Wet n Wild ~
A/n: sorry this took a minute. Been busy again plus today was a really rough day. I’ve been on the verge of vomiting just being emotionally grossed out(send me a dm before I go crazy)
C/w: written by a minor!, CNC(with pre-established safe word in place), bondage, light praise, degradation for like less than 3 lines, oral(m!reciving), fingering, p in v, aftercare cuz I feel shitty and selfish today, roleplay? Shower sex
“Hm, what’s this?” Suguru questioned as he shuffled through your package, finding a pair of water proof handcuffs. The kind that suction to the wall or the shower. You giggled, “great isn’t it?” He smiled, holding the pair in his fingers, “I’m sure you have something in mind.” You grinned, lustful thoughts circling in your head as you recall what you had planned to ask him. “Do you even need me to explain it?” He placed the cuffs down, bringing a hand up to caress your face and grab you grin. “Yea, or else I won’t know what to do. So use your words, love.”
You began exposing to him what you had been fantasizing about for the past 2 weeks. Him play the intruder, you play the victim. You’d be showering all alone, when he would sneak in with you and cover your mouth, and tell you what he was going to do to you-
Your thought was cut off as you realized how much you had already said. You sat still for a moment, until he finally spoke. “Your such a freak, baby. But I’m down for whatever makes my pretty girl happy, did you want to try it tonight?” You nodded your head, shaking with excitement. “Then I’ll see you later,” he brought down his face to kiss you on the forehead.
Your day went on as normal, you were giddy with excitement. Thinking about what he might do to you, you couldn’t help but feel on edge all day, in the best way possible.
Finally, time came that you were ready to get in the shower. You didn’t have to say it, he knew. You made your way to the bathroom, starting the water before slowly stripping of all your clothes, and stepping in. The hot water felt nice on your muscles, but that was the last thing on your mind right now. At any moment, your husband, your intruder would step in and have his way with you.
After a little while of soaping down your body and basking in the warm water, you heard the door creaking open. Before you could even register what was happening, he was behind you, naked. One hand cupping your mouth, the other around your waist pulling you body flush against his. “Shhh. Don’t scream. Are you going to be a good girl for me and do as I say?” You silently nod your head, underneath his hand you were grinning with excitement. He smiled, “good. Now, get on your knees.” He helped you to your knees, where you dropped your hands to the shower floor, hot water hitting your back.
His hand combed your hair, gently pulling it to make you look up at him, “you know what to do, don’t you? Go on, and don’t you dare fucking bite.” You slowly opened your mouth, as he stroked his cock a few times, then rubbing it on your face and gently tapping it on your check before aligning it with your awaiting mouth.
He let you take his tip into your mouth, but then suddenly his hand on your head moved to the back of your head, grabbing it roughly and forcing his cock down your throat. Drool pooled at the corners of your mouth as you choked on his length, whining against him. He started bobbing your head up and down, using your mouth as his own personal fuck toy. “Your too good at this. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were expecting me hm?”
You couldn’t respond, your mouth occupied and being used by him. “Who am I kidding, of course you did. Sluts like you fucking love this shit don’t you?” He mocked, watching as you struggled to take him. He speed up, nearing his orgasm, “I’m gonna cum, your gonna swallow it f’me okay?” You desperately tried to nod, but with one last thrust he held your head down at the base of his cock, filling up your throat was his cum, that you willingly swallowed down.
He stroked your hair, praising you, “such a good girl, we’re not done yet tho, stand up.” You rose to your feet, only to be roughly flipped around, once again with your back facing him, and your arms pinned above your head right next to the toy you received earlier this morning. “Handcuffs for the shower? What a slut~” he purred into your ear, taking this as a sign to restrain both your hands in the respective cuffs. So here you where, back to him, restrained and dripping with need.
He let one of his hands up to your breasts, stroking and tugging at you sensitive buds while the other snakes down to your cunt where you needed him the most. He used his leg to nudge yours open, giving him a clear view of your wetness. His fingers stroked your clit a little bit before shoving both of them in your cunt, curling them up perfectly to hit your g-spot. “Mmph!~” you moaned, enjoying the way his finger skillfully worked in your cunt, stretching you out.
Finally, he pulled his fingers out and aligned his cock head with your entrance, while simultaneously taking his hand that was on your breast up to your mouth, shoving his fingers inside and hooking open your cheek, making it impossible to close your mouth, you whined at the intrusion, but your whine was quickly replaced with a moan of pleasure as he bottomed out inside you, his cock perfectly hitting all the right spots stretching you out. “Mmm fuck~ so good..” he groaned, starting to fuck into you.
His hand that was previously fingering you, now on your hip slid down to rub rough, quick circles on your clit. At the same time, he also began speeding up, pounding into you roughly. “Is’ too much!” You whined around his fingers, hardly coherent. “Be.” Thrust “quiet” thrust “and” thrust “take it.” The overwhelming stimulation of his thrusts, fingers on your clit and his words all became too much, and you felt your own orgasm coming soon. “Mmm gonna~!” He smirked, “gonna cum for me princess? Go on, cum on my cock. Show me how much you fucking love it.”
That was all it took for you to spasm around his length, as he fucked you through your orgasm, his own approaching as well. “Gonna breed this pussy full. Fuck take it take it!~” he moaned, finally spilling his cum inside you. After riding own his own, he eventually pulled out, quickly reaching up to undo the cuffs on your hand and pull your body in close, embarrassing you and kissing your forehead. “Did so good for me,” he praised as the water fell on you both.
After finishing your shower together, him sliding into boxers and you in a lose tank top and panties, you crawled into bed together, him spooning you, cradling you in his arms. “Did I do it right?” He questioned, “yes, thank you I loved it.” You giggled, gently squeezing his arm. “Did you like it? I didn’t make you uncomfortable trying out one of my weird fetishes right?..”
“Yes, I loved it. And no, you did not make me uncomfortable. I had just as much fun as you, and I’d love to hear more about your cute fantasy’s in the future.” You smiled, leaning back into his broad arms entrapping your smaller figure. “Mmm okay. Well goodnight Sugu’ I love you” he kissed the back of your head, “love you more.”
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to be human (is to make mistakes)
#: academic rivals au (!!), rank 1!gojo & rank 2 gn!reader, assumed college au (irrelevant ranking system), gojo gets kind of sick (unrealistic + very cliche), a dash of angst (for the flavor!!), implied (obvious) pining (mutual? ;3), brief one bed trope! (sfw), no beta we die like ...yeah (i'm sorry)
wc: 2.1k
tw/cw: reader has a hairdryer and clothes that fit a ~190cm man, angst (kind of?), reader likes floral tea, one (1) curse word
*ni-i = 2nd rank/place (please feel free to correct me if i have it wrong in any way ;-;)
you jolted, the clap of thunder scaring you awake. in the gray area between awake and asleep, you thought you heard a knock on the door, but you weren’t expecting anything so you figured it was a trick of the wind of some kind. you checked the time—2:57 am—you definitely weren’t expecting anyone either too. looking down at your desk, you sighed and your nose crinkled at the spot of drool that pooled on the page of your notes. you wiped at it with your finger when there was a sudden knock at your door.
you froze.
a beat passed. then two.
quietly, you rose from your chair, grabbing your phone and the nearest object that looked like it could be useful (a swiffer). tiptoeing across to the door, your thumb hovered over the dial button, prepared to call the campus police (though the night ra would have been more realistic). you peeked through the peephole and saw a hunched figure wearing a hood that covered their eyes. you stepped away from the door, waiting to see if they would leave without any intervention.
three beats passed. then four.
“ni-i…”
the voice was weak but you still heard it. (and you knew of only one person who had the gall to call you by your rank.) dropping the swiffer, you opened the door and gojo stumbled into your arms, skin hot to the touch and breaths labored against the curve of your neck. his hair clung to his forehead, dripping water onto your clothes and floor. you struggled to keep yourself up straight, so you helped him to sit on the floor, his head leaning against the wall.
you stood again, staring in disbelief at your… guest.
raising his head, he looked around, taking in his surroundings, and cocked his eyebrows at you teasingly, “so… you trying to beat me this time around, ni-i?” he tried to make a joke, seemingly regaining some of his strength now that he was out of the rain.
you cringed, heat rising to your face as you remembered that the evidence of your desperate studying was within his line of sight. “that’s not important right now. what are you doing here!?” you hissed, trying to change the subject, “and what kind of idiot do you have to be to be walking in a storm with a thin jacket!?”
gojo just smiled, closing his eyes, and mumbled something about locking himself out of his room and not knowing where else to go. you remembered hearing something about how his roommate was going to be out of the country for a few more days at least. huffing, you threw him a towel and rummaged through your closet for your hair dryer. “here,” you said, handing the hair dryer to him, “bathroom’s the door over there. i don’t have any clothes for you so just dry your clothes with this.” surprisingly, he complied easily, rising slowly from his spot on the floor and shuffled to the bathroom. only when the door closed shut behind him did you pull at your hair and scream as silently as you could.
