#fluffy hair and tall long limbs

[jude-us]

As a community it is vital that we uplift POC trans voices. Not just because we deserve to be heard (and believe me we do) but because trans children of color deserve to know they have this option. They deserve to see themselves represented alive and happy.

#one of my earliest trans memories is crying because I didn’t think I could be brown and trans. i was so jealous of all the white boys w/ #fluffy hair and tall long limbs #i deserved better #young trans kids deserve better #transgender #trans #trans poc #boyblogging

[shidouryusm]

✿༝༚༝༚ Satoru: 1 You: 0 ✿༝༚༝༚

content -> fluffy fluff, banters, teasing and touching, making out, mentions of hickey at the end, implied sexual innuendo at the end.

w/c- 1.6k

a/n -> Happy birthday to my blue eyed goober, I love this lil shit till infinity. @pastelle-rabbit to answer your ask more thoroughly hehehehe. And to every Gojo fucker, hope y'all enjoy this once again extremely self indulgent piece with me and let's celebrate our pookie's birthday. Gojover? hell nah what's that

dividers by @/cafekitsune

“Babyyy, I’m hereee. Stop looking at your phone”, you hear Satoru’s whines muffled in your sweater. Your arms wrap around his neck as you hold the phone above his head, which in fact you were using to post for his birthday.

“Just a min, ‘toru.” you murmur softly, using one of your hands to thread through his cloud like hair. Your nails gently graze his scalp, starting from his undercut, as they smoothe over the prickly skin, reaching to the tufts of white candy floss that sits atop, repeating the circling motion again and again. Satoru hums satisfyingly at the feeling of your hands combing through them, comfortable enough to shut up momentarily and nuzzling himself further into your chest. You smile at his clinginess, dipping down to press a light peck on the top of his head. 

Your nostrils fills with the sweet scent of shampoo, the fragnance carrying undertones of candy and molten marshmallow. You wonder where he even gets these and how much do they cost? 

His hands envelopes your back as you half lay on the couch with him plopping himself right on top of you, his tall frame settles between your legs while his head nests snugly on your chest. You tangle one of your leg around the back of his shin. A mess of limbs under the thin blanket that covers both your lower bodies. 

Outside, the sun shlyly peeks from the greyish clouds that wrings out sudden downpours every now and then, forcing both of you to coop up inside the house. 

Not that Satoru was complaining at all, until now, when you shifted your attention from your grown ass boyfriend to your phone. He scoffs mockingly at you, still immersed deep in your phone. What even is there in that godforsaken phone? His blue eyes maliciously eyes that rectangular device. He lays on your chest, silently devising plans on having you all to himself, till the cogs of his brain click.

He shifts, raising himself slightly under the pretext of  “just getting comfortable” so that his face now nestles the crook of your neck. Warm breaths tickles the skin under your ear to which you squirm a little, 

“Toru-” you warn. From your peripheral vision you see him curled up over you, pulling the warmth of your body towards him. His face painted with an expression of serenity as if the only thing in his mind is to be bask in your silent embrace. 

“Hmmm? What did I do?” faux innocent laced his words. You roll your eyes, one of your head still tangled between his locks. He waits for a while, letting you fall into a fake sense of security before  his hands that were wrapped around your lower back start their journey to explore the expanse of your back. His touch is soft, leaving an electrifying sensation through your thin sweater. Almost ticklish and tantalising. One of his hands reach below, long fingers playing with the hem of your sweater, daring to slip underneath it. 

You try your best to not give into whatever mischief his brain has cooked up. Even though, you know, you should have given him the attention, considering it’s his birthday. 

But, since he had to be a menace, two can play the game, right? 

Your attention has now fully shifted to your phone, the cat reel that was playing became ten times more interesting to watch. You even decided to up a notch, removing your hand from his hair to grab the phone with both hands. 

“So, this is how it’s gonna be?” you hear him challengingly mutter, the removal of your hands acting as a declaration of silent war between you two. You dared not to look at him, although you were certain that his face is curled up in his trademarked smirk, plotting to win. 

But if he’s Gojo Satoru, you are Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend. No way in hell you are backing out from this little game you both started literally out of nowhere. 

“Gonna be what, ‘Toru? What did I do?,” you parrot his words back at him, feigning innocence while still peering at your phone. Your jaw muscle twitches, a smile threatening to break out. 

Satoru quirks an eyebrow, amused by your witty banter. One of the many things that made him fall head over heels for you – your ability to match his energy at any given moment.

 Little challenges sparking up between you guys often, keeping the ultimate fire of passion alive. 

“Well, if you say so then,” Satoru breathes, his hands now fully getting into work, as they roam around your body. his other hand trails down to your hips, studying the way his palm bumps over the dips and curves. 

The hand that was fiddling with the hem has slipped inside, resting over the waistline of your sweatpants. You feel your heart race as his blunt nails scrape over your skin ghostily, hooking one finger under to pull the elastic. He snickers against your skin before releasing the fabric, letting it snap against your skin. 

You let out a small gasp at his ministrations. From the corner of your eyes you can make out this insufferable prick grinning at you, still resting his face on your neck. 

“Low blow, ‘toru.” you narrow your eyes, determined to still not make any eye contact as you whisper under your breath, which apparently he caught on. 

You hear him hum, “hmmmm? should have known before removing your hand, baby,” his satirical voice vibrates through as you scoff.

“Should have kept your hands to yourself in the first place.” 

“Shouldn’t have ignored me in the first place. Y’know it’s impossible for me to not touch you, why demand such a thing?” with that, he lets his fingertips place fluttering touches all over your skin, without the obstruction of your sweater. You hiss, trying to squirm away from his cold fingertips but this sturdy, 6 foot giant had you locked under his hold, causing you to fail horribly.

“You’re cold! Get your hands off me.” you grumble. Satoru pretends to not hear anything, continuing to draw random lines with his fingers all over your lower back and sides. At times, fully planting his palm on your back, the frigidness making you gasp and falter. 

“More the reason for me to touch you. You’re hot, baby.” he quips, to which you fall silent. How does he have the answer to everything you say? 

“I’m not gonna leave my phone nor will I react now. You’re gonna lose the challenge”, you huff to which he shrugs his shoulder,

“Nah, I’d win.” Satoru says coolly, resuming his exploration with his hands.

You fall back to your phone, finding it difficult to concentrate on whatever is playing on the phone with the way Satoru’s hands glides over your skin. The pads of his fingers skim through your stomach. Even though they are cold, the lingering touch leaves wamr blaze in its wake. Your heart races sporadically as you anticipate where his hands might move next. 

Although, your face says otherwise, making the most sour expression possible as you stare daggers into your phone. Satoru has always noticed every minuscule details and changes in your body, so this definitely didn’t go under his radar. 

He decides it’s time to dial it up a bit. Afterall, he’s the birthday boy.

With his left hand which was already underneath your sweater, he continued tracing over your skin, while his right hand snaked up to the neckline of your sweater right where his face is currently planted to tug it down, exposing more of your skin in front of him. The veil of cold from the weather outside causes goosebumps to flesh out in your skin, catching Satoru’s eyes as he admires them with his piercing gaze before his mouth puckers in a “o”, cool air slid over your skin from his mouth. 

“T-toru, stop it.” your resolves crumbles like your voice. 

“Are you denying the birthday boy, baby? Don’t hurt me like that.” He whispers against your skin, a mocking bent in his tone as he feigns sadness. You debate whether to succumb to his touches or strangle him.

You breathe through your mouth, attempting to gain composure which you are notoriously failing to do. Satoru’s lips presses against your skin, his lips etched with a grin as he places countless pecks throughout the crevice of your neck and shoulder.

“So fucking pretty, still can’t believe you’re like all mine. Why were you ignoring me, baby. Need you always so fucking much.” Satoru’s gravelly voice vibrates through your skin, the tingles straight shooting down your spine. His hand has now gripped your side like a vice, fingers indenting deep into the skin.

 He groans against your shoulder as he press a kiss there, finding his way back to your neck again, millions of kisses littering your skin. He reaches under your ear, his teeth nipping lightly at the lobe.

Meanwhile, his hands push your body up, towards him, grinding his lower body against yours.

A soft whimper dares to escape your lips before you suppress it. Hands turning a little wobbly, and you hate how heat courses through your veins as Satoru turns your whole being into a mushy puddle against himself.

“Give up, darling.” Satoru whispers in your ear, before his mouth catches hold of your skin. His teeth scrapes the skin, sucking it fervently, while his back pushes you flush against him, letting you feel all the ridges and contour of his skin. His heart rhymes with your, palpitating with galloping beats. A soft whine escapes Satoru's throat at this steamy turn of events.

This had to be the last straw that broke the camel’s back as your phone slides from your hand, falling somewhere on the floor. Your head tips back and a breathy moan ricochets the room as Satoru duly runs his tongue over the hickey that prickled a little.  

You hear Satoru’s simpering resonating around the room as he pulls you up, now seated on the couch with you straddling his lap

“See, told you I’d win.” his hand caresses the newly formed mark that will definitely take a concealer or turtleneck to hide.

“You prick. Fuck you. You did that on purpose.” 

“Tell me where it says I can’t do that.” he muses, shutting you up once again. Your lips jut in a pout as you stare at him. 

His eyes are so blue, glossing with the reflection of the rain pouring outside. His forehead veiled with your most favourite part of his body – those fluffy tufts of hair and his lips curl into a toothy smile. The eyes brimming with love and admiration for you.

Even as he weaseled his way out with an upper hand, you don't feel any of it. Rather, you drink in the way he looks so haphazard. So messy. So homely.

Your hands reach to cup his face, feeling the physicality of his beauty before you lean down to press a kiss.

“The least I can do for you birthday is to let you win, I guess. Happy Birthday, sexy.” you murmur against his lips, taking them between your own.

 He returns the kiss with the same vigour, his hands are now out of the sweater, holding your back for support, whilst pulling you close to him. 

The flavour of your strawberry balm etches itself in Satoru’s mind and he never wishes to stop from relishing the taste of your soft lips. A calm havoc wreck his insides as he thanks whatever lies above for granting him the biggest gift of his life – you.

You break apart from him, his eyes deepening their shade of blue and his face carrying a lingering expression of passion. His chest heaves from deep breaths as you stare at him with confusion. He motions his eyes downwards, making you realise what’s the issue.

“Mind helping me out?” 

a/n -> God I'd commit felonies to experience this especially with a 6'feet, white haired, blue eyed, freakishly handsome and annoying blockhead.

#sam.writes #sam.in.jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jjk x reader fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fluff #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo jjk #gojo x yn #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x yn #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jjk drabbles #jjk fanfic

[justblades]

⌕ SUCK HIM DRY, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : jing yuan x afab! reader WC : 1.7k

⟢ WARNINGS : EXPLICIT, MDNI. dubcon, succubus! reader, hypnosis

⟢ SUMMARY : a succubus preys on a luofu general — a battle of wits, who will outsmart the other given that both parties should not be underestimated? perhaps only time can answer.

the mara-struck, the ambrosial arbor— the legends drift to outsiders once they set foot on the xianzhou luofu. almost everything is possible in this setting, it was natural for devils who feed on sins to exist along with these species, and so you descend into the ship undercover, looking for a particular victim.

your interest was piqued by a distinct foxian lady whose ears are tall and in tan color, especially the notable, fluffy tail wagging just behind her. she has a little wooden table set in front of her and atop the birch surface are multiple pictures of a silver long haired male, smile as cunning yet blithe at the same time. the most notable feature however is the angel mark just below his left eye, followed by his long onyx lashes framing his aureate irises.

from the clothing he dons, it was clear-cut he's someone of a high ranking. you were not to be underestimated now that you're running low on your fill, so you opted for unconventional methods: by buying intel about the person and immediately found almost everything the luofu general does. a small price to pay for your deprivation.

apparently his name is jing yuan. it rolls off your long tongue smoothly. his charisma, his aura and his name: he's a perfect target. your adrenaline levels spike as you envision what you'll do to him once you lay your hands on the male, dozen scenarios flashing from one to another.

at present with a remarkable entrance, you finally emerge out from the shadows and make an appearance for your victim. although jing yuan's eyes are heavy lidded as he was a second apart from completely dozing off, he manages to brandish his weapon in an instant, hoisting it at your figure. the indolence he displayed from earlier immediately dissipates into thin air, his masculine voice cuts through the thick ice of tension lingering in the vicinity.

"you finally showed yourself. i've been waiting since earlier." it was just 10 words but he exceeds your expectations. never have your presence been sensed by anybody as that is one of your skills, to be able to conceal yourself and your true identity. jing yuan isn't to be taken too lightly, it appears. but no matter how he was able to anticipate your arrival, he still fell prey on your yearning hands.

he suddenly grunts in struggle as his limbs get pinned down on the sculpted, hazel chair before him. jing yuan loses control of his own body and you continue to stride towards him, a lecherous smile carved on your lips. "general jing yuan . . you're quite an attractive man." you whisper as you lean closer to his face, your hot breath ghosts a caress on the very shell of his ear.

the general was addled at first, trying his best to discern what kind of creature you really are. "you look confused, i'll grant you the privilege of knowing what i am." your words were honeyed as your eyes lock a wary gaze with his golden hues. "i'm just a demon who feeds on people . . the sin of lust particularly, and i'm here to claim your life once i successfully do so."

forcing a kiss on his sultry lips, your fingers grab a hold of his chin, making sure to deepen further your tongue in— making you feel more tantalized than before. jing yuan's brows furrow, continuing to struggle to break free from the curse you laid upon him. quickly breaking the seal of the kiss, you couldn't help but chuckle, "you taste so delicious general! i wonder if it's the same down here."

jing yuan glances at where your other clawed hand trails, his vision landing on his erection, all exposed from how you swiftly ripped his pants open. slowly gliding your digits against his prominent veins of a reddish tan mixed of violet shades, you merit yourself with the general's grunts of arousal as he closes his eyes shut.

he grinds his teeth, "i've heard of such creatures but i never would've imagined they were true." he struggles to speak eloquently like he always does now that he's under your teasing touch. suddenly, a warm feeling envelops his twitching length, only to realize you were sucking his girthy cock. "does it feel good, general?" you query, bobbing your head up and down while making a vacuum like suction as you suck all of him in, your tongue fiddling his dick's folds.

the silver haired throws his head back in defeat, unable to budge a movement as he was stuck in a sitting position. with a succubus pleasuring him, he couldn't deny it was a wonderful sensation. he eventually lets his guttural moans come undone and follow suit one after another, sounding into your ears like awards or prizes for doing your job well. amidst of this, he starts to think of a way to free himself from these invisible restraints but you heeded no mind and continue to indulge yourself in carnal desire.

however as you didn't underestimate jing yuan, the same could be said for you. after all, you meticulously planned to draw away everyone's attention in jing yuan's office just so you can prey on him. time flashes by rather quick and liquids of release sprawl into the hidden depths of your throat as you also toy with your sloppy cunt, growing eager to lap all of him even more.

"one out of three. once you cum thrice, it's a bye bye." the sentence cut off jing yuan's rowdy train of thoughts, but as he was powerless before such specie, you were able to insert his dick in, straddling his thigh, facing the male. he flinches as your tight walls coil around his shape, the head of his dick meeting with your cervix, " . . you're big!" you exclaim, your eyes widening into two full moons, shock coursing through your veins.

resting your hands on his broad shoulders, you begin to bounce on him, raising your ass and push your hips down on his thick, heating dick. your eyes never left jing yuan's, and you swear you could feel how much he's been thinking in spite of the low mewls he lets out— "yes, just keep looking at me like that!" taunting the general even more, his piercing, brazen stare sharpens, almost penetrating right through your soul.

"oh, general . ." you call out to him as you moan his name, "general jing yuan . . xianzhou luofu is such a pretty place!" naughty, squelching noises reverberate inside the vast space, accompanied by you and jing yuan's bit back moans of satisfaction. now locking your hands around his neck and fingers ruffling his long, luscious, ashy strands, you give him another open mouthed kiss, one that is much more gentler than the other, eyes closed to engage with the sensation.

noticing the littlest details of a person's body language, gifted to every succubus or incubus birthed into this universe, you could sense how his dick throbs, signaling for his release soon. the corners of your lips lift, displaying a smug smile once you pick up your speed and add more force on your movements, shaking your hips slowly to earn more sounds from the male's mouth.

"i— i'm—" jing yuan groans and the second round of his climax dawns, filling your velvet walls with his muddy white seed to the point that a good amount seeps into your womb. you feel your body lighten and improve in condition, "i wasn't wrong in choosing you at all. even your cum tastes refreshing— i can also make you do this."

the general's body moves by itself as he bends you over the table this time with one push, your face slapping against the varnished surface. his hand tightly clasped on your shoulder blades, you wiggle your pelvis so his head meets with your lips— and prods through your fluttering folds once more. he heaves deep breaths, more waves of pleasure crashing on him, even though it was against his will, he couldn't deny that he feels good from it.

your head spins as his thrusts were far more powerful than you expected. you didn't take into account how raw power works in these instances but it made the experience hundred times better— you were starting to lose your mind as he fills you with his cock, beads of his satisfaction trickling down past your thighs.

"what a naughty general!" you remark with absolute mockery, "is this what you fantasize about while you keep the luofu's peace, jing yuan?" snickering at the end of your sentence, you were surprised to hear him respond. "yes, and it seems like you're a perfect fit." you were taken aback by his reply.

he proceeds to flip your body around, carrying your figure with his mere two arms. he rises from his position and guides your legs to lock around his waist, his cock reaching deeper than before and rubbing on the other parts of your walls. "what— no! how could y—" jing yuan cuts off your protest with a passionate kiss, you could feel his lips tug into a smirk.

"where's your playful nature now?" jing yuan's words exude of irony and sarcasm: having enjoyment at how confusion washes over your facial features. "i'm not an ordinary being either - i'm afraid to say you only set yourself up for failure." the cocky aura from your stature ceases, jaw falling agape and your lustful eyes' gleam die down.

he speeds up his thrusts, intruding your tight cunt with an unrealistic speed. despite of worry gnawing at your perturbed mind, you couldn't stifle the mewls slipping from your lips. "it only took me . . a while to overcome your binds." the general clarifies and with one last stroke, more strings of milky like substance spring out from his cock, painting your walls white.

as soon as he fills you up, he lets go of your body, making a loud thud sound. you were left there unable to move, even more perplexed as to why. even though it didn't hurt you one bit, your mind was just occupied at just how powerful the general is. he exits your peripheral vision for a while, only to come back with new clothing donned as if the ones you ripped earlier weren't busted at all.

the seat of divine foresight's gates swing open, revealing numerous cloud knights in preparation for combat.

"be careful bringing her to the cell, this one's dangerous. i shall pay a visit later."

my masterlist !

#honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x reader smut #hsr smut #hsr x reader #hsr x reader smut #honkai star rail x reader smut

[queenendless]

🌅Dawn (Adult!SatoSugu x Adult!Fem!Reader)🌅

A/N: Wholesome fluffy lovey dovey pillow talk kinda mornings with these two. I am miffed there is no character audio with these two x listener anywhere, talk about injustice! Well this is my take on it and imma do more in the future!

*11/22/23 - I consider this oneshot part of the teacher!AU. Sorry for that abrupt decision!

Yo, this week's episode ... insane~ This season actually is insane so.

All credit for JJK and its characters goes to Gege.

* Please DON'T plagarize, translate, or repost my FANFIC content. Reblog, like, and follow instead.

Enjoy.

A deep rumbling groan parted the lips belonging to the snowy haired man face first in his pillow on one side of the bed that was moving too much to his liking.

"Who's rocking the bed this early?" Even in sleepiness, he had to slip in an innuendo.

A groggy yawn fell from the lips of his raven long haired partner on the opposite side of the bed, tiredly jabbing. "You would be my immediate guess."

The rustle of sheets and the sensation of a smaller warm form brushing in between them brought them both more attentively out of their drowsy state. Gojo looked over his shoulder to see something moving downwards to the bed's end. A curly grin surfaced on his face. "Hmm …"

His shadow loomed over the anxious form hidden beneath. "Well, well, well~" His hands stretched out and his fingers wiggled. "What have we here~?"

His fingers striking their form had familiar giggles spilling out, bringing a snicker out of him. "Suguru~ Someone's down here~"

Said man rolled over on his back, resting his arms behind his head, watching with tired amusement at his best friend tickling the certain someone hidden through their sheets. "Oh~?"

"A sneaky little cutie was trying to slip out whilst we were sleeping~" Gojo’s evil low laugh spelled doom.

Gojo pulled the sheets up enough to slip underneath, resulting in a fit of laughter from both parties hidden, as he went back to gentle tickling. Limbs squirmed and jostled underneath followed by streams of intermingling laughter as they kept bumping into Geto's thighs. "H-Hey!"

Feeling a smaller body drape over his lap startled Geto enough to pull off the sheets to see what the heck was going on.

Seeing you tug down his low hanging sweatpants enough for you to gingerly kiss his two small beauty marks on his right hip so affectionately made Geto’s heart pitter patter rapidly.

“Sugu, please tell Toru to sta – AAHP~!" You broke out into a squeal, kicking your legs to push Gojo off but that only made him tickle you more. "Mehehehercy~!"

"Hey! No sucking up to him, missy!" Gojo jested, sliding his hands under your top, wiggling his digits into your sides deeply enough to bring out more chortling squeals.

"Hang on, Satoru~ At least let her breathe so she can make a case in her defense." Geto grabbed Gojo's persistent hands to get you free enough to breathe in thankful takes of oxygen, hugging Geto while keeping nervous eyes and an accusing finger pointed at the cat eyed miscreant.

"I promised Nanami I would go out and help him with some errands. Haibara is stuck sick at their place so it seemed only right to help them out." You defended.

"Oh, I'm sure Yu would rather be in the darling company of his Nanamin~" Gojo crawled over, nuzzling your cheek, cheekily grinning up at you as he rested his noggin on your shoulder.

"Which is why I gotta get ready and – EEP!" Your attempt at pulling away from their difficult comforting hold and getting out of bed were cut in half as their two tall heavy bodies toppled over on you, pushing you down to lay on your stomach.

"Have you forgotten you woke us up?" Satoru drawled, his cheery tone barely coating his irritation, as his hands squeezed your sensitive sides.

"Hehehey~!" Your hopeless tussle to squirm away was getting fruitless quickly.

"And you tried sneaking out with our backs turned?" Suguru added, his calm smile underlined with inner deviousness.

Satoru dramatically exclaimed. "Just to be in the company of another man – !"

"Hey, Nanami-san is our collective friend, and I gave my word to help – mmph~!" You were cut off as you were flipped to lay on your back just so Satoru could smooch you, all sloppily and deeply, his tongue brushing yours in the messy lip lock.

"It's not fair! We should spend every morning together as much as possible!" Those puffed up cheeks of his made your resolve falter.

"We do! But one day alone ain't gonna kill you two. I mean, I'm flattered for being so deeply needed but – mmh~!" Suguru's sculpted hand weaved through your locks, cradling your noggin, just to pull you close enough to languidly French kiss you, drawing pleased sighs outta you while Satoru licked and nipped your arching neck like the human cat that he is.

"We'd rather you stay here. For much … much … longer." Suguru's bedroom eyes are so palpable. His lulling, rich voice is so tempting.

"We want our sweet, darling angel to stay here." Satoru nuzzled his face in between your clothed bosoms, fluttering those long white eyelashes at you. "To cuddle, to kiss, to enrapture." His own addictive voice has you shivering in anticipation.

Their eyes are hypnotizing. Their combined scents are invigorating. The strongest duo have you hook, line, and sinker.

You sigh, conceding but floating on enamored air. "I'll meet up with Nanami later this afternoon. Fair enough?"

Their velvety beautiful faces beamed with pride and joy as they planted a kiss on either end of your lips. "Wifey~!"

"Clingy giants." You mushed out.

"We heard that." They grumbled in unison.

"Kinda the point~" Your teasing earned you a restless half hour spent feeling their ticklish butterfly kisses pepper your face, neck, and ears and turning you into a squirmy giggling mess. Your spasming legs got stuck entangled in theirs as their hands roamed your body, wiggling into your thighs, your hips, your sides. "Stahahahahahap~! Plehehehehease~!"

"God, I should use Infinite Void to keep us in this moment~" Satoru's nose pressed into your collarbone, smiling into your cherished skin.

"Perhaps." Suguru's freed raven bangs tickled your nose, aweing at the sneeze it elicited out of you, smooching your nose as an apology. "Bless you."

"Wait, rewind! You're gonna do what — MMM~!" Their hearts throbbed for their indulgence of you, stopping their tickling, preferring to smother your face in their snug fitting chests. "I made a huge mistake!" Your muffled dramatic cries had them laughing tiredly.

Eventually, everything prior had worn you three out enough to settle you down, draping the bed comforter back over yourselves, their intertwined arms keeping you cocooned and them grounded.

Even when slipping in and out of consciousness, seeing your tranquil, content face nestled in between them had them sagging in relief at how they were able to keep you around for longer.

Laxing but still snug as a bug, you were lulled by their soft breathing and their grounding coziness.

Even special grade sorcerers slash teachers need to unwind and relax. In their own little hideaway.

And having you there made it all complete.

