but also how excited you were to finally see Doctor Reid.

When David talked about him for the first time, you couldn’t believe a person like that could exist: a lover of nature and books, obsessed with coffee, graduated to a bunch of different things (you don’t know how he managed to study such a disgusting subject as physics!), a professor.

David talked about Spencer as if he was his son, with such a tenderness and kindness that he has shown to you over the years. You and Spencer were like his children, David loves both of you so dearly.

Which is exactly the reason why he thought it was a good idea for you to meet Spencer.

David didn’t tell you that he was planning on making you meet him because he wanted you to be with him, but he didn’t need to say that. He thought you’d be the perfect match for Spencer: no matter your hate for physics, you had a lot of things in common.

Both of you love books.

Both of you are professors.

Both of you are obsessed with Nature.

Both of you have a very dark apartment with books everywhere.

Both of you go stargazing whenever you can.

Both of you spend hours inside of a library just staring at books in order to pick one to take home.

Both of you love lavender scent candles or incense.

Both of you are quiet, but extremely endearing and adorable.

However, you’re an extrovert and Spencer is an introvert. You’re louder and you love going outside to meet new people no matter your quietness, while Spencer would rather stay at home and watch a Russian movie than meeting others.

It’s not like David wanted to change Spencer, absolutely not. He just thought you’d be his better half in a way to complete him, somehow. Everything he doesn’t have, you do. Everything you don’t have, he does.

It’s like the last two pieces of the same puzzle fitting together.

You didn’t know David’s plan at first, but you realised it as soon as you walked down the stairs to meet Spencer Reid’s chocolate eyes. You knew he was going to come over, which is why you made sure to be extra-perfect for the party, but you never thought you’d catch his eyes looking at you or your body the whole night.

Spencer doesn’t know that you were looking at him in the same exact way, with probably the same exact purpose: you want him more than anything and you’re determined to have him. It doesn’t matter where or when, you know you’ll have him however you want and wherever you want.

Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow but you will someday.

“Why did you convince Dave to throw a little party the day before Halloween?”

Spencer’s smooth voice captures your attention, forcing you to turn around. You’re met with a pair of chocolate eyes that leave you completely breathless: he looks so fucking hot like this, with the first three buttons of his white shirt completely opened and the hat long forgotten.

His unruly curls look so soft, you wonder how it would feel to run your fingers through them.

He’s lingering on the doorstep, watching the grey smoke from your cigarette vanishing into thin air. You shrug with a little smile over your lips, putting your free hand over your hip.

“It’s Mischief Night, Spencer!”

His eyes brighten up. “You know what it is?”

You widen your eyes, nodding. “Of course I do! I don’t really celebrate it, but I thought it’d be nice to switch things up for me.”

“Did you know that the term ‘Mischief Night’ was first used in Britain and not here in the US? It didn’t mean October 30, it was actually the day before May Day. – Spencer explains, taking a step further and closing the door behind his back – Young people played practical jokes, such as switching shop signs, overturning water tubs and trapping people inside their houses.”

You let out a low chuckle, inhaling through your cigarette before blowing the grey smoke out. “That’s very interesting, Spencer. I used to play pranks on people all the time when I was a child. It wasn’t really a tradition for me, I thought it was normal because all the kids in my neighbourhood would do it.”

His eyes are not leaving yours. “Pranks?”

“Hm, yes. I used to throw eggs at my neighbour’s car, even though that wasn’t really a prank. I hated that man with every fibre in my body because his kid stole my dolls. I had to get back at him somehow, but then his kid moved away while the neighbour stayed behind.”

“Ouch, that’s pretty sad.” – the young doctor mumbles, pointing to the chair underneath the gazebo – How about we sit there?”

You don’t answer him, simply walking through the plastic curtains before sitting down on one of the chairs that were previously occupied by you and David.

“I wasn’t really nice at the time, it’s long gone.”

“I bet you’re not nice either now.”

You raise your brow, smirking. “Oh, I’m definitely still a bad girl.”

Spencer chuckles, shaking his head. He got you exactly where he was hoping to get you, but he doesn’t know that you’re a much better player than him.

When you want someone, you get them. And you get them begging, whining, moaning, panting, withering underneath you until they’re a weak, pathetic little mess that you love to play with.

You’re excited to see how Spencer will be by the end of the night, if something happens.

“Can’t wait to see that, honestly.”

His words throw you off track because you were not expecting them, and when you turn your head to look at him, you realise that he wasn’t expecting them either. His eyes are widened and his mouth is slightly opened, while his right hand is ready to cover it. You don’t know if he said that and now he’s acting weird because he wants to see your reaction or because he’s really shocked by his own behaviour, but you’re definitely amused.

Ah, this cute little man will be the death of you. You can’t wait.

“So eager to have me in your bed, aren’t you?” you roll your eyes

As much as you’re amused and you’re curious to see what he’s going to do, you want to push him just a little bit. Teasing someone and then leaving them hanging is the best, especially if you get to see their shocked expression on their face as you walk away while they need to cover their little problem.

Tonight you feel nice, though, so maybe you will help this someone with his problem.

“I, uh... I’m sure your bed is much more comfortable than mine.”

You crush the butt of your cigarette inside the ashtray. “Should we try it so we can compare them?”

You can see Spencer gulping, his eyes scanning your face as if he’s trying to understand whether you’re joking or not. You were just teasing him – or maybe not. Definitely not, because you’re quite curious to see how he’d react with your legs spread open just for him and your fingers playing with yourself while waiting for him. After all, you’re a Goddess tonight – which means he will need to worship you, kiss every inch of you and savour the taste of your skin.

“Or we can stay here and look each other in the eyes until someone gives in.”

You put your right hand underneath your chin and lean forward, staring into those beautiful eyes that immediately look away from you. You don’t know if he pulled away because you made him uncomfortable by being so close to him or by your words; either way, you feel bad because this wasn’t your intention. You were just playing, but maybe you played too rough with him.

After all, he’s the “baby genius” of the group – as David always said.

You wonder if Spencer could give you a baby genius.

The thought makes you smile.

“The others will hear me.”

His answer comes as quickly as the quick movements of your eyes on his face. Spencer is thinking about your proposition, which makes you squeeze your legs together.

“They won’t if I keep that sweet little mouth of yours occupied, don’t you think?”

Spencer struggles to look you in the eyes, terrified that you might see the desire flashing behind his and going straight to his groin. He has been trying to hide that little problem for the past hour. He thought that coming out here and talking to you innocently would’ve helped him stop thinking about you riding him, but it didn’t. Nothing helped.

“Do I have a sweet little mouth?”

You hum, chuckling at his blushing cheeks. “Of course you do. You have the prettiest lips I’ve ever seen. I bet they’re soft, too.”

Spencer lowers his eyes, blushing even more at your compliments. How can he react like this just because of a few words? You haven’t even touched him or told him how you’re going to want him to touch you, and he’s like this?

Hard and needy?

You find him adorable, but pathetic as well.

You’re going to break this boy down piece by piece and you’ll love it.

“I’m not going to kiss you right now because I probably won’t be able to stop.” – you mumble, placing a hand over his knee – “I’ll tell David I’m not feeling too well. You know where the guest room is.”

You stand up before he could open his mouth to answer you and you leave him outside, gently approaching your uncle. Placing your hands on his shoulder, you wait until he finishes talking about the last time he went to Italy and ended up taking the wrong train, with no money, no clean clothes.

You’ve heard that story so many times and it’s still so funny, because you were right there with him. You were the other person that lost their luggage on holiday and ended up having to buy everything inside of a supermarket, along with Krystall.

It was weird, but so worth it.

When David is done talking, you tap him on the shoulder and you lean forward. You whisper in his ear that you feel a bit lightheaded because of all the alcohol you have drank the whole night. He touches your hand, looking at you worried.

“I’m sorry, pumpkin. Do you need me to do something? Do you have your medicine?”

You nod your head, smiling softly. “Yes, thank you. I’ll come back when I feel better.”

Kissing his forehead, you tap his shoulders again and then you apologise to the rest of the guests, excusing yourself out of the room.

You don’t like to interrupt a party to announce that you’re not feeling well, especially if it’s a lie, but you’re not going to turn the chance of having Spencer all over you down. It’s what you’ve been waiting for since you saw him at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at you as if you were the most precious creation on Earth.

David glances at Spencer stepping inside the living room with his cheeks totally flushed and his eyes down on the floor. He doesn’t know what happened outside and, honestly, he doesn’t want to know, but he could see how you affected Spencer.

You weren’t the only one who noticed his hungry eyes on you the whole time.

The rest of the team, especially Penelope and David, did.

“Hey kid, are you alright?” Luke calls out

Spencer clears his throat, facing the rest of his team. “Hm? Oh yeah, everything’s fine. I was just looking for some, uh, water. I’m thirsty.”

Penelope holds back a laugh when David glares at her.

There’s no need to embarrass Spencer any further because he’ll be done as soon as he not-so-subtly asks if he can use the bathroom upstairs.

“Are you sure you don’t want a glass of wine?” Emily asks

Spencer shakes his head, heading to the kitchen. “No, I’m good with water. Thank you.”

Luke takes a sip of his wine, leaning against the chair. “What’s going on?”

Spencer ignores his question, opening the fridge inside the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. He needs it because his mouth is so dry due to his nerves. He knows he’s acting weird and the rest of the team probably understood what’s actually going on, while you don’t have a clue.

Upstairs, you’re taking off your shoes.

You wonder what Spencer has told the team to cause this silence and you start to get nervous, because maybe you shouldn’t have been so eager to have Spencer with you. You don’t want anybody to know what’s going to happen in your bedroom if he shows up, so you hope Spencer doesn’t mess things up for you.

You don’t really want David to give you the “you can’t have sex with my colleagues in my house” talk, even though he’ll probably say something tomorrow morning – or in the next few days you’ll stay right there.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Startled by the sound coming from the door, you almost drop your phone on the floor, but you manage to put it on your nightstand. It’s incredible how fast he was, but you don’t blame him: you’re as eager as him.

Straightening the skirt of your black dress, you head to the door. You hoped you’d have enough time to undress.

You open the door.

“Hi.”

Spencer stands in front of you, his eyes not leaving yours. “Hey.”

You grab him by the red tie around his neck, pulling him inside of your bedroom. He closes the door behind his back and his mouth immediately covers yours, making you stumble as you try to get back over to your bed.

Okay, you were definitely not expecting Spencer to be like this.

You were not expecting him to kiss you as soon as you opened the door, but you don’t complain. You wanted to do this when you were outside on the patio, so you’re grateful he has made the first move.

His hands slide down over to your thighs, gripping them as you gasp against his lips.

“We have to be quick, I told them I was going to the bathroom.”

You nod without interrupting the kiss, biting his bottom lip. You will be as quick as you can, hopefully he’ll be as well – you’re not sure if you’re going to have enough time to actually have sex with him right now, but there’s no rush.

“Then, let’s get to it.”

Spencer gets on his knees almost immediately, not giving you the time to enjoy the last kiss he gave you. The sight in front of you is just as hot as you thought it would be.

“Don’t make a sound.”

You roll your eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed. “So bossy.”

His eyes widen at your words, biting his bottom lip. He didn’t mean to make you mad – he’s terrified of you not giving him what he craves the most.

“I’m not, I just... don’t want the others to know what I’m doing.”

You run your fingers through his hair, gripping his curls. “They won’t, but put that mouth to use so it’ll be occupied.”

Spencer looks up at you for a few seconds, his lips parting as you speak to him in a tone of voice that sends shivers down his spine. You can feel and see the flashes of desire behind those beautiful lustful eyes, it’s incredibly hot.

“Go ahead, gorgeous. I’m waiting.”

His fingers slip underneath the skirt of your dress, exploring the soft skin of your thighs. You bite your bottom lip, staring at him as he makes his way under your dress to leave a trace of kisses from your knee up to your thighs.

You raise your leg and put it over his shoulders, keeping your right hand through his soft curls as you tug on them. You knew the sight was going to be delicious as soon as you met him, but this was incredibly hot – even hotter than before, when he was staring at you as if you were a painting.

Spencer is trying his best to not make a single sound, his mouth busy to kiss and worship your thighs.

You can’t really see his face from where you’re sitting so you lift your skirt, just enough to spot those beautiful pairs of eyes staring back at you.

“Hi.”

Spencer leaves another kiss on your inner thigh. “Hello Y/N.”

“Looking good over there.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers hooking up your panties before sliding them down your legs. You kick them away as soon as they reach your calves and you spread your legs, biting your bottom lip.

“Beautiful. Just as I thought.”

Blushing because of his compliments, you raise an eyebrow. “You thought about me like this?”

“Through the whole dinner.”

Spencer kisses down your inner thighs again, the gentle brush of his stubble against your skin setting it on fire. You know that your thighs will be covered in little nicks by tomorrow morning, but if this is the price to pay... you’re more than willing to spread your legs for him.

“You must have an incredible imagination, Doctor Reid.”

He worships you with his tongue, tracing it up to your inner thigh before sliding it over your clit. The sound that leaves your mouth will be forever imprinted in his mind, replaying over and over each time he’ll think about you.

“Fuck. An incredible tongue, too.” – you struggle to whisper, running your fingers through his curls before tugging on them – “Don’t stop.”

Spencer doesn’t plan to, closing his eyes and allowing his tongue to caress every inch of you and taste the sweetness of your heat. With his head buried between your thighs and your hands pulling his hair, Spencer thinks he just landed in Heaven – or where things are so perfect, a place he doesn’t want to run away from.