“oh, mind if i use your shower by the way?” gojo’s voice came muffled from the other side of the door.
your eye twitched. “…be quick.”
“thanks~!”
wanting to kill time and keep yourself distracted, you decided to boil water for some tea. gojo came out from the bathroom smelling like your shampoo as the kettle began to boil.
you did a double take.
gojo came out of the bathroom, smelling like your shampoo and holding a towel loosely wrapped around his waist.
“why are you only wearing a towel?!” you screeched, cheeks blazing as you rushed to your closet and threw him whatever clothes you could find.
“my clothes took too long to dry,” he whined, grinning as he caught the clothes against his chest with his other hand, “and look, you do have clothes for me~”
“just hurry up and put that on! and don’t you dare drop that towel in front of me!” you quickly turned around, squeezing your eyes shut and muttering apologies and prayers to anyone out there who would listen.
“okay, i’m done now…” you could hear the pout in his voice and you swore you saw red. almost at least. by some miraculous event, you regained your senses and composed yourself. exhaling slowly, you reached for the two cups and handed one to him. he stared at you, “it’s 4 am.”
“it’s 3:47. and you won’t die, it’s just tea.”
he shrugged, accepting the cup, and took a careful sip. his eyes widened at the taste and he took another sip. “hey, this is good,” he said, raising the cup to his lips again, “why didn’t you give me this the last time i was here for the language arts project? first you’re trying to beat me, and now you’re holding out on me? i’m hurt, ni-i…”
“didn’t have it then.” you rolled your eyes and took a sip yourself, deeply inhaling the fragrance of it, and couldn’t fight the small smile it brought to your face—floral tea, your favorite, and so it seems was his too. holding the cup with two hands, you looked out the window, following the droplets of rain as they raced each other down the glass.
five beats passed. then six.
“want me to help you study for the exam?”
you raised an eyebrow at him, “confident you won’t lose your rank to me even after teaching me your secrets?”
he laughed, throwing his head back, and set the cup down. “please, you’re taking my GPA too lightly. you’re gonna need more than that to take me down.”
you shrugged, bringing your books and notes over to the spot on the floor where he sat. he scooted to sit next to you and skimmed your notes. as he flipped through the pages, you looked back at the practice problem you were trying to solve before, tapping the end of your pencil against your chin.
“1.15 N.”
“huh?”
“that’s what you’re looking for, right? the tension? i recognize that question. it’s from the practice midterm, what was it… question number 2?”
looking between him and the page in front of you, you weren’t sure what to think. “how… how did you do that?”
gojo smiled again, “here look, there’s the given free body and if you draw two more for the block and pulley…” he paused and looked around for a pencil. without thinking, you give him the one you were holding. “thanks. so yeah, draw two more and then you can apply the 2nd law here.” quickly, he wrote down more steps to the problem. “so applied force minus the tension force equals the 2nd law, does that make sense?”
you started to nod, the lightbulb going off in your head, “and then because only the tension force will affect torque, i can use the torque equals r times force equation? and then equal it to the moment of inertia multiplied by angular acceleration to find the acceleration?”
“bingo,” gojo said with a grin, handing you the pencil, “as expected of my rank 2.”
too preoccupied with finishing the problem, you didn’t hear him. making quick work of the rest of the practice exam, you beamed triumphantly. your victory was fleeting though, interrupted by a violent sneeze from gojo. instinctively, you placed the back of your hand against his forehead and the other on your own to compare.
“idiot, you’re burning up! why didn’t you say something?”
“the tea helped so i thought it was fine…”
“it’s obviously not fine… get up.” you pulled him up by the arm and hesitated in front of your bed. gojo at least had the decency to blush.
“shouldn’t you ask me to dinner first… i didn’t know you were so quick about things, ni-i.”
the heat scorched your cheeks as you quickly let go of his arm, panicking and tripping over your words to salvage your dignity. but he stumbled, lost his footing, and fell face-first onto the mattress. with a bit of struggling, you finally managed to push him under the covers and tuck him in.
you couldn’t deny that he looked cute like this: cheeks and the tip of his nose tinged pink, peeking out from under the blankets, and bangs brushed back with his forehead bare, allowing you to place a cool towel there. you watched his long eyelashes flutter as he closed his eyes, the lull of sleep relaxing his features and pulling him under. the rise and fall of his chest began to steady and you laid the back of your hand against his cheek again to check his fever.
still warm.
you stood up, trying to remember where you kept your medicines.
“where are you going?”
“to find some fever reducer for you…” you blinked in surprise, “weren’t you sleeping?”
“no. i don’t need any.”
“don’t be ridiculous. gojo, you nee-”
“can’t you call me satoru now?” he whined.
“gojo, you’re delirious. you need to-”
“satoru,” he corrected, “please.”
seven beats passed. then eight.
gojo was fully sitting up on your bed now, towel fallen onto his lap, and his piercing blue eyes fixed on you. his cheeks were redder now, but you couldn’t tell if it was from his fever or embarrassment. you exhaled slowly, returning to the bedside and looked at him expectantly. gojo shifted, making room for you.
you could feel his gaze on you as you fiddled with the cloth of your covers. “tomorrow. after we’ve gotten some sleep, ask me again.”
“what?”
turning to face him, you forced yourself to maintain eye contact (his eyes are so blue). “tomorrow,” you repeated, “ask me again tomorrow. let’s not do something we’ll regret right now.”
“i don’t think i could ever regret you.”
you faltered and slid off of the bed, trying to create some physical space between you and him, “you don’t mean that. you’ve been up all night. you don’t know what you’re saying. you-” your voice caught in your throat. the pained expression on gojo’s face awoke an emotion you never knew you had, clawing at your heart and ratting at the bones of your rib cage like a trapped beast. his eyes dimmed and lips turned down ever so subtly. but you saw. gojo looked down at his hands and you wished you knew what he was thinking. the silence was thick and suffocating and you wanted to do anything to break it. you opened your mouth to speak again, to apologize, to do something, anything.
“oh, look at that! suguru’s back already!” gojo beamed, tapping away at his phone.
(his smile looked too forced.)
but all you could do was nod as gojo got out of your bed, fixing the pillows and blankets as best as he could. you watched as he hummed, gluing his eyes purposely to his phone (was he avoiding your eyes?), and continued to your door. he turned back to look at you. his eyes softened and he gave you another smile.
sorry, he mouthed to you before opening the door and walking out.
the door closed shut behind him, leaving you alone again. (you could hear him yelp “shit, it’s still raining!” through the door and could picture him running through the rain with nothing but his jacket as any sort of defense. that got you giggling a little.)
nine beats passed. then ten.
you sat down on your bed, legs dangling off the edge, before letting your head fall back and hit your pillow.
it smelled like him still. the smell was faint, of course, but there nonetheless. you chased it, initially unaware, searching for it. yearning—
no.
you turned the other way and closed your eyes.
the sun was blinding, glaring at you through the glass windows. dust particles floated about and large, messy words written in chalk spelled out “EXAM SIT IN YOUR ASSIGNED SEATS” on the blackboard and bore menacingly at no one.
you sat at your desk, glancing at gojo’s still empty seat. thoughts of him from that night continued to plague your mind. you shook your head, trying to bring your thoughts back to your exam that was going to happen any minute now. F = ma. torque equals radius times applied force which also equals moment of inertia times angular acceleration. vaguely, you heard the back door of the classroom open, and whispers filled the room, gradually getting louder. a collective gasp and more excited (and jealous) whispers as your classmates murmured amongst themselves. a shadow loomed over you, and you looked up. they couldn’t believe their eyes, and honestly you couldn’t either. gojo peered down at you, his hand outstretched, and flashed you his charming smile.