The beams of sunshine trickled through the curtains, painting the bedroom in golden hues, as dawn became the setting of you guys' dream where three become one.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk au #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk comfort #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto x you #geto x reader #gojo x geto x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x you #jujutsu kaisen comfort #gojou x getou x reader #jujutsu kaisen au #jjk tickle #jujutsu kaisen tickle #gojou satoru x reader #getou suguru x reader #satoru x suguru x reader

[abibliophobiaa]

talking in your sleep

chapter one - burnin’ for you

- eddie munson x afab!reader; 80s summer camp slasher au.

masterlist

🏕️🛶

warnings: (20k words) overall this fic will be dark in tone, though this chapter is mostly light and fluffy; r has a father for the sake of a future conflict, though they are not named; thriller; possession; alcohol and recreational marijuana use; allusions to sex; oral (f receiving); allusion to oral (m receiving); 18+, minors dni.

additionally— while this is technically an au, the upside down does exist here. the original core st crew has experienced the events of seasons 1-3, but in a different capacity that will become clear through the narrative. also a loose loose loose adaption of s4 with a slasher flair

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There are rumors that Hawkins is cursed. 

That there’s a gateway to hell in the town’s epicenter—paved by the blood of innocents. 

That there’s a whole world roaming beneath, teeming with monsters who have gaping maws full of endless rows of teeth that walk on twos and fours, screeching bats, and swirling shadow beasts. 

But they’re rumors all the same. 

Hushes in hallways, within the four walls of homes, by conspiracy theorists trying to strike up their next controversial story. 

Stories told around campfires to wide eyed children, fear struck grave and true behind their gazes, or by those wishing to warn others to stay away, to reconsider coming—to turn back while they still have time. 

Those same rumors fueled by the terrible murder of the Creel family, a haunting story of a girl who disappeared and was never found again, the impossibility of the zombie boy who was gone from this world one day and alive the next, the devastating fire that burned down the Starcourt Mall and took the lives of many. 

Tragedies. All of them. Twisted to fit a narrative. Because Hawkins is safe. Inconspicuous. Boring. 

Nothing strange happens there. 

Nothing, that is, until the summer of 1986. 

 ——

 “Hello campers,” you call out through the megaphone. “Welcome to Camp Firefly for the summer season of 1986. Dustin—please stop pulling on Max’s hair. Max, don’t kick Mike in the shins! Oh, Juliet, honey, please don’t eat the gl—”

The megaphone is snatched from your fingers by none other than Steve Harrington. All long limbs and debonair stature. Dark hair gleams in the sunlight, broad shoulders shifting as he raises the megaphone to his lips and shouts, “Okay, listen up shitheads. Unpacking starts now. In one hour, we’ll be meeting in the mess hall for our welcome dinner. Be there or be square.”

You open your mouth to argue, to yell at him for breaking up your speech, but a pair of arms winds around your waist. Eddie’s form thumps into yours, his tall and gangly body having just rushed out of his parked van to hastily barrel into you. Four weeks; you’d gone four weeks without seeing him, and it had felt like years. Sighing, you lean into his embrace. Steve shakes his head beside the both of you, continuing on with the welcoming speech for the rest of the campers who are paying attention. 

You, on the other hand, find yourself preoccupied with the boy insistent upon sliding his palms into the back pockets of your shorts, pulling you flush against him until your noses brush.

A giggle rises from your throat, your face warming. “Eddie,” you gasp out when a hand squeezes on your flesh. There’s a thwack of your hand against his shoulders, arms loosely around his neck, though there’s no true anger to be found there. Only the prickling nervous anticipation over being seen. You drop down into a hushed whisper, “Not in front of the kids!”

“I’ll have you know, my campers know cooties are real. I’d like to think I’m a great teacher.” His forehead presses insistently into yours, breath warm against your bottom lip. He’s so close now you can smell the mint on his tongue, masking the hint of the cigarette he likely smoked minutes ago beneath. “But I myself happen to be up to date on my cootie shots…”

Another thwack to his abdomen this time, but all it does is have him closing the space between you, ignoring the overly exaggerated gagging sounds of his friend Steve to your left. It’s a long, drawn out press of your lips. Weeks of yearning and wishes, pent up desire, pouring out into the spaces between you. A hum spills from you, unwarranted and yet welcomed by Eddie’s firmer embrace. 

Those arms around you that drag you close pull you in tighter, insistent on keeping you near. A part of you wants to remain there. Forever, if he would allow it. But you have too much to do. Between welcoming the returning campers, assisting new campers, and making sure all the counselors are in position for their job duties, your schedule is packed. 

Full to the brim in your father’s absence. 

“As much as I would absolutely love to spend the afternoon doing this, I need to get to work,” you say, sighing breathlessly as your boyfriend separates from you. His nose nudges your cheek, palms brushing along the curve of your jaw. You kiss him once more, grinning. Lowering your voice so no one else can hear, you add, “Meet me in my cabin in fifteen minutes.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a final, lingering kiss to your lips, bowing at the waist. He backs away slowly, finger dragging a slow ‘x’ across his heart. You practically glow with it, heart thundering away behind your ribcage.  

Steve wrinkles his nose beside you and you tip your head to the sky, ignoring him. Eddie’s form is already retreating to your cabin, broad back swathed in a dark tee shifting as he moves throughout the gaggle of children rushing around him like the parting of the sea. 

All around you children giggle. Cars and buses alike weave in and out of the makeshift gravel parking lot. Parents press kisses to their babies' brows and wish their little ones a wonderful month of excitement to come. Wistful gazes meet yours in passing. Friends reunite after months without, hands curling around hands, skipping back to their prospective bunk beds. Girls with friendship bracelets bleached by the sun and time, and boys with their fake swords made of sticks they retrieved in the woods rush along, sights set on their unknown destinations. Your nostrils are filled with the smell of sunblock and the food cooking in the mess hall, the lingering remnants of your boyfriend’s cheap cologne, and the perfume you’d dabbed onto your pulse points earlier that morning for the curly headed metalhead. 

You smile to yourself, letting the summer sun warm your cheeks, and think, It’s going to be a good summer.

 ——

 A fan blows in the distance, but it does little to lower the heat in the room. Does little to chill your sweat slick skin, shirt long pushed high on your chest, moisture pooling in the hollow of your throat, along the dip between your breasts. Your thighs lay splayed out around a narrow pair of hips resting against where you crave him most, fingers dragging lines along the slope of his stomach, the trail of hair leading to the part of him seeking your attention, straining through the sun-faded pair of green shorts adorning his legs, lightened from years of use. 

“Missed you,” Eddie drawls, lips gliding along the soft of your stomach.

Shivers ripple in their wake, toes curling within the tube socks around your calves, lined with that glaring green stripe that mirrors the green accents on your white Camp Firefly shirt. You rip your hand from his abdomen and curl your fingers around his bicep, gasping into open air as he tugs the cup of your bra down and his tongue lathes over a sensitive nipple.

Somewhere against your thigh you can feel him hot and hard and ready—eager and insistent. The wooden beams of the cabin above you blur around the edges as fingers dip down into the waistband of your shorts, teasing at the slickness he finds there. 

“E-Ed,” you rasp, clutching tighter, fingernails digging crescents into his skin at the softest prodding of his middle finger against your center. “Mmm—more.”

That finger dips into the well of slick pooling. Swirls around and around until you’re writhing beneath him, chest rising and falling against his as he leans over to hover above your form, watching the utter bliss sliding over your features. 

“Sweetheart,” he says lowly, voice seemingly dropping an octave. His mouth roams over the curve of your hip bone, nipping at delicate flesh until your stomach clenches and you yelp. “Pretty sure you’re not in uniform.”

He’s right. You’re meant to be wearing the standard white shirt with green lettering or ‘Camp Firefly’ across the front and that silly pair of matching green shorts. But you hadn’t had a chance to change your shorts before the kids started pouring in—before Eddie managed to get you alone. 

He tuts, and with his other hand, Eddie slowly works the button on your jean shorts free, the zipper following suit. The denim brushes along your thighs as he lowers them down your legs, tossing them into the far corner of the room, toying with lace, wet with your want. 

“New?” he murmurs, dipping his middle finger inside you, dragging it in a slow circle that has you clutching at the bed sheets beneath you. At your nod, he grins. “Is this all for me, sweetheart? Should go away on tour more often.”

Eddie’s careful as always as he slides down further toward the foot of the bed, shorts and shirt rumpling. A shudder of breath passes from you as he hikes both your thighs over his shoulders, the balls of your feet resting against the span of his back, as those fingers of his palm at the dough of your thigh. Warm breath skitters across your bare skin, replaced by his mouth a moment later. Warm presses that start at your ankle, dragging up up and up until you’re whimpering, pleading, begging for him without coherent words. Words fail you when he’s like this, intent and amorous, wanting nothing more than to draw out your pleasure, bring you to a peak, have you gasping beneath him in your release, holding you close as you float back to earth with him. 

“Please don’t. Missed you too much,” you nearly beg, eyes rolling back into your skull as he tugs the flimsy fabric aside, nearly ripping it in his haste, and parts you with his tongue. Every other word, every statement, the thoughts you might have shared—they all flutter away into the wind, replaced only by this mouth, these fingers, and this man. “Missed you too much. Oh gosh, just like that, please don’t stop Eddie—”

His answer is the curling of his fingers within you. The blinding white light that dances behind your closed eyes as he licks and teases at your center, coaxing you further along that invisible peak. It burns within your gut, a spark fanned into flame, holding bright into a steady inferno, ready to burst behind your eyelids when a knock sounds at the door, shaking you both from your fantastical reverie. 

Head rolling back into your pillow with a groan, you cry out forcibly, “Who is it?”

“Chrissy…your roommate.” It’s a hesitant voice that greets you. Soft and quiet, but impossibly sweet. The groan that threatens to spill from your lips is swallowed immediately. 

“I totally forgot…” you whisper to Eddie, referring to the girl standing at your doorstep. 

In all your years past, you shared with your father. Now, as the manager for the summer, and Chrissy being the newest addition to camp, you had specifically set her up in your cabin so she could gain a grip on things swiftly in her first summer here at Camp Firefly. Head slumping back against your pillow, you dress in haste, brushing your fingers against your hair and under your eyes to make sure you look presentable, and then walk over to the front door. 

Eddie clears his throat. “Should I head out?” 

You huff a sad sigh, not wanting to see him go. Not after you just got him back. “Rain check?” At his nod, you rush back across the room and press a lingering kiss against his lips. “I’m so happy you’re here. With me.” 

“Me too,” he practically purrs, curling a finger in your belt loop, dropping a final kiss at the center of your forehead. Skin warms under his touch. “Now go—Chrissy’s waiting.” 

There’s a swift crack of his palm against your ass that has you throbbing down to your core, a mock gasp rounding your lips as you turn your head over your shoulder to playfully admonish him. But without the capabilities of doing anything about it, you instead open the door to reveal your beautiful new roommate. 

To say you don’t know Chrissy Cunningham is a lie. Point blank. Everyone at Hawkins High knows her. Recently graduated, incredibly smart, overachiever, and class president. Girlfriend to Jason Carver, and captain of the cheerleading squad. Basically, high school royalty. She’s perfection in a dainty blonde package, with her whimsical laughter and bright eyes, and you can’t help but smile as she pulls you into a hug and excitedly bounces on the balls of her feet. 

It reminds you of your first summer here as a camper. Wide-eyed wonder, with all the hope in the world to go along with it, taking in all the sights, the people, the things. Years later, Camp Firefly still holds that incomparable charm. But it’s different now; especially as a counselor, in charge of making sure all these children have fun, are fed, enriched, and remain alive for the four weeks they’re in your care. 

Though you don’t press them about it, Chrissy and Eddie are technically late. Most of the staff arrives days prior to the campers arriving to run through protocols, to ensure everyone has their proper safety training, the kayaks are checked over for damage, the craft rooms are stocked, meals are decided for the summer session, lifeguard duty is handled, and the like. But this is Eddie’s third summer, and he knows these woods by heart. Chrissy, on the other hand, is a late addition requested by her boyfriend, Jason. You’d been reluctant at first, but another sports coordinator wouldn’t be the worst thing, so you’d added her to the staff list. 

Just as she steps back, you hear the gentle glide of your cabin window shifting upward. A white Reebok covered sneaker presses up to the ledge, drawing Chrissy’s curious gaze from where she stands at your back. Chest burning, you wiggle your fingers at him, his shoulders shrugging. 

“Hey, Chrissy,” Eddie says, grinning widely. She mutters a breathless ‘hi’ back. “I don’t usually make it a habit of sneaking through this window. In case you were wondering…”

He does. 

“I’ll be out of your hair in two seconds,” he adds, boosting himself up and over the windowsill and onto the grass below. At your slowly arching brow, he laughs, “I could have…used the door.”

“Could have used the door, yeah,” you agree, that increasingly familiar sticky fondness toward him bubbling up within you. “See you in the mess hall.”

He backs up as you say it, keeping his eyes on you, thumping against a tree and getting a bunch of leaves caught up in his wonderfully unruly hair. The tops of his cheeks stain red, visible in the slowly setting sun. Smitten—he’s so damn smitten, and he’ll try to hide it from everyone to keep up that metalhead slash dungeon master persona, but he’s absolutely terrible at it and you love it. 

“Bye, Eddie!” Chrissy says gleefully, just as Eddie starts to wave and brush at the leaves poking out haphazardly from dark curls. 

Grinning, you waltz over to the bedroom window, leaning your head out to look at your summer boy turned all year boy. 

“Bye, Eddie,” you drawl a little teasingly, affection dripping from you, sliding the wooden frame shut. 

He pouts and you wave, quick to once more mouth ‘rain check.’ Then, with his form finally retreating to his assigned cabin for the summer, you whirl around to face Chrissy. 

“Okay! Sorry about all of that. I’m the…well, I’m your manager this season. Fred Benson will be your assistant manager, should you need me and not be able to find me at any point. Welcome, we’re so happy to have you here. Now how about we get started on a tour of Camp Firefly?” 

 ——

 Camp Firefly sits on the outskirts of Hawkins. An outdoor oasis nestled deep within the woods, about an hour and a half from the rest of civilization, and home to many campers when the summer season arrives. Stomping grounds of the counselors who roam their wooden cabins, teaching, mentoring and playing with their bright faced youths. 

The sun sits, bright and golden, over the endless sea of emerald green trees. The barest hint of wildflowers and the lake water down the hill hits your nostrils, blown in by the two fans set up around the room to cool the humid summer air. Vaguely, you hear the cicadas bursting into life, the birdsong filtering through the trees kissing heaven, the rush of water in the distance. Beneath it all is the chatter of children, some of the earliest arrivals likely already pestering their counselors about the many activities they’ll be wanting to do, though the first event is always the welcome dinner in the mess hall. 

Gesturing for Chrissy to follow, you usher her out the front door and peer out over the front porch, extending your arms to show her the view from just outside your shared bedroom window. Through the lush foliage just outside your bedroom window, you can see the grassy hill, the sparkling blue water down further below, a long wooden dock that’s also home to a storage cabin full of water sports. Kayaks already bob in the water, their bright colors sparking joy. Vibrant yellows, greens, reds and blues—awaiting their eager pilots. The water gleams a gorgeous azure blue, reflecting a cloudless sky above. 

Your favorite part of every morning is seeing the kids. All their bright smiles, their shoes kicking dirt up as they skip, run, walk and mill about. Those first day jitters remind you of being a younger girl, still a camper, freshly out of school for the session with summer break standing before you and a summer of endless opportunity ahead. You recall your favorite counselors, the way they made you feel, how loved and special it was to spend every day playing, learning and growing. 

And now—now it’s your job. Now you’re in charge of protecting, teaching and encouraging the youth. It’s your job to make sure they never go one day without knowing just how valued, appreciated and loved they are. Seeing their smiling faces, their reception to your encouragement, the way they bloom when exposed to love? It makes all the early morning wake ups, makes every tear shed over a scraped knee or a sprained ankle, all the macaroni necklaces and family portraits, the food fights and arguments between campers, the competitions and music events worth it. 

Chrissy seems enraptured with the whole thing as you lead her down the pathway toward the fire pit in the center of camp. Her head turns everywhere you go, waving to little ones as they rush on by, introducing herself to parents, to the campers she’ll be working with for the next month. You watch her confidence spark to life, flourish, and expand with every minute that goes by beside you. Soon enough there’s that eager bounce to her step that catches your eye, the flick of her ponytail as she greets a new camper with a handshake and a cheery ‘hello,’ the way she starts repeating names of kids after they pass, if only so she can start to remember them all.

Trying. 

She’s trying, and it’s more than you could ask of her as a new addition to the roster and someone who hasn’t done this before. 

“Okay, so let’s start here,” you say, pointing to the fire pit in the center of the camp. On your far right is the ‘Welcome to Camp Firefly’ sign. Stopping in your footsteps, you wait until she’s at your side to proceed. “This is the heart of the camp. We host our campfires here. So that would mean anything from s’mores nights to scary story sessions or icebreaker games. We try to hold them for the kids once a week. Sometimes two, weather permitting. If you’re ever lost, look for the welcome sign.”

“Okay. If I’m ever lost, welcome sign.” She repeats the words slowly, head dipping. Her head whips right and left, peering out against her surroundings. “Got it. We have a lot of kids that come here, don’t we?” 

“We definitely get a good crowd. Mostly Hawkins and Christian Academy students,” you tell her, pulling out your whistle and blowing when you catch Lucas racing after Mike. “Boys! Slow the heck down. Wheeler, your shoelace is also untied! Are you trying to go to Nurse Mooney on day one?”

“Sorry!” They both cry out at the same time, heads bent low as they slow down long enough until they think they’re out of view, and then continue running as quickly as they came, both yours and Chrissy’s heads shaking in laughter. 

“So we passed our cabin, the lake. Over there is the mess hall. We’ll be meeting there at around six for the welcome dinner for the campers and counselors. It’s a good opportunity to meet some of the kids, catch up with friends, and all of that,” you tell her, pointing to the larger building. Pausing, you shift just a bit, where another wooden building looms, doors open to display a stray soccer ball and basketball here and there within. “Over there would be our gymnasium. Obviously we try to do most things outside, but on days it rains that’s our alternative. You’ll find a lot in storage for activities. Steve will show you around there. We also host dances there for the kids. We make a little pizza and ice cream party out of it. Snacks galore, all of that good stuff.” 

You lead her through the back of both buildings, coming up on a pathway that leads to a trail. “Down this trail right here are the girls and boys cabins. Kids are obviously kept separate, but you’ll find that the prank wars start almost immediately. I can always tell by all the shrieking,” you tell her, laughing to yourself at the fondness of the memories that flit through your mind, a kaleidoscope of color and splashes of joy. “Last year the kids got Eddie good. Shouted that Max had skinned her knee—he loves that kid, so he ran to see if she was okay—and he got a bucket of water tossed on him.”

“So we allow the prank wars?” 

“Yeah.” Your feet shift in the dirt. “They’re kids, they’re going to be rowdy, and we encourage it. Some of these kids have a rough go of it during the school year, and this is a sort of escape for them. It’s what I love most about Camp Firefly. Just watching them play, learn…explore. It’s really rewarding. I know it’s only four weeks, but you’ll miss these guys once they’re back on the buses and headed home with their families.”

“Makes you really appreciate the place. I, ah, know sometimes how hard people might have it at home and school, so this place probably means the world to them.” Chrissy stares up at the pathway. At the wooden cabins with their bright, colorful hammocks dancing in the wind on their porches. You wonder briefly what she’s thinking, but she only smiles softly to herself, saying, “Thanks again. For letting me work here.” 

 ——

 “Well look what the cat dragged in!” Dustin calls from beside Eddie, just as you and Chrissy finally wander into the mess hall. 

Eddie barely even has a chance to raise his hand in greeting when the curly haired brunette comes rushing forward into your awaiting arms. Another pair greets you next, long and gangly, with dark hair that definitely looks different than it did last summer. 

Will. 

“I was so excited when I saw you and El on the sign up list,” you tell him, rustling the hairs on his head. His head tips up, leaning into the weight of your hand atop. “So happy you’re all back from California. Did you get a new haircut? Maybe grow a few inches as well?” 

Will merely blushes, stepping back, shoulders brushing with Dustin’s. “Eddie said you’re manager this year,” Dustin starts, but Mike tosses a bread roll at his head and the boy is whirling on the heel and flipping his friend off. 

“Your crush is showing, dipshit,” Mike teases, voice bored and lofty. 

“Be nice,” El grumbles, waving your way. 

Chrissy shifts awkwardly at your side, taking in the numerous pairs of eyes also sitting at the table. From where you’re standing, looking over Dustin and Will’s heads, you can see Max, Lucas and his little sister Erica. All of which are bright eyed and happy to see you, practically bouncing with energy where they sit between Eddie and Steve. Some of the other counselors are at other tables, chatting with their kids and one another. Jason, Chance and Andy are rough housing in the distance with some of the older boys. And you can make out Jonathan and Argyle with Nancy and Robin at the table just beside the one Eddie and Steve sit at. 

Your heart swells over being reunited with everyone. Even if you’d seen them at school only a few weeks ago now. Tugging Chrissy to your side, you clear your throat, drawing the attention of the kids. “This is Chrissy. I’m sure some of you already knew that, but this is her first summer as a counselor.” 

Eyes all over turn to gauge the newest addition to Camp Firefly. Careful perusals, questioning stares, that all eventually melt into curiosity and hopefulness. Before long the kids are ready to bombard her with endless questions as soon as you two find spots to sit down on the mess hall benches. Asking her what it’s like on her first day at camp, if being a cheerleader is fun, what her favorite movies and colors are, what ice cream she likes, what she’d want to be if she woke up as an animal one day. Silly, simple icebreaker things. Small talk that has her loosening as time goes on, easing into a familiar banter that makes your muscles loosen, Eddie’s hand seeking your knee under the table.

“You’re doing well,” he reassures you, and you cover his palm with your own, because, as usual, he knows exactly what you need at the moment. And maybe you are—doing well, that is. It’s the first day of camp, everyone is happy, and things are running smoothly.

Releasing an exhale, you gesture for Chrissy to follow you toward the buffet line, full to the brim with various easily accessible meals. Chicken nuggets, pizza slices, macaroni and cheese, sandwiches, and the like. One thing you’ve always prided the camp in is the ability to go above and beyond making sure each camper’s needs are met—counselors, too. Together you load your plates, recounting the tour around camp, Chrissy regaling you with the names she’s already starting to learn. 

“The redhead is…Max, right?” she asks, and you nod, thinking of your favorite little redheaded youth. 

“That would be her. She’s a toughie, but she means well.” 

She’s also had a rough go as of late, though you don’t tell Chrissy that. Her step-brother, Billy, had been one of the many lost in the fire at Starcourt Mall. It had been a grave loss—all of those lives gone in an instant. It hadn’t mattered how terrible he’s been when alive, it still crushed her all the same. And with her having started high school this year, you can’t even begin to understand the hardships she’s been going through. As often as you could throughout the school year you’ve checked up on her, offered to spend time with her after class, to sit with her in the cafeteria during lunches, but she’s always pushed you aside. Brushed you off, away, out of sight. And you understand—you really do. Seeing her at camp, trying and open to the next four weeks, however, has your chest burning with hope. 

“Then there’s…Will and El. They’re step-siblings. Dustin, he’s Eddie and Steve’s friend. Erica and Lucas…siblings. And Mike.”

“You’re getting it.” You place your macaroni and cheese on your plate and toss on a bread roll, watching as Chrissy shovels a slice of pizza onto hers. “It’ll take some time. But it’s your first day. Trust me, you're doing great.”

 ——

 The welcome dinner passes as usual. Kids and counselors alike catch up and recall their memories from all the months spent apart. You prattle on with your kids and watch Eddie out of the corner of your eye as he talks with Dustin and Mike about whatever fantastical campaign he’s planning for their first DND session on the campgrounds. 

It splits your heart. Makes it swell three sizes. On your right, Chrissy and Erica are caught up in a duel. Whoever breaks first in a staring contest loses, prompted by none other than Lucas himself. Suggesting since it’s Chrissy’s first day, she’s in need of a little ‘initiation ceremony.’ 

You and Robin make light of Steve’s present dating life. Laughing when he expresses he’s not actually on the market because he’s interested in an older woman, but he won’t exactly tell you who. Although, when a certain Miss Mooney walks in, you can’t help but to notice the way his eyes catch her across the room. How he quite literally goes white as a sheet and gulps loud enough the two of you can hear him. 

And maybe your brow arches high on your forehead, and maybe he grumbles for you to mind your damn business, but Robin and you burst into giggles all the same, grinning bright for the boy with hearts quite literally dancing in his eyes for the newest nurse to work the medical cabin for the summer session. 

“Should I invite her over?” 

“Eddie, tell your girlfriend to stop—”

“My girlfriend does whatever she wants,” Eddie chuckles, leaning onto his elbows. “What are you doing now?” 

“Steve is hopelessly in love with Nurse Mooney,” you tease, wiggling your shoulders, grinning widely. 

“Who knows?” Robin bumps her shoulder against his. Steve lets out a sound that resembles a whimper and you can’t help but let out a little snort. Eddie elbows him roughly in the ribs, telling him to ‘look alive’ when Nurse Mooney walks by and settles down at a nearby table. “Maybe this will be the beginning of something beautiful?”

“Should I start singing?” you ask. 

“Summer Nights?” Robin winks, earning a loud groan. 

“On three. One, two—”

“You’re all the worst, okay?!” Steve grumbles, resting his head on the table. “I’m disowning all of you as my friends. I’m not even joking.” 

Summer is officially here. 

 ——

 The first few days of summer pass in the familiar Hawkins heat. Every morning you rise to the sound of your alarm clock and announce over the speakers it’s time for the kids to wake up. Immediately, you’re dressing and preparing yourself for the day. Bright white shirt, green lettering, green shorts. 

Chrissy rolls out of bed yawning and quiet, tiredness clinging to her form, slowly adjusting to the rigid schedule you try to maintain at Camp Firefly. Seven thirty rise, eight in the morning breakfast in the mess hall, and then groups are split into their respective activities for the day.