Normally, he would keep eye-contact with the person he’s ravishing, but today he knows he can’t do that. You probably wouldn’t mind, but Spencer wouldn’t be able to last at all – your eyes are magnetic.

It’s not even about the colour or the shape, it’s about the desire flashing behind them.

It’s a combination between your attitude, your confidence, your words... a dangerous mix that makes Spencer high alert on everything you do and say.

If he looks at you, he will come untouched. That’s it.

He can’t have that, he doesn’t want to disappoint you and no matter how quick his refractory period is, he doesn’t want to wait. He needs to be inside of you, he needs to orgasm because you want him to, he desperately craves to obey each one of your orders and watch you come undone before doing it himself.

Spencer wraps his lips around your clit, sucking it gently before you grip his hair. He knows you’re holding back those moans – the first one betrayed you, slipping out of your mouth before you could stop it. He wishes he’d be in another bedroom, maybe his; in another house, maybe his.

So you could be loud. So loud his neighbours would knock at his door and beg him to keep it quiet, which would make you and him way louder than you should be.

“Keep your eyes on me, Doctor Reid.” – you whisper, desire oozing from your voice as you move your hips against his face – “I want you to look at me while you eat me out.”

Spencer suppresses a frustrated whine, struggling to open his eyes, but managing to do as you wished. He doesn’t want to look at you, he doesn’t need you to see him completely wrecked just because of your salty taste.

You push a second pillow underneath your head, propping it high just enough so you can admire the amazing work Spencer is doing between your legs. And when you meet those chocolate eyes, you notice something strange.

His left hand is not on the bed.

“What are you doing with that hand, Doctor?”

Spencer stops his movements, pressing a soft kiss right above your clit in hope to distract you from the question you asked.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

You raise your brow. “Are you touching yourself?”

Spencer doesn’t answer your question, burying his face between your legs again. His tongue delves deeper inside of you, making you shudder at the sensation. Your hands immediately fly right behind his head, pushing him right there where you want him the most.

He knew he was going to distract you.

He hoped so.

“You dirty little slut.” – you manage to speak, your voice broken by the pleasure amplifying more and more through your body – “Does this turn you on, Spencer? Are you hard because you’re eating me out?”

Spencer tightens his grip at the base of his cock, moving his hips slightly forward with his eyes still settled on your face. The hum he gives you in response to your question tells you that yes, he’s indeed turned on by all of this.

You don’t blame him.

Oral sex is one of the best act you could ever give or receive.

“Don’t stop.”

Spencer closes his eyes and savours your taste, gripping your thigh with his left hand and pushing your lower body towards his. You can feel yourself ready to topple over the edge, the pleasure tightening in your stomach as soon as his tongue slides up and down your clit.

You gasp and whimper at his movements, enjoying the wet sounds of his mouth devouring you.

“Spencer..”

You feel the tension snapping within you as you come, gripping his curls and tugging them even harder. Your back is arched and you don’t know for how long you’re going to be able to stay quiet, because this feels too fucking good.

Spencer doesn’t budge at your movements, his tongue relentlessly touching you, stimulating you to the point you can barely breathe.

Every cell in your body is on fire.

Then everything stops.

Spencer pulls away with his mouth and gets up on his feet, using his wet hand to touch himself. You’re dizzy and your legs are shaking because of the pleasure that ran through you, but as soon as you see him moving, you move.

“Do you want to come inside of me, darling?”

Spencer’s eyes snap wide open, staring at you with his parted lips. “Y-Yes.”

“Then fuck me.” - you mumble, gripping his tie - “Fuck me, but be quick. You don’t want the others to know what you’re doing, do you?”

He shakes his head, stroking his cock. “I don’t care.”

You giggle, sitting back up with your legs wide open. “Oh, you don’t? Do you want them to know how naughty you are? How hard are you because you ate my pussy?”

Spencer whines at your words, struggling to keep his eyes on you. “I… Please.”

“Please what, darling?”

“I don’t..” - he bites his bottom lip, pushing the head of his cock against your clit - “I can’t fuck you, I don’t have condoms.”

“Are you clean?”

You’ve never seen such a greedy man in front of you, silently begging you to let him fuck you and just come inside of you. Spencer looks incredibly beautiful, bent over towards you with his lips slightly parted and his right hand stroking his cock.

You feel your mouth water at the sight.

You lean forward, placing a hand underneath his. Spencer gasps.

“Yes! Yes, I’m clean.”

He’s so embarrassingly desperate.

“I’m clean as well.” - you tell him, grabbing his left hand - “Come on, fuck me.”

Spencer obeys, immediately pushing his length inside of you. His eyes close and he throws his head back, a soft moan echoing through the room as he finally feels the warmth of your walls tightening around him.

He didn’t even wait for you to be ready, he just wanted to get inside of you as quickly as possible.

So eager, so desperate.

It turns you on more than it should.

Spencer is glad you let him fuck you, because he wouldn’t have been able to stop thinking about it for the rest of the night. Waiting wouldn’t have been that merciful, now that you think about it.

“You feel so fucking good.”

Spencer moves his hips, lifting yours just enough to allow his cock to slide even deeper inside of you. You take all of him, adjusting to his size as you grip the bed sheets all around you.

“Fuck me, Spencer.”

He blinks, putting his hands underneath your thighs. He pushes your body closer to his, forcing you to close your legs around his waist. He doesn’t lift your whole body off the bed, but he lifts your hips.

And when the angle changes, you swear you’re in Heaven.

Spencer starts thrusting inside of you, his eyes never leaving your face because he wants to see you break down all over again. He needs to see you in pure bliss, he wants to push you off that edge again because that was the hottest thing he has ever seen in his whole life.

He didn’t think you’d let him fuck you right now.

He’ll forever be grateful for that.

“C-Close.”

You feel delicious all around him, tight enough. Spencer will dream about this for days, for weeks, for months - or until the next time he’ll be able to have you like this again.

He hopes it will be very soon.

You run your fingers through his hair, grabbing him by the tie with your other hand in order to have him closer. Spencer whines against your lips, kissing them feverishly.

“Come for me, darling.” - you whisper, the pleasure building rapidly behind your belly button again - “I want you to come inside of me, please. I need it so badly.”

You don’t know if what you’re saying makes sense, you’re too lost in your own pleasure and in the beauty of the man on top of you. The whole world stops as soon as his hands hold you down against the mattress, pinning you to the bed and preventing you from wiggling away.

You can’t do anything besides take all of him inside of you.

You wouldn’t change a thing.

Spencer doesn’t need to be told twice, feeling his tension getting tighter and tighter until it snaps, quick and hard. And he comes, painting your walls with his cum just as you follow off the cliff of pleasure with him.

It was quick, it was rough, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Spencer nurses your orgasm with slow thrust, riding his peak as well. Enjoying the tightness of your body all around him, he forces himself to keep his mouth shut when all he wants to do is praise you for being so fucking perfect.

He wants to do this all over again, until you can’t do anything but moan his name.

You’re still shaking because of your orgasm as Spencer collapses on top of you, his mouth attaching to your neck to nibble on it. You can feel his cock twitch inside of you and you wonder what Spencer would do if he saw the mess he has made between your legs.

It would be fun to force him to clean it up.

However, you can’t. Not now, at least.

He got hard because he ate you out, he’d probably get hard again. As much as you’re dying to have him in your mouth, you have to wait until the party's over and you can sneak out of your room to head to Spencer’s place.

Or his car.

You don’t care where you can have him again.

“Good boy, you did so good.” - you mutter in his ear, caressing his curls - “You’re incredible, Spence.”

He doesn’t want to pull away and pull out, he wants to be between your legs for the rest of the night. You feel too good right there, underneath his body with your hands touching him and caressing him.

And you smell so good.

“Thank you. You were so perfect.” - he starts to say - “So, so perfect… Wish I could have you every single day. Fuck, you felt so good.”

He keeps whispering praises to you, how much he loved fucking you and eating you out. You can see how relaxed he is now and you wonder if he’s alright, because you’ve never had someone be so dependent on you after sex.

It’s… interesting.

And fascinating.

“Thank you, darling.” - you tell him, tapping his chin - “Pull out now.”

Spencer obeys your order, immediately taking a step back and pulling out of your body. His come, mixed with your own arousal, drips out of your body, pooling right underneath you.

The sight makes him lick his bottom lip.

“Later, okay?” - you tell him, placing a hand between your legs - “Now go downstairs, yeah?”

Spencer lingers right in front of you for a whole good minute, staring at the mess he has made right between your legs. It’s incredible how just the sight gets him immediately on his knees, but you’re quicker than him.

You snap your fingers and you grab his arm, pushing him back up. “No. Not now, later. Wait for me in your car when all the others will leave, okay? I will find a way to sneak out.”

The young doctor stares at you before grabbing you by the face, immediately attacking his lips to yours. You close your eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck, standing up from the bed and feeling his come dripping down your thighs.

You hope he’s going to make another mess later.

“Okay, okay.” - Spencer says, sliding his hand down to your thighs - “I’ll wait for you.”

You don’t want to pull away from him, but you have to.

Walking him to the door, with your skirt completely raised up to your hip, you give him another peck on the lips. Spencer lingers again with his mouth on yours before opening the door, forcing you to take a step back.

You don’t want the others to see you.

“Clean up your face, darling. You look like someone who just ate some good pussy.”

You wink at him, pushing him out of the door.

It’s true, he had the chance to taste you and now he won’t think about anything else.

He should, because as soon as he gets down to the living room, everyone is looking at him.

Spencer washed his face and fixed his tie, making sure that there’s no trace of you on him. He doesn’t want the others to know that he got on his knees for you, that he buried his face between your legs, that he has just fucked you hard and fast until he had the chance to fill you up.

The thought makes him smile.

You felt so good all around him.

He loved watching you crumble along with him, because you were so tight and...

“Are you alright, Reid? Is Y/N okay?” Penelope asks

David rolls his eyes, lifting his right hand. “I don’t want to hear anything. She’s my niece!”

Spencer keeps his mouth shut, sitting beside Luke. “She’s... She’s really good.”

The party goes on for at least one more hour, then one by one, the rest of the team heads home. Spencer is the last one to leave Rossi’s mansion, not really sure whether to get out of the house and wait for you somewhere on the road or just come clean with David.

He’s a profiler, he knows exactly what is happening between you and Spencer.

Spencer made sure not to mention throughout the night, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how and how hard you kissed him. Everything you did, everything you said was so intoxicating – and it wasn’t just because you are extremely beautiful.

No, it’s just...

Everything.

Spencer can’t pinpoint exactly what he loves the most about you.

“Are you waiting for Y/N?”

Spencer blinks, turning to look at David. “Me? No, I was just...”

“Y/N!”

David calls out your name and Spencer’s heart drops to his chest, shocked by his action. He wasn’t expecting his colleague to yell your name, mostly because he was hoping no one downstairs understood what was happening just a floor up.

Apparently, they all did.

You open the door of your room, your head poking out at the top of the stairs. “Yes?”

“Spencer’s waiting for you.”

You look at him for a split second and Spencer waves at you, clearly embarrassed by what’s happening right now. You don’t blame him, you want to bury yourself with your bed sheets right now because you weren’t exactly planning on going out in the open with Spencer.

You don’t complain.

Hiding would’ve taken you minutes or at least an hour.

And you were starting to miss Spencer.

Hopping down the stairs in nothing, but a sweater and a pair of black leggings, you nod your head. You grab Spencer’s hand and place a kiss on his cheek, turning your head to look at David.

He’s not surprised.

Instead, he smiles.

“Ah, my new favourite couple.” – Krystall chimes in from behind, placing a hand over her heart – “Are you guys going out to celebrate Mischief Night all alone?”

Spencer feels like a guy who just arrived to pick up his girlfriend from prom. It’s not embarrassing, it’s just a bit unsettling so he turns to look at you – and when he does, and your eyes meet, he feels relaxed.

This is not that bad.

“Yes, there’s a Drive-In cinema not too far from here. I think we’ll go there and get to know each other.” – Spencer says, staring at you with a sheepish smile on his face – “Y/N is really interesting.”

You blush at his complement, gripping his elbow. “So charming.”

Krystall coos, nodding her head. “Alright! Have fun, guys. And enjoy Mischief Night! Be careful, there are kids egging cars around this neighbourhood.”

You yank Spencer by the elbow, running outside David’s house in silence. There’s no need to say anything, because if you open your mouth you will probably start laughing until you can even breathe anymore.

You were trying to be so secret... And it didn’t work.

It obviously didn’t work, you’re not as sneaky as you think you are.

Spencer opens the car door for you, closing it before jumping on his own seat.

“Oh my...”

He giggles first, covering his mouth.

You try your best to keep your mouth shut, not wanting to give in. This is not funny, this is quite embarrassing and you know you will never hear the end of it the day after. David’s not going to let you go so easily, and he’ll probably give you the whole speech about safe sex and how young you are compared to Spencer.

Thirteen years are not that much!

“We got caught.”

“I’m not surprised.” – Spencer says, turning to look at you as he leans forward – “I know a place we can go to be alone. No one will bother us, not even kids with their eggs.”

You nod your head, placing a hand on top of his. “So you can be as loud as you want while you watch me suck your pretty cock.”

The young doctor bites his bottom lip at your words, your hand immediately sliding from his to the bulge already forming between his legs.

He’s so easy to work up.

“Take me there.” – you tell him, placing a soft kiss over his lips – “Now.”

Spencer has never driven so fast to a place before in his life, dying to feel your mouth all over him like you just promised. He’s not going to hold back now, enjoying everything you can give him and giving you even more than he could do at David’s house.