“hey, i’m gojo satoru, but you can call me satoru,” he grinned, “wanna be friends?”
koi's notes: inspired by a gojo fanart i came across by the extremely talented @saterise (i meant it to be like a little rainy inspired fic but i got a little too carried away...)
link to fanart also here: https://www.tumblr.com/saterise/739526714812678144/to-be-human-is-to-feel-the-rain-on-your-skin?source=share
ALSO BEFORE ANYONE ASKS, gojo and geto are tied for rank 1 because there is no way in HELL i'm making geto 3rd i will not disrespect him like that!!!!!
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ᴀ ʀᴜʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀꜱʜ & ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ ───── ♛
pairing: evil!hiccup x f!mute!reader
wc: 1.7k
tw: yandere, implied kidnapping, obsessive/possessive behavior, mention of blood/violence, mention of death
synopsis: You regretted the day they left him for dead. And you’d regret the day you ever saw him again—he’d make sure of that.
A burnish gleam of orange blazed in the bleakness of night.
You watched from your hilltop window—the thatched roofs off the eastern slopes of Berk twisting and writhing in flames. Even from a distance, you heard the breaking moans of ceilings, the cracks and bends of collapsing wooden structures, and the piercing wails of scales met with sharp edges of iron. Despite The Red Death’s fall, dragon raids still plagued the lands.
Perhaps it was all a sign of retribution.
You were told to stay within the safe confines of your home. Your father hadn’t wanted to risk your life, considering how precious you’d become. The next Seer in line after Gothi, gifted with spiritual wisdom, healing, and authority of officiating the next chief.
But the price to pay had been steep.
The house was dark, not even the smallest candle lit. Nothing that would draw a glimmer of attention to the home. A creak ached the roof above, and you flitted your nose up to the rafters, drawing lines across the ceiling. Nothing but your shallow breaths filled the silent dark.
The hearth then erupted with flame and spark, jolting you from back to neck bone. Had you any voice, a strangled scream would’ve fluttered out of your throat. Twisting, you had almost forgotten to breathe. A figure shrouded in shadow and leather stood beside the crackling firewood. Light and dark danced in an undulating battle across the strangers’ features–revealing a horrifying familiarity.
“Hope you don’t mind if I warm this place up a bit.” That voice, boy-ish in tone, lacked any hint of innocence or niceties. He stretched a gloved hand towards the licking flames, doing nothing to warm the ice coating his insides. “Couldn’t help but notice you looked a little cold and—alone.”
A snap of wood made you flinch; addressing him with quivering lips and dilated eyes. Your long-lost greeting didn’t forebode well.
Every piece of leather tightened around his body as he shifted. Turning to ensnare you within his talon like stare. When embers casted a sheen across his face, you braced against the sight. Soft features long since abandoned, reforged into a visage of cold iron. Carved and littered with scars and nicks across his furrowed brows, cheeks, and clenched jaw line.
“Well, this is kind of embarrassing. Wait, no. That’s not the word I was looking for. More like—disappointing. That sounds like a better fit. For you and everyone else here.” Hiccup stalked forward, a contraption of metal clanking and scratching against the splintering floors. Each step clanged through you, until he stood one heartbeat away. “After all these years, I’d thought you’d have a bit more to say than a blank stare. Every night, I dreamed about how this conversation would go. Just like how I dreamed things could be better than what they were. Funny how you can plan for things to go a certain way, but then…”
He pressed his hands at each side of your head, the glass window behind begging to crack from the pressure. His scent permeated, forcing you to swallow. Once smelling of spring honey and rolling glades, now sundered to singe your senses like bone ash and lightning storms.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s a little different.” He placed a calloused finger into the dip of your clavicle. He dug and dug until your pained gasp fell deaf to his ears. Tilting his head, he curled the lip of his mouth. “So, just like Gothi, you gave up your voice. Good—great, actually. This works out better for me.”
The smile that crept over his lips never made it up to his eyes. Not like before. Those vibrant meadows sullied into a sickly, muddled green. Thick and ichorous. And dared you stare long enough, you could never trudge your way out. Although you already felt stuck within them, your hand slipped silently into the pocket of your dress, where your fingers brushed against the hilt of a dagger.
You drew it a mere inch before his hand captured yours, twisting until he pried it into his possession.
“Come on. We both know you were never good at fighting.” He chuckled, wagging the sharpest point between your trembling eyes. “I’ll admit it. I wasn’t either back then. That’s something we had in common…until I had to be. Guess that didn’t work out in anyone’s favor on this wet piece of rock. Now, did it?”
Your vision blurred. Screams of the village roared in your ears. Screeches of dragons pierced through the air, engulfed in smoke and fire. Having consumed so much in its wake, you felt the heat of chaos leech into the glass. Searing your back pressed against it.
“Woah. Hey, don’t cry. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” he swept a rough thumb over a falling tear stain. “Not all of them will die tonight. I mean, just think about it for a second. Can’t be chief and rule over a bunch of burnt corpses. How counterintuitive would that be?”
“As for you though…” he continued, and your heart stalled as he traced the cold metal down your flush cheek and neck, pausing just above your breastbone. “I’m only standing here, watching everything and everyone turn to ash around us, all because of you. And don't tell me you don't remember. When you mended my leg. Somehow kept me from bleeding out. Just before the entire village abandoned me.” His clouded eyes narrowed down. “Including you.”
Releasing you from his pinning weight, your legs wobbled. As if he hadn’t just snatched your foothold underneath. Terror kept your feet webbed in place, watching as he twirled your dagger in his fingers like a child's play thing. Crouching near the fire, he mindlessly poked and prodded at the stoking wood. He picked away a scrap of charred chipping, before plunging the blade into the flank of the burning log. You gazed at him, chest tight, aching. How he hadn’t flinched when the fire slicked around his hand like oil.
He dragged the smoldering stump from the hearth, creating a scorched line. When the licks of fire seeped into the house floors, he rose, one vertebra at a time.
“If I’m being honest, I probably would’ve done the same thing.” He unhooked a masked contraption from his belt buckle and tightened it over his face. The eye sockets were of yellow stained sea glass, and the mouth of it appeared like a muzzle of iron teeth. “Leave something already weak, then crippled to survive on its own. Gambling on the high-stakes of death. So sure of the outcome, no one bothered to turn over a shoulder.” Hellfire rose and swelled in the reflection of his mask. “Maybe they should’ve.”
The rapid hunger of the hearth fire blazed and curled across the floor of the home. Heat lapped towards your skin, drawing out sweat from your pores. Dense smoke began filling the wooden death chamber. You inhaled the black snowflakes, searing your lungs once they melted inside you. You slapped a hard hand over your mouth, coughing and shuddering against it. A pang of panic willed your body to move. You attempted to open the window behind you, but to your horror, it had been welded to the frame.
Your eyes watered, hugging the wall as you traced it to the door. When the handle clattered against your pulls and tugs, a ghostly laugh floated around you. The metal was bolted shut from the outside. A bout of nausea cramped your stomach. Fear darted your eyes toward the stairs, where the flames hadn’t yet reached—but soon. Perhaps the window of your room hadn’t been tampered with.
You darted towards the steps, and before you could place one foot up, a black beast stalked from the darkness of the second floor.
The floating embers danced hauntingly over the onyx scales, and gashes rippled in the firelight. Revealing wounds healed twice, perhaps three times over. That body of night perfectly reflected it's master’s outward appearance.
And as you drowned in those feral slits of pure abandon, it was apparent they also shared the same broken, unmendable soul.
“Oh. You remember Toothless, don’t you?” Your face paled, backing slowly as the Nightfury slithered down the steps like black ink. A predatory growl rumbled above the snapping and collapsing wood around you. Hiccup sauntered to the dragon’s side, patting the thick of his neck, pulsing with power. Another laugh at your expense. “Looks like he remembers you.”
You fought the claw of unconsciousness raking over every part of you. Choking, straining against your hand pathetically covering your mouth.
“Since you did me a favor back then, I’m going to give you one chance to make it up to me.” The mask muffled his voice, but the wickedness screamed, rattling your veins. “You can either choose to stay here and burn with the rest of Berk or…” he lifted a hand, hardly an invitation, but a devilish bargain. “You can choose me.”
In the thick of your pounding head and chest, you wondered what choosing him would entail. And considered burning to death was the wiser option of the two. Staring at his demonic viel held no promise of a life worth suffering for at his side. Surely, it wouldn’t be long till you dropped on hands and knees, begging him to take your life. To end his drawn out game of torture. One he carefully crafted for years and years.
Just for you, only for you.