You merely observe on those initial days, taking in the energetic buzz that seems to linger over the air as counselor and camper alike get back into the groove of sleep away summer camp. Heat slicks your skin as you traipse through the forest floor, waving as you go. 

Steve and Chrissy teach archery one day, bows drawn back, kids lined up across a strip of targets set up far away in the distance. 

On another, you manage to pass the arts and crafts cabin, watching as Robin and Nancy cheer on campers for drawing their bright rainbows, caricatures of their families, replicas of their homes. 

One evening you stumble upon Jonathan and Argyle after a particularly eventful hike, wherein some of the kids came back with various herbs and mushrooms you weren’t exactly sure were safe and up to code. 

Another, you manage to find Eddie bent over, cheering on a little one as they strum carefully on an acoustic guitar, eliciting the proper chords he’d been trying to teach. 

At the lake, you wave and grin as campers paddle across the water in their brightly colored kayaks, cheering on their friends for making it across the way, high-fiving Jason and Andy when they happen to do something especially noteworthy. 

Your phone calls to your father are breezy. The children’s echoing laughter is a backdrop to your conversation. And he only praises you for the job well done, warming you from the inside out. 

I can do this, you think, hanging up the phone and glancing out the window to see a bunch of children running by with colorful pool floats, headed in the direction of the lake. I can actually do this.

Before long it’s the first Saturday of the summer in the mess hall. Which means the traditional food fight. The rules are simple enough. Every year, a kid is chosen from a hat, and they’re the instigator. The person who throws the first spoonful, handful, whatever they choose. But no one knows who that person is. Attack is imminent, and everyone around is a sitting duck, praying they make it out without a bowl full of mashed potato on their head (like last summer, when Erica had very excitedly tossed it right onto Steve Harrington’s perfectly coiffed hair). 

The room is quiet now. Camper and counselor alike seated at wooden tables, glancing about, trying to see who their betrayer will be. Friendship doesn’t matter on ‘Food Fight Day.’ It’s a tradition. Traditions, apparently, trump friendship. One could hear a pin drop, could cut the tension with a knife, trying to see if anyone drops their facade and gives a hint of what is to come. 

And for who. 

Across from you, there’s movement. A spoon rises from beneath the table, poised at the ready within Max’s hands. Your breath hitches as her eyes fall onto yours, spoon scooping up a helping of gravy. Stomach turning, you watch as kids snicker about the table. As Eddie nudges Steve with an elbow, pointing your way. 

“Max, please,” you start, holding up your hands in surrender, “you don’t have to do this.”

“Oh—” She releases her spoon and gravy splatters across your face. You blink once, trying to hold back your disgust and laughter. “But I do.”

After that, it’s a cacophony of joyous giggling in the hall as campters gather around the tables, hands inching closer to the endless rows of food across the tables, preparing themselves for war. Condiments, ranch, ketchups and mustards. Spaghetti noodles and pizza slices. Hamburgers and hotdog buns at the ready, drenched in whatever mystery sauce the children had soaked them in. 

There’s a moment, however brief, where the gravy drips down onto your cheek, glides down your skin, and dances along your upper lip. A moment where there’s a respite in the building of anticipation. Kids all glance around at one another, a silent conversation left to linger in the air. And then, with her spoon filled with macaroni and cheese at the ready, Erica Sinclair stands up on top of the table. 

And screams, “FOOD FIGHT!”

Battle cries echo around the mess hall, and the food fight commences. The air crackles and roars with excitement as fingers smash and push into their respective bowls, projectiles soaring through the air like torpedos and landing on their assigned targets. Casualties are in the midst, children in the way, those unsuspecting, ending up with splashes of red tomato sauce on their faces, crimson splatters like little flowers across their shirts. Lettuce flutters in the air, like confetti exploding into the atmosphere, falling down onto heads and shoulders and the floor. 

You’re running around the table with a handful of macaroni and cheese as Robin tosses a slice of cheese at the back of your head. A frisbee of yellow that lingers against your hair for a moment before falling to the ground. Dustin screams on your right, yelling he’s been hit as a spoonful of mayo hits him right in the eye, body falling to the ground into a dramatic heap. Max screams as Lucas pulls out a slingshot, shouting that he’s using an illegal weapon as he loads brussel sprouts onto the contraption and pulverizes Mike with the projectile.  

Dropping down onto your knees, you army crawl underneath the tables, avoiding oncoming ammunition and the shrieks of children as you make your way over to your target. Every year, without fail, it’s Steve “the Hair” Harrington. Doesn’t matter he wasn’t the chosen first target this year. It’s just as much of a tradition as the food fight in and of itself. And, out of the corner of your eye, you catch your comrade in food arms. Eddie crawls as well, hand covered in a ketchup, using his elbows to leverage himself across the floor. Nearly even gets hit with a potato bun from friendly fire (Argyle, who apologizes profusely when he realizes what he’s done). 

You meet with him in the center, ducking out of the way of a stray cube of cheese, shoulders bumping. “If I don’t make it,” you begin, but Eddie cuts you off. 

“You will make it, you will.” He’s shaking with laughter, covered from head to toe in a mess of various ingredients, but still as handsome as the first day you saw him at summer camp two seasons ago now. “Our target is about seven feet away. You take him from the left, and I’ll hit him from above. Do you hear me?” 

“I do.” You lean over and peck his cheek. “Also, I missed you.” 

“Eyes on the target,” he says, trying to maintain your foolish facade. His features crack, corners of his mouth twitching with his boisterous laughter. “But…I missed you too.” 

“Alright.” You nod, training your gaze ahead where Steve is currently defending himself from an onslaught of pickles. “I’m going in for the kill.” 

It happens in what feels like slow motion. It’s a perfect plan. A great one, really. One you and your friends have been plotting since before the summer season started. Get close enough, hit the target, and call it a game. But as you slide out from beneath your table and rush forward to an unsuspecting Steve Harrington, Chrissy Cunningham barrels through with a squeeze bottle of ketchup. You’re hit. Square in the chest. In your shock and distraction, Eddie fails to notice his comrade is down. Slips out from beneath his hiding space with his handful of ketchup, just as El appears holding aloft two mustard bottles.

You’ve both been caught. 

Steve saunters forward, throwing his arms up to deflect incoming projectiles, glancing down at the two of you. Eddie throws his hands up in the air in surrender, swallowing at the red streaks across your chest. Obliterated—you’ve been obliterated by the presently grinning Chrissy, her hair full of stray macaroni salad pieces, chest streaked with other unmentionable condiments and food items, a little piece of lettuce stuck in her shoelaces. 

“Well, well, well. You two really thought you were getting away with a repeat of last year. Surprising, coming from two of my best friends. But a little birdie told me what was to come, so I had time to collect some reinforcements.” He gestures to Chrissy and El, still standing before you determinedly. “Any last words?” 

You’ve prepared for this moment. Prepared for the chance you might be intercepted before you could take down the intended target. 

Eddie glances at you. You look back, head dipping. Eddie trains his eyes ahead, tipping his chin upward. “Look up, big boy.” 

Steve pauses, brows furrowing high on his forehead. “Look up?” He does, and out rushes none other than Robin and Nancy themselves, with a bucket of cold tomato sauce in hand. In his distraction, he doesn't see them coming. In his distraction, he fails to prepare himself for the two of them appearing from behind, pouring the contents over his head, drenching him from the fullness of his hair all the way down to his toes. 

Kids are shrieking in their delight all around you, but as Steve wipes eyes free of tomato sauce, you clasp your hand in Eddie’s. 

Because you know in that instant, you’ve won the war. 

 ——

 The key jangles in your pocket as the two of you stumble into the private showers. He’s everywhere. Fingers digging into your hips, lips against yours, pulling you close. Tugging you forward, craving nearness. Wanting to be close, and then even closer still. Always closer. 

As the children continue their food fight across the camp grounds, you slip into the shower facilities you know are typically vacant during the evening hours. Undisturbed, you close the door behind you, prying yourself away from Eddie’s wandering hands long enough to jimmy the sliding lock into place, grinning when the sound of metal signals peace and quiet once and for all. 

“You’re disgusting,” you chuckle, and he knows you don’t mean it. Not really. 

In a crowded room of thousands, you’d choose him every time. Even like this, with ketchup and mustard across his shirt. Mayo across his proud cheekbones. Macaroni in those dark curls you could spend the rest of your days toying with. He’s still everything you could ever hope for—and he looks at you like he thinks the same. Like even with your shirt covered in ketchup, streaks of red across your chest, the likely remnants of the cheese frisbee at the back of your head, and the rice clinging to that coagulated patch of mayo on the leg of your shorts, he would still think you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. 

Eyes that roam over your form even now. Dark in the growing moonlight. In here, where there’s nothing but quiet. The chaos of the campers long gone, leaving you alone in the sanctuary of togetherness. Tentative feet carry you closer, hands trailing the sides of Eddie’s right arm, running over the short sleeve that covers the wyvern tattoo you know rests high along his tricep, trailing lower still down to his wrist, his hand. With trembling fingers, you grip his palm in hand and raise it up, over your hips, over your sides, curling over your breast. Gasp into his opened mouth just millimeters from yours as his fingers knead the sensitive flesh, his husky voice whispering your name into the empty vestibule. 

In here, you are merely two people, still exploring the newness of your relationship. There are no responsibilities, no children calling your name, no one there to remind you of your job duties. Here you can lean in and press your mouth to his, swallow the groan that falls from his lips as your hips press flush against his, the growl that echoes as you glide your hand over the patch of hair above his waistband, trailing lower, and then lower still where you find him half-hard in his shorts already and curl your fingers around the fullness of him. 

“You’re kind of gross yourself,” he teases against your mouth, smirking into the skin of your lips as his palm slides down around your back and cups your rear, kneading the flesh until you yelp into him. “We smell like the mess hall.” 

The words are a bucket of ice water thrown onto you. A realization that, yes, you do smell absolutely putrid. A conglomerate of more things strewn about your bodies than you can count on one hand has now had time to sit and attract the summer humidity. Lingers in the air, even as your mouth moves slowly over his, drawing those lovely sounds from him you’ll never tire of. With a reluctant sigh, you part from his embrace, taking a step back to watch as he reaches down and tugs his shirt free from his form. There’s a new tattoo across his ribs. A coiling snake that curves up his side, black and white linework immediately drawing the eye to the forefront. Curiosity beckons you forward, fingers brushing along skin, along the lines, Eddie’s dark gaze following yours. 

“Got this while you were on tour?” you ask. 

“Figured it would be a surprise,” he says, smoothing a palm over the side of your face. “Do you like it?” 

“I do.” And it’s not a lie. Not as you brush along his ribcage, grinning to yourself as he tenses and twitches under your ministrations, teeth pressing into his bottom lip to keep quiet. 

Exhaling, you take a step back and tug your shirt off, rubbing at your bicep as his chocolate brown eyes run along your silhouette. Sensing your hesitance, he whispers, “You’re beautiful, you know that, right?”

“Never hurts when you remind me.” 

“You are.” 

It continues like that. He tugs his shorts off and kicks them into the far corner. You remove yours and place them on a towel rack. His socks become a pile on the floor with yours. His boxers are thrown haphazardly, and your underwear follow the same, becoming a heap alongside your bra. The water itself is luxuriously warm. The spray coasts along your skin, warming you from head to toe. With a hum, you turn around to face away from Eddie, letting the steady stream run along your face, washing you clean. A broad pair of arms circle low around your hips, his chin tucking over your shoulder, mouth at your ear. And you linger like that, with the steady flow of water washing away the remnants of your food fight, his body warm against yours, and the rest of the world fading into the background. For a moment, time slows. There’s nothing but you and Eddie, your private oasis, and the love shared between the two of you, full to the brim, threatening to burst at the seams. 

The two of you take turns cleaning one another. He glides a bar of soap gently over your skin, and you do the same for him. Shampoo is built into a lather and rubbed into scalp, mouths meet in the middle to kiss away the sting when suds manage their way in sensitive eyes, and hearts hammer faster as the bar is tossed out of the shower curtain and mouths become fervent, needy, persistent. 

Outside, campers and counselors alike are shrieking and giggling, but inside there’s only this moment. 

This man. 

“What are you—” It’s a question broken off into a huff of breath. A gasp as your knees hit the shower floor, eyes round as they seek his face. “You don’t have t—”

“I want to.” 

And soon, your oasis becomes your own symphony. A melody only the two of you know. Kisses along his thighs. The tender presses of your mouth over the sensitive flesh of his abdomen. Nips laid into skin, utterances of his praises. Pleas of ‘like that’ and ‘good girl’ as you finally take him into your mouth. Grunts and groans. Whimpers and moans. Fingers that cradle the back of your hand, but never push. It builds, grows, bursts behind his eyes. Hits a peak, reaches a crescendo, and those final lingering notes where he lifts you back to your feet, himself boneless and tired, eyes hazy as he leans down and captures his mouth with yours. 

And you return with equal fervor, happy to please, hopeless when it comes to the man. 

But there’s a knock at the door, and you know the food fight will have been finished by now. Accept the fact you can't stay hidden away from society forever. There’s a final brush of your lips over his, and the acceptance of responsibilities, but those memories of stolen moments remain all the same. Even as you dress in tandem. Even as you slip your shorts back on, your socks, your shoes. As he shakes his wet hair out, letting the curls fall as they will, his mouth roving over your shoulders, eliciting a peal of laughter from you. Even as you scrunch your nose when he blows a raspberry into your neck, if only so you'll smile at him. 

You bite your lip and ignore Robin’s curious gaze as the two of you slip out one after the other. As Steve tuts mockingly, appraising both your forms with weary eyes. Even as you slip back into your cabin after one final lingering kiss on the front steps, Eddie’s hands cradling your face, and your arms around his shoulders. And especially as Chrissy greets you in the doorway, her own blonde hair freshly washed, an oversized hoodie falling freely over her form. You dress quickly in the bathroom, tossing your dirty clothes into a hamper and pulling on a comfortable pair of shorts and a ratty old tee shirt that has one too many holes in it. Your feet slide into a pair of slippers and you walk back into the main room. You don’t question where she’s been, nor do you tease for the bruise you spot on her collarbone. And she doesn't prod or pry over the one that must have slipped away, left to linger on your neck. 

Instead you curl onto your sides, away from one another. She kicks her socks off at the foot of her bed, and you throw your slippers into a heap on the floor. You reach over and tug on the pull cord of the lamp. The room descends into darkness. There’s only the sounds of your breathing, the hammer of your heart, and the memories of kisses in dark shower stalls, Eddie’s mouth on yours, yours on his, and hands on bodies. 

You call Chrissy’s name hesitantly into the darkness of the room. Wanting to ask her about the day. Wondering if she enjoyed it, if she was enjoying her time thus far. But you’re only met with the sound of her quiet breathing. Gentle inhalations and exhalations of your reluctant roommate. 

Tomorrow—you’ll ask her tomorrow. 

 ——

 It’s not intentional—the way it all starts that second summer you share with Eddie. 

Eddie’s loud and boisterous. Rowdy. Charismatic, frenetic, energetic. He’s different, unique, atypical. Stands outside of societal norms and has no qualms about it. Lives in the spotlight, if only to keep those nearest to him safe. 

He’s also a worker at your father’s camp. Has been for two years now as a favor to his Uncle Wayne. For years, his uncle and your father work at the same power plant when your father isn’t directing the summer program at Camp Firefly. 

Eddie and you aren’t friends. Haven’t been. He’s the kind of person you pass in the hall. Maybe you wave, maybe you give him a smile, a curt nod. But you’re most certainly not friends. And over the summer you’re often on opposite sides of the camp. Eddie usually goes to the music and arts cabin, while you remain on the lake as a lifeguard or helping around wherever else help may be needed. 

It’s that second summer something changes. Eddie’s…well, he’s always been attractive. Dark hair, dark eyes, those tattoos lining his arms. He smiles more your way, interjects in your conversations with your friends, opens up more. You start to hang out. Alone. Away from the prying eyes of your friends, talking about everything and nothing. Learning, growing, enjoying merely sharing space with one another. 

And it’s one day, while you’re both assigned cleaning duty after your father had caught the two of you smoking on camp grounds that it really starts. The two of you sit in the gymnasium, mops and brushes in hand, sweeping and disinfecting the surfaces. It reeks of sweat and dirty tube socks, like teenagers and food thrown away and forgotten in the garbage, and yet nothing prevents the way your heart thumps a little swiftly, how you’re aware of every inch of your body around him, the way he regards you as you work. 

“Thanks,” he says out of the blue, wringing out the mop, draping it in the wheeling cart. 

Your brow arches and he drops down beside you, extending a hand to you. Passing over your brush, he scrubs at a particularly dirty patch you’ve been working at for the better part of ten minutes. 

“For, uh, taking the blame.” 

As your father had marched over to where you and Eddie had sat smoking in the woods earlier, you snatched the joint from Eddie’s fingers and stamped it out quickly. Kept it tucked away, though there had been no avoiding he’d seen it. It was inevitable. His face had grown severe, brows narrowed, wondering when his ‘little girl’ had taken up the habit. And you’d shrugged, pretended it meant nothing, unaffected. As a result, both of you were banished for the afternoon to cleaning duties, making sure the place was scrubbed from top to bottom. 

A punishment that felt a little like fate, if you were honest with yourself. 

“It’s no problem—”

“I just—you didn’t have to do that,” he says, tossing the brush into the bucket on his left. Drops down onto his knees, staining the green of his shorts darker in the sudsy puddle below. “I need this job, believe it or not, and my uncle would have killed me if I fucked things up with your dad.”

“Eddie, it’s fine. I…I wanted to,” you remind him. “I like spending time with you.” 

He glances down at the floor, hair spilling about his shoulders. For a moment, your lips part, afraid you might have said too much—might have made him uncomfortable. But his ringed fingers reach across and twine loosely around yours, testing the weight of them within his fingers, gauging your reaction. Dark, chocolate brown eyes rise to yours, your palm shifting his hand to face upward within your own. Gentle touches glide over the curve of his hand, the lines and creases there, the calluses from guitar strings. 

“This okay?” you ask, finally lacing your fingers with his to linger in the gap between the two of you. 

He nods, shifting closer. Closer and closer until your knees brush. “Yeah—yeah, it’s perfect.” 

He shifts closer again, head dipping a little. You’ve kissed other people before. Small things, never serious. A game of truth or dare around the campfire only after a couple beers, after a date once or twice, but never like this. Never with a boy you’d liked for the better part of the summer. Never someone like Eddie, who made butterflies erupt in your belly, made you feel all those silly emotions in all the movies you’d seen where a guy meets a girl and they fall in love. 

This is different. Feels different. There’s a weight and importance to it. A desire to get it right. So you shift closer, soaking the bottom of your shorts, but you don’t find it in yourself to care. Not when his nose brushes your cheek, not when you can feel his breath on your bottom lip, can smell the stick of gum he’d been chewing on, can nearly taste the cinnamon you’ll find there if you do. 

“This okay?” he asks this time, bringing his right palm up to curl around your cheek, warming your skin. 

It’s brief. It’s so brief after you nod. The softest caress of his mouth along yours, a whisper of skin touching skin, before your father’s gruff voice breaks the silence with a harsh reminder from the upstairs storage room, “Doesn't sound like a lot of work is getting done in here!”

Bodies jolt apart, cheeks burning hot, hearts burning brighter. 

But it marks a newness. A beginning that builds and grows as you explore the start of ‘togetherness’ those last days of summer at Camp Firefly. It’s kissing behind the gym when no one is around and he can sneak you away, it’s Eddie helping you out and into bedroom windows after hours, spending time together tangled under the stars. 

Later, in those last weeks of summer camp, it’s exploring hands in the dark, over clothes and under. It’s quiet whispers of ‘are you sure’ and eyes that bore into your soul, his mouth inches from yours. It’s your words of consent, it’s his reciprocation. It’s giving yourselves to one another on that last day of packing up camp. Standing before one another in your now abandoned cabin you generally share with your father. Eddie’s hands rest on your hips, and yours toy with the curls brushing his shoulders. Your noses dip together, mouths mingling in the center, bodies crushing in close. His hips press into yours and you feel him hot there, unbearably so. 

And you grow eager, fingers curling in the leather of his jacket, pushing it free from his shoulders, nails raking along the skin that lingers beneath his ratty old tee shirt. You tug that free and he helps you out of your shirt. An awkward gaggle of limbs and tear stained, giggle kissed cheeks. It’s a silent perusal of eyes as you slip off layers of clothing. Your bra, his pants, your underwear, and his boxers. They become heaps in the corners of the room as you touch each other, letting fingers rove in places you’d only ventured alone within the privacy of your bedrooms. It’s sharing that newfound intimacy with another person, for the both of you. 

And yeah, Camp Firefly might have been where it all begins, but it only just starts the summer of 1985. 

 ——

 Every summer, staff rotates the weekends some of the counselors get a night off. It’s always one day where everyone can take a night to relax. That day just so happens to be the first Saturday at camp wherein you’re able to stretch your legs in front of you, donning an oversized Camp Firefly hoodie with your name stitched over your heart, sandaled feet warming by the fire. 

The orange glow crackles and dances before your eyes. Sparks jolting onto the wood below, embers dimming as quickly as they come. Warmth heats your cheeks, draws you closer to the comfortable slumber you can’t wait to take advantage of later. For now, you reach over onto your left and slide your fingers over Eddie’s. His head turns your way, dark eyes clashing with yours as those ringed fingers lace with your own, giving you a quick squeeze. 

Robin and Steve sit nearby on a pair of chairs. Heads bent low, voices quiet in the midst of a private conversation. On their left are Argyle, Jonathan and Nancy. Argyle works on rolling a couple joints as the trio chats, his head bobbing often, silky hair catching and gleaming in the moonlight. Jason and Chrissy recount tales about their kids—Jason with the ones on the lake, teaching them to kayak, showing them proper swimming form and the like; whereas Chrissy explains how her kids learned how to play soccer with Steve’s help. 

Somewhere in the distance you can hear Fred practically fretting himself half to death. Questioning how it is all of you can be spending time away, while the rest of the staff lingers behind. And Chance promptly tells him to ‘shut the fuck up,’ just as he takes a sip of his own beer. 

With a sigh, your head leans back against the fabric of your chair, the can of beer in your hand already lukewarm. You’ve barely sipped any—mind still faraway, recalling the day, making note of what worked and what didn’t that week, trying to keep up with inventory, already planning on your phone call with your father. 

Noticing your daze, Eddie’s thumb brushes along the inside of your wrist. Warm and welcoming. Soothing in a way that has your head rolling a bit, fingers wanting nothing more than to push into those dark curls and remain there, the rest of those around you falling away, leaving you alone with your favorite guy. 

“I’ll still never get over it,” Andy drawls, leaning back against his chair. Tina shifts on his lap, a beer bottle hanging loosely in her hand. You arch a brow in curiosity, and maybe a bit of warning. “The Freak and the Princess. Who would have thought?”

You tense beside Eddie, and he tips his head up to Andy. “Seriously man, get fucked.”

“Testy, testy.” At your glower, he continues, "I'm just joking with you and our Princess here.” 

The man in question rises from his chair, nearly sending Tina falling to the floor in his haste. His fist thumps down on the shoddy radio perched on a wooden stump. “Pass the Dutchie” spills out, the joyful tune breaking up the hoots of owls, the frogs bellowing in the lake, and the gentle night song of grasshoppers. His zip up jacket shifts as he moves, dark hair unkempt still from spending most of the day in the hot sun, jumping in and out of the lake. 

“I think we need to liven this party up,” he says, tipping his head back, guzzling down the rest of his beer. Tina giggles airily from her chair, hair twirling around her index finger. Andy shoots a sly grin her way, brows waggling. You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Anyway, I heard this really interesting story recently.” 

“Oh?” Chance asks, looping an arm around Fred’s shoulder, dragging him nearer to the fire and shoving him down into a chair. “Come on Benson. It’s not going to kill you to enjoy one night out—”

“Actually it’s imperative that—”

“Benson,” Jason warns. “It’s one of our only days off. Give it a rest.”

“Jason,” Chrissy sighs, nudging his shin with her shoe. “Be nice.”

“Anyone got a light handy?” Argyle calls from the other side of the fire, finally done rolling. “Enjoy, brochachos. Some good shit we got today.”

He’s referring to his and Eddie’s side business, the two having become fast friends since he moved to Hawkins only a few months ago now from California with Jonathan and the rest of the Byers family. Your father definitely doesn’t know about it, and you intend to keep it that way. 

Fred’s already been threatened if he knows what’s good for him, and if he wants a chance at a second summer as assistant manager, he’ll shut his trap and avert his eyes. The slow hesitance of him presently reaching for his beer tab and popping his can open reassures you that the breath you’re holding can release into open air, lungs expelling gratefully. 

The joints are passed around the fire, split with those wanting to participate. 

“Sweetheart?” Eddie asks, quietly so no one hears. You find you prefer it that way—the fondness of the nickname from his lips like a secret meant only for your ears.

Normally you’d say yes, having spent many nights at Lover’s Lake in the early weeks of your relationship smoking by the water, basking in the newness of your romance, talking about life and the twinkling constellations above. But at your hesitation and the soft shake of your head ‘no,’ Eddie lights his own, his thumb grazing the inside of your wrist once more. 

The group descends into a semblance of quiet, broken up by the exhales of smoke into the air, the scent swirling in your nostrils. Andy drops back down into his chair, done with his gallant twirl in a slow circle, garnering the attention of his mostly involuntary crowd. 

“Have any of you heard of…the realm that lives beneath Hawkins?” 

Your group lets out a round of frustrated sighs and groans, all of you having heard the tales told by the investigative programs, your bored neighbors. Hawkins, your gateway to hell town, harbinger of death and blah blah blah bullshit. For years, it’s been idle chatter, told by those looking for controversy. Conspiracies. 