If tomorrow your jaw is sore and your thighs are covered in little bite marks, you don’t complain. Maybe heading to that dark place with no one around and having the young doctor have his way with you was the best idea you’ve ever heard.

You hope to celebrate Mischief Night like this every single year.

Please consider liking, reblogging, or commenting on the fic if you are on the taglist. Otherwise, you are essentially asking me to take an extra step to include you while offering me absolutely NOTHING in exchange, which is a pretty shitty feeling.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid smut imagine #spencer reid smut one shot #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid smut fic #doctor spencer reid #doctor spencer reid smut #amor doce

[sowritten]

𝐃𝐎  𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄

who wants a bite of me?

listen babe, nothing is as it seems.

god, you sound like you want to wear her skin.

do you think I did too much?

do you want me to push her in the pool? do you want me to light her hair on fire?

you look incredible tonight.

how could you do this to me?

baby, come on. I would never do this.

channel that anger into getting what you want.

why would he do this to me?

I hated myself for letting my guard down.

peaking in high school is cringe.

you have a really weird energy.

I don’t need your pity.

you insufferable cunt! I know you did this!

I don’t even do cocaine!

you think I framed you?

do you still not want my pity?

I know what it’s like to get screwed over by someone you thought you could trust.

you really had that pent-up, huh?

you look like you want a grilled cheese. let’s get you a grilled cheese.

I thought you were gonna put out a hit on me or something.

okay, I’ll just go fuck myself.

to be honest, I’m still recovering.

I just want to say how sorry I am for what happened to you last year.

oh, I’m sorry ‘school house rock’, are you dragging my sentence structure right now?

we won’t get caught, that’s the whole point.

I don’t want to make her pay. I want to burn her to the ground.

you’re giving off some serious glenn close in fatal attraction energy right now.

I can ruin her in my sleep.

I’m Frankenstein, and you’re Frankenstein’s bad bitch.

your new vibe is high-status cunt.

sometimes you have to pretend to be someone else to get what you want.

oh my god, don’t be so dramatic.

you called me a human birkenstock.

I’ve always been very intrigued by what you do here.

cool.

my ex-girlfriend is mad that I hooked up with my ex-boyfriend.

make revenge mommy proud.

are you stalking me?

I like your shirt. did it come with a bag of granola and a matching pair of Tevas?

what are you doing here?

that’s the exciting part of getting to know someone; you’re a mystery until you’re not.

the orgy usually starts around sundown.

can we talk about it, please?

well, we’re not having sex. you can go fuck yourself.

tell me something nobody knows about you.

I’m interesting, and you want to impress me.

what do you want to be?

we’re all just performing.

this feels illegal.

I want her to hit me with her Tesla and then reverse back over me.

I want her to stuff me like a taxidermy doll and then mount me on her wall like a prize.

I want her to hide my body in the woods and then start the search party trying to find me.

I am so proud of you. this is going to be the best night ever.

I feel like a little butterfly!

it’s called double assurance, sweetie. look it up.

are you on mushrooms?

your instincts were right.

you know you don’t have to be brave with me.

this sucks. it’s allowed to suck.

do you think I’ll feel better?

I’m just so angry all the time.

sometimes it just hurts to exist, you know?

I just want to feel normal again.

I like you; you’re just like me.

I didn’t know you were an artist.

rude... but fair.

don’t equate your worth to some archaic idea of what the best means.

can I say something that might make you very uncomfortable?

I’m shocked! this is shocking news!

we’re casting spells tonight, bitch.

ban men!

get in there and eat that ass, is what I’m saying!

don’t do that! don’t pity me, and definitely don’t touch me!

I lost everything! fucking everything!

they need to feel the consequences of what they did to me.

they have to pay. all of them.

I feel like I’m being eaten alive from the inside, actually.

do you ever look around and just think, how did I get here?

all this shit, it’s just armour.

I really like you. I wanna tell you everything.

everything I thought I hated was exactly what I always wanted.

what’s going on in that head of yours?

I just need a little distraction from all the stress.

can’t we put all this ugliness aside?

I think you handled that very well.

nice entrance.

what do you think you’re doing?

you don’t even answer my texts!

those people do not care about you.

they’re not your friends.

oh my god, you’re pathetic.

none of this is real!

are you any different from them?

are you sure? there’s never been any evidence.

I mean this from the bottom of my heart: fuck you.

did you overhear that?

you said some pretty messed up stuff out there.

someone was probably messing with you.

from the bottom of my heart, I wish you nothing but the worst for the rest of your miserable fucking existence.

I love your ear balls.

sleep with one eye open, bitch.

I’ve had the upper hand the entire time.

you made this pretty easy, I gotta say.

you’ll never get away with this.

I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep anymore.

where does this game end?

there is nothing else you can take away from me.

I’m going to make sure that you’re stuck with your pain forever, because I am stuck with mine.

if you want to ruin me, go ahead. I’m not helping you.

I promise I can explain.

I had no choice!

do you ever think about anyone other than yourself?

I really wanted this to work, but it just doesn’t.

I was deciding between this and elsa, but I kind of thought you weren’t an elsa person, although you are a frigid bitch.

I’m sorry that I hit you with my car.

there’s nothing vapid people love more than making other peoples’ tragedies about them.

don’t cry. it’s alright.

I wish it could have been different.

what should have felt exhilarating just felt rotten.

how did you know I’d be here?

I miss you.

it shouldn’t have taken an accident for me to realize that, and I’m sorry.

I think you’re lucky.

I don’t feel free. I feel like I got hit by a car.

I give up. I’m done.

show everybody what a bad bitch looks like.

I created you, and I can just as easily destroy you.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.

we can’t erase what we did to each other, but I don’t want to hurt you anymore.

you might be the only real friend I’ve ever had.

I will regret what I did to you forever.

I’m sorry.... for everything.

did you just enter doing a slow clap, you cliché piece of shit?

you really are the devil.

I thought we had a whole will-they, won’t-they thing going on.

where are you going with this?

I know all your secrets now.

no one would’ve given a shit about you if it wasn’t for me.

why the fuck are you laughing?

goddamn do I love you right now.

I think we might be fucked-up soulmates.

you are a very lucky girl.

fuck you. we’re over.

I think you should leave.

I don’t want to be that person anymore.

everything you’ve done, everything that’s happened to you, has brought you to this moment.

fuck figuring out who you’re meant to be. stay lost as long as you can.

I wanted to do something cute, like a grand gesture.

#rp meme #roleplay meme #sentence meme #roleplay starters #sentence starters #starters: do revenge

[sanjoongie]

Dr. Frankenstein and Your Monster~ 2

♡Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader (f) x Park Seonghwa ♡Genre: smut with no plot ♡Au: Novel(frankenstein by mary shelley) inspired au, established relationship au ♡Word Count: 2,955 ♡Warnings: dom!yunho, sub!hwa, sub!reader, water/bath sex, penetrative sex without barrier, oral receiving (m), nipple play, mxm, foreplay for hwa and reader a la yunho, voyeurism, bukake, double penetration, deep throating, f/m/m orgasm ♡Rated: 18+ MDNI ♡Part One~ ♡Dedication~ @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland the unholy trinity beta team. one of you loves these aries and the other one is an aries and i can never decide if i'm blessed or cursed by this ><

Bathtime~

It was during times like these where you really understood why certain people in Yunho’s community, and sometimes the town, labeled Yunho as an ‘evil genius’. As his wife, you were certainly aware of his sadistic tendencies, that coupled with his brilliant mind, made a perfect equation for this label. However, no one would truly understand how deep this ran in Yunho, unless they were a fly on the wall of your bathroom, of course.

The large, clawed-foot tub was built to hold you and Yunho, so of course, it was easy for you and Seonghwa to bathe in it. With the heated tiling, the room was above room temperature. Yunho turns the faucets so that steaming water could begin to fill the bath. He drops in some choice bath oils, because he knew you liked it so, and then promptly begins to loosen his tie and remove certain items of clothing.

“Seonghwa, honey, let me help you.” You motioned for your favorite monster to come to you when he struggles with removing the harness over his shirt. How he managed to get it on in the first place is a mystery to you.

He patiently stands in front of you, eyes shining with adoration as you undo the clasps and bend so that you can lift it over his head. Next is taking your time and unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it out from his waistband. You are loath to remove it completely, you do love how it looks against his skin. Seonghwa’s head is ducked as your eyes take in his revealed skin.

“Mistress,” He murmurs, closing his eyes and getting embarrassed.

You hush him, “Let me enjoy you, Seonghwa.”

Small splashing noises can be heard from behind you, and you know that Yunho is doing his best to wash up in a small basin so that he can orchestrate the bathtime that he had ordered. So you continue to help Seonghwa out of his clothes. You make small noises at the sight of Seonghwa’s cock covered in his blue cum. It’s still a glorious sight, even though his cock has softened.

“Poor baby,” You coo, well aware that Seonghwa despises being dirty, regardless of the reason for his creation.

“Dirty,” Seonghwa whines, playing into your caretaker role.

“I’ll take care of you, Hwa, don’t worry.” You beam up at him and his pout lessens, but only slightly.

“Let me take care of you too,” Seonghwa insists.

You turn around so that he can begin on the many buttons down the back of your dress. He stumbles for a while, the small buttons causing him trouble. When he starts to whine and huff, Yunho moves around behind you to help Seonghwa. “Slow, Seonghwa,” Yunho instructs him, “You have to take your time.”

“But!” Seonghwa protests.

You don’t know what is exchanged between your husband or your fuck toy, but suddenly you hear a rip and you keen at the lose of another, yes another, good dress. “Yunho! I just had that one made.”

“We’ll go to the dressmakers this week. I’m home now, so it's not a problem to escort you.” And just like that Yunho dismisses your issues. 

Yunho pulls down the dress, so that your arms pull out of the sleeves and then Seonghwa holds your hand as you daintily step out of the dress pooled at your feet. You are left in a simple sheath but it does nothing to hide how pert your nipples are--and the air is not cool enough to blame.

Yunho’s hands cup your breasts and his fingers begin to play with your nipples. “Excited for bath time?” He murmurs in your ear.

“You know it’s my favorite,” You can’t help but whine again.

Seonghwa eyes up the steam coming from the bath. “It’s going to be too hot!”

“You’ll be fine, Seonghwa,” Yunho reassures his creation, “Besides, half of it will slosh out while you’re fucking my wife.”

“Yun!” Your back bows as Yunho pinches your nipples and then yanks your sheathe down until it is also a pool of material at your feet. 

“In the tub, the both of you,” Yunho orders.

“Come on, Hwa,” You cajole the monster. 

Seonghwa doesn’t move from his spot but you slip into the bath nonetheless. You groan as the hot water hits your skin. “Oh god, this is exactly what I needed.”

“Because of your muscles or because of your dirty cunt,” Yunho teases again.

“Both,” You say, unable to keep the pout from your voice.

Seonghwa has wrapped his arms around his body stubbornly now. Sometimes he can’t be budged when he makes up his mind. 

Yunho’s lips purse in disapproval. “Seonghwa. In the bath. Now.”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “No.”

Yunho storms over to his creation and grips Seonghwa’s jaw harshly. “Did you just disobey a direct order from your master?”

Seonghwa whimpers. “But--”

Yunho may sound bored but his tone is a direct indication of how pissed off he is at this moment. “If you want, I can fuck her again. Show you how your technique could improve. And tomorrow morning in bed and tomorrow afternoon at the dressmakers and tomorrow evening on the balcony. I can fuck her for every time slot that you should be. And you won’t get to touch her for the week. I’m fine with that, Seonghwa, but are you?” 

You and Seonghwa shiver at the implications of Yunho’s sentence. Yes, once Yunho is home, he is your primary and Seonghwa is not necessarily needed but it was not of your typical practice to simply discard Seonghwa like an unwanted toy. Seonghwa was needy, certainly, and Yunho enjoyed playing with his boundaries, yes, but it was always a push and pull. Without the pull, Seonghwa might actually go crazy with need.

Seonghwa’s eyes are downcast now, knowing he will not win with Yunho’s stern temperament. “No, I don’t want that.”

“Then you get in the damn tub,” Yunho said harshly one more time and then let go of Seonghwa with a wretch.

After discarding his pants, Seonghwa hisses all the while he gets into the tub. He whines about it being too hot and you can't help but giggle at what a big baby he is being. Once he was sitting down, you reach for a washcloth but Yunho put his hand over you. “That’s my privilege, darling,” He corrects you.

Yunho lathers up the cloth with soap and then plunges his hand under the water. He rubs your cunt gently and you open your legs wider for him. His fingers play through the soft material of the cloth, making sure to wipe all his cum from you--that he could reach, anyways. Who knows how much decided to remain deep inside of you. You close your eyes, enjoying the sensation of Yunho playing with your cunt. It is too soon when he takes it away and you whimper at the loss.

“I have to clean Seonghwa too,” Yunho reassures you.

That’s when your eyes fly open. Yunho is acting differently again. Typically, he did not have this kind of interaction with Seonghwa, but you were suddenly desperate to see what else he had planned, after kissing Seonghwa with such fervor previously. 

You watch as Yunho dutifully lathers up the cloth again. Seonghwa watches with trusting eyes as Yunho put a heavy hand on one of Seonghwa’s already-spread thighs and wraps his hand, and the cloth, around Seonghwa’s dick. Seonghwa’s spine bows at the feeling, hissing and moaning at Yunho’s ‘cleaning’. Even after it is clear that all of Seonghwa’s cum was gone, Yunho continues to pump his creation’s dick, making it grow larger and larger, until Seonghwa is surely at full mast. You almost think Yunho is going to make Seonghwa come again, when he pulls his hand off of Seonghwa. Yunho dips the cloth into the water and wrings the cloth of all the water from it.