Still, you clung to life. A measly mortal thread. Your shaking hand lifted, painfully reaching for his fingertips. One step forward, and the world spun in wisps of red and black. Your lungs and heart throbbed, practically seizing. A calculated arm caught you, cradling you wholly, close as any lover would.
“Good choice.”
You heard the waning words of approval, and through the fading light of your vision, something fastened over your face. Your last conscious breath had been clean, airy—a pleasant contrast to the toxic fumes.
Then, nothing.
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YOU LOOK INTO MY EYES, YOU CAN’T RECOGNIZE MY FACE (BUT YOU BELONG TO ME).
CW; READ BEFORE READING - follows the plot line of scream, longer oneshot, one use of ‘y/n’, no physical details of reader, ‘she’ is used once (i believe) - but anyone can read, murder, creepy phone calls, knives, blood, injuries, death, no happy ending.
beta’s; @littlexdeaths & @madelynraemunson.
an; was inspired by scream (obviously), others writing, a edit on instagram, a rare occurrence of motivation, & my love of horror :p. hope you all enjoy!
“The gruesome murder of Hawkins High School cheerleader, Chrissy Cunningham, has instilled fear into many Hawkins residents. What was a normal day for this teen girl, had taken a turn for the-” Your finger presses down on the remote, tossing it onto the coffee table that was piled with your school work.
Your eyes stare at the small black print, teeth biting at the loose skin around your nail. A murder? In a town as small as Hawkins?
You suddenly feel sick, the churning in your stomach causing you to press your palm over your mouth when you close your eyes. You think about Chrissy’s last moments. How frightened she must’ve been. How she tried to scream with no one around to help.
You wonder how fast she bled out. If she had to suffer the injuries that only someone sick and twisted could do to another individual in such a gruesome way.
You flinch when you hear the shrill ring coming from the phone in the hallway. You stare down the dark path before slowly standing. Your eyes dart towards the door - it’s locked and chained. Thankfully you remembered.
You flinch again when you hear the ringing again, slowly walking down the hall and picking the phone up from the receiver, pressing it to your ear.
“Hello?”
It’s silent on the other end, but you can hear breathing. Your fingers wrap around the cord and you peek around the corner at the window above the sink.
“Who is this?” Your brows pinch together. It’s still silent on the other end. You shake your head, pulling back. “I’m hanging up.”
You drop the phone back onto the receiver, turning away from the phone. You stumble in your footsteps when it rings again, looking over your shoulder.
You sigh, walking back quickly, yanking it up from the receiver. “This isn’t funny.”
“Woah. What’s up with you?” The voice on the other line is smooth and sounds like honey would if it were a person - Eddie Munson.
Your eyes shut as you shake your head to yourself. “Nothing.”
“I just called. You couldn’t hear me?”
“That was you?” He hums on the other line. “No. I didn’t hear you, all I heard was breathing. Anyway, what’s up?”
“I was seeing if you’ve been captured by that mushy boyfriend of yours or not.”
You laugh and lean against the wall. “Steve is a nice boy once you get to know him, Eds. Leave him alone,” He mumbles something on the other line. “But he’s about to come over. We’re supposed to watch a movie together.”
“Oh,” He says dejectedly. “Alright, then.”
“You wanna join? He’s picking up pizza and beer.”
“No thanks. I’ll stay here, all by my lonesome. You have fun, but not too much.” Eddie’s voice had gone up with a teasing lilt that has you rolling your eyes. You push yourself from the wall.
Your head lifts when you hear a knock. “Alright. He’s here. I’ll see you later?”
“You know it.” The line goes dead and your dropping the phone back onto the receiver, walking towards the door and opening it.
“Pizza and beer delivery.” Steve grins goofily, lifting each item.
You let him step in and set the stuff down before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing a couple of kisses against the cluster of freckles on his cheek. “I’ve missed you.”
Steve’s shoulders wiggle under your arms as he tries to slide the jacket he wore off, laughing softly causing a puff of air to hit the side of your cheek. “We just saw each other this morning.”
“Still too long,” There’s a glossy print in the shape of your lips. You pull away, nudging your nose with his. “How was work?”
His hands finally slip into your back pockets causing you to giggle and stumble forward more. His smile is lopsided when he stares down at you. “Good, I guess. Keith was such a-” He pauses, taking a breath as he shakes his head. “He was more than what he usually is.”
You pout softly. “I’m sorry,” Your head tilts, fingers sliding into his hair. “Let me go change. Then we can snuggle on the couch and watch a movie, yeah?”
Steve nods and presses one, two, three pecks onto your lips. You smile against his, pressing one more on to his lips, before walking away.
“Oh, by the way,” You call from your room. You hear a creak outside that lets you know Steve is outside your bedroom door. “I got a weird phone call.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” You let out a small laugh, slipping on some shorts. “All I could hear was breathing. But Eddie said it was him.”
“Munson?”
You roll your eyes, slipping on Steve’s old faded gym shirt, walking out. “Yes. Eddie Munson. You both gotta hash, whatever it is that makes you both act all tough, out. It’s getting tiring honestly.”
“Maybe I just don’t like him around you.” He follows behind you, brows pinched slightly.
“He’s my best friend.”
“And I’m your boyfriend.” Steve’s voice had lowered slightly, but you could still hear the raspiness - the strain - in his voice.
Your brows lift and you slowly turn to face him. “Are you jealous, Steve?”
“Why would I be jealous of someone who doesn’t have you, hm? He’s the one who should be jealous.”
“Well, he’s not,” You sigh a bit, shaking your head. Your arms reach out and land on his biceps as you step closer. Your fingertips drag down Steve’s arms slowly - you smile when you feel the goosebumps raise and the slight heaving of his chest.
“You’re the only one I want, okay?” He nods quickly. “No. I want you to say it back.”
“I-I’m the only guy you want.” Your lips spread out into a grin as you nod.
You pat his cheek softly. “You’re so right, Stevie,” You nudge your nose against his, eyes fluttering down to his lips before looking back up towards his mossy greens. “You’re the only one I want.”
-
The sound of the toilet flushing causes you to wince as it echoes off the walls. You button your pants, unlocking the stall and stepping towards the row of sinks, flipping the cold water on.
You watch as the bubbles slip down the drain, eyes flickering up to the mirror. Bags had made a home under your eyes - not even concealer could hide that you hadn’t been sleeping.
There was another murder. Nancy Wheeler.
She was one of your friends, acquaintances at best since she would be at the mini hang outs Steve would host. Her and her boyfriend, Jonathan Byers, would show up with mini snacks that she had made and Jonathan wanted to capture moments with his camera.
She was sweet, nice, and caring. Always asking if you needed help with anything, or even saying hello as you both passed one another in the hallways of the school.
Jonathan hadn’t been present at school and he wouldn’t want to be present. Rumors of him ‘breaking’ finally and doing something terrible had made the poor guy seem crazy.
The sound of another toilet flushing catches you off guard, your head turning quickly to look at the stalls. They seemed to be all empty.
You look away, turning the water off and reaching for a paper towel. You dry your hands off quickly, before looking back towards the mirror.
You pause, head tilting when you notice black combat boots from the gap.
You turn back again, blinking once, twice, three times before hearing the stall door unlock, the sound echoing off the walls making your heart drop and alarms go off in your head.
You turn quickly, rushing out of the bathroom, looking back once you finally make it into the hallway - your breathing hitches when you notice a figure in the mirror, your own body stumbling into someone else’s. Rough palms grip your arms causing you to swat them away.
“Hey! What’s- Y/N, what’s wrong?” Your chest heaves with heavy breaths as you realize it’s just Eddie who you’d bumped into and was not gripping your arms trying to keep you calm.
“S-someone… There was…” Your mouth feels dry and you still feel panicky, the feeling of eyes on you making your head turn and look over both shoulders. Your chin quivers as you shake your head. Eddie shakes you slightly by your biceps, his brows pinching with confusion.
“Hey, eyes on me,” Eddie’s rough palms leave your arms, landing on your cheeks and navigating your head back towards him. His eyes are wide slightly, rounded and soft as they stay on you, never once looking away. “Let’s try again. Deep breath…” He watches your chest as you inhale, the small S pendant sinking in between your collarbones - his heart skips a beat and there’s a weird feeling in his chest.
Eddie nods, curls bouncing with the motion and tickling at his cheeks. “Good… Good job,” He whispers, thumb wiping away the tear that runs a wet, salty track down your cheek. You are suddenly aware of the smell of weed and the overwhelming scent of spicy cinnamon cologne trying to cover the pungent, sweet smell. “Now tell me what’s wrong?”