But there are realities to every story. Newspaper articles conveying the events that happened, television programs documenting the tragedies that befall every town. Tragedies. Unfortunate circumstances that led to lives lost. And yet there are those who would dig up those graves for a sordid story. For their own entertainment. 

“Monsters that crawl on twos and fours—”

“With claws and rows and rows of teeth,” Steve finishes, rolling his eyes, sighing exasperatedly. “We’ve all heard the stories, Andy.” 

“Yeah, but what about the stories where they literally strip the flesh from a human body?” He whirls his face closer to you and Eddie and you jolt in your chair. “Rows of teeth that can skin a human. Made to be an apex predator.”

“Andy,” Nancy warns with the roll of her eyes. 

“Have you heard the story of Henry Creel, though? The guy who killed his family in 1959?” he asks. The group settles into an eerie silence, bodies shifting around the fire to attention. “Mom and sister, bodies unrecognizable. Mangled. Dad’s locked away. In Pennhurst.”

“Andy…” you cry, breath hitching at the brutality of it. 

There were stories, yes. You’d heard of the Creel family. No one ever ventured to their abandoned home in the woods. No one dared. You weren’t one to believe in those stories. They were stories, after all. Stories people have been telling for decades, meant for entertainment and to elicit terror. 

“It’s that abandoned house in these very woods,” he says, opening another beer. “They say he died too. That he’s some sort of spirit now that haunts the halls of that home. That he feeds off of grief and guilt and trauma, claiming souls for him to open the gate beneath Hawkins. For every person he kills, he gets closer to literally making Hawkins hell on earth. I'm convinced the tragedies we keep hearing about…I think they’re part of some sort of ritual of his. He’s been getting stronger all this time, just waiting for the perfect moment.” 

“Andy, that’s absurd,” Robin splutters, glancing amongst Nancy, Steve and Jonathan. Each wears a look of varying degrees of concern. Steve’s brows knit together, Jonathan shifting wearily to look at Nancy, Nancy staring off into the distance. There’s no time to dawdle on what those expressions mean as Robin opens her mouth again, prattling, “You can’t honestly believe that a dead guy is doing all of this.”

“Just give it a rest, will you, man,” Steve adds, another roll of his eyes that’s so obvious you wonder if everyone just shuts up for a moment you'll hear it. “There’s no…other dimension of monsters and no dead dude sacrificing the souls of Hawkins to open some gates.”

Andy shrugs. “You scared, Harrington.”

“Horrified,” he drawls, and you snort. At that, his lips twitch. “Now can we move on since I’m shaking like a leaf out here in my terror?” 

“Yeah, dude, pretty sure you talking about dead people is killing our high,” Argyle agrees, passing off his joint to Jonathan. 

The song shifts to “Hungry Like the Wolf” and the conversation changes as well. To lighter topics now, things that don’t make nervous jitters crawl up your spine, don’t make you want to sleep with one eye open at night. Argyle is fully transitioning into life here in Hawkins, and plans on staying for the foreseeable future. Steve and Robin are working harder than ever at Family Video, with Steve being promoted to manager since Keith was moved to another location. Nancy and Jonathan plan on signing a lease to an apartment some time later this year, and when everyone turns to you and Eddie all you can do is express that you’re both doing well. Eddie’s just gotten off of a small, local tour, you’re planning on business college in the fall to eventually help your father run the camp permanently. 

It’s not before long that the gentle hum of music, the smell of the crackling fire mixed with the weed, the tang of beer on your tongue, and the quiet conversation lures you into a warm embrace. Eyes fluttering, you cup the bottom of your jaw within your palm, elbow propped up on the fabric of your camping chair. You doze off for minutes, maybe hours, you’re uncertain, before you feel the gentle glide of Eddie’s finger along the line of your temple, the top of your cheek. A low hum spills from your lips, and you wake to find the guys pouring water on the remnants of the fire, while others pack away the snacks and alcohol. The camping chairs are loaded into their respective bags and slung over shoulders, and it’s time to head to bed, the first staff part of the summer a success. 

Forest floor crackling and rustling beneath your feet, you follow beside Chrissy while Steve, Eddie and Jonathan chat with Argyle up ahead. Nancy and Robin have locked arms with one another, bodies swaying likely from alcohol and weed still buzzing in their system and you trail to your left where Chrissy is watching them and glancing your way every so often. Her teeth worry her bottom lip, like she wants to say something, like she doesn’t know exactly what that even may be. 

“Tonight was fun,” Chrissy says, body nearly brushing yours. You reach across your chest to cup your biceps, hugging yourself. There’s a pause. A momentary hesitation that has your skin prickling with awareness. “Did you have fun?”

“I did,” you admit, allowing yourself the unfamiliar comfort of her heat against you. 

This seems to be suitable for your cabin mate, light eyes darting to yours in the moonlight, crinkling around the edges in glee. Not a friendship, not just yet, but something. An olive branch. 

“Look—I know we didn’t—”

“Watch out, it’s Henry Creel coming to steal your soul!” 

A pair of hands clutch at your shoulders, jostling you wildly in a pair of unwanted arms. The shriek that spills with you slices the air, heads turning immediately to the source. Heart hammering, you’re hardly aware of your surroundings as Steve and Eddie barrel forward, shoving Andy away from you and threatening him to never put his hands on you again. Andy hits the ground with a loud thud, Eddie’s chest rising and falling rapidly in his exertion as he stares down at him. The man on the forest floor cackles, chest shaking with the throes of his entertainment, palms already visibly torn up from where he swiftly tried to break his fall. Vaguely you recognize Fred’s worried voice, trying to ease up the tension—and failing—thin and wobbly, as though at any moment your father will burst into the clearing and banish you all to your cabins. 

Eddie whirls around to rush by your side, but Chrissy’s already tugging you into the cradle of her arms, reassuring him that she’s got you. “You guys go finish up, I’ll take her back to the cabin,” Chrissy explains, running a hand over the back of your head. Your body shakes, heart still pounding away from the suddenness of his antagonizing. “Andy, do you have to be such an asshole all the time? Grow up!” 

His reply is the wiggle of his fingers and a mocking, drawn out ‘boo’ that has Eddie nearly lunging forward again to shove him back into the ground, before Steve draws him back and reminds him he needs the job, that Andy isn’t worth it, that Eddie will meet up at your cabin later.  

 ——

 The two of you dress in silence. The wood of your shared cabin creaks from ages of wear and tear as you mill about, shifting around one another, gathering your things. You manage a pair of shorts and a long tee shirt, one of the Corroded Coffin ones Eddie had made, and settle down at the foot of your bed with a pillow pressed tight to your chest. 

Chrissy does more or less the same. Brushes her hair at the small wooden vanity in the corner, washes off the little makeup she’s worn that evening, and hurried into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Upon return you’ve found she’s slipped on a pair of silky pajama shorts and a ratty old tee with the Hawkins High logo on it from when you both were still in high school.

It’s funny to think a month ago you walked across that graduation stage. Had collected your diploma, cheered on Eddie for finally receiving his after hard work and dedication to see it come to fruition, and started the beginning of a new season in your life. Endless opportunity awaited the both of you—all of you here at the camp, really. Recent graduates, those trying to figure out their path, trying to determine what they want to do. 

It’s funny to think Chrissy and some of the others on the basketball team had always been strangers to you. Coworkers during the summer, but otherwise people you generally avoided. Ignored. Head down, eyes ahead—it always worked best that way. Your eyes travel down to the neck of your shirt where it falls down a bit around your shoulder, skin still prickling from where Andy had grabbed at you. 

Chrissy catches the movement, brows knitting together on her forehead. “I don’t know why you just sit back and let him act like that toward you. He’s an asshole.”

“He’s an employee,” you remind her, toying with the frayed edge of your shorts. A string dances beneath your fingertip; you wind it around the first indent in your skin, twirling, tugging. “I’m…my dad left me in charge, but I’m not used to this. Any of this. It’s easy for you.”

“What do you mean?” She scoots closer to the edge of her bed. 

“You’re Chrissy Cunningham. People listen to you. At school, they’d part like the Red Sea for you,” you tell her coolly, shrugging. “It’s different for people like me.”

People who walk the halls for years at school, flying under the radar. No one knows you, no one talks to you—not really, at least. You never minded it. Hadn't then, and still do not now. It might have made it easier having someone in your corner, someone to take you under their wing, push you to fly. And sure you had your friends, a small circle, but you preferred the safety in solitude. 

Then there were those like Chrissy, Jason and their friends. Those who shone in the light. Shiny, sparkly things. The kinds of people others were drawn to. Those who people naturally gravitate towards, if only for a chance under the sun. A moment in the spotlight. And you know they’re not perfect. Everyone has their own stories to tell, struggles ahead of them, trials they’ve faced. 

But in high school, in life thus far where you’re either in or you’re out based on what those around you can see and perceive on the superficial exterior alone, you’ve always been out. 

And that’s all you know. 

“Look—it doesn’t matter regardless,” Chrissy says, pinching lip between her teeth, releasing it in a frustrated huff. “Has he always been like that toward you?”

There’s always been an antagonistic relationship between the two of you. Started back in sophomore year when you’d caught him cheating off of your test in math class, and had told your teacher. After that, and a failing grade on his part, he’d been nothing but persistent in reminding you you’d been the reason he’d failed that class and needed to remain in summer school that year. 

The downside also being that you were both still campers at sleep away camp by that point, and would argue over every little competition Camp Firefly hosted. And when he’d applied to be a counselor once old enough, you’d nearly begged your dad to not hire him, but couldn’t bring yourself to explain why. 

Seemed so silly at the time. Still does. Being unable to bring yourself to just plant your feet around him and take no shit from him. 

You grimace. “Yeah.”

“I wish you would say something then. People like that keep doing that because they think it’s okay. They see that you’re not going to say anything and they take advantage of it,” she says, shifting up and off of her bed and onto yours. “I, uh…my mom is kind of like an ‘Andy’ in my life. And for a really long time I just let her…talk to me like that. But no one should berate you, make you question yourself, wonder if you’re good enough.”

Her hand rests lightly against your bare kneecap. Your eyes trail there, and hers meet yours hesitantly, but you cover the weight of her skin with your own palm and feel the corners of your lips upturn. 

“You know, you’re different than I thought you would be,” you murmur thoughtfully, eyes darting up to light ones. Her head tips to her side and you continue, “I thought you might be…scary.” 

Your eyes pinch shut in embarrassment and she bubbles with side shaking laughter. “You thought I was scary? I thought you would be the scary one.” 

“Me?” Your finger presses to your sternum. 

“You were always so involved in school, good grades, on the yearbook committee, a scholarship student for your business school. And now you’re my boss, which is pretty awesome at nineteen years old,” she tells you, shoulder bumping against yours. 

“Just for the summer,” you remind her. “My dad is still the director, just managing from home.”

“Even so. Looks like we both misjudged one another.”

She nods. “Looks like it.”

With a sigh, you shift down onto your back, not minding at all when Chrissy arranges herself comfortably at your side, her arm slung over her waist, eyes trained on the wooden ceiling. The gentle inhalations and exhalations from both of you intermingle in the humid summer air, the gentle hum of your fan blowing a backdrop alongside the chirp of crickets and bellows of bullfrogs straying from the lake. 

“Hey…” Chrissy breaks the silence, and your head turns on the pillow to look at her. “If we’re going to be cabin mates for the next month or so, I think it would be nice if we were, you know, friends.” 

“I’d like that,” you admit, and it comes easily. 

Easy like breathing, what with the way she grins at you like you’ve ignited new hope within her soul. Mouth opening to speak, you’re interrupted by the swift raps of knuckles on a door, and without even asking her to, Chrissy hops up off the bed and flounces over to the door, hair swishing as she goes. 

The door opens and you really shouldn’t be surprised to see Eddie. Eddie’s standing there in a Metallica tank top, the sides cut for a larger hole, revealing the smattering of ink across his form. Heart clenching, you rise to your feet as Chrissy opens the door further and urges him into the open space, arms circling his waist as he draws you flush against his chest. A hand rests on the nape of your neck, the other rubbing a slow circle between your shoulder blades. 

Chrissy whistles a tune unfamiliar as she makes her way back to her bed, kicking her feet up on a pillow. Feeling your cheeks warm, you step back, mindful of your company. Circling your palm in his own, you drag him onto the front step of your cabin, taking in the glow of the moonlight up above. Wings of fireflies bat around you, their glowing bulbs flickering around the lamp hanging on the porch, a moonlit song only they know. 

“I wanted to check up on you,” he says once the screen door is shut behind him, palm coming to rest on your cheek. “He’s an asshole. That whole Henry Creel bullshit.”

“I’m okay,” you promise, leaning up to press your lips to his. “Don’t wanna talk about him.” 

“Think Chrissy will let me stay tonight?” he murmurs, forehead pressing to yours. His nose slides down the bridge of yours, prods at your cheek until your lips twitch into a smile. His teeth flash with his grin at that. “There she is.” 

“You're on duty,” you remind him, though the idea is tempting. 

Summer before being Eddie’s girlfriend was one thing, your first summer as his girlfriend is another. Separation feels daunting. The craving to be near is stronger now than ever before. 

“The little gremlins can survive one night with Steve.”

“Eddie…” He buries his face against your shoulder, swaying you left to right in his arms. “Thanks for coming. But I promise I’m fine. Plus, I think I actually made a new friend tonight.”

“You and Cunningham, hmm?” 

“She’s…she’s actually really nice.” 

“I’m glad.” His head shifts, lips pressing into your neck until you wriggle and writhe in his arms, earning a chuckle out of the man. “I’ll miss you. Maybe you’ll come visit me in my dreams.”

“You’re such a sap, Munson.” Nose wrinkling, you reach up to comb at the curls tickling your cheek. “Who knew?” 

“There are exceptions to every rule.” 

You grin, heart fluttering away in your chest as he takes a step back and makes his way down the stairs leading to your cabin. There are three words that bubble on your lips, three words you’ve never shared with anyone before. And it’s fitting they form for this man, this person. 

But it’s not time. Not yet. So instead you lean your elbows onto the railing and blow him a kiss, snorting as he dramatically smacks it against his chest and falls backward into a heap on the forest floor below. 

“Go, shoo,” you tease, giggling as he rolls over and pushes himself onto all fours, shaking out his hair. 

“You wound me, sweetheart.”

Three words. 

Not now. 

“Goodnight, Ed.”

He grins. Waves. 

Three beautiful words. 

But you have all the time in the world anyway; there’s no rush. 

“Goodnight.” 

 ——

 It’s an accident that causes you to end up in Nurse Mooney’s cabin. She’s one of the newest additions to the camp. A highly educated individual, with years of nursing experience under her belt, and exceptional with the children. It’s one thing you’ve heard over and over again from the kids after every scape, fall, and tumble. There’s also the increasingly curious fact that Steve Harrington himself seems to be enamored with the woman, having been found already on more than one occasion visiting the medical cabin. 

You find yourself there presently. A hike with Jonathan and Argyle turned sour when a tree branch whipped you in the face, slicing at the sensitive flesh of your cheek. The kids had screamed, jolting on the spot when you hissed and pressed a hand to your bleeding skin, fingers pulling back soaked in scarlet red. Will had nearly passed out and Max cursed. Dustin called for Argyle, nearly blowing your eardrum in the process. And Mike and Lucas shoved you along the path back to camp, leaving El behind to help make sure her step-brother would make it back okay. 

Which is how you find yourself now, slipping into the cabin and calling out her name, only to find Steve himself sitting atop an examination table, smiling softly at the woman who presses a bandaid with numerous breakfast foods in a cartoonish style on them to his bloodied knee cap. The two whirl your way, Steve’s cheeks burning hot as you approach, while Nurse Mooney tips her head up to the sky before noticing your bloodied cheek, urging you forward with the wave of her hand. 

“What happened to you?” Steve breathes out, rushing over to tip your chin up with an index finger. “It’s not—”

“No, no. I got in a fight with a tree and it won. No need to worry Eddie,” you tell him, curling your fingers around his wrist and shoving it away gently from your face. “Seriously. Don’t worry him over this. He’s busy with the kids.”

Nurse Mooney shuffles about in the distance, setting up what you assume to be the things she’ll need to patch you up. Your eyes flicker upward to Steve’s, mirth bubbling in your gut. “Why are you here?”

“Mind your business,” he warns, voice dropping into a gravelly grumble. 

“It’s just curious.”

“She’s a good nurse.”

“I’m sure,” you tease, grinning widely. “She’s also really pretty, intelligent, talented and—”

“Shhh. Will you stop it? Next time you and Eddie want me to cover so you can canoodle in the woods I’ll just so happen to be busy.”

You pout. “No fun, Harrington.”

“You two will be having no fun if you keep it up.” He glances over his shoulder, earning a smile from the woman. “I don’t want to mess this one up, okay?”

The seriousness in his tone gives you pause. Swallowing, you nod. Steve’s love life has been a bit of an…interesting tale as of late. He chalks it up to losing his dating “mojo,” but you know Steve. Steve with his heart full of love ready to be given, an immeasurable kindness, and a tenacity that always surprises you. He’s also a wonderful friend, ‘mother’ to the children, and sacrificial for those he loves. Anyone Steve Harrington loves will be a lucky partner. The thought alone sobers you, mouth setting into a firm line. 

“Just…protect your heart, okay?” You wiggle his arm with your hand. His lips curl upward into a dopey grin. “I care about you, you know? Seeing as you’re in a semi-questionably romantic relationship with my boyfriend.” 

“Shut up,” he laughs, but there’s no malice there. “You look a mess.”

“You’re an idiot.”

But he’s grinning. A wide smile that makes your heart clench as he runs a hand down the side of your arm and waves Nurse Mooney goodbye. As soon as the screen door shuts, you’re ordered to jump up onto the examination table, wincing as Nurse Mooney leans forward to assess the damage to your cheek. She winces as you do, mouth turning downward, a soft exhale of breath falling from her softly parted lips. 

“Going to need some steri strips.” At your grimace, she continues, “It’ll need to be cleaned first. Tree really got you good, did it?” 

You laugh, but it only brings a new wave of pain to the wound. “Ouch, please don’t make me laugh.”

She works in silence. Gathering the things she needs on a rolling table, getting to work on cleaning out your wound, apologizing every time a blinding flash of pain hits. Once the wound has been washed, she pulls over a rolling chair and starts to apply the strips, brows drawn into a furrow, attention fully dedicated to your cheek. 

“So your first time working at a summer camp, huh?” 

“Yeah.”

“Are you enjoying it?” 

Her mouth twitches upward. “It’s different than what I’m used to, but I’m enjoying myself, yeah.”

“What were you doing before this?” you wonder out loud, gasping as her gloved finger accidentally brushes the sensitive flesh around your wound. 

“Sorry.” She exhales, grabbing another strip and pressing it into place. “I worked in trauma for two years.”

“So this is a lot slower?”

“Definitely. Scraped knees are a relief compared to some of the things I’ve seen at the hospital,” she admits, leaning back onto the chair and stripping her gloves off. “A walk in the park compared to car accidents, stab wounds and all of that.”

Stomach dropping, you swallow. “Well, we’re happy to have you. Now you can put bandaids on paper cuts for days on end.” You let out an uneasy laugh. 

“You’ll keep those on for ten days. Just to be safe. Shouldn’t leave a scar.”

“Thank you.” You hop off of the table, making your way over to the cabin door. “The kids love you. Everyone does…actually.”

“Glad I can be of help. And…try to keep away from low hanging branches, will you?”

“Will do.” 

 ——

 About a week after the campfire debacle, you find yourself sitting in the craft cabin with Robin and Nancy and some of the girls, fashioning friendship bracelets with colorful threads. Your fingers work meticulously, winding together the colors, bottom lip pinched between your teeth. 

Your table is presently occupied by Max Mayfield, her own eyes trained on her bracelet in front of her, though she’s been silent for some time now. Exhaling, you finish off the line you’re working on and cup the bottom of your jaw in your palm, watching as the younger girl continues with her crafting, paying you no attention. 

Outside, you can hear the gentle breeze rustling the leaves. The cicadas that sing their morning song. The laughter of children faraway on the lake. Within, you can hear Nancy praising her kids for making the “most beautiful macaroni art” and Robin exclaiming she’s never seen a more beautiful “caterpillar egg carton.” But Max remains quiet and stoic, focused on her task at hand, not uttering a word. 

“Do you think Eddie will like this?” you ask, trying to stir up conversation. 

Nimble fingers raise the red, white and black presently half made friendship bracelet in the air. Some of his favorite colors are thrown into one. Max lifts her head, eyes running over it appraisingly. Cold—though not directed at you—empty blue. She continues to work on hers. Green, blue, and white. 

“Do you ever just…feel like…” She stops herself. Screws her face into a grimace and adds a few more lines to her bracelet as you ruminate in silence. 

“Like…?”

“It sounds crazy.”

“You know you can always talk to me. Right, Max?” 

She swallows. “Do you ever just have a feeling that something bad is going to happen? I don’t know how to explain it, but I’ve been having these nightmares and I—” Another pause, her mouth setting into a firm line. 

Hesitantly, you reach across the table and slide your hand over her forearm. “You’re safe here. I can assure you that.”

“I know. I know,” she sighs, “it’s probably nothing.”

“Max, if it’s worrying you that much, do you want me to talk to your mom? Have her come pick you—”

“No. No, please don’t call my mom. Ever since Billy…and then Neil…”

You’ve heard the stories. The whispers around town by those who spewed rumor and vitriol for the game of it—for their own personal enjoyment. Had heard Neil Hargrove left her, abandoned her after his son had died, how they’d been left and moved into the trailer park. It’s how her and Eddie became so close. A brotherly figure to his “Red,” as he always affectionately calls her, even despite her grumbling that he annoys her. It’s all bark no bite, though. 

But you’ve also heard about her mom. About the hardships she’s been facing. About how Max has been struggling in school, with her relationships. It drives you up and out of your chair, shuffling to the other side of the wooden table to settle down on the bench beside her. 

“You know you can always come to me. For anything, right?” 

She nods, eyes downcast. 

“I won’t call your mom,” you promise her, hand resting against her shoulder. “But if you keep having these nightmares, or if they get worse, please tell one of us. Eddie, Steve, myself—anyone, okay?” 

“Okay,” she agrees. She waits a moment and lifts your bracelet between her fingers. “He’ll like it.”

“Think so?”

She wiggles her brows and shoulders, that fleeting grin of hers like sunshine piercing the clouds on a rainy day. “It’s coming from you, he’ll like it.”

You continue on in silence until the sun starts to set over Camp Firefly. You work on your bracelet for Eddie, and hers for Lucas (though she’ll never admit to that). It’s not until you hear the dinner bell from the mess hall that you extract yourselves from the tables, sliding away from the wooden benches with your colorful strands finally finished in hand. 

She walks ahead of you, footsteps eager, slipping into the open wooden doors and making her way over to her friends. Whereas you wander up behind the man you’ve been looking for, in quiet conversation with Dustin, and clap your hands over his eyes. Fingers curl around your wrists like bracelets, a low rumble of laughter shaking the shoulders pressing lightly against your hips. 

“Who is it?” you muse. 

“Gag me,” Mike groans, earning a harsh slap from El. 

“Hmm, I wonder. The options are so vast, you know?” 

Without another word, he’s climbing up and off the wooden bench, dragging you out of the mess hall with a quick nod in Steve’s direction. Once you’re outside, he rushes you around the back of the building and presses your back up against the wall, pinning you in place. 

“Oh, hey.” 

“Hey,” you murmur, mouth millimeters from his. 

He tastes like his usual cinnamon gum and a hint of smoke as he kisses you, lips soft and yielding beneath your own. It’s a gentle give and take, your fingers sliding beneath the fabric of his camp issued shirt, scratching along the hair disappearing beneath his green shorts. Breath fans along your lips, his body coming in closer, the fullness of high thigh between yours. 

“We can’t,” you whine, forehead dropping against his. 

“I know. I know.” 

Another kiss. Those lips drop lower, pressing to the hinge of your jaw. The curve beneath your ear, the side of your neck, until you’re giggling and squirming beneath him, clutching at the sides of his waist, panting for air. His palms glide along your hips, pausing at the strip of string hanging outside of the pocket. Curious, he snatches it free and lifts it in the air between the two of you. 

“You made this for me?” The corners of his mouth twitch gleefully. Dimple popping in his cheek. 

“No.” Your tennis shoe digs into the ground beneath you, forest floor crunching under your toes, head down, cheeks burning. 

“These are my favorite colors, though.” 

“Yeah well…uh…”

“Tie it on me,” he says abruptly, drawing your gaze to his left wrist he’s draped the bracelet over. 

“You really don’t have to wear it. It’s silly. I just spent the day in the craft cabin and I thought—” 

He smacks a kiss to your cheek, silencing you. “Please. Humor me.”

He draws you in closer with a hand circling your waist. You step into the cradle of his arms and grip the two ends of the bracelet, pulling them taut enough around his wrist where he’ll have some room, but it won’t slide off of him. Once satisfied, you fasten it and step back, admiring your work. Eddie wiggles his wrist in the air, admiring the red, white and black stitching. Eyes dart to yours. 

“I love it,” he says, swooping down to kiss you soundly. Until your lips tingle and your belly bursts to life with butterflies. “Come on. Before all the good food is gone.”

 ——

 He doesn’t know why…or really how…he ends up here. His feet crunch against gravel as he opens the door to his car, peering up at the building. 

Before him is a home. 

Set back against a driveway, stain glass windows caked in endless layers of dust. His heart pitter patters in his chest, unaware of what is to come. All he knows is there’s a sense of foreboding. A curiosity that he doesn’t wish to follow through with, and yet feels compelled all the same. 