Seonghwa is fully leaning against the bathtub, panting with need, eyes hooded and clearly ready for the bathtime fuck that Yunho has decided the both of you need. All you want is to lean over and push his hair from his eyes, but you know better than to start something without Yunho’s permission.

"Stay where you are, sweetheart," yunho murmurs, "I want to see Seonghwa fuck you."

You swallow loudly but keep your legs open as Seonghwa switches positions carefully. He places a hand on the lip of the tub, on each side of your head, and carefully lies between your legs. His straining cock nudges your outer lips and you buck against the feeling. You are sensitive from Yunho playing with you. Although you are still quite full from Yunho being inside of you, there was something about having Yunho watch you with his calculating eyes while Hwa fucks you that really did create butterflies in your stomach.

This time you do reach up to card through Seonghwa’s hair. It was damp and wet at the ends. Seonghwa sucks in his bottom lip as you did such a gentle gesture. "Please," he whines.

"Think you can handle him, Sweetheart?" Yunho says lowly into your ear. He dots kisses along your shoulder and his hands come down to knead your muscles there. "Let me watch him enter slowly, inch by inch."

You whimper at Yunho’s words. "Hwa. Slowly," You whisper.

Seonghwa angles his hips and then he's sinking into you with small cries pulling from his throat. "So good, so good, so good."

"Isn't she so inviting, Toy?" Yunho spoke to Seonghwa with an even tone. He almost purrs as his fingertips swirl patterns with the water drops on your skin. "She feels so wet and tight and warm."

"Don't," Seonghwa moans, eyes rolling into the back of his head. 

You arch your back and let out a string of moans as Seonghwa pushes into you until he is fully sheathed inside. His forehead is touching yours now, lips sending tiny puffs of warm air against your lips. "Seonghwa!" You couldn't help but moan his name too.

"Good?" is all that Seonghwa can manage through his fucked-out state.

"Move!" You groan, bucking your hips and allowing for some movement inside of you.

Seonghwa’s hips begin to move of their own volition, a tiny snap at the end of his thrusts, ensuring that he is hitting that spongy part inside of you that makes your breath catch in your throat. "Fuck master's wife good, fuck master's wife good," He starts to chant.

You groan even louder when Yunho slants his lips over yours and his hands descend over your shoulders so that his hand could grip your boob in an upside down motion, pointer fingers poised to play with your nipples. Yunho eats up all your noises, tongue playing with yours.

The sloshing of the water, paired with the orchestra of noises of pleasure coming from you and Seonghwa, are all that can be heard for a while and you let yourself float amongst that atmosphere. Until Seonghwa begins to whine.

"I can't--I need--!" A sense of urgency sweeps across his face.

Yunho breaks your kiss, a long string of saliva pulling between your lips before ultimately breaking when Yunho's tongue runs along his upper lip. "Not yet," he commands.

Seonghwa lets out a loud noise of frustration but slows his thrusts so the water only gently laps at the sides of the tub. "Yunho, why?" You cry out at the loss of your impending orgasm as well.

"Because, Sweetheart, I want to come all over that sweet face of yours," Yunho admits, grinning widely.

"Yunho," You groan when you realize you're about to be double stuffed. Your hand claws at the space between his hip bone and his cock. 

"You've got a cock deep inside of you and you still need mine?" Yunho teases once again, "Either that means Seonghwa isn't truly doing his job good enough, or, you are just that cock hungry."

Seonghwa’s thrusts jerk heavily against your body and your body moves upwards with the sudden jerk. "I'm doing good!" He insists, eyes shaky with worry.

"I'm cock hungry, so fucking cock hungry," You babble as your hand makes way to Yunho's cock imprint through his pants. It's all he's got remaining of his clothes. "That's why you made Seonghwa, right? Because I needed cock so much while you were gone?" 

Yunho knows you are once again trying to put yourself between him and Seonghwa but he lets you win the game this time. He is amazed that you are still desperate for him even when you had Seonghwa taking care of you the entire time. His hand cups one side of your face. "Show me how much you need me," He says.

Eagerly, you open his pants so that you can guide him to your lips. You wrap your hand around his base and hollow your cheeks, and take as much of him as you can before meeting your fingers on his length. Yunho's hand sinks into your hair to control your head. He thrusts lazily into your mouth, hitting the soft inside of your cheek as your head lies back against the tub and eventually let his cock go. 

"That's it, Sweetheart," Yunho says with hooded eyes, "Take both our cocks, hmm? You like being stuffed by both of us, don't you?"

"Can I come now?" Seonghwa whines.

"No, Toy," Yunho replies back casually, "You cannot. Make her moan again, show me how you fuck her."

"But--!" Seonghwa frowns heavily, "I can't come!"

Yunho lifts an eyebrow at Seonghwa. "Can't you fuck and not come?"

"I'm too close!" Seonghwa protests.

You are in the deep headspace of simply being a hole for the two men in your life. Subconsciously, you know the two of them are arguing but truly all you can focus on is the way the head of Yunho's cock hits the inside of your cheek and Seonghwa's slow but steady thrusting is driving you crazy.

"If you come before me, I will tie you spread eagle to our bedposts and you will have to endure being below my wife while I fuck her. I know how to stem the flow of your cum so you can do nothing but continuously feel stimulation but no release." The threat comes out in a soft tone that, if you weren't listening to the words, would have seemed like Yunho is sweet-talking Seonghwa instead of threatening him.

Seonghwa is quiet, for a bit, and it seems like perhaps Yunho has tamed his creation. But Seonghwa simply took a moment longer than necessary to process what he is being threatened with. "...can we?"

Yunho lets out a short bark of laughter as you groan at the fact that what Yunho had suggested wasn't a threat to Seonghwa but a good time, in his eyes. "I made you perfectly for us, didn't I?"

Us?

The grip on your hair tightens as Yunho quickly changes gears. Whether he is simply enjoying the moment, or he is looking to make Seonghwa's endeavor not so torturous, that is up for debate, but Yunho is now fucking your throat. You have to focus on timing your breathing with his thrusts. Seonghwa doesn't make it easy. His thrusts begin to become sloppy and his heavy breathing increases. 

"Gonna fill you up," He whines, eyes closed tightly, "Gonna make you come."

Your other free hand searches out Seonghwa's nipple and begins to pull on it. Seonghwa whines loudly, "Don't! Gonna get me in trouble!"

Yunho suddenly pulls out of your mouth so suddenly that you have a moment to gasp for air loudly and then his seed spurts all over your face. Belatedly, you push out your tongue, looking to catch some there. When Yunho decides your face is painted well enough with his cum, he rests the head of his cock against your tongue and lets his seed pool there. 

"That's it, Sweetheart, take it all for me," Yunho coaches you.

"Hwa," You whimper, feeling your climax come to a head once again, "Just like that, don't stop, you're such a good toy, such a good b--" Your climax rips through you, lighting up all your nerve endings with pleasure.

Seonghwa can't hold it back any longer once your inner walls clamp down on him again and again. He came with a high pitched whine that was so drawn out that it almost sounded downright painful. "So good so good so good," He pants as he thrusts into you until he has no more to give you.

You are feeling gently used and enjoying the fact that Yunho had gotten off to Seonghwa fucking you. “Yunnie?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” Yunho crouches down by the tub to give you a gentle kiss at your temple.

“You’re going to have to walk me through this newfound desire for my toy,” You say lazily.

“Your toy, huh?” Yunho can't help but smile, “You do remember I’m his master.”

"But--!" Your protests were cut off with a deep kiss that mimicked the one he gave Hwa; like he was searching for his own cum in your mouth and it makes you wet all over again.

"If you make love, can I watch?" Seonghwa asks, slightly interrupting the moment.

Yunho releases your lips, if only to laugh at Seonghwa, but he continues to stare at you. "Is it okay for our toy to watch us, Sweetheart?"

You sigh happily, getting the message. Yunho didn't have to explain, Seonghwa had always been the both of yours, and it just felt right. "Yes, please."

"Well," Yunho can't help but grin boyishly, "Guess I'll be showing you how to fuck my wife after all."

Tag list~ @hijirikaww @rdiamond2727 @flowerboykun @toxicccred @starillusion13 @flurrys-creativity @stardragongalaxy @a-soft-hornytiny

#kvanity #kwritersworldnet #pirateeznet #thekpopuniverse #cultofdionysusnet #ateez smut #park seonghwa smut #jeong yunho smut #park seonghwa scenarios #jeong yunho scenarios #atz smut #yunho smut #seonghwa smut #ateez scenarios #topaz's work #ღatz #happy birthday to one of the aries i wanna fight #shut up i did not mean to leave space for another part too fml

[plainemmanem]

i have so many steve thoughts today and im sending them all to you:

steve being so hype when you tell him you’re pregnant because hahaha that was his plan all along and hes crying because his dreams are coming true. and then you find him doing random things like making his own baby name lists or thrifting tiny clothes. and he talks to ur belly and calls it bb phoebe because he just knows its a girl and thats her name. and he’ll be like “hey bees what do u wanna listen to while we drive to the dr?? really that song? it is your favorite ok. turn it up louder?? full blast?? bees the speakers are gonna blow haha chill” and ur sitting in the passenger seat like 🫢😚 this dude is crazy but its so cute.

and when you find out the gender you find a way to prank him that its a boy and hes still so excited but then u tell him SIKE ITS PHOEBE and it knocks him off his feet 😘

my favorite dad!steve concept is that phoebe is literally his best friend. like he literally talks to her like he would talk to you or any other adult and she’s literally five months old babbling back at him.

like she’ll be in her high chair, eating those little cereal puffs and steve keeps handing them to her, one at a time, talking with her.

“here, pheebs. no, but yeah, i told mom we’re going all out on our halloween decorations this year. jack-o’-lanterns, a scarecrow, fake witches hanging from the rafters, the whole shabang. and guess what she says to me. just guess.” she just babbles. “she was like ‘honey, im really not in the mood to put up decorations this year.’” more babbling. “right?? oh yeah, i know. i mean cmon, your first halloween and mummy doesn’t wanna put up decorations? not even, like, a halloween wreath?” more babbling and squealing. “oh you want another puff, here we go. but, then i was like ‘i’ll just put em up myself, that’s what daddies are for.’” she laughs a little, and then says more nonsense. “right, it’s perfect. i was thinking the same thing. oh and don’t worry, bee. i already picked out our costumes for trick-or-treating this year.” a little bit of yelling and more squealing. “yeah, yeah, i know you wanted to go as tweety bird, i know, but listen to this.” he cajoles her with another cereal puff. “mommy’s the bride of frankenstein — you know, with the wig and the dress and everything, — and daddy gets to be frankenstein — all green and scary — and you, little pheebs, you’ll be our little egyptian mummy, all wrapped up and cozy for trick-or-treating, huh? how’s that sound?” she only gives him more incoherent babbling. “i know, it’s genius.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In his hands

Request: I wish Lloyd would go book shopping + "I saw you talking to them. Saw you smiling too. Like a little slut." and "Putting my hands around your neck makes me feel like I'm holding the whole world in my hands."

Warnings: this is a dark drabble and will include elements such as noncon, age gap, choking, stalking behaviour. Not all elements are explicitly flagged, proceed at your own risk.

Note on Sleepover Drabbles: keep in mind that these drabbles may not align with the overall storyline of the Campus AU as they will focus on matching characterisation to given requests.

I would truly appreciate any thoughts and reblogs on these drabbles in spirit of the sleepover. Hope you are having a wonderful weekend and thank you for joining me!

Bookstores have ever been your escape. That is, until he walks in. You don’t wonder how he found you and you know it’s far from coincidence. You’re not stupid, he’s been following you. It’s his only way of getting to you now that you have your B and a credit on your transcript.

That doesn’t stop him. He has his way, his mean ways. It’s starting to feel like you’ll never be free of him.

You turn away and take the anthology of Poe to an employee nearby. You close the cover, a red and black pattern raised in the image of a raven. You keep your back to Lloyd as you smile at the worker.

“Excuse me, do you have any more anthologies like this? I only see Poe and Lovecraft.”

“Oh,” he smiles, “we have Wilde around here somewhere but he’s a bit more romantic looking. And there’s a horror classics set with Frankenstein, Dracula, and Dorian Gray.”

“Hmm, I already have all those,” you frown, “but thank you, I’ll keep looking.”

“No problem, you need anything at all, I’ll be around. Oh and classic paperbacks on this table,” he points to his left, “three for ten.”

“Thanks,” you doff the book towards him in gratuity and quickly sidle down the aisle of discount hardcovers.

You need an exit plan. You’re not naive, he knows you’re there. He’s probably watching you but you don’t have the energy for him at that moment. 

You glance down the aisle, the smell of coffee wafting from the cafe just on the other side of the sale section. Grab a latte and lose yourself in the rush…

"I saw you talking to them. Saw you smiling too. Like a little slut,” Lloyd startles you as his hand rests on the shelf behind your head. You drop your shoulders and put the Poe collection carelessly on the row of books beside you.

“I was just leaving–”

You go to take a step away, not looking back, but he catches your arm and spins you around. He urges your back against the shelf as his fingertips dig into your soft muscle.

“I’ve never known a lit major that walked out of a bookshop empty handed,” he scoffs, “come on, baby, this’ll be fun.”

“What do you want?” you pick at his fingers and grunt.

“We had all that fun and not one proper date,” he smirks, “we can make up for lost time.”

“You don’t seem like the date type,” you finally peel away his grip, “and I’m not interested.”