“There was…there was someone in the bathroom.” You shudder on a breath.
Eddie lets out a small chuckle. “I’d figure. It’s a-”
“No! It…” Your eyes squeeze shut. “I think it might’ve been the killer,” Your eyes slowly open to see a spectacle look on Eddie’s face - pursed lips and his brows slightly furrowed. “Just.. forget it. Never mind.” You shake your eyes. He grabs your wrist before you can walk away.
“I’ll check.”
“No, Eds. You’ll get in-”
“Trouble?” His brows lift slightly, finishing your sentence. You nod. “When has that ever stopped me? I’ll just poke my head in, peek around, and pull away. I won’t walk in fully.”
Your eyes dart back towards the bathroom and you find yourself nodding again. He smiles softly, stepping towards the bathroom, opening the heavy door and peeking inside.
“Hellooooo? Any killer in here?”
“Eddie.” You warn through gritted teeth, shifting on your feet as you look down the hallway quickly.
Eddie then pulls away, letting the door slowly shut behind him. “No ones in there, sweetheart. Have you been sleeping?”
You cross your arms over your chest. “What does that have to do with anything?” You defend. “I know what I saw.”
He quickly puts his hands up in defense, shaking his head. “Hey, I’m just asking. I’m worried about you. With…everything going on. Now, you’re saying you are seeing things. You need to get some rest.”
“I know what I saw,” You repeat your words. “And if you don’t believe me, that’s fine.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” He walks towards you slowly. “I…” He looks like he’s contemplating something and it makes your shoulders slump a bit as you stare at him.
“You what?” You tilt your head.
“I’ve been getting these weird phone calls,” He rubs at his temple. You frown, arms dropping by your sides. “I don’t think it’s anything to be worried about though. I just- have you gotten any weird calls?”
“A while ago…” You nod. “What do they say?”
“Nothing. It’s just breathing. Really heavy breathing,” Eddie looks down at his feet. “I think I might know who it is though.”
“Who?”
“Steve.”
Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What? Why do you think it’s Steve of all people?”
“For one, he hates me —”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
He ignores you. “Secondly, when I asked if it was Steve, he hung up.”
A laugh slips from your throat and you shake your head. Eddie frowns. “You think it’s Steve - my boyfriend - who’s been behind the weird phone calls that you’ve been receiving and the killings.”
“I never said I thought he was behind the killings,” He tilts his head. “What, are you thinking it’s someone you know?” He asks.
Your lips purse together at the question and you quickly look away - because you have thought about the possibility of someone close to you being capable of these things.
“Oh,” It’s a teasing whisper from Eddie that has your eyes shooting back towards his face. “You have, haven’t you?”
“No.”
“That’s a lie, sweetheart… I know you better than yourself. Maybe even Stevie,” There’s a small hum that leaves Eddie’s throat. “It’s kind of weird, though, isn’t it? His ex being murdered, stabbed multiple times. Sounds personal.”
“Yeah, well, Chrissy - a girl who had no interest in you besides buying - was stabbed multiple times too,” You snap. “Sounds personal, doesn’t it?”
You immediately regret the words that spill from your mouth when you notice Eddie’s face go blank of emotion. You sigh, shaking your head.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not-”
“I said, it’s fine,” Eddie snaps. Your head rears back from his forceful words, blinking quickly as you tilt your head. “I gotta get to class anyway.” He pushes past you in a rush.
“Eddie!” You watch as he turns the corner, a sigh leaving your throat as your shoulders slump. “I’m sorry.” You mutter to yourself.
-
“I’m sorry,” Steve says over the loud music bouncing off the walls of his suburban home. You glance at him. “I didn’t know this many people would show up!”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have told Tommy!” Your brows lift slightly. Steve nods because he knows you’re right.
If he wouldn’t have blabbered to Tommy, of all people, there wouldn’t be people he barely even knew throwing about antiques of his mothers and pulling out old wine that his father invested in that cost more than the prices of their houses put together probably.
The music suddenly lowers and Billy Hargrove, the newest boy of Hawkins, presents the idea of watching a horror movie since Stevie-Boy had such a lovely collection.
You stumble on your feet a bit when you feel someone bump into your shoulder. Steve grabs your hand, pulling you towards him. “Watch where you’re going.”
“My bad,” It’s Eddie. You quickly look over your shoulder at the boy who had his hands up in mock surrender, a smirk on his face, the metal lunch box he holds squeaks slightly by the black handle. “Didn’t mean to brush against your precious luxury, Harrington.”
“Who invited you?”
“Steve.”
“No, I seriously want to know.”
“Billy. Getting paid handsomely, I must say.” Eddie grins - a conniving and teasing smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the sides.
“I want you to leave.”
“I have deals to sell, money to make. No can do, big boy.” Eddie turns and starts to walk towards the patio doors. Steve’s hand shoots out, gripping his wrist.
“I’ll call the cops.”
“You’ll also be getting in trouble,” Steve’s brows pinch in confusion. “Curfew, remember? You’re basically putting people in the line of danger. So I’d rethink your statement if I were you - but that’s just me.” Eddie grins, patting at Steve’s shoulder before continuing his walk towards the patio door.
He flinches at the sound of loud music, but this time it’s theme music coming from the television speakers - Wes Craven's Nightmare On Elm Street playing.
He sighs and rubs his forehead, turning towards you. He frowns when he notices the far off look on your face. “I’m sorry… I know he’s your friend but he just… he gets under my skin.”
You open your mouth but Billy is cutting you off by roughly slapping at Steve’s shoulder. “Where’s the beer, Harrington?”
Steve sighs. “Basement.”
Billy grins and looks at you, blue eyes dancing up and down. “Nice pants.” He walks past you, turning his head once again a lopsided smile on his lips that has Steve clenching his fist at his side.
“I’m just going to hang out in your room.” You shake your head, walking past Steve and towards the steps, jogging up them. Steve turns to watch you, sighing as he leans on the counter.
-
The sounds of screams and howling laughter that are coming from downstairs are muffled. Your eyes look around Steve’s bedroom, humming to yourself softly.
You’ve been in here multiple times, but now you really take the time to stare at the posters and photos that are lined up. You sit up when your eyes land on a frame that’s hiding behind another, head tilting.
You glance towards the door before pushing yourself off the fluffy comforter before walking towards his messy drawer, moving the photo frame that had a photo of Steve and yourself, heart dropping at the one in behind.
Nancy and Steve. There was still a photo of Nancy and Steve on his dresser. One where Steve was looking like he was really in love with the girl, eyes focused on her face. Your brows furrow together, lips pursing together.
There’s a small part of you that the photo was hidden by yours and Steve’s photo - but the other half was angry. You didn’t mind him keeping the photo. But maybe somewhere hidden in a box under his bed.
You needed to go home before Steve caught you looking at the photo. You turn away, yanking your sweater from where it was thrown onto the chair, slipping it on and quickly making your way down the steps.
It’s quiet now, you notice, the television at a low volume and the laughter gone. You slowly walk towards the archway that leads into the living room. There’s red solo cups left on the coffee table, popcorn kernels on the couch and carpet, and crumbs.
You’d clean, but, again, you’re on a mission to leave without Steve noticing. You turn away from the mess, walking towards the door.
Your body collides with someone else’s, sending you back onto the floor. Your eyes widen at a bloody Billy.
“Help,” His voice is strained and blood spills from his mouth and between his fingers, that were pressed to the wound on his side that stains his shirts, drips onto the hardwood floor. Your breathing gets caught in your throat when he stumbles on his own feet, falling to his knees. Your wide, tearful eyes shoot to the side when you watch someone emerge from the side.
It’s a tall figure, the black robe covering their clothes and the mask hiding their hair and face - but the combat boots. They’re wearing the same combat boots from the other day.
The masked figure stands behind Billy, leg lifting and boot pressing against the back of the boy, knocking him down. Billy’s hand shoots out, trying to catch himself from falling face first into the floor - which proves to be useless from the crimson stain on his hand, smearing across the floor and making him slip.
He cries out in pain when his nose hits the floor, a small gasping noise coming from his nose as his head lifts, blue eyes connecting with yours.
You're frozen in fear, shaking on the ground as you watch the fingers of the killer twist the knife, gloved hand swiping the blood from the silver.
Billy lets out another gasp when the knife swipes down, puncturing in between his spine. You finally stand from the floor, stumbling as you run towards the patio door.