The Creel house, where those murders heard only in newspapers happened. A family, here one moment in Hawkins and gone the next. Brutally murdered, bones broken, eyes ripped from skulls. 

Dead. 

Gone. 

Lives put to a halt. 

The voice in his mind calls his name again. Has been for some time now. Days, weeks, he’s not sure. But it’s a gentle caress in his mind all the same. A quiet whisper of ‘Andy’—a siren’s call that has him in its grasp. 

‘Andy’ as he brushes his fingers across dust dirtied shelves and bookcases in the home awash with moonlight, peering at various trinkets and once well-loved furnishings. The dust shifts and stirs around him. A halo of sparkling debris that flutters and flits around him as he peruses the interior of the home, taking in all it has to otter. Beautifully vaulted ceilings, sprawling staircases, lovely kitchen, dining room and sitting area. 

He tries to picture the home when they move in. Hopes settled on their shoulders, new keys tossed into their hands, ready to start anew as a family. Now, he stands in a barren wasteland. A place where everything comes to die. 

His feet carry him up the staircase, eyes roving the pictures on the walls, flashlight catching on the dust particles shifting as he moves. There’s a picture of what he assumes is the family hanging on the wall. A beautiful wife, doting father, a golden haired little girl, and a straight faced boy. Henry. His mind fills in the name, and now it settles on a face. Dark hair, severe blue eyes. 

He wonders how a boy, how a young boy like this, could ruin a whole family. How he could look at them, intent on killing, and follow through with it all. 

That compulsion to learn, the compulsion to simply be here, drives Andy further upward, pausing on a room. Inside he finds a wooden panel on the floor that doesn’t quite sit flush. It creaks and groans as he steps on it, edge popping upward. Curious, Andy sets his flashlight down onto the dusty floorboards and pushes up at the broken piece. Within lies a jar, covered like every other inch of this home in a thick layer of dirt and dust. Blowing out a breath, the dust swirls upward, revealing endless black widow spiders within. 

Fear chokes him. Causes him to stumble back, tossing the jar onto the bed above, clutching at his flashlight like it’s a lifeline. Shallow breaths puff in and out of his lungs. Gasps that rattle deep within. And then he sees it. The edge of a book, just above where the jar had been beneath the floorboards. A leather bound cover, smooth to the touch when he grows the nerve to pluck it out and brush along the edges, the binding. 

Etched into the corner is ‘Henry Creel.’ Crude in nature, no more than scratches in the front covering. His fingers brush along the letters, opening the first page to the doodles within. Images of spiders. Long limbs, cruel fangs, beady eyes. Smoky dark drawings, splashed with red streaks. On the next page are bunnies. Long ears, fluffy tails, wide eyes. But it’s the eyes that have his chest rising and falling faster. Eyes that should be bright and warm are crossed out with painted red x marks, slashes on a page, deep as blood. 

Gashes. 

Streaks of anger.

He swallows. Bile rises in his throat. 

He should leave the book. He knows he should. But he tucks it away in his backpack. Tucks it away to let it sit there for a rainy day as he clambers up to his feet, rushing back down the stairs from where he came, neatly stumbling on the bottom step in his haste. 

The front door beckons him forth. Glass panel gleaming in the moonlight, casting a glow along the far wall. Against the fall wall is a clock, a gorgeous grandfather clock that seems to call his name. 

Whispers to him. 

Sings to him. 

Urges him onward. 

He obeys the call, carried over by what feels like a tether, an invisible string. 

There’s a ringing in his ears. 

A probing at the base of his skull.

“Touch it…”

His fingers prickle in anticipation. Hover over the face, worn by years and broken now. 

Silenced by time. 

He hears a voice again. 

A phantom in his ear. A caress against his spine. 

A push. 

His toes brush the edge of the clock, fingers inching closer. 

Tugs the sleeve of his hoodie up around his hand and wipes the back of it across the face of the clock. Exposes the numbers and arms within. 

“What the…” His voice echoes in the home, drowned out by the beat of his heart, when the arms start to move. 

Slow, swirling circles. 

Arms that twirl around and around. Around and around and they don’t stop. 

He hears it then. 

The slow tick-tock. 

Tick-tock. 

Tick-tock. 

A clanging chime, a reverberating gong. 

Loud. 

It’s so damn loud. 

He staggers backwards, the floor shaking beneath him. 

Rattling, tearing, ripping. 

Red illuminates a crack that inches before the clock, the earth pulling at the seams. 

Opening. 

“What th—”

It’s a cry. Cut off and broken as a vine whips up and curls around his ankle. 

Tugs him. 

Drags him. 

He falls onto his stomach. Screams and claws at the ground. At the rug that betrays him, body sliding closer and closer to the rip. 

He screams for someone who never hears. Screams until the walls rattle, hands clutching for purchase on anything, nails skidding on wood. 

Begs for mercy. For death. For a savior. For the reaper. 

He screams until his throat rubs raw, until he’s pleading. 

Anything. 

A sacrifice. 

A deal with God. 

Or the devil. 

“I’ll do anything!”

And then, out of the ground, out of the opening to hell itself, a single word in a voice that sounds nothing of this world. 

The vine around his ankle slackens. 

“Andy…”

 ——

 Two weeks into camp, and everything is running smoothly. You’ve had no major issues, only minor squabbles sorted in your office between campers, and your counselors have been on their best behavior. Sure, there’s the occasional slip up here and there, but that’s to be expected. 

It’s on that second week you find yourself helping put chairs out around a campfire, a projection screen stretched wide across the lawn. All around you kids buzz with anticipation, eagerly looking on to catch a glimpse of what you’ll be playing. For the children it’s “Never Ending Story,” and for the counselors off duty for the night (being you, Chrissy, Steve, Eddie, Jason and Andy) you’ve decided on your own movie night within the gymnasium once you finish setting up for the counselors who are working that evening as a compromise. 

By popular demand it’s “Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter,” and though you hate the idea of playing a movie such as that while quite literally at a sleep away camp, there’s no arguing the decision once it’s made. 

“It’ll be fun,” your coworkers remind you when they let you know what they’ve decided on; however, you find it anything but. 

“Relax, baby,” Eddie coos, fingers curling around the widest part of your hips, tugging you close. The chair he’s holding drops with a clatter onto the forest floor, dark eyes boring into your own. “It’s a movie. It’ll be okay, I promise. And if you get really scared…well, you can always hold my hand.”

“Gonna be my knight in shining armor, huh?” you ask jovially, taking a step closer to him. “Chase away Jason for me?”

“I would run so far away from Jason with you,” he says, and you snort. “I’m not fucking with him. Are you kidding? We’re camp counselors, which makes us Jason’s prey. Our best bet is mad dashing through the woods holding hands.”

“I feel like that’s what you’re not meant to do in these movies. Look at Halloween.” 

At your pout, he continues, “The kids are going to have so much fun. It’s a night off for us. You’ve been working so hard and you deserve to relax a little bit. Want me to go grab you a bowl of M&Ms later? I’ll even take out the ones you don’t like.”

“You mean eat the ones I don’t like,” you tease, fingers sliding down his forearm, along his Wayne tattoo, newly added on the inside of his left bicep, and toy with the threads of the bracelet you made him tied around his left wrist.  

“It’s what any good boyfriend would do. Or at least I think. Haven’t really had much experience with it.”

“You’re doing great,” you reassure him, looping the thread of his bracelet around your index finger. “You kept it.”

“‘Course I did. A pretty girl made it for me. Gonna keep that forever.” His arms loop lower around your waist, edging along the lowest part of your spine, verging on slightly inappropriate with the kids coming down at any moment, but you don’t shove him away this time. 

Your breath mingles for a moment, lips inches apart, before Steve’s breaking you apart, uttering you’re on a time crunch and shouldn’t be canoodling. You don’t argue. In fact, the remainder of the setup moves swiftly. Bodies weave in and out of one another, prepping chairs and tables for snacks, as well as sticks for the campfire s’mores. As a tradition, movie nights are also party nights. Nights where the kids can have all the sugary treats they wish, and will never have to tell a soul about it. 

It’s not long before rows of chairs are set and readily available for campers and the multiple tables are full of various snacks, treats and offerings. Groups of children trickle out from their respective cabins all dressed in their comfiest clothes, some donning slippers, others with blankets tucked within their arms. Each gathers their movie snacks before choosing a seat. You, on the other hand, stand faraway in the back, watching as the kids treat each other with candor and kindness, offering open spaces to their fellow campers, eager anticipation for the movie buzzing in their sugar enhanced systems. 

“It’s a shame,” Andy says from behind you. Jolting on the spot, you whirl around, hand over your heart because you hadn’t seen him there. 

It’s a shame. 

Your mind hitches at his words, at the peculiarity of them given the tone of the evening, head shifting enough to eye him precariously through your lashes. “What is?”

He pauses. Stares off into space for a moment. Eyes on nothing in particular as Eddie works on setting up the projector with Steve, handing out hugs like they’re candies when little ones run up to thump against their thighs. A chuckle spills from him, head shaking. 

There’s a choke of breath at your side. The frantic brush of his fingers along a bicep, sweat slicking his brow. “I, ah, I’m not feeling well. Do you think I can just head to my cabin?”

You stiffen, head nodding. “Yeah, sure. Do you need to get checked out by Nurse Mooney?” 

“N-no,” he says, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I—I’ll be fine.”

Without another word, he’s rushing off toward the cabins, rubbing at the back of his neck with his head down. 

“What was that about?” Chrissy asks, appearing at your side in a pair of her camp shorts and a hoodie. She’s put french braids in her hair today, eyes bright in the moonlight. Even dressed down like this, she’s impossibly charming. 

“Has Andy been acting odd lately?” Your words are quiet. Slow. 

“Like odder than usual?” She laughs, but the look on your face has her pause. Lips turning downward, she probes, “What’s wrong?”

“He just seemed on edge all of a sudden. I mean he’s an asshole, but he’s always confident. This felt…different. He seemed nervous. Uncertain or worried about something.”

“I mean…maybe he has been? Yesterday Jason said while they were on lifeguard duty Andy just sort of stared off into space. Like he was there…but not.”

“That’s how he’d just been with me.” 

Frozen in space and time, looking out into nothingness, and then snapping into reality. What had he been looking at? 

“He’s probably just in his head about something. Or trying to sneak off with Tina again,” she says, scrunching her nose and looping her arm through yours. She hugs it tight to her body and you melt a little into her embrace. She gives a little wiggle, pulling you from your silent reverie. “Wanna go watch the movie now? Looks like the guys just finished setting up, so we can start heading to the gym. I’ll probably watch it through my fingers, though. I hate slashers.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, still watching the space between the tree line where Andy had walked through. Can still picture the sweat on his brow, the furrow of them, the downturn of his lips that you’ve always been convinced are permanently set into a sneer. “Sure. Me too.”

 ——

 “So everything is going well?” 

“Amazingly, really,” you reassure him, glancing out of the office, capturing Chrissy’s gaze as she and Steve teach the kids proper form on archery. There’s a line of them, arms stretched back, arrows poised at the ready, waiting for Steve’s whistle to blare out. “Kids are great. Counselors are fine. No one has been seriously injured. Nothing has been destroyed—well, minus the one basketball that popped. But other than that, nothing to report here.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” you laugh airily, twining the phone cord around your fingertip. “I promise, dad. You just focus on getting better. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he says gruffly, shifting where he must be laying on the couch, maybe the bed. “Femur is healing just fine, doc says.”

“I’m glad.” Your exhale is one of relief, shoulders slouching comfortably. 

“How’s my boy?” 

His boy. 

Eddie. 

You’d been worried when you first started dating. Especially after the weed mishap during one of those first few times you and Eddie had spent time together. But he’d always loved the guy, especially knowing Wayne for so long, and accepted him into the fold right away. It had been oddly seamless, and ever since he'd taken up calling Eddie ‘his boy.’ Your heart always burns with it, even now, knowing Eddie’s in the music cabin, likely strumming away on a guitar or teaching someone how to play an instrument. Knowing that Eddie’s loved by Wayne, but also by your own family. Fiercely, in a way that sometimes scares you, even. 

“He’s good,” you say softly, back pressing against the wall. “He’s really good.”

“I’m glad, honey. Never seen you light up like you do with that boy. He better be treating you right.”

“Always.” 

And it’s not a lie. Eddie’s been perfect in the past year. Ever respectful, kind, caring and affectionate. No squabbles, not even a minor tiff. Sometimes you question if that’s normal—if two people can get along so well there’s no reason for them to argue. Friends have commented it’s coming, to just wait. But you’ve yet to see it. You’ve seen him get angry, sure, but never directed at you. 

There’s a pause and a swallow on the other end, the smacking of lips after taking a gulp of whatever drink he’s likely got next to him. “Good. Good. I really miss you, hon. Just hope you know.”

“I miss you, too, dad.” There’s a crack at the end of your words, a choke around a muffled sob. Your nose wrinkles, eyes burning with unshed tears. “This was always our thing.”

“I’m not checking out just yet, baby girl. Just a surgery, and just this summer, you hear me?” At your watery laugh, he continues, “You’ll be home before you know it. Bet you grew another inch taller while you’ve been gone.”

“Dad,” you bemoan, rolling your eyes, dragging your forearm across moist lashes. “Two more weeks, and then you’ll see me every day for the rest of the summer. Bet you’ll even get sick of me.”

There’s an incredulous splutter at that. A guffaw that follows, your lips twitching upward. “Never, baby girl. Always and forever, right?” 

Always and forever. 

It’s what you have said ever since you were a little girl and mom had left. Ever since he sat you down on that couch in your old living room, spoke to you softly and gently—like one would speak to a baby doe—and explained all the reasons why it wasn’t your fault. All the reasons it would never be your fault. Ever since it had just been the two of you and dad had to learn how to be both roles in your life without any sort of warning. Ever since he tried his hardest, worked extra hours, and still managed to attend every school or extracurricular function you partook in, while also driving you around to friend’s houses, making sure you were fed and always had everything you’d ever need. Ever since you decided for the rest of your life, it was the two of you against the world. 

You’d never been left wanting for anything. 

Never gone without anything. 

Your best friend. Confidant. The first love of your life. 

Eddie might be the second; in fact, he is the second. 

But before that, it’s always been you and dad. 

Always and forever. 

Something no outside source, no distance, no circumstance could ever take away. You’d do anything for him. Make mountains move, try and part the sea, uproot heaven and hell. So you grin. And you press a hand to your heart, smiling to yourself. A secret thing, meant for him and you. Stolen away from the world. Precious. 

“Always and forever,” you promise. 

 ——

 Music blares from a shoddy speaker in the dimly lit cabin, illuminated by the sun rising through the trees, leaves swaying and shifting in the gentle breeze outside the softly parted window. The same crappy, hand-me-down, camp issued one that Andy needs to thump with the side of his fist every so often to keep the music playing. 

Most of the campers and counselors have already made their way to the mess hall for breakfast. He’s stayed behind, finishing up a morning run and not quite hungry at all. He hasn’t been in a couple days—figures it’s the giant dinner he had the night before. The cafeteria staff had made their signature baked macaroni and cheese. 

No one stops at just one bowl of that. 

He’s warm. Unbearably so. And it feels harsher than the weather outside. This tangible heat that crawls beneath his skin, skitters along like thousands of tiny spiders on his flesh—in his flesh. Fingers reach up to scratch at nothing; gouge scratches into tanned skin, darkened from hours spent sitting on the dock, watching children in the lake day in and day out. 

Ice water does the trick. If only for a moment. He gulps down his first cup and pours another, leaving the refrigerator and freezer door open, despite the fact he can hear the camp princess shouting at him from across the way if she knew what he was doing now with her father’s precious electric bill. 

Someone needs to show her a damn lesson, he thinks. 

“We can…”

The voice startles him. He whirls on the balls of his feet, neck straining toward the open closet, wondering where the voice came from. He calls out into nothingness and is greeted with silence. Long, lingering, languishing silence. 

The glass thuds into the bottom of the kitchenette sink. Shatters against the strainer at the bottom. Andy reaches forward to grasp the shards, wincing as blood pools along the inside of his thumb and index finger, gliding down the inside of his wrist. Trembling, he makes his way to the bathroom, catching the sight of himself in the mirror. 

Dark circles sink into his under eyes. Purple lines that tell a tale of a man who hasn’t slept in days. He cringes at the sight, nearly throws his fist into the glass to eradicate the image of his own self, and flips the knob on the sink. His blood spills down the drain, a fresh bandage put into place as he sits down on the toilet seat. 

Hot. 

He’s still so damn hot. Scalding. Burning. Reeling from it. Eyes dart to the bathroom shower, to the tub there. A thought surfaces, swift and unprovoked. Unprompted, and yet it feels right. The water runs, knob pushed as far as it can go into the cold setting. As it fills the tub, he walks back into the kitchenette and pulls the few ice trays from the freezer. They fall one by one into the tub, dipping below the surface momentarily, and then bobbing at the top. Tiny little blessings that chill his skin upon reaching in to touch—ease the brewing ache in his bones. 

In silence, he strips out of his clothes. Catches on the streaks of black along the inside of his elbows, the curves of his skin. Like ink or spider webs injected into his veins, staining them. He touches them in the mirror, chest rising and falling rapidly, tracing the lines. He can feel them pulse beneath, blood pumping through the darkness; part of him wonders if it’ll only spread this—if it’ll only progress whatever is spilling throughout his system. 

Nurse Mooney will know, he rationalizes, kicking his green shorts off into the corner of the bathroom. He bobs his head for a moment in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth and humming along to the song, trying to distract. 

To deflect. 

To pretend. 

The brush clatters into the cup holder, plastic skittering across the counter in his over exertion. He tosses his baseball hat onto the toilet seat, cards his fingers through his hair, strands falling in disarray about his head. Sinks down into the ice bath, expecting the familiar burn to settle in like the many times his coaches would have him do after a particularly grueling basketball game. Only this time it’s different; this time it feels like an inferno hitting water, creating steam. An instantaneous relief washes over him, eyes shutting against the yellowy lights flickering in the ceiling above. 

“Andy…”

Ice. Cold dread slides down his spine, curls around him, steals his breath. Arms press along the sides of the tub, fingers clutching the edges, knuckles straining white. He calls for Chance to no avail. Only silence greets him—silence and the taunting of the radio in the next room. 

“I will have you, yes I will have you. I will find a way, and I will have you...”

“Hello?” He cries, clutching the shower curtain, sliding it closed. As if that’ll do anything. As if it’ll protect him. His head drops against bent knees, hands on his ears. “Anyone?”

“Like a butterfly, a wild butterfly...”

“This isn’t fucking funny anymore!” 

His voice cracks. Strains. Swallows around the edges of the sob crawling up his throat. He rocks. Back and forth, back and forth, fingers digging into his ears. The chatter of his teeth is harsh enough he feels like it knocks his brain around within his skull. Eighteen. He’s fucking eighteen and he whimpers, a broken thing, a plea for his mom. The utterance of her name through his shuddering lips. Thin and tight, echoing in the four walls of the bathroom, falling on deaf ears.

It’s a prank. 

Some dumb prank one of the kids or the other counselors are playing on him. 

It has to be. 

Has to be. 

“I will collect you and capture you...”

“I’m going to kick the living shit out of you!” Andy screams. 

The radio grows silent. 

His heart pounds in his chest. 

Sweat prickles on his forehead, drips down the side of his face. 

Every inch of his body, the dark swirls on the inside of his elbows, his wrists…they seem to pulse. To elongate beneath his skin, little tendrils that ebb and flow, reaching for something. 

Reaching, reaching, reaching. 

And then. 

Like spiders crawling across his skin, a chill spreads along the back of his neck. The eerie, grating voice of that thing he heard only once before in the Creel house whispers, “Andy…”

——

——

If you made it all the way here, please let me know if you enjoyed. Thank you so, so much. Love, Luna 💌

#lunaloveseddie #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson x you #eddie munson x afab!reader #Eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson au

[cosmic-comet-19]

Remus and Sirius

Remus Lupin is:

self conscious

chocolate lover to the point of chocolate gatekeeper

oversized jumpers

mugs of tea

tall and gangly (limbs everywhere)

curls of golden brown hair that make Sirius stare

scars everywhere (damn that rhymed)

long fingers

smart af

the 'responsible one' but actually isn't

a werewolf so hates himself

new at love and friendship - the marauders were the first family he had

grumpy in the mornings (Sirius knows)

a hard ass

confused as to why people would care about him

but Sirius won't hear any rants about him being 'a monster' ("You wear fluffy socks, Moony. Respectfully shut up.")

irritable around full moons (senses are heightened) and Sirius will absolutely murder anyone who raises their voice

Sirius Black is:

confident, but only because he's faked it for so long

now it's real

charismatic (boy does Remus know)

charming

an absolute flirt

his "don't care attitude" was his defence mechanism at Grimmauld Place so now it is his personality

rebellious

silver earrings

simp for Remus John Lupin

curly black hair

motorbikes

eloquence

definitely fluent in French (Remus loves it sm)

always acting out (seeing how far he can push people before they don't push back anymore)

similar to Remus, he was relatively new at love and friendship before the marauders - except Reggie ofc

James is his absolute ride or die

would do anything for his friends because they are his family

he is fiercely loyal to the last

can't stand by and watch bad things happen (bullying, the war, the wrong person taking the blame)

#wolfstar #marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #dead gay wizards #james potter #marauders era #remus x sirius

[tatorthots]

— a jealous encounter

Featured: wanderer x afab!reader x Childe (implied)

cw: suggestive themes, jealousy, cursing, (slight) hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, (slight) possessiveness

Synopsis: Jealousy is nothing more than a pathetic human emotion. It’s truly almost humorous how insecure and weak-minded mortals are, getting riled up simply because the object of their affection gets a little attention. Of course, the former sixth harbinger is far above such trivial emotions (he’s not)

a/n: scara being jealous, soft, and sulky because I said so and also I used sm names for scara because I didn’t know what name to use and I panicked btw have you guys been playing the windtrace event?? I literally can’t stop playing it help

art credit: @Liann1009 on twt

The swaying of forest leaves reflected off the clear spring waters of the still river you had come to rest by. The sun was still high above the fluffy clouds and its warmth gently kissed the skin of every living being and creature under it. It was truly a beautiful day in the outskirts of Sumeru City. And along with the chirping of birds, the sound of your laughter resonated through the forest breeze like a soft melody — absolutely enchanting, he thought, if it wasn’t caused by that damned insolent insect.

Archons, could the man not get a break? Is this finally the ‘divine punishment’ mortals so often preach about? Glaring sharp eyes quietly trailed the tall, orange-headed idiot as he fumbled around you like some love-sick child, far too comfortable with you for the latter's liking. Feelings of disdain soon turned to seething anger. Despite all my efforts, slender fingers dug into the grass underneath him, he still manages to ruin what little I have. Had he not gone through grueling enough changes? Did sacrificing absolutely everything to start anew mean so little? He gave up his past titles, erased his previous relationships, and severed every last thread that connected him to his past self — aside from you — and yet, here stood the bane of his existence during his time as a Fatui Harbinger. And to make things worse, you’re actually friends with him.

Childe, he sneered.

“Ajax, how could you get so excited over anemo slimes?” You giggled as your eyes fluttered into crescents and you bashfully hit the freckled man next to you. You couldn’t help but tease your longtime friend for getting so excited over a few anemo slimes floating around a tree. Though you’d admit, the straight edge determination reflecting from his ocean eyes as he stood straight and strung his bow back to aim made your stomach swirl slightly. You noticed the way his fingertips elegantly let go of the string and effortlessly sliced through the anemo slime mid-air, despite being positioned below and meters away from the distant cliff side tree the anemo slimes were hovering around. It’s amazing, you thought. But what earned him your admiration was the simple fact that he wasn’t trying. Childe didn’t need to. Even when he’s doing something in lighthearted fun, so long as it involves weapons, he’ll breeze through any obstacle or ‘challenge’ with ease. That’s what made Childe, Tartaglia.

However, there was someone who didn’t share that sentiment.

Honestly, Scaramouche doesn’t even know how he ended up in this archon-forsaken situation. The day had begun like any other day, with your limbs intertwined with Scaramouche as he gently stroked your hair and counted the seconds in between as your chest slowly rose and fell — an action he vehemently denies that he does because he longs for your touch; not to mention that it just so happens that the feel of your body against his calms the occasional insecurities and self-deprecating voices whispering in his head. Scaramouche lightly shook his head in flustered contempt when he caught himself softly smiling and gqze slightly softening at the memory of your skin against his, useless thoughts aren’t going to aid me in figuring out how or why I’m stuck here. internally groaning he thought of when you woke up today. you had found him already awake and tidying up the room you had both stayed in the previous night. As you sat up rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you watched Scaramouches quick and precise movements as he prepared your traveling satchel. Funny, you thought, he does all this and I never hear a thing. As much of a light sleeper as you might be, no matter how many chores he’s completed before you wake, you never hear a sound stir you from your slumber. Of course, when you finally got out of bed you found yourself presented with a small plate of assorted fresh fruit waiting for you on the kitchen table, a sight you see every morning. However, you’ve long learned better than to outright thank him for breakfast, or any small acts of service. Not because you don’t appreciate his quiet considerations, but because you learned that Scaramouche will act like a total brat if you confront him about his kindness. Insults range from calling you a moron to being labeled delusional, so you’ve figured it’s best to enjoy these little things and thank him in that way. Lastly, Scara thought about the events that happened after breakfast when it was time to set off yet again. Ah, that’s right…, he begrudgingly remembered. it was as soon as you left the inn that you happened to bump into a tall figure. An apology left your lips quickly before you hurriedly scrambled to catch up to Scaramouches' fading figure until a hand cautiously grabbed your wrist.