“Could’ve fooled me. I still hear you calling my name, begging for more–”

“Fuck off, Lloyd,” you snap and he’s taken aback at the informality.

“What was that?”

“Fuck off–”

“It’s still Dr. Hansen to you, sweetheart,” he turns to pen you in as he grasps the shelf on either side of you.

“Get away from me,” you hiss, “you’re a disgusting old m–”

You gurgle as suddenly his hands close around your neck. Your eyes round and you grip the front of his coat, shocked by his unashamed aggression. You try to see down the aisle, searching for a witness. 

It’s just you, his hands on your neck, and the hiss of steaming foam.

"Putting my hands around your neck makes me feel like I'm holding the whole world in my hands, you know that?” He squeezes until you cough, head throbbing painfully, “holding your world, crushing the life from it, until it’s nothing. Nothing, like you.”

Your sole scuffs on the floor as you cling to his wrists, gulping desperately. “Please…”

“What’s that, baby? You were just about to head to the fiction aisle?” He slowly retracts his hand and gives a light tap to your cheek, “how convenient,” he shoves you around and wraps his arm around your waist, “me too.”

You rub your throat as you catch your breath, coughing and croaking as his hand falls down and pinches your ass.

“I still got a whole lot to teach you, sweetheart.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #the gray man #campus sleepover #campus au

[mehiwilldoitlater]

I found this

And I it had me dead for 5 minutes. I would love this with creator!reader actually saying this to Dottore while holding up both pictures to say “….I’m not sorry to tell you that your old fashion sense was sin and I cant believe you had the audacity to go out like that. Or the audacity to show up like this after what you used to look like. you went from looking like a failed attempt at dressing up like Frankenstein’s monster to the guy at the masquerade party that every lady THINKS is hot but still doesn’t wanna dance with. I bet you dress by putting on one sock then your shoe and then doing it again for the other foot. I swear to me I will if I ever catch you doing weird scientist stuff that leads us into a Resident Evil situation I’ll staple paper to your face.” And then they go on to roast everyone else too for example,

They’d tell Scara “your hair is a crime it looks like a mullet and a bowl cut had a baby, you really are your mama’s(Ei) son. You get no maidens bro. I won’t even cap I’m so mad about Teppei and everyone else in the resistance that died thanks to those stupid delusions. That’s the only reason I’m flaming you as well because I know revoked phd (Dottore) over there had a lot to do with it. You owe a huge apology to me, to the traveler, to Paimon, to Teppei, and to Teppei’s other friends and family. But I will give you points if you can say a paragraph of good roasts about Ei.

Then they would look Childe straight in the eyes and say “I hate the fact that 1 bad quality outweighs all the boyfriend material you have. You dead eyes ginger mf you have so many people who want you bad and I bet you actually find massacres hot. You almost drowned at least a whole city and that’s a huge turn off. Then to add to it you had the audacity to- the GALL to take a tone with MY traveler? You threaten my traveler and almost kill them over a glowing chess piece that Elsa(the tsaritsa) over there wanted, you’re next by the way I haven’t forgotten about you ice queen. Anyway, I’ll give you leeway since your archon and co-worker basically lied to you and used you as a distraction and to keep as much heat off their backs as they could.

Arlecchino: Please! PLEASE! MERCY! You are killing them! Reader: NO! No mercy! Only pain! You...THOT! Arlecchino:

Ok no seriously, this idea? It's precious, the fact that reader just make their way up to the top ROASTING every characters that try to kill them? PERFECT

#genshin impact #sagau

[martianbugsbunny]

Martian’s Masterlist!

Figured it was about time I collected all of my fics into one area, will ofc be updating it as I write more. It’s sorted by ship, including wherefrom they originate, with a brief description of what type (one-shot, chapter fic, same-universe if I’m feeling saucy) and a short summary of what happens. V proud of myself for figuring out how to link these tbh, but if any of the links isn’t working for the love of Pete please let me know. Fics with more than one chapter will be linked to the first chapter because...logic.

For the tags, I have chosen to only use the ship names, not __ x __ format, for the sake of trying to keep the tags somewhat in hand. I have, however, tried to use what I’m aware of being the most popular/common names for ships, as well as the alternate ones I’ve seen for more niche stuff. Also tagged are the shipped characters. If I add new ships, I'll have to reblog bc of the tag limit.

*Hands you the rabbit hole* Have fun going down!

CaptainCroc/GoldenHook (Rumplestiltskin x Killian Jones {Once Upon A Time}):

Is This Love Persevering? (It Feels More Like The End of the World): One-shot. Established CaptainCroc mourning the loss of Baelfire. Canon-divergent for the sake of Rumple actually getting to attend his son’s funeral.

Who Makes You See Color: Chapter fic, 14 total. CaptainCroc soulmates AU where one person sees color earlier than the other. Extends from pre-Dark One era to the First Curse being broken.

The Truth Echoes Darkly: Short series; part 1 for The Truth Echoes Darkly. Echo Caves AU where instead of Emma, Hook confesses that he loves Rumple for maximum awkward.

The Echo Goes On: Short series; part 2 for The Truth Echoes Darkly. Back in Storybrooke, Rumple finds himself obsessed with Hook and realizes that he’s fallen in love as well.

My North Star: One-shot. Established CaptainCroc vow renewal, featuring Hook’s inner thoughts about how much he loves Rumple.

Better Than Blood: One-shot. Pretty racy, but the point is thinking about the poeticism of having sex with your ex-nemesis.

Cherik (Charles Xavier x Erik Lehnsherr {X-Men Movies}):

Sweetheart Will You Sleep With Me: One-shot. The night before they fight Shaw, Charles and Erik make the most of the little time they know they have left together and sleep in Charles’ room. Fluff, don’t get too excited by the title lol.

Baby While You’re At It: One-shot. Based on a Jessie Murph song. Angst with a happy ending. Charles is furious when Erik crashes a party at the school, so they have it out in the kitchen and get more-or-less back together by the end.

Espionage Husbands (Talos x Nick Fury {Captain Marvel/Secret Invasion}):

Locked In This Embrace: One-shot. Focuses on the forehead-touching scene from Episode 1, plus an original scene or two afterwards. Mostly Talos pining for Nick with a happy ending.

If You Are Gilgamesh And Did These Things: One-shot. Angst without a happy ending because the author was very upset and sad when Talos died. Nick is grieving Talos; Sonya isn’t helping.

Frankenwolf (Ruby Lucas x Victor Frankenstein {Once Upon A Time}):

Den of Blankets: One-shot. Ruby’s wolf instincts kick in during pregnancy and she builds a blanket-fort den. V fluff.

She Deserves To Have Your Name: One-shot (possibly same-universe as Den of Blankets). Victor has doubts about whether or not their child should have the name Frankenstein, but Ruby wouldn’t hear of anything else.

It’s Just A Dream: One-shot. Ruby has a nightmare spawned from her fears of being a bad parent; Victor comforts her.

As The Storm Blows Through: One-shot. Victor has anxiety during a storm because of what happened with Gerhardt, and Ruby comforts him.

Secret Admirers Are For The Subtle: One-shot. Victor anonymously sends Ruby flowers at the diner so he can drop by, “notice” them, and stick around to sketch them, all so he can spend time with Ruby. She’s on to him the entire time.

Blue Skies Smiling At Me: One-shot. Utterly fluffy beach fic. Ruby is having a good day relaxing with her friends, and it only gets better when her handsome husband joins them.

Frankenberry And The Fruit Brute: One-shot. Fun little Halloween fic where Ruby and Victor discover the General Mills cereals that match their fairytale identities.

Precursor To A Love Song: One-shot. Hyperion Heights AU where Ruby and Victor meet and feel an instant connection, even though they don’t know why. She’s a fashion designer and he’s a piano player/freelance artist. Potential springboard for a full chapter fic if I feel like it.

HatterHare (Mad Hatter x March Hare {Adventures In Wonderland}):

The First Kiss: One-shot. Just a fluffy lil idea about what their first kiss might’ve been like.

Every Bit Of You: One-shot. Projection’n’stuff about food issues basically.

Kalluzeb (Garazeb Orrelios x Alexsandr Kallus {Star Wars Rebels}):

Don’t You Know It’s Because He Loves You?: One-shot. Kallus discovers that Zeb is in love with him via a Lasat Honor Guard tradition.

To Convince You That I Love You: Chapter fic. Kallus does risky things to prove he would do anything for love of Zeb, or that he’s worthy of him, and ends up getting hurt. Angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort.

Lokius (Loki x Mobius {Loki}):

The Man Of My Dreams And He’s Just Out Of Reach: One-shot (with a very long name lol). Mobius stands there across the street from Don’s house and misses Loki. Author was having some Feelings™.

Outlaw Queen (Regina Mills x Robin Hood {Once Upon A Time}):

A Slice Of Life: One-shot. Regina spends the day with her boys and thinks about how awesome it is to have them. V fluffy because the OQ family didn’t get enough of that.

Paxe/AxePaz (Paz Vizsla x Axe Woves {The Mandalorian}):

We Are Mandalorians: Our Love Must Be Forged: Chapter fic, 11 total. Axe and Paz slowly fall in love as they engage in the battle to retake Mandalore, more or less a fix-it for Paz dying in S3 canon.

PloKit (Plo Koon x Kit Fisto {Star Wars: the Clone Wars}):

Reader, Plo Married Him: One-shot. Plo and Kit share some quiet time just after their wedding.

The Tender Daily Ritual: One-shot. Basically just fluff; Kit helps Plo with lotioning his skin because it dries out in oxygen atmospheres.

Scogan (Scott Summers x Logan Howlett {X-Men Movies}):

Torn Between Love And Fear: One-shot. Scott wants to stay after sex and sleep in Logan’s room, but Logan is terrified of hurting him during a nightmare. Angst with a happy (and sort of spicy) ending.

You Scratch My Back, I’ll Scratch Yours: One-shot. Logan and Scott discover they have a mutual pain kink and indulge in it together for the first time. Incredibly spicy, I'm so proud of myself.

Spones (Spock x Dr. McCoy {Star Trek TOS}):

I Could Drink A Case Of You (I Would Still Be On My Feet): One-shot. Based on a Joni Mitchell song; angsty with a happy ending.

#martianbugsbunny writes fic #masterlist post #masterlist #captaincroc #goldenhook #rumplestiltskin #Killian Jones #Captain Hook #ouat #once upon a time #frankenwolf #ruby Lucas #victor frankenstein #hatterhare #mad hatter #March hare #adventures in wonderland #kalluzeb #Garazeb Orrelios #Alexsandr Kallus #paxe #axe woves #Paz Vizsla #Star Wars #plokit #Plo Koon #kit fisto #spones #spock #leonard mccoy

[whaledocboi]

“You don’t have to be happy, you know,” Lilith mentions offhand, helping Camila up. “I am beating you to a bloody pulp. You are not required to enjoy all aspects of the training.”

“I do enjoy spending time with you; the beatings, less so.”

“Good, I was beginning to worry you’re some kind of masochist.”

“She just said she enjoys spending time with you, she’s definitely a masochist,” Mary calls out in greeting. “Show me what you’ve learned, baby girl.” Mary does a combo punch and leg sweep that Camila deftly blocks and avoids. “Good! We should set you up with Beatrice, get you beat up in a whole new way.”

“Um, OK?”

“Mary always steals my most promising sparring partners and gives them to Beatrice; it was only a matter of time,” Lilith sighs.

“Shan needs you for something; less whining, more sister warrior-ing. I’ll take Camila to the range, see how she does with one eye swollen shut.”

“Thank you for the spar, Sister Lilith.”

“You’re welcome. Keep your left guard up; Mary is sneaky.”

“How dare you imply I would surprise attack her on the way to the range!”

“Would you?” Camila asks.

“Absolutely, baby girl. Let’s go!”

fuck yeah, thank you anon, im stiching these together like a frankenstein monster, please absolutely do keep it up (if this is one person. actually im not sure. doesnt matter)

its like camila saying "i enjoy spending time with you" didnt even register to lilith at first, and then after 5something minutes she's like "wait, what" (tfw someone hits on you and you only realize it a year later)

"you dont have to be happy. like seriously. dont keep smiling at me and be nice, i do not know what to do with that. no, stop, stop it immediately, because one day i'll wake up with the terrible horrible realization that i've fallen in love with you." - lilith probably

then one day mary probably will napalm her with the "wow do you have a crush on her or something with the way you talk about her all the time" and lilith is mortified because that cant be, i should find everything about this little guy unbearable and annoying and YET

camila on the other hand would just ask beatrice once like "do you think lilith hates me? i cant ever tell if she cares for what i say or wants to knock all my teeth out" and beatrice would go "im dont know what exactly she thinks of you, but she offers to help you up after sparring and she also willingly speaks to you for no apparent reason, and she hasnt done that since. forever basically."

and yippee, cam finally feels at home and less alone and surrounded by people she likes and cares for. i sure do hope nothing will happen to them.

#once again the *experiences a feeling* 'what the fuck was that?!' #shannon and mary sharing a look every time lilith mentions camila for no reason #they count it #mary wants to make it into a drinking game #lilith in her 'i just wanna be her friend' era #hashtag been there #but i think lilith wouldnt do anything about it #because she doesnt know how and also because she's still deep in the next halo bearer grindset #man beatrice is just nice #we love bea in this household #camilith #ask

[fresh-avoguecado]

Growing up as a trans guy afraid of Hell

I have this little creature that lives in my chest, right below my collarbone.

She's always peeking through my eyes, always smiling.

Her name is a tree. Aspen. My inner child or something like that.

She has this thick mane that she wears in pigtails- so often that her hair has semi-permanent dents where the ties grip. 