You look back, hand on the knob as you try sliding it open, letting out a loud sob when you notice the figure was gone and nowhere in sight.
You scream when you hear something from outside hit the other side of the door making you reel back, watery eyes widen as you stare at Steve who hits the window, a bloody smeared handprint slides against the wall.
“Let me in! Please!” Steve hits at the window. His hair was mussed, blood soaked the front of his shirt. “Baby! Please!” His voice is raw and brows furrowed.
Your eyes leave his own, trailing down to look at his shirt. He looks down quickly before looking up. “Th-that’s not what it looks like! It’s… I saw Billy in the garage! I tried to help him but he told me to come call for help!” His voice catches at the end as he shakes his head. “All the doors are locked…I can’t come in, please, unlock the door.”
You slowly walk towards the door, fingers tracing over the lock before switching it over and pulling the door open. “W-we need to run to your neighbor’s house,” You whisper. “He’s inside.”
His eyes glance behind you, landing on Billy before pushing in and walking towards the body, staring at the blood that slowly turns into a puddle.
“Steve! What are you doing!?” You turn towards him.
“It’s not everyday you get to see a dead body.” Steve shakes his head as he slowly kneels down, fingers gripping at Billy’s hair and lifting his head up as he slowly tilts his head.
“You…you’re scaring me. Please, let’s just go!”
Steve hums and slowly stands from the ground, turning around as he looks at you. You look over your shoulder when you hear a soft click.
Your eyes widen when you stumble back, your back hitting the mini bar, hands gripping at the wood.
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t as exhilarating as the last.”
Your eyes widen when curls slip from the mask and it drops to the ground, the velcro ripping and robe sliding from his arms.
“E-eddie?”
“Look at you…” Eddie’s boots leave bloody footprints as he slowly makes his way towards you, pointing the knife in your direction. “A smart one, Harrington. You got lucky.” He cages you in, a deep laugh erupting from his chest as he stares at you, teeth on display.
“You’re telling me,” Steve makes his way over. Your eyes widen when he leans against the bar beside you, pushing some of your hair back. “I’m surprised she didn’t piece it together sooner. Though, I was worried she would have,” He then pouts slightly. “It would’ve ruined our fun.”
Your hand blindly reaches for a glass, arm swinging and breaking it against Eddie’s noise, a curse slipping from his mouth as he turns and holds his face, blood dripping down.
You turn to run away, but there’s a sharp tug on your hair, pulling you down onto the ground roughly, the feeling making you cry out in pain.
Heavy weight drops onto your waist, hands gripping at your wrist and pulling - knees press into your arms roughly.
“Now why did you make me do that, hm?” Steve’s voice is condescending and mocking as he stares down at you.
“Please…” You whimper when you feel his fingers trace over your neck to find your pulse point - he smiles when he feels it jump under his calloused fingertips. His fingers then trail towards the charm around your neck, tracing the letter S. “Please, let me go.”
“No can do, angel.” Steve pouts when he hears your heightened cry. Eddie walks around and stands at the top of your head, spitting blood beside your head, staring down at you. He’s upside down when your eyes open to look at him. Blood stains his white teeth when he smiles down at you, kneeling slowly.
“It’s such a shame Stevie,” The sharp end flicks at your cheekbone, causing your face to screw up at the burn that follows soon after. “She was so pretty.”
“No… No, no, no,” You start to wiggle under Steve’s weight, shaking your head. “No! Please.”
It’s as if you aren’t even there, Steve and Eddie not acknowledging you crying and shaking underneath them. Steve’s hand opens and Eddie grins, placing the handle onto his palm.
Steve’s fingers wrap around it, looking down at you, pressing a finger to your lips. “Shhh…Shh, I know… I know,” He whispers, lowering his head.
Knees press against your temple to stop your head from moving. “It won’t hurt as much if you just stay still…”
He lifts up, arms coming up over his head as he stares down at you. Your fingers had become fuzzy from the lack of circulation caused by Steve’s knees, the pounding in your head caused by Eddie’s knees encasing your head.
“No! Steve, don’t!”
Steve’s lips slowly spread into a grin. “This was fun.”
tag — @smelliewilliams
— @joshlmbrt 2024
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Yelp (Prologue) ls2
masterlist next chapter
words: 796
warnings: cursing, implied violence and character death, it's literally the opening scene of scream so use your imagination
notes: i promise these specific characters have been chosen for plot-related reasons. i love kimi, it made me sad to hurt him, but it's worth it for the story i promise 😪 hope you enjoy this teaser! i'll get to working on the main plot real soon i promise 🤞also if you see any mistakes please let me know. english is my first language, i'm just fucking stupid
“Mum, I don’t need a babysitter. I’m literally 18 in August.” … “No, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to yell at you, but I’m not a kid. He doesn’t even do anything; he just sits on the couch, watches TV, and eats all of the good crisps.” … “Yeah, I know I said I don’t need him, but what’s the point of even having him here if he doesn't do anything?!”
“Kimi, pipe down a bit, will ya?”
“See? Did you hear that?” … “I’m not even being that loud!” … “Okay, yeah, that was loud, but it was because I’m pissed off, Mum.” … “That’s not even a curse word!”
“Mate!”
“Sorry, Ralf.” … “What? Are you kidding me? No, I’m not gonna call him ‘Mr. Aron.’” … “Yeah, whatever.” … “Sorry. Yeah, have fun, love you. Bye.”
Kimi hung up the phone and sighed dramatically. “I’m 17 years old,” he whispered to himself in the way one does when they’re angry, but don’t want anyone else to hear, while he fake kicked the wall.
After several minutes of pantomiming a temper tantrum, Kimi sat down at his desk. He could hear the disgusting crunches of crisps being belligerently chomped on by an open mouth from downstairs harmonizing with the bickering voices of Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago on the television.
“Fuck this,” he muttered under his breath and unlocked his phone. Just as his finger was about to press the call button on his friend Ollie’s contact page, the screen went black, except for two green and red buttons and white, medium-sized lettering displaying who was on the other end of the line: “Unknown Caller”.
Spam, he immediately concluded and clicked the red button without hesitation. But, again, before he could select the FaceTime option, the Unknown Caller screen returned. Annoyed, he quickly answered and brought it up to his ear.
“Hello?” he asked tiredly. Maybe it was some distant relative who thought it was his birthday or something?
“Hello,” the voice on the other end echoed.
“Hello? Who is this?” he demanded, already out of patience. The last thing he needed on this already tragically boring evening was to get stuck on the phone for an hour with someone who claimed to have changed his diapers when he was a baby.
“Oh, you know who it is. We’re good friends,” the voice replied, this time with an eerie tone that made his skin crawl.
Before Kimi could answer, the sound of a bowl clattering to the hardwood ground made him turn his head to the open door. “Fucking dumbass,” he grumbled under his breath.
“Excuse me?” the voice seethed.
“What? Oh, not you,” Kimi rushed to explain, “my stupid babysitter.”
“Babysitter?” it asked him, chuckling.
“Fuck,” he moaned, leaning back in his chair. “Shut up. I meant-”
“No, I know what you meant,” the other line interrupted. “I know all about you…”
This made Kimi sit back up in his chair. “Huh?”
“You heard me,” It simply stated.
“Alright, is this a joke? You guys know I don’t like shit like this; it’s not fun-”
“This isn’t a prank!” the voice hollered.
Kimi fell out of his seat at the sudden noise, hitting his shoulder on the edge of his desk.
“Pardon my tone,” it apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just don’t like when I’m not taken seriously.” Kimi could hear the bitterness seeping in toward the end of the sentence.
“You didn’t startle me,” he lied, getting up from the floor.
“Oh, don’t you try and deceive me,” the voice reprimanded with a snicker. “I see everything.”
Kimi’s heart fell to his now standing feet. “...what did you just say?”
“I said, ‘I know everything.’”
“No, you didn’t. You said…” At this realization, Kimi dropped his phone, not even bothering to end the call, and rushed out of his bedroom. Prank or not, he was freaked the fuck out and wanted to leave. Right. Fucking. Now.
As he made his way down the stairs, he abruptly came to a halt before he reached the bottom. On the floor in front of the couch lay a mess of crushed crisps and a haphazardly tossed wooden bowl from his cupboard. No Ralf. With shaking limbs, he descended the final steps to inspect the scene further.
“Mike! Mike! Mike!”
Kimi turned around so quickly he almost lost his balance. His heart settled when he realized it was just the stupid movie playing on the television. He promptly grabbed the remote and turned it off.