“Y/n?” The stranger spoke. At the sound of your name, you quickly whipped your head around to see a messy head of orange locks and a familiar lopsided smile being directed at you. “Ajax?” “So it is you—!!” Sculpted arms immediately wrapped around your frame and lifted you into their embrace. “It’s been too long!”, the voice beamed, and your momentary confusion soon turned into joy as you wrapped your arms around his neck and softly giggled. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on a mission in Inazuma?” You questioned as he set you down with his hands still latched onto your hips, “Well I was mostly there for personal affairs, and I just arrived in sumeru a few weeks ago on assignment,” his voice softened as his head slightly tilted to the side, “I’ve been missing you.” Raising your hand to cup his cheek, you brushed your thumb across the freckles adorning the mighty 11ths features, “I’ve missed you too, Ajax.” Then as if a light bulb had just lit up in his head Childe clasped his hand over yours, “Are you free today? Why don’t you go sightseeing with me? My treat!” “Ah, well I’m actually traveli—“ but before you could finish your sentence you felt cold fingertips clasp around your forearm and roughly snatch it away from the gingers hold, “She’s traveling with me,” indigo irises narrowed menacingly on Childe, and the pure aura exuding from the raven-haired man was comparably hostel to the icy and dreadful snowstorms of Snezhnaya. Scaramouche forced himself between you and Childe, standing protectively in front of you as the latter glared down at him with a smile still plastered across his lips, “Comrade. Who’s this?” Childe inquired, “Oh! This is m—“ you tried answering but Scaramouche cut you off once more with an exaggerated scoff, “The question is who are you?” Crossing his arms and holding his head ever so arrogantly he continued, “Tch. Don't you have any common decency? Or are you just too impertinent to practice basic respect?” A short, dry laugh left Childes lips, “I see.” Crossing his arm and raising a hand up to lightly tap his fingertips on his jaw, Childe feigned ignorance, “Y/n never minded my touches,” with a taunting smile and desolate eyes, he chuckled, “in fact, I’m all too familiar with where she prefers to be touched.” And with that Scaramouches patience snapped, “You dare to—“ sensing the oncoming altercation you quickly grabbed a hold of Scaras hand and guided him behind you, “You’re both very important to me,” you began, “and if I matter to either of you then you’d respect those who matter to me,” glancing between the two men you sharpened your tone, “I’d like you both to get along.”

That was the last thing Scaramouche recalled before he found himself third wheeling the rest of the day. With each moment seemingly getting worse and worse. What an infantile reason to get excited about. They’re practically oversized balloons, his attention darted in Childes direction and his usual scowl was now replaced with a daggering glower, Evidently, this damn worthless scum is filled with much more hot air than any damn anemo slime in the sky.

Scaramouche wasn’t ignorant, it was clear to him since that nuisance came around that his former Harbinger ‘comrade’ had deeper feelings for you than he let on. After all, despite his distaste for the man Scara had spent adequate enough time with Childe to learn a few aspects about him; firstly, Childe can be described by humans as having an extroverted, ‘charming’ persona, and he has no trouble making friends wherever he goes, however, he never lets anyone touch him — it’s a subtle habit and not one easily picked up on; a far cry to the current situation in which Scaramouche has had to swat his hand away from you for the fourth time in a minute. Secondly, despite the hours upon hours the idiot could spend rambling about fishing or spar training, he never actually shares any personal information about himself, and yet, he’d gone as far as surrendering his real name to you. Not to mention he had no problem speaking to you about how much his siblings would ‘love’ you, of course, they’d love her, he scoffed, who doesn’t fall for her? Lastly, and most notably, Childe has no glimmer of life in his eyes. To be honest, if Scaramouche had to think, the only other time the 11th showed even a hint of a glint he would say it would be when Childes tearing his enemies limb from limb — an idea Scara is finding more and more appealing. So then, he thought, I guess I’ll just have to stomp on that little light of his. Tapping his foot impatiently on the ground an ominous shadow gloomed over his face as he lost himself in his thoughts, she’s mine. mine. mine. It had been long since Scaramouche had realized his feelings for you, and he had made it very clear to you that he had no intention of sharing you with others. No, Scaramouche no longer wanted just your friendship, he wanted you.

“Shall I go buy some snacks from a food stall nearby before dinner, comrade?” Standing from his spot next to you, Childe towered over you with his body leaning down to loom mere inches from your slightly warmed face, “I did say I’d treat you today..” half-lidded eyes traced your movements as he brought a gloved hand to cascade across your cheekbone, “didn’t I?” His voice was low and his smile smug; Childe knew full well what he was doing in front of Scaramouche, and he basked in it, though it’s not as if these actions were all too new either. “A-ah.. I- um,” stuttering over her words, huh?, Childe mused, how cute. However, the mere sight of this atrocious act almost made Scaramouche use his anemo vision to slice that wretched excuse of a warrior in half. With a soft smile, you leaned into Childes hand, making the man’s eyes widen in slight surprise as a light dust of pink spread over his face, “That’d be great Ajax, thank you.”

Internally groaning, Scaramouche rested his arms on his knees and hid his head behind his arms as his pretty lilac eyes stayed focused on you, there’s her smile again…, his brows faintly knitted together when he felt his chest start to ache, always caused by something else. He couldn’t help but wonder whether you were truly happy wandering through the lands of Teyvat with him.

“Then I’ll make it quick!” With a goofy smile and a wink, Childe went off into the city walls. Leaving you and Scaramouche resting alone with nothing more than the sound of the river flowing and the city chatter lightly busting in the background. Closing his eyes, Scaramouches brows quirked in annoyance, that self-serving imbecile didn’t even bother to pretend he even remembered me. The feeling in his chest was all too familiar to the electro Archons puppet. Clutching where his heart should be he couldn’t understand why this feeling wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t understand why he hadn’t learned his lesson despite starting anew. Maybe I was meant to live this way… he thought. Feeling a small tap on his shoulder, Scara whipped his head up to see you sitting right next to him, your body lulled to the side and brushing against him as you tilted your head down to get a better look at his sulking face. For a second he was stunned by the suddenness of your closeness, but then he was held captive by your feathery lashes and beaming smile; a warm smile finally directed at him. How quickly his chest went from hurting to blooming with warmth was almost pathetic. Even if you were the reason why he was drowning in misery, even if his pain had been caused by your ignorance, you were still the reason why he felt joy. It’s always because of you…, without realizing his hand had already reached to gently tuck the loose strands of hair blowing across your face, and just as quickly as he realized he retracted his hand in a huff of frustration and embarrassment.

Humming in acknowledgment, you stared off into the grassy mountains of sumeru, “You’ve been awfully quiet today,” your voice was soft and tranquil, “how uncharacteristic of you, no?” Glancing to the side you smiled when you saw him lightly scoff under his breath as he turned his head away from your direction.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re rambling on about.” He grumbled.

“Shall I elaborate?”

“I’d rather you not.” Piercing irises threateningly glared in your direction.

“You’ve been ill-tempered,” you began, and Scaramouche rolled his eyes, “hmm which isn’t all too out of the ordinary, but you’ve definitely been lashing out at every little thing.” With a knowing glint, you glanced at your longtime companion, “Not to mention your aggression with Ajax.” And at that Scaramouche grimaced at the way you spoke his actual name, “You force yourself between Ajax and I whenever he gets close, you demean every single thing he says, you smack his hand away when he reaches out to me — even if it’s just to hand me something, and you taunt and mock him every chance you get,” pausing for a second you let out a heavy exhale before softening your gaze, unsure of whether what you say next is the right thing. “Kuni… all of that isn’t what worries me,” at that you felt his entire body stiffen, seemingly holding his breath as if every ticking second was more important than the last, “I noticed the nail marks you have on your palms from all the time you’ve spent clenching your fists, and I see the conflict that’s been raging behind your eyes since this journey with the three of us began,” balling your owns fists on the fabric of your clothes you let out your final observation, “As small as the changes are, or as hard as you try to hide it, kunikuzushi, I see you. I’ve memorized every expression, studied every curve and line that forms on your features and what they mean… I know you fear that I’ll abandon you,” you purse your lips at the thought, “So how dare you. How dare you ever think I would abandon my other half.”

The absolute, incredulous stare Scaramouche gave you almost made you choke out a muffled laugh. Catching the anemo holder off guard and speechless was a prize all too rare to witness. Yet, what caught your attention wasn’t that you’ve managed to leave him stunned and tight-lipped but instead the unfamiliar red that spread from his cheeks to his ears. There was a quiet gasp from your lips as you admired how beautifully his pale complexion was set off by the searing color. Instantly, your ears perk up as he speaks.

“I.. you don’t…” he began, but immediately he stopped himself. Then, a moment passed. And then a minute. The tension between you two seemed to pile up in pressure, and you now found yourself holding your breath and feeling your heart start to quicken as you stared at him. Awaiting what was to come next. With a defeated look and an airy sigh, he finally turned his full head toward you. “You really are foolish y/n,” his voice was strained, and his eyes peered into yours with such a soft intensity, “hah, really.. you couldn’t be more incompetent, could you?” Swallowing the lump in your throat, your glistening doe eyes simply gawked at him almost owl-like, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at your dumbfounded face. Then that’s when he smiled. A true, genuine, adoring smile, “Haven’t you realized that I’m in lo-“

“I’m back—!”

Childe’s voice ripped through the tension and practically grated Scaramouches ears while you jumped, startled at the sudden noise. Snapping your head to Childe, you saw him holding a small bag with the label titled Puspa Café. “I hope you don’t mind what I got us!” Reaching his hand into the bag he pulled out a crispy, sweet-smelling Candied Ajilenakh Nut dessert, “When I was walking through the different vendors, I was quite surprised to have found a dish that looked so similar to one of the desserts my motherland of Snezhnaya has!” Childe puffed his chest and extended the sugary sweet to you, “Though I’m confident the one from home tastes much better than this, I’m happy to share something similar with you,” softening his azure gaze as you took the dessert from him he continued with a gentler tone, “but I hope to one day treat you to one back home.” Blinking once, then blinking twice, you quickly glanced over at Scaramouche now positioned with his knee up and resting his arm on his knee to hide his face once more, I wonder what would’ve happened…, you pondered, but you knew better than to prod the conversation given the current situation. I suppose it’d be best to ask again later, turning your attention back to Childe you offered a thankful smile, “I’m sure one day we can visit if Kuni agrees to go.” At that, both men froze for a second. We..?, now it was Scaramouches turn to stare owlishly at the dancing grass brushing against his fingers, and without noticing he felt his entire body relax as he let out a quiet, small sigh of relief. Whereas Childe clenched his jaw in annoyance while still forcing an easy-going facade, I need to get rid of him, “Sounds like a plan comrade!” Was all he could muster through slightly clasped teeth as he sat down next to you. Humming to himself in deep thought, Childe wondered what to do about that asshole little leech that stayed glued to you.

All of you sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes — well, two were lost in their own thoughts either processing or scheming, whereas you simply sat between the two men enjoying time together as you feast on your sweet treat. "Ah. Comrade, you seem to have a few crumbs," "Hm?" Moving your hand up to brush away the stray pieces, Childe gently stopped you, "Allow me." He softly spoke as he leaned in close and carefully swiped away the crumbs; his hand then cascaded across your plush skin and caressed the curve of your jaw. Gazing into his eyes and cheeky smile, you found yourself at a loss, feeling both embarrassed and shy from the gesture.

Scaramouche, however, was not at all pleased. This little game of Childes has gone on far too long and writhing in self-loathing had been nothing but a waste of time. You were his. You’ll always be his, and there wasn’t a human, harbinger, adeptus, or archon in this damned world that could ever change that. So, with swift movements, he laced an arm around your waist and pulled you on top of his lap and into his possessive embrace. The sudden movement had stunned both you and Childe and you had no time to react as your eyes glanced up at the smug smirk spreading across Scaramouches lips. His eyes were low and scowling intently at Childe, while the Harbingers smiling face quickly fell, replaced by a much colder and sinister glower. “All this time and not once did you offer me one of those burnt little treats,” Scaras voice was low and mocking, and you could feel the icy touch of his slender fingertip tracing down the side of your face to the base of your chin to guide your full attention towards him, “guess that just means I have to take one myself, won’t I?” And in a quick moment, his lips came crashing down on yours. His kiss was rough but cautious, and you could feel the longing and desperation emitting atop his soft lips. At first, your eyes blew wide open in shock, but then, no matter how hard you tried to focus on what was going going on or move your body to react, all you could fixate on was one little detail, his lips taste.. like a Zaytun peach.

Parting his lips from yours, his eyes quickly scanned your face for any hint of disgust, any reaction, anything. You could clearly see the worry pooling in his irises, but before regret could creep up on him your eyes turned into crescent moons, and a pretty pink blush flushed your cheeks as you smiled dotingly at him. He was taken aback. At first, he was shocked, then confused, he even felt a little angry, but mostly he felt love. Turning his attention from you to the glaring daggers and clenched fists Childe had, Scara smiled in triumph and narrowed his eyes in slight. “You’re right, Harbinger,” bringing his thumb up to glide across his lips he licked them, “this treat isn’t bad, hah, not bad at all.”

side note: happy new year everyone!! and happy birthday to my first, and most cherished, Zhongli ᥫ᭡

Reblogs and Interactions Are Appreciated!! ღ

#jay writes ! ⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡̷̷̷ ⋆⁺₊⋆ #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wanderer x reader #Scaramouche x reader #Childe x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #childe x you #scaramouche x you #kunikuzushi #genshin fluff #genshin x you #wanderer x you #hurt/comfort #Genshin impact x you #genshin fanfic #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin wanderer #genshin scaramouche #genshin childe #genshin comfort

[dawn-moths]

♡ “what he does for you on your birthday” sd!nanami headcanons (since it’s my birthday today and i want this man to spoil me lol)

♡ words: 2,800+

♡ content warning: contains 18+ content! minors please do not interact! daddy kink, size difference, reader is called “princess, sweetheart, angel”, reader is picked up and carried shorty, aftercare, bathing together.

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♡ You start your day having slept in (which you usually do, Nanami knows his precious little baby needs her rest) and wake up loosely tangled among the soft sheets and fluffy comforters of the king sized bed. You look over, expectant and excited to see Nanami lying next to you, but your joy quickly turns to confusion when you find his place in bed empty. However, the moment you smell the decadent sweetness of your favorite homemade french toast drifting in to the bedroom, and hear the distant, muffled clinking and clattering of pots and pans from the kitchen, a gentle grin finds its way back onto your face.

♡ Stepping out of bed, you slide your feet into your favorite fluffy pink slippers, scuffing them gently across the floors as you wrap your billowing silk robe tighter around your shoulders and approach the kitchen. You can hear him humming, the melody slow and lilting in his rich, smooth baritone. Sometimes he hums to you when you can’t fall asleep at night, softly stroking his knuckles along your cheek or his palm against your hair until you finally doze off. But now, as he looks over at you standing in the entryway, his song ceases and a smile spreads across his stoic features.

♡ “Good morning, princess,” Nanami greets you with syrupy sweet adoration, setting the spatula that was in his hand off to the side where he’d just flipped the piece of bread cooking in the pan before migrating closer to you. You meet him in the middle and fall into his arms, nuzzling into his chest as he kisses you on the head, squeezing you slightly tighter in his embrace, and asks, “Sleep well, birthday girl?” in a quiet, velvety murmur.

♡ You nod against him, feeling a yawn rising in your chest, knowing you won’t be able to suppress it as it fights its way from your body, limbs still a little heavy with fading slumber. Nanami hums out an endearing note, beginning to guide you further into the kitchen to sit at the white marble counter where he’s already made you a plate piled high with fresh, juicy strawberries and rippling, fluffy whipped cream, mini chocolate chips sprinkled atop the mountain of the sugary masterpiece.

♡ The first bite tastes like heaven, your eyes glittering with glee as you shift your gaze from your breakfast to the man you love so much. A part of you is honestly a little impressed how well the french toast turned out. Nanami’s cooked for you before a few times in the past, but with his busy schedule the two of you usually end up at one of your favorite 5-star restaurants or have one of the interns drop off some fancy takeout. You’re glad that Nanami is willing to indulge with you, sliding into the seat next to you with his own plate that’s nearly identical, though his has far less whipped cream and chocolate chips and is accompanied by his usual mug of black coffee. He’s never really had a sweet tooth like you do, but once in a while, on special occasions, he’ll make an exception.

♡ Golden sunlight streams in through the tall, floor to ceiling windows as breakfast concludes, and Nanami says he has a surprise for you— only, it’s hardly a surprise, as you know he goes above and beyond on your birthday. The only question will be how will he outdo last year?

♡ He leads you by the hand towards the living room, then, right before you can turn the corner he stops and tells you to close your eyes. “Promise you won’t peek until I tell you?” He playfully requests, and you giggle and do as he asks, replying with excitement, “I promise, as long as you don’t make me wait too long!” From there, once your eyes are closed and covered by your hands, he guides you into the room, leaving you waiting in suspense for just a moment before announcing you can open your eyes, and as soon as you do, you can’t help as a gasp slips past your sugar-dusted lips.

♡ The whole room is decked out with glittering decorations and fresh bouquets of roses in pink and white and red, balloons of the same colors scattered across the floor and floating in their own hovering bouquets in each corner of the room. Sparkling confetti is strewn across the floor (you can’t believe Nanami was willing to make such a mess, even on your birthday, but he must’ve remembered when you said how much you loved confetti at your childhood birthday parties growing up and decided that one day with the mansion in slight disarray couldn’t hurt) and at the center of it all is a pile of neatly stacked presents, each box wrapped in shiny paper and topped with a big, silky bow, metallic silver balloons hovering behind the gifts in the numbers of your new age.

♡ For a moment, you’re so caught in awe, you’re just standing there, but as Nanami places a big hand on your shoulder and says, “You know, the presents aren’t going to open themselves…” with a hint of harmless teasing, you instinctively begin to draw nearer to your shimmering gifts, all the decadence luring you in like a moth to a flame.

♡ It takes over an hour for you to open everything, leaving the room littered with more glittering paper debris and streamers of ribbon, this year’s birthday gifts consisting of everything from the latest designer handbags and shoes in your favorite colors to the oversized plushies that you so adore (and keep piling high on all the guest beds as Nanami had to put a cap on the number allowed to live in the bedroom you two shared at three) and some books you’d been dying to read. In the end, it doesn’t matter the cost of the gift, you love each and every one of them equally because they all came from your Daddy, specially and thoughtfully selected for his perfect little princess.

♡ But the day has only just begun, and as the clock ticks over into the early afternoon, Nanami is already suggesting you go get ready for a day of top secret, super special birthday soirée activities. So you put on your favorite dress, pairing it with one of your new pairs of shoes and a pair of diamond earrings, grab one of your new handbags, and walk out the door arm in arm with Nanami. He lets you choose which of his sports cars you want to be driven around in today— you pick one of the convertibles— you queue up your favorite playlist, and you sing along to your favorite songs with the wind twining through your hair as Nanami speeds into the heart of the city.

♡ Your first stop is the luxury shopping block where your Daddy treats you to even more expensive items from your favorite brands, designers, and boutiques. When he asks you what you want for lunch and you reply with, “Ice cream!” followed by an adorably devious giggle, knowing if it were any other day, Nanami would never let sweets substitute a meal. But today, of course, is no ordinary day, so Nanami gives you a grin and shakes his head to himself, unable to say no to you as you’re already drifting towards your favorite little ice cream shop and all its pastel pink, blue, and green flag banners beckoning you from the elaborately decorated window display. Nanami must be in an especially cheerful mood today himself, as, not only did he have french toast this morning, he also indulges in two scoops of his favorite flavors.

♡ You two take a break from all the walking and shopping as you enjoy your afternoon dessert in one of the plush retro booths of the ice cream parlor, sampling each others flavors here and there as your ankles intertwine underneath the table. When the toe of your shoe begins to inch further up his leg, slow and teasing, Nanami flashes you a look that is both warning and wanting, as if he’s daring you to see how much you can get away with here before anyone else catches on. But you decide to cease your little game before it goes too far, knowing full well that tonight he’ll be the one teasing you.

♡ After ice cream, you two do a little more shopping and then decide to catch a movie as you happen past the theatre and take a peek at what’s playing. You’re so exhausted from shopping that you nearly doze off with your head rested against his shoulder in the dark of the room, the theatre nearly empty aside from one or two other people catching the matinee showtimes. Nanami’s arm drapes comfortably around your body, wishing there wasn’t an arm rest in the way so he could let you curl into his lap like he knows you love to do so much. You guys are in the very back row, so he figures he might be able to get away with it what with the other scattered patrons sitting more towards the middle and front, but you seem to remember that you actually want to pay attention, stirring back awake and trying to right your posture a little straighter so you don’t get too comfortable.

♡ Once the movie is over, you two head back to the car and it’s already dinner time. Nanami hopes you didn’t fill up too much on the ice cream earlier, because he has a reservation at one of your favorite 5-star restaurants tonight. He was even able to get your favorite table too, the one on the second floor with the view from the window where you can watch the glittering lights of the city as you dine on delicacies from all different corners of the world. In the end, you do have to take about half of your dinner home, but that’s alright, because Nanami knows you like to snack on your leftovers the next day.

♡ It’s nearly nine o’clock when you two finally arrive home, and Nanami can tell you’re worn out, but in the best way. “Tired, princess?” he asks when he catches you in the middle of a big yawn. You nod and smile, telling him “Only a little bit…” to which he chuckles under his breath and replies, “It’s hard work being the birthday girl, isn’t it?” and that earns him another sleepy nod and a grin. But Nanami has one last surprise for you, so he hopes you have enough energy left to enjoy it.

♡ Suggesting you two head upstairs, you’re none the wiser to the fact that, while you two were out, he had Nobara, Yuuji, and Megumi drop by the house to set up the last surprise in the master bedroom. He’d been secretly texting them throughout the day and getting updates on how things were coming along. His interns never disappointed, and even Nanami is in awe once he finally pushes open the doors and casts his gaze upon the room that’s been so decorated it’s nearly unrecognizable as your shared bedroom. You, of course, are blown away, completely and joyously surprised as you take in all the bouquets of flowers and balloons and ribbons that curl from the ceiling down to the floor in a cascade of all your favorite colors.

♡ It’s so much to take in that, at first, you don’t even notice the box topped with a big, silky pink bow sitting at the center of the bed, just waiting— begging— to be opened. Once you do though, you glance back at Nanami as if to ask, “For me?” and he gestures a hand towards it as if to say, “Of course, do you even need to ask?” and that’s all the confirmation you need to go bounding towards the bed, doing a jump to land before the box with your legs tucked beneath you, knees bordering it on either side. No matter how excited you are though, you always savor the way the thick, colorful paper peels away to reveal what’s hidden underneath, appreciating it like it’s art— sort of like how Nanami always takes good care to enjoy every detail of how each piece of your clothing he takes away reveals a view of your skin to him, no matter how familiar, no matter how eager he may secretly be, he always takes his time in unwrapping his favorite gift.

♡ He delights in the way your eyes light up as you land your gaze upon the new lingerie set he picked out especially for you— another one in your favorite pink and white with ribbons and lace, yet still unlike all your others of a similar design— and mutters in your ear as he places one of his big, warm hands on your shoulder, his palm engulfing you, “Wanna try it on, sweetheart?” to which you flash another one of those devilishly adorable smiles and reply, “Be right back,” before planting a quick peck on his cheek and scampering off into the master bathroom with a giggle. Once you’ve changed you merely crack the bathroom door, giving him a teasing sliver of a peek from the gap between the connecting rooms before emerging all the way.

♡ Sometimes Nanami likes when you play with him, likes how you’re able to help him forget all his important, pressing responsibilities, even if just for a short while, and go to a place where it’s just the two of you, living in your own perfect little fantasy world. He likes that you challenge him sometimes too, thinking you’ve gained the upper hand— and he lets you believe it too, for a little while— before being reminded just who’s really in control here.

♡ So, standing by the bathroom door, back pressed to the wall, he rhetorically asks, “Is everything alright in there?” catching another quick glimpse of you through the tiny opening. “Why don’t you come find out?” you bait, a devious lilt woven into your sweet tone. You two go back and forth for a little while, the push and pull of who holds the power egging you both on, until it all ends with you sat atop one of the counters with him standing between your legs, his jutting sex pressed to your soaked core, your mouths locked in a languid, deep kiss that leaves you breathless, lips slick with each others spit. When he suggests you move things back to the bed, you just give an eager little nod and let Nanami scoop you up in his strong grip, fingers digging into the plush flesh of the back of your thighs, and carry you back to the mattress.

♡ And he puts every other year of birthday sex to shame this time around, his hands and mouth and cock practically worshiping every inch of you, taking his time and really working you up until your legs are trembling and your back is arching and you’re whining his name through a clipped moan of divine pleasure, giving you a little more time than usual to come down from the high before he’s gifting you with another earth shattering orgasm.

♡ Once all is said and done and you’re both fully satisfied, Nanami cleans you up with a warm washcloth and leaves you to rest while he draws up a candle lit bath for the two of you to share, vibrant crimson rose petals scattered and floating along the water’s surface, and gently massages different parts of your body as you rest with your back to his chest, your body cradled between his legs. Your lethargic little fingers reach back behind you and lazily play with his hair, tired whispers of “Love you, Daddy…” and “Best birthday ever…” falling from your lips. Nanami kisses the top of your head, his grip flexing slightly tighter on you for a moment as he says, “I love you too, angel. I hope you had the best day ever.” You turn to face him, still moving slowly, and straddle his lap in the big, porcelain tub. Staring into his eyes, the flickering candle light dancing in the center of all that dark, alluring tawny, you press a chaste yet lingering kiss to his lips. “Every day with you is the best day ever,” you tell him, and it’s so sincere it sort of catches him off guard. “You’re the best gift any girl could ever ask for.”