She doesn't like wearing it down.

She's a little girl who only understands "she" and "girl" to be a conglomeration of sounds used to address her. She makes people laugh and she laughs a lot herself. 

She's curious about the world, the first baby of a family whose children have just turned into adults. She's loved really really well at this age. 

She'll switch to perma-ponytails next. She doesn’t like having hair in her face.

She sees a brown pageboy cap in a store and tries sticking the ponytail up in it. She likes how it looks. Like Newsies.

Aspen cuts the hair short for the first time. Like, committed to the shortness for a hot second short.

Aspen stops using pronouns for Aspen when thinking. Do other girls feel like this? Boys too? They must right? I don't think it's supposed to hurt.

 I'll just keep quiet. I can fix this.

Something in the kid is having trouble seeing the positives of growing up. But puberty is a lifetime away. Aspen has been a kid for forever so far, so that worry- 

-that weird thing called "womanhood" 

  wasn't anything to worry about anytime soon.

Not to worry. Not to worry. Aspen doesn't need to feel worry. 

Aspen is a very mature kid. All the teachers say so. Aspen is a paradox. 

The polite class clown. The charming and desirable tomboy. Everyone likes Aspen. And Aspen likes God so much and so Bravely n' Publicly that everyone in Churchome likes Aspen too.

The wonderkid is thoughtful, wonderfully spontaneous and compassionate. Pretty. Wonderkid is too talented and too well-loved by the family to not have all artistic dreams supported.

Aspen takes a Logic class.

IF  (grateful to have opportunities) AND (want the family to love you/go to heaven)

THEN (- cannot betray the familygod by becoming like that. Like becoming one of those people who are either the butt of a joke or a sexual adventure onscreen.)

Not when they have invested so much.

I was supposed to be better than that.

I-

I-

It would be sinful.

Aspen really wanted to go to heaven.

In heaven- it would all make sense, in heaven, the kid wouldn't feel this way about his body. He wouldn't- she-

I didn't want to be a she. I didn't want to be a she. It was wrong. 

What was wrong with me?

I read on a Christian blog that sometimes the mind needs visual symbolism to help get a point across.

“Try writing whatever negative thoughts you have about yourself on a piece of paper. Burn it, and watch as His light covers over the page and destroys your sin. Give your burden to the Lord.”

I write the word FREAK over and over again on a piece of paper and then I burn it on our porch.

I can fix this.

I. Can. Fix. This. 

I'm so desperate for anything at this point, anything to make the sin of my disgusting ungratefulness go away. I don't understand why God made me a girl. I don’t understand.

Why would He do this to me? I pray for God to show me a reason. God just says "Hold on." Over and over, every time I pray that's all I hear, "Hold on."

I suck up my tears. I genuinely don't know how I will stay alive. I don’t know how many years I’m going to need to “hold on” for until reality itself somehow shifts.

Until the mountains move. 

I am happiest when I am asleep.

But I don't want my parents to know that- I don't want to seem ungrateful or like I'm mentally ill when they have only ever treated me like the perfect faultless angels that they are.

I am a bad daughter.

I hate being a daughter.

I hate being in this body.

I can't fucking escape it.

I can't runaway from my own skin.

I tried I tried I tried-

I’m fifteen, running barefoot on concrete until I leave bloody tracks.

I read and I read and I read. 

I relate to Frankenstein's monster.

I want to stop existing like this more than anything.

"Hold on."

I'm angry at God for sticking me in this gender- from making me live in a world where being trans is a sin. For making it so that obeying Him means living a Freaky Friday nightmare every day of my life for years and years and years until I die.

I’m so scared of being buried in a dress. 

There's this one acting teacher in Aspen's school who doesn't look at Aspen in the same slightly-too-smiley way most men do. 

This guy calls Aspen "kid" exclusively and nonchalantly gives the kid one of his old pirate costumes after a Peter Pan performance. The boy one. 

The one I had been staring at.

The guy teaches me stage combat and makes me captain.

I later learn that he has a husband. I feel seen by him in a way I haven't felt before.

But it's a sin.

But…

I can't imagine him not going to heaven.

Not when his eyes look at me and say “hold on.”

Sometimes the things we talk about in Bible study make me feel…

I shouldn't feel that way.

"Trust in God" is the blanket answer Churchhome gives me when I ask them questions.

"Hold on," says God. The two words are enough to make me keep trying to fix/not hate myself. To survive for that person I'm going to save. To survive for the next version of me. For my phoenix.

"Hold on." The encouragement is somehow enough but just barely.

I hang on to a thread for the next six years.

The kid watches the people with the kind of body Aspen would grow into go about their lives.

The kid watches as all kinds of adults trade their name cards in for adjectives. People keep misspelling “Aspen” as “Pretty”.

Pretty loves to dance. Pretty loves to play piano. Aspen loves being able to express emotions without talking. Aspen didn't like the way Pretty's voice sounds.

There is a noticeable difference between Aspen's voice and the voice of real boys now. The kid tries not to think about it.

There are helpful YouTube videos explaining why God doesn't make mistakes. Why obedience is so rewarding, even it if doesn't feel like that in the moment- even if you can't comprehend ever being a woman and being truly happy. 

Trust me

Trust me

Trust me

Some people act wary around the kid now. The word gay is tossed around briefly. Briefly-

But the kid quickly works to quell those rumors.

I pray to God every day, trusting God to fix me, begging him to change me. To make me a boy- to pluck me out of this reality and let me be born again. Let me start over the right way for I am defective and want a recall.

Aspen needs a change in the brain.

I can only ever be happy as a girl if I have a lobotomy.

Aspen prays for a lobotomy.

Aspen prays for breast cancer.

Take away that part of myself that isn’t allowed to live. 

Dementor-kiss me and let me be pretty without caring. 

Amen Amen A man a man

The kid is lying sideways in bed. Wearing a black push-up bra. Trying to make it feel not alien.

The kid doesn't understand why the body is sobbing uncontrollably.

What's wrong with me? 

Why do I feel like this? 

What's wrong with me? 

What's wrong with me?

The kid tries standing a little wider, tries hunching the shoulders in, and wearing two sports bras two sizes too tight. The frayed straps often leave red rashes. Worth it.

Wonderkid tries it, and starts feeling better.

He cuts up bedsheets in his room and ties it around his chest so tight that his lungs sound raspy for hours afterward. 

But in the mirror, with that snake-sheet constricting his chest, the kid looks so happy in his pirate costume.

He feels slightly more alive when he tries on a binder for the first time.

He feels so much better that it's scary.

Because that isn't an option.

That isn't an option.

Not for Wonderkid.

Wonderkid moves to New York.

Public school is different than The C.C (Conservative Christian) Homeschool Co-op he was born into.

Aspen tries being Wondergirl for a while, wants to be with be a guy.

Lonely.

Body hurts.

Brain hurts.

Don't really feel anything.

But that's okay, all I need is God. The Lord is my strength and my shield. 

If I'm feeling pain then I must be doing something wrong, I must deserve the consequences. I am sinning by wanting to be a boy and being ungrateful for my gender. I am sixteen years old.

Some part of me trusts that I need to hold on a little longer.

I am always a boy when I dream. I am happiest when I am asleep. I think I have a purpose. I think I need to stay alive a little longer for him. I like the name Thomas.

I'm seventeen. Somewhere in my mind, I say "I can't be a girl forever. This hurts too much."

Another voice says 

"You can't die yet."

Life is supposed to be good, you're just not seeing it right… you need to trust in the Lord.  You have control over your life right? Everything you do has consequences. 

Everything is your fault. 

Dear God- help me lose weight, become more boxy, dear God help me to find a guy that I will actually desire to be with, make my chest smaller, make me stop, dear God Dear God Oh my God-

I cry and cry and cry until I never cry.

I'm still Wonderkid at school. Talented- I've evolved from Pretty to Beautiful now.I'm told to be thankful for my body by my Mother whenever I mention anything. I know I should be thankful. But I'm so ungrateful to God.

I know I’m swine compared to him. To His majesty and grace.

Who am I to question Him and His perfect plan? "For I know the plans I have for you-" I choke out on my bathroom floor, "Plans not to harm you, but to give you a hope and a future." I peel my shaking hands away from my face.

I was never good at memorizing Bible verses, but I always remembered the gist of them pretty well. We were graded on them at Churchome.

I discover that alcohol makes me not care about my body anymore. I drink and I stop caring about the way I have to be when I'm around people. I drink and I stop caring about the future or being trapped in this body or what happens next. I don’t even get hungover.

It's such a relief. A godsend. For a few hours every weekend, I genuinely don't care about being a girl. I can just dance and there are lights and music and everyone’s happy and young-

I really love dancing.

Soy milk increases estrogen so I start avoiding that like the plague- not because I'm… you know, like that or anything. I just don't like the way the female chest looks aesthetically/feels/is/exists/sits/lays/

I can't escape my body I can't escape my body scratches on my skin blame it on eczema-

A quiet stage.

Spotlight.

I’m eighteen. Red curtains lift around me and several cellos start singing.

I am stunning, I am so goddamn beautiful and I and everyone else in the auditorium knows it. 

My technique is clean because I give 120% in every class. At my ballet academy, I'm most teachers' favorite. I love that we aren't allowed to talk in class. I love the way ballet makes my body hurt.

I'm flexible but not as strong as the other dancers- a little heavier too* (*see Not Anorexic) and I haven't had as many years of training under my belt.

But God can I act- I dance with emotion, I dance and the world is superimposed with places I've only been to in movies. 

I'm told that I dance like I've been alive for a really long time. Too long.

I’ve been alive too long like this.

I'm doing semi-clean pirouettes onstage- but in reality, I'm a smoke signal on top of The Great Wall of China- alerting of Hun attacks by burning tall and bright. My superimposed movie. I dance in the dark night wind and horse hooves of the calvary clop on top of smooth stone.

I do a grand jeté and the smoke signal sparks out orange fireflies.

I know the audience is seeing Pretty and the way her blood-red “Arabian” costume sparkles in the light- but they don't know just how beautiful my imagination is making the scenery right now.

It's okay. I know.

I get offstage and sweat is in my eyes, I'm panting, and for some reason the physical exhaustion from the sport makes me feel like a boy. Life is good and there is air in my lungs for once and the first thing that my extended family says when I greet them at the stage door is,

"You're growing into such a beautiful young woman."

I am so scared of being buried in someone else’s grave.

I tell them “thank you” and I hold on.

#trans christian #transfaith #translivedexperience #ftmtransgender #godlovestranspeople #ftm #christianity #christianityandtrans #transtestimony #trans journey #trans pride #transpride #transgender man #transgenderman #trans inclusivity #trans intersex #stop discriminating #gender and faith #gender and sexuality #queer spirituality #trans author #trans visibility #queer poets on tumblr #trans poets on tumblr #top surgery #transrights #trans rights #all people are created equally #be kind #question the church

[dustedmagazine]

The National — First Two Pages of Frankenstein (4AD)

Photo by Josh Goleman

For all of the (kind of understandable) jokes both lovers and haters of The National make about the band’s relentless sadsack whiteguy dadness, you don’t have to scratch the surface much to unearth a pretty profound and consistent engagement with harrowing anxiety. Caught in mid-spiral on “Mr. November,” staring into the mirror on “Baby, We’ll Be Fine,” the constant self-recriminations of Boxer… even actual fatherhood merely gave Matt Berninger material for the fun new dread of “Afraid of Everyone” and “I’ll Still Destroy You.” One thing that gives all the bad vibes an unusual power is, as Berninger freely shares in interviews, its origin as a kind of negative visualization; a way of perversely preserving and strengthening those relationships at risk. That doesn’t magically evaporate the fear and guilt, but it maybe speaks to why so many find those struggles comforting and reassuring rather than just a bummer. The sometimes withdrawn (but trying not to be) First Two Pages of Frankenstein emerges after a period of depression and writer’s block left the band’s existence in actual doubt. As you might expect, it doesn’t find Berninger and co-lyricist/spouse Carin Besser any more settled than before, even as the band spins ever more impressively filagreed scaffolding to support their sentiments.

Arguably every National record since Boxer has had at least some fans complaining that they don’t really rock out any more, especially on record as opposed to live, and it’s no more true here than on (say) Trouble Will Find Me. Some of the songs still play that old National trick of steadily thrumming along in a way that reads a bit lukewarm at first but then by fourth listen reveals a hidden, sometimes reckless propulsion (as always rhythm section Scott and Bryan Devendorf are the secret weapons here). The implacable thwack of “Tropic Morning News” (“I was suffering more than I let on,” sung in such a way that it feels clear our narrator was letting on more than he realized, might as well be a thesis statement), Berninger yelping “if I miss it, I’ll visit!” in increasingly frenzied tones while thrusting used-to-be-shared possessions into an imagined ex’s arms on “Eucalyptus,” “Grease in Your Hair” starting to tumble down a hill as the band ratchets up and up and up; as always, the energy levels on a National record are more varied than their rep suggests. 

But it is true that much of First Two Pages of Frankenstein exists in a quieter atmosphere, including what feels like some of the more Significant songs. That includes all the ones with the big name guests, although except for the endlessly sighing Taylor Swift duet “The Alcott” (which hits the shared part of her and Berninger’s emotional registers in a way that makes sense, although it won’t convince any haters), they don’t necessarily feel like the kinds of contribution that need to be called out on the back of the record. That’s not a shot at the other guests, who acquit themselves ably while being content to add colour and tone rather than take the spotlight. Longtime confrere Sufjan Stevens lends even more diaphanousness to the lovely foreboding of the opening “Once Upon a Poolside,” and the way Phoebe Bridgers sings with Berninger on the two most direct grapples with mental health on the record (“This Isn’t Helping” and “Your Mind Is Not Your Friend”) seems like the most natural fit in the world. 