But when he looked at the reflection of the black tinted glass, he could see something behind him. Something out of the ordinary. He squinted to try and make out what it was.
“Aw, you don’t like scary movies?”
taglist (if you would like to be added or removed just lmk!): @gaypoetsblog @koris-009 @feralnando @disneyprincemuke @osbuzz @avaayalaa @faithshouseofchaos @thearchieves @scuderia-piastri @lovelytsunoda @localwhoore @foreveralbon @vroomvroomcircuit
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gig report london 11.4.2024
now that i'm back home and stuck inside for a couple of days bc of bovid, i can finally finish my gig report from london! it's gonna be a long one 😅
i won't be getting too much into how i traveled to london bc the story is long, but let's just say that i would arrange it differently now that i experienced it
in london i met up with @joyuntold, who was my roommate for the two nights! kiitos for letting me tag along with you <3 we had so much fun just yapping the night before the concert that i almost forgot how tired i was at that point 😂
i hadn't slept in well over 24 hours so i went to sleep at 8pm local time and had a good night's sleep before going queueing so that i could stay there for the whole day after i'd gotten my number
the queue had already started the day before because of a misunderstanding and it being posted on social media, which caused the word to spread and suddenly everyone was getting their numbers and just going away for several hours. can we please just not do this?
i did have a fun time in the queue though! there were a lot of familiar faces but i just got really shy with my english for some reason and felt very awkward not talking, so i hung out with my finns a lot during the day
but everyone i talked to that day like overall was just super nice once again! i met and talked to a few mutuals too!
the first band member we saw was jure, he walked past the queue and we all just said hi to him
jan and nace came to the venue together shortly after. i waved at them and nace waved back :)
i didn't see the other band members come to the venue but we did see the family guštin walk by a couple of times
the ee line worked so well, we formed the number queue ourselves and the crowd management worked really well for us. there were multiple lines formed for every type of ticket, but i heard that the ga line was not as successful
i had already lost my hope for barricade on jan and nace's side with how many people there were in the queue before me, but i literally got the perfect spot on the barricade and didn't even have to run for it!
when we got inside i had already completely forgotten about the soundcheck so i was actually surprised when they came on stage 😅 they played astp and proti toku
roots & wings were fun, they were just trying really hard and that was kinda adorable :)
elle coves was amazing! hadn't listened to her songs at all beforehand but i really enjoyed it!
they played the gola setlist and i do get why it's their favorite one
kris especially was on fire during the gig!! idk if it was because his family was there but he gave his everything on stage
we got the demoni scream!!!
also idk what was in padam that night but bojan was really living it and i really felt it and got literal goosebumps
i remember there being a moment when i was like the jance shippers are gonna eat this one up, but i'm too feverish to remember what it was rn
we had a surprise guest on stage! louie starkey, grandson of ringo starr, came on stage during umazane misli and did his own solo.
a finnish translation of umazane misli was also sung that night by yours truly <3 i have no memory from that moment but i just saw a video of it and bojan showed a thumbs up to the band when i started singing 😂 btw if anyone else has any footage from that moment, i would love to see more!
we were like there's no way they're not gonna play ssol and were kinda shocked that it was not on the setlist, but of course they came to play it as an extra encore
after the gig i stayed at the barricade and kiki came over to give the setlists and i got one <3 that was the first time i'd even tried to get one so i was kinda surprised to get it, but it's now on the wall next to my photos i got printed :)
when we went outside there were a lot of people waiting and bojan did come to greet us quickly and take the picture he posted on instagram
i waited for a while but my feet were hurting so much from standing all day that i called it a day just a bit too early and just went to the hotel
the next day i found out that if i'd literally walked back towards the venue with the others instead of leaving to the hotel i would've met some of them 😅
my next two days were spent exploring london, we went to camden town with a friend i'd met before at a gig but we only got to know each other in london! and on saturday i was on a bus on my way to london and it was a sunny day and suddenly sunny side of london started playing from my playlist and that felt so good
overall it was a very fun experience! i got to meet so many cool people, i saw my favorite band yet again, i sung in finnish at fucking shepherd's bush empire, i basically traveled solo for the first time and it went very well. i'm really glad i decided to go :)
also i joked about getting bovid from the gig when i was feeling kinda stuffy and tired yesterday and today i tested positive with covid 🤠
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I haven’t heard YLM either! Or any of the vault songs from 1989. Guessing I’ll never hear the new album either until it’s forced down our throats everywhere we turn.
That Times London article was 🙄. Seems like someone didn’t take their assignment seriously of covering how horrific her fans are or what TS does to encourage it in order to keep their Swiftie standing. Super bitchy towards Joe including saying he’s standoffish???? Because he wasn’t screaming VIVA LAS VEGASSSSSS drunk off his Trump-loving ass in public? Fuck off with that. Is he guarded? Absolutely, for good reason. But not standoffish.
There’s been a lot of mistakes over the last 8 years by Joe: falling in love with that narcissist, not getting better PR as anons noted, letting TS and their relationship impact his career in how much he worked and what projects he took on (you lose that hustle when you’re not worrying about money and worrying instead about the stage 5 clinger gf), but thank goodness he never compromised and kept his privacy and held that line with her fucking fans. He gave them nothing, he continues to give them nothing, and so they write the most obvious fan fiction. That fan fiction may have the fandom in a stranglehold where shit like “he cheated” or “he gaslighted her” without any facts* is just the truth to them, but the majority of the people outside of the fandom are like fuck off Swifties.
*praying this holds true come Friday
I just want to be done with this shitfest already so we can move on. I can't wait for Cannes and KOK.
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Lonely...
Neteyam x lonely reader
The warnings!: ⚠️,🖤,🩸,🔞
⚠️: the first time, reader is virgin but got taken away, forced, blood, stalking, non con (Let me know what I'm missing)
Tagging list: @hotdsworld (she said it was ok for me to tag her)
(The story doesn't add up but please enjoy I tried my very best 🙏🏽)
*Y/n is always alone, as long as she can remember*
*Her parents barely come home. They barely even see her*
*But hey come home each month. They will stay for a day then leave for the rest of the month*
*Y/n even ask them, 'why do you guys always leave me home alone? Why not take me with you?'*
*They said 'it's too dangerous and it's best for you to stay home'*
*She understood but still quite sad about it.*
*Every time they leave, y/n will have to go to the village to get some meat and some water.*
﹏
*At was the middle of the day, the sun was going to set soon. Y/N was in the village getting her daily needs, when all of a sudden she heard some Na’vi around her talking about a Celebration..Y/N didn’t care much for those. Soon her friend Eva ran over and spoke to her about the celebration, but Y/N told her she wasn’t going. Eva was bummed out but understood.*
*time passed, she returned home and placed her goods on a small table, but then she felt something grab the back of her neck tightly and the something else covered her mouth.*
“Don’t move, you will regret it..” *The voice sounded familiar, she managed to look up and see the face of Jake’s eldest son, Neteyam.*
*Y/n gasped in fear to him, why is he here? At her house?*
*She grabbed his forearm and try to pull away but my eywa he's strong*
"How you don't want to come to the celebration? Is it because of me?" *He asked*
“You know, I could make it more enjoyable for the both of us..~” *Neteyam teased, his hand slid away from her mouth and to the waistline of her loincloth..gently tracing its shape.*
"w-what are you doing here..!?" *She said as she struggled to breathe*
*Did she do something wrong? Did she say something wrong? If not then in hell is he here?*
“Shhhh..just be quiet baby..” *He kneeled down and the floor, pulling her down with. His hard member pressed against her back..*
“I just need to make myself a real warrior, not by hunting or getting my Ikran..” *his hand slipped underneath her top, he softly kneaded her breasts.*
*she gasped again then every strength that she has to pulling her up from the ground and push him off*
"Get off of me! You...Pervert!"
*She had enough air to say those words*
*he immediately pulled her back down.* “shut up damnit.!-“ *he kissed her to make her screams muffled, he tore her loincloth off and massaged her puffy pussy with his thumb aggressively.*
*y/n moans in the kiss as he massages her pussy with his thumb*
*She tried to roll him off of her she tried everything she could think of but nothing worked against this man*
<Someone help! Anyone!> *She thought*
*Her pussy was so wet for him, his thumb covered in her juices. He soon took two of his fingers and thrusted them inside of her, his tail coiled around her thigh.*
"!!" *Her body jolted, she could feel his two fingers the thrusting in and out of her pussy*
*Her legs started to shake. Nobody has touched her there or the inside, never*
*And oh ewya she wishes her parents were here right now*
*her pussy clinches around his fingers*
"Stop! Take them out" *she cried*
“I will slap you I swear to eywa..shut up.”