♡ Nanami’s expression of awe morphs into adoring contentment, into the purest, softest kind of love. He lightly nudges his nose against yours and says, “I’d still give you the world, if you asked for it.” Laying your head on his shoulder and relaxing against his form, you mutter, “Don’t have to… I already have it.”

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#hope you guys enjoy! im heading out to start my birthday festivities now 🥳🎂 #it’s gonna be a fun day im excited ☺️ #anyway i hope everyone else has a wonderful day today too 💕 #nanami kento #nanami kento fanfic #nanami kento jjk #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen nanami

[elfqueen006]

Look Through Me

Mime!Jack (Jacque) x Reader

Cw: fem reader, voyeurism, masturbation, emotional manipulation and all that ill shit.

MINORS DNI OBVIOUSLY.

Based off this illustration by The Sauce

You lay up in your bed, limbs splayed out, staring frustratedly up at the ceiling. You’ve been pretty pent up lately. You’ve tried putting your hand in your pants a few times, trying an experimental roll and tug of your clit. Though your mind keeps drifting to uncomfortably familiar imagery: fluffy ginger hair, freckles on fair skin, pouty pink lips.

You grimace at the realization. You miss Ian.

Despite him cheating on you… betraying you, you’d spent a large portion of your life together. Not just as lovers, but as best friends. Though you were guiltless about sending him away, you missed his presence more than you cared to admit. How he hugged you from behind in the early mornings; kissed your neck while his hair tickled your skin; how his voice had a pleading lilt when he begged you to touch him…

You jolt, coming out of a daze when you realize you’d gotten yourself wet from thoughts of your ex. Your slick gathers on your thumb and forefinger. You sigh, it’s been a while since you felt this way. There were plenty of times Ian had offered to give it to you like he always did, ‘for old times sake’ he said. Though you turned him down everytime. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you still missed his body, and you damn sure wouldn’t let him have yours again. Not after what he did.

You tug at your clit again, a shiver running up your spine at the action. Then, you run your finger up your slit before plunging it through your puffy folds. A groan draws out of your throat. 

You’ve accepted that you miss Ian. But he doesn’t have to know that. It’s just you here.

“Oh~” Your back arches as you finger yourself, hips undulating with each pump. The sound of your heart is ringing in your ears. You can barely hear it over your heavy breathing. It’s comfortably dark behind your eyelids, though you can’t help but as if the darkness is staring back. Your eyes flutter a bit when you push yourself closer to that edge. Then you try an experimental call of your ex’s name,

“Ian…” it’s a whisper. You imagine his whine of your name. His arms on either side of your head while he grinds into you. Your hips buck, “Ian…!” You call once more, your voice strained and pleading. Your eyes feel like they’re rolling over as your eyelids flutter once more, “Ian-”

Your eyes catch something in the dark. A looming figure. Tall and monochrome with only hints of color like a refraction prism. It's Jacque… 

It’s Jacque.

“Jacque! Shit- Ooh!” You end up tipping yourself over the edge without even realizing, startling yourself into a ruined orgasm. It feels less like you’ve achieved climax and more like you’ve spilled putty on your crotch. You’re about to scold him, but the moment you look up Jacque is already out the room, the door creaking in his wake.

You simply flop down onto your pillow, feeling tired and gross. You’ll clean yourself up soon. But right now you have to piece together what the fuck just happened.

You’ve never been so eager to go to work.

You’re awake before your alarm gets you. And you’re relieved to find Jacque doesn’t wake you like he usually does.

You know just what clothes to throw on - a simple tee and a pair of shorts for warm weather, and just enough so you won’t feel stuffed under your uniform apron. Thank goodness that tacky fifties style dress shirt was optional. Even still, you were suddenly very appreciative of your job today. You needed a long and uneventful day of work - or maybe it was super eventful. The whole shop could be chock full of Karens for all you cared, so long as you didn’t have to think about what happened last night. 

After doing away with the hygienics, you’re on your way out the door, though halfway down the apartment steps you get a call from your manager, Barry.

“Hey there!” He says, and no matter how eager you are for work, his chipper voice will never be not annoying to listen to.

“Hey there, Barry, I’m on my way now.” You reply.

He laughs, “I’m glad to hear it, but right now we won't be needing your services. Carol finally came off of sick leave and now you don’t have to come in on your day off! Bet you’re happy to hear that, huh?”

A breeze passes over, making you feel light enough to blow over.

“Hello?”

“Yeah…” Your voice comes out broken.

“Everything alright? You sound…off.”

“Oh no!” You cough when your voice goes up an octave, “No, I’m just… relieved! Thank you so much for letting me know! I was stressing about it all week.” It was only a little true. You have been stressed about work lately, but not above your normal level of being so. But of all the worst times to be given your well deserved day off…

“So, I’m gonna go and enjoy my day off now, bye!”

“Uh, bye. See you next-” Click.

You turn back, looking up to your apartment door. “Fuck.”

When you slink inside your apartment, who else do you find in your living room but your ‘best friend’. Jacque sits primly on the couch, watching a cheesy sitcom with a placid expression. The glow of the TV illuminates his white face paint, giving him an almost ethereal look. Noticing you standing in the doorway, he slowly turned his head to you. A subtle raise of his eyebrows show he’s surprised to see you haven’t even been gone a minute.

“Barry gave me the day off…” You said.

He gives a nod with a curt smile. He’s happy for you.

You gesture vaguely to your kitchen, “Guess I’ll get myself some breakfast.”

At this Jacque immediately gets up, eager to cook for you like he always does. You wave him off, “No, no! Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll just make some cereal.”

The mime side steps you and blocks you off from the kitchen. He takes your hands in his, giving them a firm squeeze. You look into those dark doe eyes, and you have to force back a chill from coming up your spine. Any other day they’d be adorable, and they are. But after remembering how they were practically staring into your soul while you touched yourself… 

You immediately break eye contact.

Jacque gets to work in the kitchen like usual. It’s crazy though, the skills of this man; he isn’t in there for five minutes and there's the smell of flapjacks, bacon, and eggs. Each frying separately. It's like he manifested the breakfast essentials out of thin air, despite you not being on a grocery run in a week. And was that a fucking custom apron he was wearing?!

You decide to take a sit down at your dining room table. Watching this is making your head hurt.

With your palms covering your face, shrouding you in temporary darkness, all you can think back to is Jacque’s voyeuristic gaze. It seems like even then they were all you could see. You didn’t know if he was smiling, disgusted, confused… You might feel better if he was any of the latter. It’d be reasonable. It’d be right. Not the possibility that a mime, a children’s performer, could be slinking inside your room like a common pervert to watch as you called out for your ex.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is too weird. You can’t let this go.

The smell of breakfast hangs heavy in the air. Though the lead in your stomach is heavier.

“We need to talk.” You said, your voice sounding new and serious.

There’s shuffling in the background, and the sound of frying stops. You turn to see Jacque looking at you expectantly, hands clasped together. You stand up and stare him head on.

“What you did last night was …unacceptable,”

Jacque is silent.

“I mean I don’t even know why you did it, I almost want to apologize because…you are still a guest in my apartment, it would feel a little weird if your host was caught…you know, in the same area- but we weren’t even in the same area, you were in my living room where you should’ve stayed and just… Why man?”

No response.

“...Maybe we should set some boundaries. Because… this cannot happen again. I’m very uncomfortable and you should be too.”

Jacque holds your stare for a moment, then slips off his oven mitts. “Do you miss Ian?” He signs.

“...Say again?”

“Do you. Miss. Ian?” 

“No.” You lie.

“Why did you call him?” He signs.

“Because...”

“Because?”

You groan, “Because I was horny. Is that what you want me to say, Mr. Mime? I was pent up! I have needs that I should be free to satisfy in an isolated part of my home without the interruption of an indeterminate house guest!” You huff and fold your arms, feeling yourself getting heated from the neck up. And to add to the embarrassment, you’re tearing up, more out of frustration than anything. You flinch at the sudden feel of soft fabric caressing your checks. Jacque thumbs away your tears, and he gives you a sorrowful look.

“Look, it’s fine I just-”

He shakes his head.

“Really Jacque if you could just- dammit!”

When you try jerking away from his hold he pulls you in a tight hug, your head pressed against his broad chest. You struggle against him, though he doesn’t budge. Eventually you stop struggling and give in to letting him hug you and gently rock you side to side. He trails a hand up and down your back before kneading his fingers through your hair. It’s annoying how weirdly relaxing it is despite everything… he’s got no right making you feel this way.

Jacque pulls back slightly to cradle your face. He searches your eyes for more tears.

“I…I’m fine. For real this time,” you said. The smile he gives is earnest and so damn sweet. You stop him when he turns to the kitchen again, “Jacque. I do miss Ian.”

Jacque furrows his brows, obviously concerned - no - troubled at this revelation, though you defend yourself, “It-It’s only because…I’m not used to anyone else. Everything before then has just been me and him,”

“Him and I.” He corrects.

“Don’t talk to me about grammar…” You sigh, “Listen, all I’m saying is I’m ready to move on. Still, I’ve been lonely… So I need you now more than ever.” As you say this, you take his hands in yours, finally mustering the courage to look into his eyes. 

He strokes a thumb over your fingers before leaning in to hug you. You accept it gracefully, not even flinching when he caresses your waist. He’d be here for you, and whatever you need.

-----

OOookay! So obviously I kind of half-assed it near the end and the original ending was gonna be of him and the reader getting it on by the table and hearing hints of his voice via breathplay. Bc he was gonna be breathing in their ear. Yknow, like an "oooh clever" moment.

Buuut I couldn't do that bc I used up my supply of sexy when writing the masturbation scene for this and I drained myself over this fic and I'm ready to move on. Even still, I hope you all enjoyed regardless!

Stay sweet <333

#somethings wrong with sunny day jack #sunny day jack fanfiction #sunny day jack x reader #sdj x reader #sdj jacque x reader #sdj smut #yandere male #yandere visual novel #yandere x reader #female reader #sunny day jack #my fics

[rainy-astrology]

Rising signs

Just a post about rising signs - the details I notice about each physically and personality wise. I may change/add to this later

**Aspects to ascendant, venus, stelliums, degrees, and anything in 1st house can affect your rising sign**

___

Aries

Strong/thick eyebrows

Strong features...sharp jaws and cheekbones

Can have markings on their face

May have big foreheads

Naturally blunt and straightforward, sassy

___

Taurus

Broad shoulders (esp if person has strong venus + Taurus influence). Taurus does rule the neck and shoulder areas

Pointed chin and cheekbones, angular jaw

Long fingers

Tend to be more slender compared to Taurus suns

Simple and clean fashion usually, may wear accessories. I know a lot of Tauruses/Taurus placements and they all rly seem to love accessories, especially on their wrists or necks

Calm demeanour, may even seem slow

Can look tired/sleepy

___

Gemini

May have long limbs

Small faces and features

May wear glasses

Talkative

Usually straightforward in communication, may not even have a filter

___

Cancer

Seem to be small ppl - height, weight, presence...most are often very quiet and even a little shy. Often soft spoken

Cancer rising women may have bigger chests and/or thighs

Round faces, cheekbones

Watery and soft eyes. Idk how to explain it, they just look watery, like they're gonna cry. May look sad naturally (although I've observed this in all 3 water risings...)

They just look soft and gentle overall

Can have a caring, motherly/parental energy to them

___

Leo

Always noticeable tbh even if they're not stylish. E.g I had a Leo rising classmate in high school who was not fashionable in any way, but he was also the only student in our class who wore leather gloves everyday. He also always styled his hair. I have a female leo rising acquaintance who always dressed up every day to class. She never looked plain. Her hair was always styled and to this day it is still fluffy and curly

But a lot of them do like fashion tho and take pride in their style

Usually have fluffy/styled hair

Broad back and shoulders, always stand tall and upright

Can look like cats sometimes

Cheekbones

Tbh surprisingly quiet ppl, only their presence is loud. But can be social if you approach them

___

Virgo

Virgo rising men tend to be really tall, while Virgo rising women are often shorter

Wider faces and forehead

Square shaped jaw; often have nice strong jawlines in general

I've also seen so many wear glasses. I'm starting to wonder if it's a Mercury thing...

Can be talkative

Have a very down to earth energy

___

Libra

Most are conventionally attractive physically, seem nice and likeable at 1st glance. Even if they're not, they know how to talk and act to make ppl like them either way. Libra placements want to be liked and so always try to make a good 1st impression. So yes they're careful about their image

Balanced proportions. Long legs especially, no matter their height

Dimples

A lot tend to wear neutral colors; often know how to dress and appear neat

___

Scorpio

Long faces, big noses

Often have a sharp, intense gaze

May have hooded eyes, arched brows

A lot love to wear black

May have an intense, intimidating energy

Are pretty quiet ppl

___

Sagittarius

Often big in some way - height, weight, presence...you can definitely hear their laugh from a mile away

Thick thighs and/or butts. Sag rising women especially may have curves

Not that stylish I've noticed...they just wear whatever is comfortable

Very friendly and approachable. They can talk to anyone and befriend them. People may always want to talk to them too

Very energetic and expressive

___

Capricorn

Often smaller ppl. Body build leans more onto the stocky, thick side and most are short

Noticeable teeth; prominent bone structure in general

Care about the way they dress; always want to look presentable

May seem serious at first glance. Tbh I think they are a bit more intimidating to me compared to a Scorpio rising

Hardworking ppl, always busy with something

___

Aquarius

Round eyes, always seem to have a spark in them

Can dress in experimental fashion. Like their sister sign Leo, they want to stand out too. Although Leos may appear more cool and trendy, while Aquarius dress a bit quirky

May be thick in certain body parts

Very straightforward ppl; they don't seem scared to speak their mind...although Aquarius placements in general just tend to be blunt

___

Pisces

So many look lost tbh often have the "deer in headlights" expression naturally

Pretty in a whimisical kind of way...Although just may be a Pisces thing in general

Have the watery eyes look as well; round and big eyes

The Pisces rising I've come across often have small waists

___

Masterlist

___

Other blogs:

Main: Kpop typology (MBTI + Enneagram) @rainymbti

Side: Kpop fanarts @rainy-artworks

#rising signs #astrology #astro notes #my astro observations #astro observations #i know i mentioned gender but it's in terms of biology not gender identity. i always try to be gender neutral as possible #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

[wolven91]

Boop To Accept

Gary blinked as the leathery pad of the alien brushed against his nose, compressing it lightly.

"...er?"

"Oh? Did I do it wrong? I'll try again!" said the canid with a concerned tone. 

The near-face sized digit pushed gently at his nose again.

When Gary got up this morning with the knowledge he'd be working as a guard for the following week with dangerous species known as canids, or 'Space-Werewolves' as they were known amongst humans, he had assumed it would be a silent and serious affair. He had found himself on a station that had a far higher number of canids than anywhere before, apparently a military waypoint that was located at the centre of a travelling nexus, as such, the enigmatic canids were now a common sight to him.

The canids were separated from the rest of the races of the community, seen as a naturally dangerous or even hostile species. The canids happily avoided involving themselves except to accept work and offer aloof grunts or shakes of their fluffy main. They were the assault troops, soldiers one and all with the natural dangerous biology to assist them in these roles. Long strong legs, ending in lethal black sickle-like claws. Their bodies, whilst covered in a thick pelt that provided some protection in of itself, were made from dense corded muscles that rippled under their pelt. Their arms and hands, like their other limbs; strong and powerful, albeit lacking in grace or dexterity. Finally, atop their bodies, surrounded by a thick mane that was reminiscent of a rockstar’s hair cut, their heads were that of an apex predator. Large pointed ears swivelled and twitched, their eyes practically glowed in low light as they watched and studied all around them. Their muzzles, filled with sharp finger length teeth all finished off with a powerful nose that could track prey for miles. 

Now Gary was presented with his first real interaction with one; the nine foot tall canine-esk alien; instead of the cold reception he was expecting, the imposing creature was now bent over with its muzzle in his face after gently 'booping' the bemused Gary, twice in fact.

"Now you!" It said in an out of place, jovial tone and a tilt of its head.

"Me?" Gary asked blankly, confused more than anything else. A roll of its bright yellow eyes, before it explained; 

"You humans love booping! Everyone told me so! You boop me now!"

Gary raised a single digit and gingerly pressed the large wet nose.

"Boooop?"

A sudden rapid thumping came from the room they were guarding, Gary was on alert immediately, hoisting his weapon, until he noticed the tail of the canid wagging vigorously, slapping the door and wall.

"Now human is pack bonded for life." that canid stated, straightening back upright so he was staring at her midriff. 

"Wait, what?" He asked, screwing his face up as he craned his back to look up at her face, which was grinning widely. 

"Human is pack now. The ancient ritual is complete. Human will join pack when we leave." She confirmed with a quick and resolute nod.

Gary was about to argue this statement, until he thought about it. He didn't have any other work right now... maybe he could follow them around for a bit? He’d sleep on it, if he didn’t want to ‘join’ them, he’d let them know tomorrow.

=== * ===

Gary was getting nervous now.

The giant humanoid wolf thing was serious.

When he had laughed in good humour, it looked at him in great confusion, tilting and holding its head at an angle in confusion, before turning and tilting the other way.

It was several hours later and the contract was complete. He's been paid and was a free agent again, but when he got back to his temporary quarters he had a prerecorded message waiting for him.

It was a different canid, this one with caramel highlights instead of the silvery grey of the elder creature. It informed him that he was to be 'retrieved'.

'..the hell does that mean?' He thought to himself before the thin metal door was slammed into. Something was shuffling outside, several ‘somethings’ by the sounds of it. The man kept the door in front of him as he quietly backed up away from it. There was some scrabbling at the edge of the sealed door, as if whatever was on the other side of the locked door was looking for a way to pull it open. 

It was hydraulically locked, surely whatever it was couldn’t force it open. Only station security had the clearance to override personal quarter locks. He was safe, he was going to be oka- When the clawed fingertips dragged the pneumatic door open a fraction causing it to squeal and groan in protest, Gary’s face drained of all colour.

A single intense golden iris stared at him from the tiny created crack between the door and its frame. Several others appeared up and down the new opening with various shades and hues all glowing, all locked on him.

He felt hunted.

Gary turned from the door and immediately jumped up and grabbed the vent covering that was on the opposite wall. It held for a moment before bending and pulling away. Thanks to humanity’s rough start, even human still alive had undergone training. One was to ensure there was always an escape, always an out to avoid being captured or killed. One of the first things Gary had done when he was assigned his quarters was ensure that the vent was large enough for him to escape into if the need called for it. 

With a wail of bending metal, Gary fell onto his back and threw the warped vent cover to the side. With a regretful backwards glance he saw several sets of hands/paws clawing at the door and frame leaving gouges in the material as they visibly pulled and yanks at it. The gap had got larger already. 

He grabbed the edge of the vent opening and pulled himself up into it.

Not a second later the front door gave up with the sound of rending metal and a swell of howls, yips and growls.

He frantically scrabbled forwards, deeper into the vent as the hairs on the back of his legs sensed the danger behind him.

Something grabbed ahold of a boot and without hesitation yanked him backwards.

He tried to grip the sides of the tiny vent space to arrest his doom while wiggling his foot to lose the boot and save himself.

Mercifully, when he had gotten home and was listening to the message he had undone the laces, intending to wear more comfortable clothing over the evening. His foot slid free and he wasted no time, crawling forwards as he retreated in deeper, chased by howls and snuffling of a threat he didn't have the space or want to see.

The hunt was on.

===*===

Gary continued to crawl through the maze of shafts and tunnels that made up the ventilation system of the station. He was reminded all too well of some of his worst jobs as he progressed in the past. At least it wasn’t a sewer.

At the moment, his plan was distance from the immediate threat and getting a sitrep of the situation. Someone had to know what was going on and how to get the canids off of his tail.

His commutator going off startled the man, banging the back of his head against the metal with a dull ‘thump’. Answering it, he heard the voice of a friend.

"Gary! What the fuck is going on?! You got every canid on the station looking all over for you! They're asking after you in roaming packs!"

"What did you tell them?" Gary asked in a breathless voice, grunting as he continued to creep his way through the narrow space, his arms and legs were covered in a thick dust now.

"They haven't spoken to me yet, you know me, I prefer to stay in my little cubby hole and watch."

Mar’in, a taurian, Gary's friend, was far less confrontational than Gary, but he took to surveillance like a fish to water. More than once had Mar’in pulled Gary's arse from the fire and it was shaping up that he'd do it again.

He was likely to be in his home, surrounded by the various screens and monitors that he'd long since set up by the time Gary had taken the guard contract on the station. He didn't know how Mar’in had set up his system so he could see every camera on the station, but it was going to be invaluable now.

"So how and more importantly; why and how did you scuff their horns? These things are serious." Alien sayings sometimes took Gary a moment or two to make the connection, but with taurian’s their horns were very special to them. To insult or even touch the horns that grew from their forehead wasa  sure fire way of getting a punch to the mouth.

"I 'booped' their fucking 'snoot' man." Gary explained, unsure how else to put it.

A moment of silence hung over the line. Even Gary paused his crawling.

"Do you want to run that by me again?"

"I don't know, but pressing their snout and saying 'boop' is on par with a contract or some ancient ritual, now they're 'retrieving' me."

An absent 'huh' came over the radio.

"Look, I need an out, can you help?"

"I can get you to the hanger, but I can't be helping you steal something. Where are you?"

"Thats fair, I'm in a vent, moving away from my room."

Clacking of keys replaced silence as Martin concentrated, before the man started laughing to himself.

"I've got a system alert to a blockage in the ventilation, ways organic with an 'effluents or excretions' marker. The system thinks you're-!"

“Will you shut it!” Gary snapped as he grunted. he was forced to invert himself to descend a drop by pushing his back against a wall to stop him falling.

"I think... argh... the system... fuck... is-.."

"Take a descending path at the junction you're about to drop into."

A pause.

"They've raided your closet."

"Wat."

"I've got a smaller group of the canids on cams; they're sniffing a boot, I'm assuming it's yours? They're passing it around, they're all getting a good swiff... weird."

"Yeah, I was wearing it. They've got a fresh scent then, anywhere I've been; they'll search."

Gary was able to move quicker now, the shafts he was in were larger, able to allow him to crawl in his hands and knees rather than his stomach. He continued to move following Mar’in's instructions. He had to stop once when he could hear a commotion outside one of the vent covers he was about to pass by. Peeking around he saw large black claws attached to pitch black fur covered paws.

He whipped his head back just in time to hear familiar sniffing and snuffling. A gravelly tone spoke out; "He's close!"

This wasn't what made Gary shiver, it was the actual goddamned howls that echoed through the nearby vent, which were answered moments later by returned, more distant howls echoing through the shafts. It was eerie, and called back to a very old instinct of wolves in a dark forest many centuries back.

Gary reached the Hanger and found, through a stroke of luck the vent that he had made it to was in a quiet corner behind crates and boxes of a varied sort. Mar’in was a wizard and a saint, like usual. Gary would try and find him some original Earth Whiskey if he had to, to repay this.

His thoughts were interrupted however as all of a sudden there was a commotion over the radio. 

Mar’in yelled, and there was a scuffle. Mar’in's voice was distant now, as if the headset he had been using had been removed, but Gary could hear what was happening in his distant room.

"You! You smell of him! Tell me where he is!" The 's' was drawn out that struck Gary as almost blood thirsty.

"Get fucked!" Mar’in shouted defiantly. A meaty 'thump' was broadcast before a riot broke out over the line. Gary knew better than to shout out, Mar’in could handle himself, he wasn’t at all like the demure male taurians from the rest of the galaxy and would give as good as he got.

In rapid order however, Gary could hear his friend grunting and swearing up a storm with rage filled indignation. The bloodthirsty voice returned, still distant, but the same volume as Mar’in making Gary believe that they were at least next to each other.

“We will lock down the station until our pack member is found…”

"Gary! Go now!" Mar’in bellowed.

The human needed no further prompt and gave a swift kick to the vent cover. His sprint from behind the crate was unmolested and he aimed towards a large dangerous looking ship that had its ramp open and seemed flight ready.

'They can bill me!' Gary thought to himself as he scrambled aboard, unaware of who the owner was. The thing was deserted, he ended up standing in front of the oversized pilot seat and began flipping the switches needed to make a hasty getaway. Most crafts, especially ones of Galactic Community design had very similar if not exact same designs overall. Whoever owned this, was part of the Community.

A low growl filled the cockpit, freezing Gary’s blood.

Gary stopped with his finger frozen over the last few dials he needed to adjust that prevented him from leaving.

"Worthy indeed...." the towering space werewolf growled from the cockpit entrance.

It was the caramel coloured one from the message in his quarters. It stood a good nine feet tall and was currently blocking his only escape. It crouched low, extending its arms out to the side, obsidian claws glinting in the artificial light. There was no easy way past and the cockpit only had one way in and one way out.

It yawned slowly, only it struck Gary that it wasn't yawning, it was coiling to attack.

This realisation saved him, for the next moment it lunged forward with deadly intent in its eyes. He threw himself low and avoided a heavy mass of muscle, fur and teeth as it sailed over head and landed roughly against the console. 

By the time the man was on his feet once more however, she was on him. He pushed forward to run, but jaws clamped down from the crook of his neck, down across his chest. He expected teeth to pierce into him, but they merely held him in place as she bodily lifted him up and over with the strength of her neck alone, until he was thrown down against the metal floor with a resounding clang. 

Pushing himself to his knees, the wind knocked from him, something heavy and warm straddled him from behind and crouched low, forcing him to stay on his hands and knees, wrapping a set of strong arms around his torso. Those arms held him against the canid that had defeated him in a single move. It panted from behind his head, it’s chest breathing in and out pressing against his back.