And then there’s “New Order T-Shirt,” a song that exists at such an intense crossroads of joy and despair that it occupies rarefied air with few others (“Being Boring”?). It’s about memory and the way eventually people aren’t in your life anymore. It’s possible to hear it as a glowing and burnished tribute to the loved ones whose every scrap you hold close to you for proof against time passing. Or, equally, as a bottomlessly sad account of trying to shore up and hold together whatever you still have from someone who’s left (you or the world). And of course it’s both at once, especially once you’ve lived enough life that people in both categories start to pile up on you. The refrain starts with “I keep what I can of you,” and it feels like the song and the performance are both tearing up a bit at the prospect. 

The other set of brothers in the National, guitarists Aaron and Bryce Dessner (the latter also responsible for the orchestration throughout) weave a flickering web of guitars around “New Order T-Shirt” that almost cradle it. Fittingly enough for a band that’s usually at least their own co-producers, on a moment-to-moment sonic level these songs just sound gorgeous. If the balance of the increasingly refined craftsmanship and even rawer than usual lyrics were misjudged it could feel airless, like a room where everything’s been padded to the point of numb safety. Instead it functions more like, well, boxer’s gloves; it lets you (and the band) take the body blows and keep going. After dancing through all these keys of fear, loss, and distress, the record ends with “Send for Me,” a simple and moving pledge to come pick you up, whatever happens. The slow bloom of warmth feels hard won, but not even remotely fragile. 

Ian Mathers

#the national #first two pages of frankenstein #4ad #ian mathers #albumreview #dusted magazine #indie rock #rock #taylor swift #Sufjan Stevens #phoebe bridgers #writer's block

[dragonmuse]

@objective-j asked: I really need to know more about this Jim and Lucius thing. They're codependent and singular and I can't help but wonder if that connection ever edges into something romantic? Is it a natural thing for someone like Lucius to connect in more ways than one, or is the lack of attraction something that helps them to function better than Eddy and Izzy ever did?

(so the answer to the latter is YES, not having a sexual relationship definitely helps them, but I wanted to tease out how they got to where they were, so here are some snippets from how they began together from the first two years)

The bar wasn’t anything special. It was on the way between the office and Jim’s dusty apartment. They’d noticed it before and it had never mattered much until today. Booze was something they used as anesthetic mostly, administered late at night on rare occasions when sleep would hover too far out of reach. 

Tonight, they weren’t worried about that. They were in the middle of a long job, more boring than stressful. What they really wanted to do was run down one of their targets and finally do something about it, but they knew they didn’t have the plan straight enough yet.  

So when they passed the part and laughter spilled out the front door, they slowed a little. There was a menu posted on the glass, burgers and the like. They were hungry and if they sat at the bar, it wouldn’t draw the annoying pity of eating alone at a table. 

Jim went inside. There was a barstool open at one end of the bar, the one next to it clear too. A little island of space that they took gratefully.  The bartender was at the other end, back to them, so Jim settled in to wait. Someone had spilled a packet of sugar onto the dark wood, so they drew their finger through it, a nonsense spiral. 

“Abstracts, nice,” someone said and Jim’s finger stilled. “No, keep going. Haven’t had anyone do zen gardening in here yet, but I’m into it.” 

“I think I need a little rake for that,” Jim pulled the knowledge from some dusty drawer in their mind. They looked up and found the bartender smiling down at them. He was young, baby-faced. White guy with ordinary dark hair and brown eyes. There was a puff of fabric wrapped around his throat.  

“Excellent point, hold please,” he held up one finger then dipped down behind the bar. He came back up with toothpicks and the bit of wire that usually kept a bag of bread closed. While Jim watched, bemused, he wound the wire around the toothpicks and then presented the amalgam to them. “Rake away.” 

“What the fuck?” they laughed and took it from his hand. 

“Hey, it seemed to make you all chill, spill a packet for me and I’ll take a turn if it gets slow enough. In the meantime, get you something to drink?” 

“Yeah, whiskey sour. And a cheeseburger.” 

He tilted his head, “You could be thirteen or thirty, your skin is incredible, but uh...ID?” 

“Ugh fine,” they got out their wallet. “Ignore the name.” 

“Long as the picture matches and the birth date is right, I will avert my eyes,” he agreed. He did look very quickly then handed it back. “Whiskey sour. Cheeseburger. How do you want that?” 

“Rare as I can get it.” 

“Still mooing, on it.” 

He went back down the bar. Jim ran a fingertip down one of the toothpicks. No one had done something that ridiculous for them in a very long time. They grabbed another packet of sugar and spilled it out. Hardly their worst crime that week. And it was kind of nice to drag the makeshift tines through the grains. 

“You know it only occurred to me I could’ve just given you a fork after I placed your order in,” the bartender returned with a glass of amber liquid.  

“This was more fun,” they told him and took the drink. “Thanks.” 

“Sure thing, may I?” 

Jim handed him back his frankenstein creation. He repeated their pattern right slightly to the right, giving the whole thing a different dimension. 

“You don’t have a name tag,” they realized. The waitress working the tables had one, gold and gleaming. 

“Don’t I?” He made a show of groping around his shirt with his free hand and to their surprise when he dropped his hand again, a gold name tag had materialized. The name had been picked at, obscured into illegibility. 

“That was fast,” they said appreciatively. “Can you do it again?” 

“Yeah?” He laughed. “Sure why not?” 

His hand went up and came back down, no name tag. With a flourish, he opened his palm to them, showing it off. 

“The pin has a little spring and catch. It’s easy to palm,” he explained. “I hate when people use my name like they know me because they took some 101 business class that said if you use someone’s name it makes them do more shit for you.” 

“That true?” 

“Not for me.”

“Excuse me!” Someone down the bar called. “I ordered a rum and coke ten minutes ago!” 

“Ugh,” the bartender pushed off the bar. “Back with your burger soon-ish.” 

The bartender kept coming back to Jim the rest of the night. For their part, Jim didn’t leave once they’d eaten their burger. They got a second drink and nursed it. Watching Lucius was fascinating, sort of like watching Eddy do her thing with new clients. He would smile and tease and flirt, collecting tips despite making everyone wait for him to do things in his own sweet time.  And eventually he’d be back in front of Jim, not asking how the food was or if they wanted something. Instead, he showed off, palming away a lemon, then pouting when Jim did the same with equal speed. 

“The name tag is different,” they explained. “I can do the lemon. Not the pin.” 

“Oh! I can show you that.” 

They did it twice and then had it down. By the end of the night, they were wearing the gold oval, they’d had three drinks and the bartender wiped down the bar after the other customers had left, stuck out his hand and said, 

“It’s Lucius.” 

“Don’t think I’ll use it to get what I want?” 

“Maybe. Let’s find out.” 

“Jim,” they took his hand and shook it once.  

“Come back soon, Jim,” he said and it wasn’t a customer service line. 

“You hurting for customers?” 

Lucius shrugged, eyes falling down to his work as he smoothed away fallen droplets of booze. He hadn’t touched the pile of sugar yet even though it had lost its pattern an hour or more ago. 

“I’m kind of...I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m younger, but I thought if I bartended, I might meet people. Haven’t really.” 

He’d spend most of the night talking to people. Jim had watched. He was good at it. They weren’t, generally speaking. But maybe being good at it was just as lonely as being bad at it, sometimes. 

Not that Jim was lonely. They were alone. It was different. 

“It’s on my way home,” they shrugged. “I’ll be by again some time.” 

They waited a week exactly. That seemed reasonable. When they walked in, they expected Lucius not to recognize them. Most people didn’t have Jim’s memory for faces, they’d found.  The same barstool was empty, so Jim headed to that. They’d order a drink, be forgotten, drink it and go home. Fine. 

Lucius came out of the back, holding a small tray. He sat down plates in front of a couple, giving them a wink as he recommended salting the fries. Then he turned and Jim felt the moment his eyes caught on theirs like it was the completion of a circuit. 

“Jim!” He beamed. 

“Hi,” the word got caught in their throat.   

He ignored three other people waving for his attention to come straight to them, “Listen, I had a total brain wave.” 

“About what?” they asked, pushing down whatever had risen in their neck to strangle them. 

“Bar side zen art, obviously,” he grinned, reached into his pocket and plopped down a sheet of gray thick paper. “It’s sensitive to water.” 

“So?”

“Watch,” he grabbed a glass, squirted water in it then set it next to the paper. He dipped his finger in and drew a squiggle over the paper. Where he touched it went dark, then a few seconds later seemed to evaporate, growing lighter until it wasn’t clear where the water had been at all. “See? You can do it over and over.” 

They copied the move, dipping their finger in then swirling it over the paper.  “Oh that’s...I like that.” 

“Thought you might,” he said, pleased. 

“Can I get a beer or what?” Someone barked. 

“Just a sec!” Lucius said brightly while rolling his eyes so only Jim could see. “You enjoy that. I’ll be back.” 

They did enjoy it. Usually in meetings, Jim would draw increasingly tiny concentric circles, it helped them listen. Eddy, who did elaborate doodles often with tiny stick figures performing amazing feats, approved. Izzy, who would find the circles on all manner of paperwork, did not.  Would he mind droplets of water more or less? If it was more, would it be in a funny way or in an annoying way?  

“Here, hope you haven’t changed your order cause I don’t have time to make something else,” Lucius passed by, leaving behind a whiskey sour. “Food tonight? I’d get the chicken fingers, they just went into the fryer.” 

“Sold.” 

He was gone again and it occurred to Jim that the piece of paper might have been sitting in his pocket for days. Moved from one pair of pants to the next in the hope that they’d come by. 

Slowly, they wrote his name on the paper and watched as it slowly vanished. Then again and again.    

The chicken fingers were good. Lucius propping his chin up on one hand and showing them how to make a cube with the dampened tip of his pinkie finger was better. 

/ 

Lucius couldn’t pinpoint how he knew something was wrong. He rarely could. The radar that had protected him from his mother’s moods and school bullies was finely calibrated, but inscrutable. 

“You good?” He asked them as soon as he had a moment’s breathing space. 

“Hm?” 

They were in their usual spot and he had already given them their drink. Most of the time it took them long minutes to sip it and today was no exception. It was sweating gently into the bar napkin. They were messing with one of the tiny 3D puzzles that he’d swiped from an insufferable asshole’s dorm room after a terrible hookup. 

(There was a  box under the bar marked ‘Yellow Napkins’ which no one ever looked in, but was full of things like the hydrophobic paper and bent paper clips. By now, Jim knew where it was and just helped themselves. Did they know it was just for the two of them? That he spent more time thinking about how to stock it then keeping orders in his head?) 

“Seem a little....” he let it drag out, not sure what word to put there, eventually settled on, “not yourself.” 

Jim slid one piece against another. “Long day.” 

“Yeah? Anything I can do to help?” 

He’d noticed early on that Jim wasn’t big on ordinary eye contact. Either they didn’t allow it at all or they caught his eyes and wouldn’t look away long past when most people would grow uncomfortable. Lucius liked it. He wondered what they were seeing when they did that. Today was a catch and hold day. He did them the courtesy of not looking away. Let them search for whatever it was as long as they liked. 

“If I brought someone else here, what would you do?”  they asked. 

“Give them whatever they ordered. A friend or a lover?” 

Their nose wrinkled up, and it was adorable. “Neither. My boss.” 

“Uh, you bring your boss around to your local drinking hole often?” 

“No,” they slid a piece around so it came together with a soft ‘click’. 

“You know I don’t own the place, bring whoever you want,” Lucius tapped the bar with a finger, trying to parse what they were getting at. 

“I don’t want this to be different,” Jim said after a pause. “I want things here to stay the same.” 

“I won’t treat you any different if your boss is a pain in the ass,” he frowned. 

“He might be,” they allowed. “Anyway. He probably wouldn’t come.” 

Lucius watched them slide another piece in, trying one angle then another before it sank into place. 

“Hey,” he ventured, “you want to come over to my crappy dorm room after closing?” 

Jim didn’t pause in their manipulation of the puzzle and yet he felt a change in their attention all at once. Like it had suddenly all fallen on him with fierce intensity. 

“Why?” 

“Because you’re my friend,” Lucius told them. His only friend at the moment though he kept that close. “My roommate is out of town and I scored some decent weed for once. We can get high and watch movies.” 

“Can we?” They ask, as if the whole idea was both entirely charming and utterly impossible. 

“Yeah,” he said lightly. “Who the fuck is going to stop us?” 

No one stopped them. Lucius even let Jim hang out as he closed down the bar and no one else noticed let alone said a word. Jim walked beside him, booths barely making a sound on the pavement as he led them back to the dorm. He took them around the back of the building where the smokers always had a door propped. 

“Smells like a locker room,” they observed without any apparent judgment as they stepped into the hall. 

“Yeah, it’s a hellhole, but at least it’s not my mother’s house,” he agreed. 

His room was tiny, barely large enough for the few bits of furniture shoved into it, but it wasn’t like Jim took up a lot of space. There wasn’t much of his personality in the room, just his bed with its utilitarian pieces, his desk littered with art supplies and textbooks. Unlike his roommate, he didn’t have a hundred posters, just a single print of a Maplthorpe photo, black and white photo of a punk shaping his mohawk from behind. Strong hands, strong arms on display. 