“Haa… when our leader had said that she had smelt a worthy addition to the pack, we doubted.”

A muzzle appeared from behind Gary’s head, its whiskers tickling his ear as it spoke slowly and menacingly. 

“Resourceful, quick, the only reason you failed was that you were cornered. Worthy, indeed.”

A thick broad tongue drew itself across the side of Gary’s face, wicking the sweat away from him.

“Your choice, join us or not, we wished to test and you nearly bested the whole clan. Stories will be told about this day, but I would say… you will do well with us human…”

Goosebumps had covered the human from head to toe, so when the canid released him and stalked from the room, Gary remained knelt there on the cockpit floor. Looking up, he watched as she sashayed from the room, casting a glance and a wink over her shoulder before disappearing from view. 

“What.. the f-”

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #canid #hfy #haso

[lillylvjy]

Nothings gonna take you (from my side)

A/n// prison guard Wilbur will forever have a hold on me. But anyways, enjoy this fic that took too much time to write because I’m indecisive!

Warnings// kissing (I blame Connor-/hj), yelling, paul dies, literally almost everything that happens in the video, reader is just falling in love with Wilbur, reader in handcuffs (don’t even-), like a sexual reference once, crap ending, and if I missed anything please tell me :)

Edited: no.

wc: 1.5k

It was another normal Tuesday, being woken up by the sound of yelling and banging on the metal bars outside of your room.

“Wake the fuck up!” You heard one of the guards yell. More like volunteers with the way they watch over you all.

You begrudgingly got up and out of the uncomfortable bed and stretch your limbs until they felt at ease.

“Aw, Man!” You heard the two other boys in your block yell as your door opened to be met with none other than Mr. Phil.

“Good morning!” He said in an unusually cheerful voice.

“Good morning?” You question back with a confused look on your face. “What’s going on? Why are you so smiley?” You asked the man in front of you.

“Oh you know! Just a good day!”

“It’s 7 in the morning how-“ your sentence got cut off by the sound of something hitting metal on the other end of the block. Once you saw the man who was making the noise, you closed your mouth as quick as lightening.

He was a tall man, around mid 6’ feet. He had black jeans that hung low on his hips and black shoes. He had a button up white t-shirt that framed his body beautifully with a light brown trench coat to accompany it. His hair was long and fluffy, covering half his face, but you could make out the sunglasses and monotoned look he had on his face. He kept banging the bat on the metal bar as he got closer to the group. Tommy and Ranboo practically shivering and holding onto each other in terror, Charlie gawking (which you would be doing but-), Phil smirking, and you. Oh lord, you were trying to get these thoughts out of your head. You shouldn’t find him attractive and think these, these stupid thoughts about a power hungry man. Right?

“Who is that?” Charlie questioned as he continued to look at the mysterious man walking towards you.

“Who the fuck knows.” You murmured as you looked at him with wide eyes, trying to keep your composure as he stopped in front of all of you.

“Listen up! Oi, Mr. Watson, why’re they out of their cells?” The man looked at you for a second then looked at Phil.

“Ah well you know! It’s a new day!”

“Just the way we always do things!” Charlie added on as he cowardly clutched the metal railing.

He thought for a moment before declaring, “Cell inspection, get in!”

You scoffed as you turned back around to go into your cell, but being cut off by someone grabbing your arm. “Have a problem with that, do you?” The tall man asked.

“No. I just find it highly unnecessary.” You retorted back at him as he smirked down at you and let you go.

“Check them last.” He told the guards as he kept his eyes on you the whole time.

You walked into your cell, patiently standing in the middle of it, humming a tune that you recently heard on the radio Phil turns on during the day. You kicked the dirt on the floor around until you finally heard screaming from a couple doors down. You quickly looked out to see Phil taking Tommy away from the group.

“Y/n! Y/n, help! I don’t want to go to solitary, please!” Tommy yelled at you as he got taken down the stairs and out of view.

“Solitary? What the fuck did he do to get solitary?” You asked out loud.

“Mud on his bed.” Charlie answered your question.

“Really? Fucking mud? Was it that assholes idea?” You asked as Charlie went back in the room to inspect Ranboo’s bed.

A couple second pass when you see the man with the pink bear Ranboo named Paul in his hands.

“We had to switch beds, we had to switch beds! No! Paul!” Ranboo cried out as you leant against the doorframe of your cell, watching the events happen.

Paul ended up getting hit by the bat (after 5 million tries), but you will say, he looks hot taking authority- what?!

“Mr. Cicle! Take Ranboo back to his cell and watch him. I’ll inspect this pretty little things bed.” He pointed the bat at you as he walked down the hall to you. You quickly looked to the ground, cheeks flaring red at the nickname he gave you, not wanting him to see the effect he already has on you.

As he finally made it to your cell, he placed his forearm against the frame, looking down at you with a smirk. “Mind moving for me darling?”

“Why do you even need to inspect my bed? Think I’m hiding something?” You ask as you look up at him with a quirked eyebrow as he smirked down at you.

He scoffed. “No. I just want to make sure you don’t have another man in your bed.”

“Wha- Why does that mat-“ You were quickly cut off as the man took off his glasses and tucked them into his shirt. It took you a second to fully get a glimpse of his eyes to finally recognize the man.

“Just want to make sure that I’m still the only man that’s been in your bed.”

You eyes popped out of their sockets as you finally realized who it was. “Wilb-“ you exclaimed got cut off as he placed his hand on your mouth and pushed you into the room. He pushed the door close with his foot as he backed you up into the wall beside it.

“Sh, sh, sh. Don’t want them finding out, do we love?” He asked as he took his hand away from your mouth with a smirk on his face as you smiled up at him.

“You fucking asshole, I thought you left me!” You let out a breathy laugh as you stared up at him.

“You think that lowly of me? Leaving my right hand man to rot in this place?” He asked with an offended look on his face.

“Oh so I’m only a right hand man now?!” You feigned a shocked expression up at Wilbur as he smiled down at you, placing his hand on your cheek.

“Hmm, I’d say I little bit more than one.” Wilbur whispered as he leant down to you.

You chuckled as he pressed his nose against yours. “Oh yeah, like what?”

He brings his free hand up and taps his chin like he’s in thought. “Hmm, maybe like my house cleaner?”

“Fuck off!” You slapped his chest as you giggled at his joke. You made eye contact with him before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to connect your lips together.

Wilbur grabbed the back of your head as he leant down more to deepen the kiss. It wasn’t like the usual kisses you’d sneak in every once in a while when the guards weren’t looking. It was slow and passionate and full of so much love and adoration.

Wanting more, you tightened your grip on his shirt, pulling him closer, if it was even possible, and pouring all your love for him in the kiss. You loved this man. Even if he burnt down churches and shops, you would always love him. No matter what happened.

And he felt the same about you.

Unfortunately, humans need air to breathe and function. You pulled slowly pulled away from the kiss as you panted, trying to refill your lungs with the sweet air that was between you and Wilbur, breathing in his scent as you did.

You smiled up at him as he leant his forehead against yours and sighed in content, eyes closed and a small smile on his face. Once you opened his eyes, he saw your wide eyes looking up at him, a smile on your face as you cupped his face and rubbed his cheek bones.

“I love you, Will Gold.”

“And I love you, darling. Now come on! We have to go get Tommy!” Wilbur whispered at you as he put the glasses back on.

“Wait- why Tom?” You asked, eyebrows pulled together as you tilted your head, looking at him and with a confused expression.

“I kinda promised him I’d get him out of here…” Wilbur said slowly, afraid of what you’ll say.

“Fucking hell- Fine! He’s lucky I like him.” You say as Wilbur smiles down at you and walks behind you to pull your hands behind your back.

“And your lucky we’re in public, because if we weren’t-“

“Don’t. Even finish that sentence. Keep it in your pants Mr. Gold.” You shook your head as he applied the handcuffs on you as opened the door.

“I’ll try. Also, if I hurt your ears I’m sorry, but I’m the boss around here so, kinda have to be, you know?”

“Hmm yeah. And trust me, I find it attractive.” You smirked up at him as he walked you down the hall to the stairs.

“You little- I cannot wait till we’re out of here.” Wilbur interlaces your hands together as best as he could as he walked you down the stairs.

“Um- Sir! Where- Where are they going?!” Charlie asked as he saw you in handcuffs and Wilbur with a hard expression behind you.

“Solitary confinement. I’ll be back in a few Mr. Cicle.”

taglist: @deadphantomsociety @jadeissues @aimi-chann @art3m1s-adelia @gaytoadwithapopsicle @maarriiii @mcr-pr-fob @romancingdaffodils @sixofshadowandbone @bird-shack @swevenne @ezzylikesdabee @ella-fella-bo-bella (and if you want to be added, feel free to ask lovelies <3)

#lilly writes #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot #dsmp wilbur #wilbur x reader #wilbur mcyt #wilbur dream smp #wilburfromlvjy #mcyt imagine #dsmp x reader #x reader

[illunicae]

Little fluffy snippet of my current WIP that I'm trying to get done as a one shot. It's an human au sort of thing with the rise boys. Oh and it's a mix with FNAF.

After a while the group hug fell apart as everyone got comfortable in the pillows and the movie started. By the end of the movie, Mikey was fighting to stay awake and losing as his eyes were closing for longer blinks. Raph turned off the tv and it didn’t take long for the group to fall asleep on the pile of pillows and mess of blankets.

Waking, you found yourself in a tangle of twisted blankets and flailed limbs. By the sounds of the soft breaths and snores it was clear that the boys were still very much asleep. You could see the soft light of morning just barely starting to peek over the horizon through the living room window. You smiled happily as you let yourself cuddle deeper into the pillows around you. As you let your eyelids slowly drift shut for a few more hours of sleep, you saw a figure with long maroon hair pass by the living room. The figure had paused briefly to glance at the children sleeping in the fort with a soft smile before moving. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel alarmed as you slipped back into slumber. The boys had mentioned their “uncle” before. Maybe you’ll meet the man when you all wake up for breakfast.  

Someone was poking your cheek when you woke up a second time. Bright sunlight warmed your skin, but it also bashed against your eyelids, driving sleep from your body. That and the persistent prodding at your cheek had you groaning and rolling over in an empty pillow pile. You barely registered you were alone in the blanket fort before a voice was hissing your name and the pokes became more insistent. 

“Mikey!” Another voice whisper shouted, “Raph told you to leave her alone and let her sleep.” 

“But she’s hardly sleepin’ now.” Mikey whisper-argued back.

“And whose fault would that be?” 

There was a thick pause and you decided that sleep had truly abandoned you to the waking world. You slowly sat up with a groan, pulling on your wrists above your head to loosen up your joints. The resonating popping made you hum with delight. “I’m up no worries.” You mumbled. The blanket that was resting on your shoulders fell away, bunched around your waist. You rubbed your eyes as you glanced over at the two boys staring at you. 

Mikey giggled as you climbed out of the blanket fort. You could feel the static making some stray hairs cling to the back of your neck; you could also feel that your head was a little top heavy as sleeping on a pile of pillows instead of a proper bed whipped your hair into a wicked updo of bed head. You could tell that Donnie was also holding back a small fit of giggles as you blushed furiously in embarrassment and tried to tame your truly unruly hair. 

You only got it halfway decent before Mikey grabbed your hand to drag you to the kitchen where you smelled something heavenly cooking.

“Pops made panacakes.” Mikey chirped as he pulled you over to the dining table with Donnie trailing behind. 

“It’s PANcakes, Mikey.” Donnie corrected.

“That’s what I said, panacakes.” Mikey nodded.

Your stomach made its interest known as you caught sight of the large stack piled in the middle of the light oak table. Raph and Leo both greeted you as they seemed to be in the middle of setting the table.

“Ay, nice bed head, chica.” Leo called with a chuckle. You stuck out your tongue and ran another hand through your hair.

Everyone eventually settled down around the table to dig into the glorious golden pancakes. A new figure joined your group of five children and one adult around the breakfast table. He was tall; taller than Mr. Yoshi, that's for sure. He had dark maroon hair that reached just past his shoulders and dark eyes of almost the same color. Those eyes filled with warmth as he smiled toward you with a greeting; however, there was something slightly off, something cold and calculated. Your train of thought was derailed though as Mikey cheerfully introduced you to their “uncle” Draxum.

#my writing #work in progress #snippets #Rubatosis fic #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #rottmnt splinter #rottmnt draxum #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt x you #rottmnt x oc #human rottmnt #fnaf au #rottmnt fnaf crossover

[themushroomofdeath]

The Healer and the Warrior f!original character x law | just rotten fluffy, ship dynamic

Some people spends their life fighting, while others are natural protectors.

She understood it the moment she met him, the real him. He was a fighter. A child who had to survive horrors no human should've to, walked many lengths for a chance of living another day, persevered through many cruel and harsh obstacles because he couldn't succumb to it, he had to persist for those who didn't have a chance to, for their legacy. Put on a mask of indifference and severity, to keep going. Close your heart, because everything you know is how to fight for your life. You don't have time to heal, your world is merciless and ruthless. 

But she was a healer, someone who only knew how to care. She lived an isolated life, but she craved for something to protect, yearning to serve, useful, needed - to love. And as if it was meant to be, she found someone who longed for someone like her.

Fluffy hat thrown somewhere between the mess of limbs and blankets, silky strands of hair tickling her skin with every soft breath from his sleeping form. Her fingers tenderly caressed his scalp, helping lull the tired man to slumber, preventing him from leaving her embrace today. Yet another day of fighting him into allowing himself to relax for once. It was honestly hard to keep his brain from the incessant need of studying, working, planning, making sure everything (and everyone) was safe and in control, repeat. Nights where he just relaxed were becoming ever so scarce, and as a fellow doctor and his lover, she knew it was time to step in. It took all her manipulation methods to stop him from dramatically sighing (multiple times), telling her off, almost shambling her back to their shared room, before he relented. They both knew he was powerless to her reassurances, affections and big puppy eyes, and after being in such a long term relationship with the Surgeon of Death, she was shameless about using it whenever necessary. It was all worth it in the end, watching his face finally relax after hours of being scrunched in a frown – sometimes from concentration, sometimes from pure annoyance. The mere sight filled her chest with warmth and love for the man. It was not easy to love the captain of the Heart Pirates, even to someone who could call herself his best friend and confident, he would be always someone used to the safety of his tall and thick internal walls, never ready to let someone in, afraid to be hurt and to hurt a loved one in the process. But she understood that beyond those walls, laid a scarred child, too used to loneliness and rejection – crying for comfort. And by the time she reached his inner child, she had already sworn to herself to love and cherish him till her last breath, and perhaps beyond that. I will protect you. Willing her thoughts reached for that child, hidden by the darkness of his hidden walls. I will not leave despite how many people wish to take me from you. I will make myself invincible, I will hurt whoever stands in our way, if I have to. I'm not afraid. And kissing his physical and figurative forehead, she vowed one more time. I will be by your side and I will hold you, no matter how long you need me to.

“I love you, Trafalgar Law.” - Smiling at the new tightness of the arms around her, who seemed to acknowledge her tender whispers, she continued. - “Only you, my heart. Forever and beyond.”

#trafalgar law #trafalgar law fluff #trafalgar law x oc #eliza beaufoy #rage writes #rage draws

[maeverojaskinnie]

what do u think the oou characters look like?

This is such a good question agggh!!!!

Addy: During oouin I imagined her to have a grown out purple bob that barely touched her shoulders. i've thought of her as being really pale - bordering ghostly.

Bronwyn: I've always imagined Bronwyn with long wavy brown hair - and obviously her grey eyes. I also feel like she would be quite tall (around 5'6 or 5'7).

Cooper: In my mind Cooper has a blonde crew cut in oouil - then quite long floppy hair in oouin. He is also a short king and you cannot convince me otherwise.

Nate: He's always been quite hard for me to picture tbh. If I had to describe him, he has dark brown hair that is not floppy but also isn't short?? Maybe a 5 0'clock shadow???

Maeve: Chestnut brown shoulder length hair with blonde and auburn highlights (this is so specific, but Maeve is such a vivid character for me to picture, I just can't help it). She also has a smattering of freckles on her nose and quite a soft, heart shaped face.

Luis: The tallest of the group by a MILE. He has black hair that is short on the sides but long on the top. I've also imagined him with 2 moles on the right side of his face for some reason? Ooh, he also has a strong nose that is a little bit bent from being broken so many times.

Phoebe: Copper red hair that reaches the middle of her back, with a bit of a wave to it. Her whole body is covered in freckles in true redhead fashion. I also think she would have quite prominent eyebrows.

Knox: Blonde crew cut style hair - almost a buzz cut. Long, lanky limbs. a scrawny white boy, if you will.

Kris: Short fluffy, light brown hair. an oval type face with ridiculously long lashes. I also feel like he would around the same height as Luis.

Thank you so much for the ask, my lovely <333

#one of us is lying #oouil #one of us is next #oouin #bronwyn rojas #nate macauley #addy prentiss #cooper clay #maeve rojas #knox myers #luis santos #phoebe lawton #kris (oou)

[freezing-kaiju]

Lunatic of the Flesh

@my-ceiling-is-tilted 's Biotober prompts 7, 17, and 25: Cancerous, Mutation, and Infection.

Warnings: extreme body horror, werewolves, biting and neck trauma, intimacy, it's about a werewolf themed resident evil infection going horribly wrong so make of that what you will! it's also a bit t4t

---

The bus stop close to my old home has been chewed on.

Bites have been ripped out, glass lines the bench, and, on the metal, patches of fuzz grow, waving in the wind. There’s the sound of crickets and toads, but no cars, nothing save for the bus rattling away behind me and the wheels of my baggage against the ground.

The plants grow thick, choked with weeds and bursting with gorgeous flowers, except for patches here and there that lay covered in hair. Great tendrils of matted fur, gray and blue and black, swaying like grass in the breeze. Deer bound through the distance in packs twenty strong. 

The bus patrols exist for the infected. I’ll count as one soon, so it’s fine.

I fix my makeup in the window. Wouldn’t want to disgust them. After all…

——

…they’re beautiful.

Not from tip to toe, I know that. Slinking through the forest, I see some dragging massive, misshapen claws, some dangling boils, some with extra halves of jaws. Their hunts of the massive deer seem mutual; their destructive power is so increased, but the deer are so much faster, and they’re working so hard to catch their prey. Their imposing snouts, so well-suited to eating and howling… their ears, so soft-looking, so perfectly pointed… their backs so arched, their tails so long and fluffy, everything about them is so. Unbelievably. Perfect.

And yet, none of them are the right one. Maybe they know this; the first to catch sight of me slipped its pulsing violet eyes away not a moment after, likely out of disinterest. Maybe the foliage, leaves and bushes dead and alive, hides me perfectly.

Maybe… I’m already something else’s prey.

I stop, look behind myself. Nothing but the same fallen leaves concealing the same insects, the same trees looming thin and tall above me like the bars of a disorganized prison, but…

Above me.

Something flicked.

I look the rest of the way up and drop my luggage.

A wolf. Poised between the trees, spread on all four of its pristine limbs, a massive, gorgeous wolf.

“RUN,” it cajoles. 

I can’t.

The few tendrils that shiver on its body are symmetrical. Its teeth are so well-kept they shine. Its third eye lingers above the left one in the exact place a chunk of winged eyeliner would be, adding to a glorious air of cuntiness that its breasts only further contribute to. Those claws— oh, what I wouldn’t give to be pulled apart by them! And the chest fur… those patterns…

“RUN,” it says again.

“I cannot.”

“TOO WEAK?”

“I refuse! I will join you without wasting your precious energy.”

“JJOIN?”

“I’ll join your pack! I’ll become part of it! I’ll make you MINE!”

The wolf’s chest swells with what had to be pride. Two of the branches I thought might impede it if I needed to run cracked beneath just this simple exertion. “A WEAK HUMAN...WANTS TO JOIN? THE PACK? MINE?”

“Your pack, and nobody else’s!”

“WHY?”

“Because I know you! Do you not recognize me?!”

It took in a shuddering breath, paw scratching its chin in what would be a human gesture were its claws not out and drawing blood. “RECOGNIZE...YOU?”

“Y…” I planted my other foot and stood my ground. “Yeah, Winnie. I came all the way back to meet you again. You…”

God, from the Kingdom Hearts pattern on the chest fur to the strange piercings, she was precisely the same.

“You look like the fursona I helped you make.”

Both paws slammed down in the snow. The wolf’s great head, it—

A motorcycle’s worth of predator.

Launched.

Towards me.

In that moment, I processed it quite like someone had thrown a car at my face, and screamed.

The wolf stopped short. 

“IF…I AM WINIFRED… I AM? WINIFRED?”

“Y-yes,” I said, “yes, definitely, you are her and she is you.”

“I…CAN BE HER… THEN, I AM HER.” Winifred rises, not to her full height but a hunched position, like she speaks not to prey but to someone shorter than herself. “AND WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE HER DO?”

“B….bite me. Infect me. Love me! Love me like I always wanted you to, my dear friend, my beloved, make me yours!”

Winifred licks her lips and leans forward, snout inches from my face. “STAND UP…STRAIGHT. NECK OUT.”

I comply, face burning, soul weeping for joy.

Her mouth closes round my throat, and I can….I can feel the moment she penetrates me. Sharp. Clear, but right, I gasp for air and—

And I feel something pumping into my throat.

Dutifully, I swallow, wishing it were in my mouth, wishing I could taste the beauty that would now swallow me whole. I’ll be different, not this ugly, useless thing, but something sleek. Agile. Beautiful. Something that’ll make this all…worth…

——

Before my fur grew in, the hair I’d taken such care to mediocrely raise fell out in clumps that left me sobbing on the bedroom floor. I fear I’ve not lost cause to weep, nor have I stopped looking so…bald.

The glorious snout Winifred bears never grew in properly. My new ears came in in twain, perfectly shaped… the only thing in this wretched body to not split and pustulize. They top a sunken face, one I can hardly see from when my maw splits it to feed. If I look down, I behold a series of lumps; whether breast, stomach, tumor, or chin, I’m incapable of telling. As Winifred tells it, I have a centaur’s form… what grotesque parody of Greek myth she knows, I can’t imagine.

Perhaps I’m meant to have so many, such engorged and muscular legs, maybe their desperate uncoordination is the movement I deserve. After all, this form… I have no clue of the full extent with it, the last mirror brought within my sight is still shards on some barn floor. But I can feel my stomach churn with more than meat, feel parts of myself bloat with a thing beyond blood and meat. Winifred, too, is sometimes…

That venom she pumped into me, so clean and clinical, I… I drool it now. It fills my mouth and drips out when I breathe, onto buckets or the floor of our hideaways. At least, when she isn’t looking.

When she is, my mate licks it from my lips like a woman possessed. 

I can’t fathom it, neither the eyes left on my face nor the ones that dot the rest of my body like moles can believe how hungry she’s become. She comes home from hunts or meetings dragging cow after cow, sometimes a bag of human food too, and sets upon me with her tongue and hands faster than I can whimper a greeting. Every hair-coated fold of my body she cleans, licking as if hunting for some buried treasure. Are my moans that rewarding? Is my pain what she wishes? Does she want me to bite back? I can’t, I won’t, my maw will… it’ll do too much damage, truly. I can feel my vestigial tails flop and writhe as she buries her face in my part. When her paw holds the one of mine small and shapen enough to hold hers —I felt every agonizing moment of my right fusing together, and my second left is a mass of knotted fingers— those tails crack and sting with how forcefully they wag.

“My moon,” she calls me,  her tongue still exploring an area I’d never wish to touch myself, “my gorgeous moon, the hunt was so long.”

“I am,” I choke out the rote response, “sorry I couldn’t go.”

“No, be thankful. The others spoke covetously of you. It gladdens me…to have you all to myself.”

I feel something bubble up within me, and in a moment of terror, know not if metaphor can affect this husk.

“You’re…just…saying that because you’re stuck with me…”

She laughs at that, a barking laugh, one whose charm I’ve still yet to reach. Have I laughed recently? Only when she stimulated me to, only in…what could be called roughhousing, had I not fallen over, had she not treated me with pup’s gloves afterwards. 

“No??? I, like, treasure you,” Winifred said, tongue taking a rest from its travels across my taint. “This was all so lonely before you became—“

“Trapped?”

“What?”

“Trapped, isolated, burdened,” I found myself saying, coughing out each word within a mouthful of venom and teeth, “made into something— something disgusting, something that weighs you down, something that—“

Winifred leapt up from under me, growling like a chainsaw. I folded under those three burning lime eyes, but, curiously, when I silenced myself and slunk lower, Winifred’s own tail and ears dropped back too.

“Selene, I didn’t— never did I consider that—“

“You are a wolf! You’re perfect, everything everyone who’s ever been an edgy adolescent yearned to become! I am…”

“Selene.” Winifred’s paws reached up, squished together my cheeks, forcing our eyes to meet. “I am… the perfect specimen of a normal beastic wolf, yes. But you…” She pressed our snouts nearly together, “you are something special. Your mass of gloriously haphazard legs, your imposing form, every perfect eye and lovely tendril— and your soft, downy fur— and your tails! Their excitement is so… you’re so…”

“It hurts to move,” I whimper. “It hurts to breathe.”

“As does it for me, too,” Winifred admits, and shakes herself off, parts of her arms I never even thought had joints cracking like thunder over the plains.

Her…her own breathing is ragged, too, isn’t it? Winnie’s rib cage had always flexed and contracted, like a butterfly flapping its wings, in a way that I always thought was painless but…

Maybe she’s in as much pain as me.

And maybe...

Ah, she's started with her tongue again...

....maybe I can lose myself in it, too...

#body horror #halloween #biotober #werewolf #infection #nsft #ask to tag #infection tw #gross tw #neck trauma tw #gore tw #gore #neck trauma #writing #my writing