Jim studied the photo, then folded themselves down onto his bed, legs crossed. They hadn’t asked which side was his, just gone for it like it was obvious. It probably was. Lucius took down his math textbook and flipped it open. He sliced the inside front cover open a few inches to make a natural pocket for a dime bag and rolling papers. 

“Nice,” JIm gave him an approving nod. “What do you do about the smell?” 

“Well as you already observed, this place reeks already, so mostly just open a window and do the time honored move of also burning incense.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best.” 

It was only once he’d gotten the joint lit, took a hit and offered it to them that Jim admitted, 

“Never done this before.” 

“What, really?” he blinked. “But you’re like...grown or something.” 

“I’m only three years older than you,” Jim took it and studied it like it might turn into a bug. 

“Still. You just give off that all-knowing air. Just suck in, hold it for a second then blow out. It’s okay if you cough.” 

“Smoked cigarettes before.” 

“Then you’ve got the gist.” 

They took a long toke, held it and did indeed cough a little, but not nearly as much as he had the first time. There was no fairness in the world. Lucius held his fingers out and Jim settled the joint back between them. They didn’t talk as they passed it back and forth. Lucius had oncesmoked like this with a guy before a fuck and it had been like foreplay to touch his lips to the same place the guy’s lips had been. 

It wasn’t like that with Jim. Maybe it was the gradual high or maybe it was just who they were, but what Lucius felt when he sucked in smoke, mouth wrapped around the paper they were sharing was a mellow correctness. As if they had done this a hundred times before. 

“Want to watch something?” 

“Yeah...no,” Jim wavered. “Can you put on some music? I don’t care what.” 

“Sure,” Lucius didn’t have music he thought would actually be to Jim’s taste. Even if he had no idea what their taste was.  So he just threw on Mika because everyone should like Mika in his opinion. “What do you usually listen to?” 

“Why do you have so many colored pencils?” they asked. 

Lucius wavered, then caved to the misdirection. “Because I like having choices.” 

Stoned Jim wasn’t any more interested in giving away information about themselves, but they did flop back onto his bed, boots abandoned on the floor and let him sketch them. 

“Don’t you do nudes?” they asked, watching him under their lashes. 

“I’m versatile,” he moved quickly to catch their lines in case they shifted. 

“You didn’t ask.” 

Lucius paused, “You know I didn’t invite you back here for sex, right?” 

“I wasn’t sure.” 

“I mean, you’re hot and all. We can. You’d need to talk me through a few things. New equipment for me.” 

“You don’t fuck women.” 

“No.” 

“But you’d do me?” 

“If you actually wanted me too,” he started drawing again, needing the distraction. 

“Why?” 

“Jim,” he captured their jaw in a swift angle, “are you a woman?” 

“I’m not a man.” 

“So don’t be either.” 

They sucked in a breath, “Tell me the words for it. You have all the words.” 

Lucius gave them the words as he sketched. Jim repeated them one after the other.  They hung in the air around them, drifting in the smoke. Songs bled one into the other, almost entirely unheard. Eventually the sketch was as done as Lucius could make it with eyelids getting heavy. 

He yawned and crawled into the bed, the shitty plastic mattress undulating beneath them. 

“I can go,” Jim realized. “I should go.” 

“Stay,” he muttered. 

Everything about Jim said ‘Do Not Touch’, but they’d never said a word out loud about it. They were warm and unmoving, so Lucius threw an arm over their stomach and pressed his forehead against their shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t,” they warned him. 

“Why not?” 

“You don’t know me.” 

“I know enough.” 

He didn’t then. Not really, but Jim stayed anyway. They both fell asleep fully dressed, stuck together in the tiny bed in a sea of incense and contentment. 

***

“Give,” Jim demanded, holding out their hand. Lucius sulked, but handed over the knife he’d managed to lift from their pocket. “You’ll cut your fingers off.” 

“I’d just take your wallet, the knife was in the way,” Lucius groused. 

“You shouldn’t be able to do that. You fall over your own feet.”

“Feet are pretty far from fingers.” 

They were standing outside the bar, hidden in the back. Lucius was on his break and Jim had slipped back to join him. 

“Boss is helping me out with my ID,” they told him. 

“Nice of him,” Lucius lifted his eyebrows. “Can’t even get my boss to remember my name.” 

“Worked with him a while. We get each other.” 

“How long is a while?” 

Jim tilted their head against the brick, “Mm. Almost three years.” 

“Holy shit, you actually told me,” Lucuis gave a sarcastic little clap. “A fact! About Jim. I shall treasure this day always.” 

“Fuck off,” they elbowed him hard which he mostly skipped away from, but they felt like smiling. Lucius didn’t actually care if they didn’t tell him things. He loved guessing and even more loved being right with his guesses. 

“Second time you mentioned this boss guy. You must like him.” 

“He’s not likable.” 

“Just your kind of person.” 

“You're likable.” 

“I’m the exception to every rule,” Lucius mimed tossing his hair. “Truly extraordinary.” 

Jim didn’t dignify that with a response. Even if they did agree with it. 

Their birthday arrived with the ID and Jim made a decision about the whole thing at last. Izzy would come with them to meet Lucius. That could be their birthday present to themselves. They had no idea how it would go. If they could’ve asked Lucius without ruining it, they would’ve. He had a way of predicting people. 

It was to Jim’s intense pleasure that Izzy, after an initial hissing cat instinct, caved to Lucius’ brand of terrible customer service and tawdry flirations. Izzy was easy to rile to anger, but Jim hadn’t seen him this straight up flustered before. 

So maybe it was terribly surprising when a few Fridays later, he turned up at their elbow as they pulled on their coat and said, 

“Going to that shithole?” 

“Yep.”

He didn’t ask to come along. Just did and like a magic trick, Jim could make both of their favorite people appear in the same place at the same time. Between the two of them, they didn’t even have to talk much, Izzy and Lucius leveling biting comments at each other filled the air.  Jim could fiddle with a puzzle or draw their circles and just listen. Perfection. 

**** 

Lucius sat down heavily on the awful leather couch, his breath ragged in his ears. People had just died in front of him and then he’d been whisked away to this fucking terrible apartment with dire prediction of his own death raining down around him. 

“No no,” Jim said softly, coming to kneel before him. Their face was the same, their long ragged ended hair falling in the same drape. “Breathing, Lucius. It’s important.” 

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Who ARE you?” 

They stared up at him, eyes wide and their voice cracked, “I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” 

“I don’t! I’m not anyone. I’m a blank,” now their breathing had gone ragged. That seemed....very dire and Lucius found himself evening out just to compensate. “Except there’s you.” 

“Me?” 

“I chose you,” their hands landed on his knees. “I don’t do that.” 

“Okay...fuck, okay,” he lay his hands right over theirs. And that was calming too. They were so steady there. “Am I going to die?”

“Only if I die first,” they said without any ferocity. Just a cold fact. 

Lucius wrapped that fact up and set it into himself. Like a bit of dirt in an oyster, he grew a pearl around it. 

*** 

It was almost their twenty-third birthday when they finally had the plan in place. They left work and kept it simple. Just headed out like it was a regular Wednesday night, except they went by their apartment building. Past the bar that no longer meant anything to them now that Lucius didn’t serve behind it. They were together almost every day from morning until evening and that was better anyway. 

Jim wound their way to shitty restaurant where the man that had once been part of the Siete Gallos ate dinner every week like clockwork. Primarily because he was having an affair with one of the waitstaff and would stumble into the alley after eating to get in a long (and highly unappealing) groping session. 

They waited in the alley. The waitress had her hand on the door when the host called her back. Jim exhaled with relief and hung up the burner. It had been an easy enough thing to call the front and play irate patron with a complaint. The host and the waitress would have to at least talk about it for a few minutes.  

The man was whistling when he came out for his fling. Jim didn’t give him time to notice that she wasn’t there. They had already known speed and accuracy when Eddy crossed their path. It was Izzy that had taught them what to do next. The easiest thing. To just walk away, careful to keep it off your clothes. 

They got to the lip of the alley, already thinking about disposing of the weapon. 

“Did you bring a change of clothes?” 

Their knife was at his throat, another man’s blood still wet on the metal. 

Lucius’ pupils were blown wide and there was the tang of fear around him. But he was also holding still. Trusting that they would pull the blade. 

“I have them by the dumpster a block away,” they did drop the blade and start walking. “Did you follow me?” 

“You were jumpy all day and wouldn’t tell me what was up, of course I followed you.” He walked beside them. 

“You saw.” 

“I saw,” he said gently. 

“That’s what I am.”

Lucius snorted, “Yeah, okay.” 

“It is,” they hissed, trying not to draw attention. 

“It’s something you are. Maybe an important part. But the word Jim can hold a lot for only three letters.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” 

He reached out and took their hand. The one that was tacky with the spray of blood. He pressed them palm to palm.  

“You should have someone at your back when you do this. A look out. How many are there?” 

“Fifteen.” 

“How many were there?” 

“Sixteen.” 

“Then you’re just beginning,” Lucius’ hand carried theirs along, not quite swinging between them, but close. “And I’ll be there.” 

“You hate blood. The violence.” 

“There’s only so many times you can watch people punch each other and still get upset over it.” 

“You’re not allowed on jobs.” 

“I watch,” he said as if it was nothing. As if that didn’t mean he’d accessed machines he shouldn't have been able to, knew passwords that were kept secret. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s happening.” 

“That’s a dangerous game.” 

“Iz wouldn’t touch me.” 

“Eddy.”

“Mm. Guess you’ll just have to watch my back too.” 

Jim could turn him over to Eddy right then. Call her up and tell her that Lucius was a busybody. Not to be trusted. Nothing awful would happen. He’d get turned loose. Izzy would have to cut ties which he would do without a second thought, then bleed internally about it for months without realizing what had happened. 

“This way,” they tugged him a little, venturing into their tucked away spot. He kept watch as they changed. When they bundled everything up, including the knife and disposed of it in a bag already full of rotting garbage, he helped them with the dumpster lid. 

“There has got to be a better way,” his nose wrinkled up with distaste.  “Maybe a getaway car next time.” 

“You don’t drive,” they pointed out. 

“Then you’ll teach me.” 

“But-” 

“I’m not saying I’ll like it or I’ll even be good at it, but I’ll learn enough to get a license. Don’t tell Izzy or he’ll think I’m honing in on his territory.” 

They go back to their apartment as planned that night, but not alone. Lucius shot off a text to Izzy, telling him the truth  ‘stayed out late with Jim, home in the morning’.  While Jim showered, Lucius made tea laced with rum and they both drank it as the shower’s leftover steam rolled through the studio. 

“What do you want?” Lucius asked them. “Ten years from now when they’re all dead?” 

Jim frowned, “What do you mean?” 

“Consider it a homework assignment.” 

They drank. The television played over them. And eventually, both of them crawled into Jim’s twin bed and fit themselves together for sleep. 

***** 

Lucius had planned for this day for ages. It had taken several semesters before he was confident enough to even try and then he had to wait.  Keeping secrets from Jim made him deeply uncomfortable, despite the relative ease he hid from everyone else. Hiding things from Izzy was just a part of life. The man didn’t need to know how deep in Lucius had thrust himself, he was uncomfortable enough with what he did know. 

Hiding from Eddy was a fascinating game. She was excellent at sniffing out deception and Lucius couldn’t test her too many times without becoming suspicious. So he danced a careful line, poking at perimeters without setting off alarms. 

But Jim...Jim was different. He was always honest with Jim. Jim had earned that from him and returned the favor. 

Still this seemed an okay secret. He hoped. 

He waited for a day when they were in a foul mood. It was rare, despite their constant low level irritation, they were rarely truly furious. When they were though, they would let loose in Spanish, half under their breath, lacing into all the monolingual assholes that had troubled them that day. 

In what was so perfect that he almost wished he’d arranged it, they decided to vent their spleen as they walked into the conference room that only Lucius was occupying. 

“Stupid assholes” they grumbled, “how fucking hard is to do what I told you to do? Like you know better than me, you dumb shits.”

Lucius raised his eyebrows and offered, “If you mean Dom and Bradley, they already packed up their things. Liked the touch of stabbing Bradley in the hand that tried to pinch my ass less week.” 

“Anything-”  Jim stopped, switched back to English. “What the fuck did you just say?” 

“Is my accent that bad?” He asked ruefully. 

“How long?” they demanded. 

“I’ve been trying to learn for a year or so. It’s not really my area, but I got an A on my final last week.” 

“Luc...” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he blurted. Was he flushing? He felt hot. “Really sorry, I just...I wanted to do it for you. For us.” 

“Why?” 

“So you can talk to me in whatever way is easier. Whenever.” 

They sat down heavily in their chair. The one that was always pulled up beside his. 

“And you know that no one else here speaks it.” 

“What’s wrong with a little extra layer of privacy?” 

Jim did the eye contact thing. Lucius looked back. Their Mona Lisa smile flickered to life. 

“Too clever for your own good. I like it. But if you hide something from me again...” 

“Never again,” he promised. “It sucked and I hated it the whole time. Want to go out and get very drunk?” 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

All night as they drank, Jim taught Lucius phrases that no classroom teacher would. He learned new verbs and some very descriptive adjectives between shots. As they stumbled back to Jim’s studio, he even learned a song, some half-remembered thing from Jim’s childhood. 

In the morning, they shared a single plate with the obscenely huge omelet Lucius had made with the sad remains of vegetables in Jim’s fridge. Their forks warred over the craggy territory.  

“In ten years,” Jim said as they stabbed a bit of tomato, “when they are all dead, I want enough money and power to make sure no one ever hurts what’s mine again.” 

“Done.” 

“You can’t promise that.” 

“Watch me.”

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #I may be bad but I'm perfectly good at it