*he groaned, he became more aggressive with fingering her.*
"ooh!" *She moans again*
*After a moment of fingering her. Took his fingers out and untie his Loincloth with his free right hand*
*His left hand still pending her down*
*he climbed on top of her and lined his throbbing cock up with her folds, gently slapping it against her wet slit.*
“I hope your ready baby..”
*he slowly slid inside her, he let out a long groan..*
*she also groan, her legs shaking again, he feels so big around her walls, she feels her walls stretching from his cock*
"Oh my ewya! S-stop!*
“Oh fuck..” *he began to quickly thrust inside her, his hands slid or her waist.*
“You’re so tight, mhm..” *He whimpered, his braids dangled from his face as he kept fucking her.*
"mm!~ so b-big!~" *his cock hitting her cervix. Neteyam looked down seeing blood around his cock*
"I'm your first huh? Good~"
*He went faster with this thrust*
*he he buried his fav in her neck, one hand gripped onto one of her tits. He kept pounding inside her.*
“fuck, you already make me want to cum..”
"n-no~ don't cum inside!~" *she crossed again as he put his hand on tit aggressively squishing*
"Oh ewya!~"
“Oh fuck.!!~” *with one final aggressive thrust, he released a huge load deep inside her womb. He slowly pulled out of her, his cock Covered in her juices and his own cum.*
“good girl..~” *Neteyam mumbled.*
"aahh!~ ooh~..." *She felt his seed covering her walls, his seed is thick and heavy that some of it slipping out of her pussy*
"Now are you gone come to the celebration?"
*Neteyam asked with a dark tone*
*She nodded shakily*
"Good, I'll see you there~"
*End*
(PS sorry it took so long for me to do this, a lot of shit has been going on so yeah, I did said I was continue writing this so I did with a friend on Twitter 🤩 so enjoy this post and let me know if you wanna be tagged for the next one and let me know if I messed anything up)
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1. & 14. With Paul please
1. I saw someone at the window.
14. Are you alright?
Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you like this!
----------------------------
A soft sigh escaped me as I reached for the remote control. Somehow, even though I had it only a moment ago, it had moved just out of reach. The channel I was stuck at was playing a horror movie, although I wasn't sure whether it was Halloween 1 or 2. Still, it didn't really matter. It was almost the same movie anyway - whether Laurie Strode was being chased by Michael in Hatchetfield or in the hospital, in the end, she would survive. I paused the movie to get some drink for myself, wondering whether a final girl would know she was a final girl. At one point, maybe after finding all the bodies of dead friends while you're being chased, someone should realise that, right?
I poured myself some coke, putting the bottle back in the fridge and looking out the kitchen window. It would be a clear night. Still, it was to early for the boys to be out - the sun was still painting the sky a deep red - but I knew they would be on the boardwalk within the hour. I decided I'd finish the movie, and then head out.
I was about to turn back to the livingroom, when I could have sworn, I saw something. A figure. Someone outside, staring in. I froze. I looked.
Nothing.
I shook my head. I'd probably imagined it, being too caught up with the movie or something, right? I entered the living room, putting my glass down and closing the curtains. If there was someone outside-
I froze, staring out my window. Fifteen feet away was a figure. Staring at me, at the house, at the window - holding something.
"Shit!"
I quickly closed the curtains, locking the windows and the doors. I searched for my phone, finding it on the couch. "Please be awake, please be awake!" I muttered as the phone rang several times on the other line.
"What's up?"
The voice on the other end sounded sleepy, and barely awake - but he was awake.
"Paul? Could you skip the boardwalk and come over, please?"
I heard some stumbling noises on the other end.
"Eh, sure. What's going on?"
"I don't know. There's - I saw someone at the window. And he's staring at me, and he's just moving around the house and I am kind of scared?"
"Shit, babe," I heard him sigh. "Have you locked everything?"
"Yeah."
"Alright. Check upstairs too, make sure everything is locked tight, and don't go anywhere without a weapon."
"A weapon? I don't-"
"Get a knife from the kitchen, alright? I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Okay. Please hurry?"
"Sure thing, babe."
He hung up the phone, and I did as he had recommended. I ran to the kitchen, grabbing a large knife. I tried to keep a strong grip on it, but my palms were sweaty. I ran up the stairs, making sure everything was locked. I entered the bathroom, locking the window, when I heard a noise. It was coming from my bedroom.
And then I remembered how I used the balcony this morning, enjoying my morning cup of coffee there. And how I'd forgotten to lock the door.
"Shit, shit, shit!" I breathed panicky, moving to my bedroom as quietly as I could. I didn't dare to make a noise. On my tiptoes, I moved into the room, noting that it was empty and quickly closing the door and locking it.
I turned around, screaming as I saw the figure I'd seen outside standing in the doorway.
"Who are you?!"
I got no answer, and I decided to do the one thing I could think of. With my free hand, I unlocked the balcony door. Slowly, without breaking eyecontact, I slided the door open.
I quickly turned, running out, climbing over the railing. The man ran after me, grabbing for my arm, my leg - I screamed as I hung upside down, held up by my own leg.
"Let go of me!"
He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. I saw the knife in his hand, I saw the glee in his eyes... I closed my eyes, terrified of the fall - and I kicked him. Hard. He let go, and I fell down. Down, ready to feel my face land in the cold hard gravel, ready to be taken to the hospital because either jumped out of a window, only to not land.
With a slight frown, I opened my eyes, realising he was here. He held me, holding me in his arms.
"Paul!"
I hugged him tightly, breathing a sigh of relief. No matter who was inside my house, Paul could handle the guy and kill him if necessary.
"Are you alright?" He asked as he put me down, looking me over. I nodded. I might have some bruises come morning, but no lasting injuries. Scare wise, however, I was not alright.
"He's inside the house. He tried to grab me, and-" I took a deep breath. "I thought I'd die."
"I told you I'd be here as quick as I could."
I smiled weakly. "Do you think you could kill the one behind this?"
He grinned, a little to enthusiastically if you didn't know better. "Absolutely!"
He was about to move to the house, when he turned to me, kissing me softly.
"Stay here, alright. I'll take care of it. And when he's gone, I'm going to help you put new looks on your doors."
"Thank you." I took his hand, before letting go. "Please don't damage the house to much?"
"No promises, he tried to hurt you. Forigve me for being a little vengeful."
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IN THE NIGHT IN THE NIGHT THIS IS HOW IT GOES
WE ARE ALL OR NOTHING
IT'S ALRIGHT IT'S ALRIGHT LISTEN TO YOUR BONES
CAN YOU HEAR IT COMING?
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GRABS YOU
Wanna share your voice claims ideas? 👀
Genuinely do Not think I have enough to warrant making even half a list but P03 sounds like Edgar from Electric Dreams 1984 in my brain but ONLY extremely specific scenes like this particular bit for about 10 seconds when he’s being unplugged.
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DP x DC Prompt #6
Phantom is sitting at the Batcomputer, kicking his legs back and forth. With the seat last set for Batman's height, his feet barely skim the ground. He's propped his head up with one hand, examining something he is holding between his thumb and forefinger in the other.
He is very casual for someone who has never been told the location of the Batcave.
"Phantom," Batman grunts. Phantom doesn't glance his way, likely having heard the Batmobile pulling in.
"Hi Bruce," he says. "I had a nightmare last night."
It's important to note that The Justice League does not know Phantom's true age, although there are several theories:
Theory One: he is a ghost dating back to several thousand BCE. The proof of this is sparse but present, through written record of beings with white hair and green eyes and uncanny likenesses found in artifacts proven to be authentic. Could these truly be Phantom? Yes. However, there is
Theory Two: he is a teenager, as his visual presence suggests. This could be true even if his existence is thousands of years old, as his mentality might not have advanced beyond that of a child aged fourteen to sixteen when they died. This is supported by his general behavior and advanced knowledge of memes. The few times he and Red Robin have interacted, Bruce did not understand a word of it without extensive googling. But worse, of course, there is
Theory Three: Phantom is the age of his first recorded appearance in modern times, only a few years ago. Phantom's recorded appearances in the past were sparse compared to his consistent existence in this century, which could hint at a timestream accident similar to Bruce's own, if they are real. And ultimately, this would not be the first time a two year old presented as a teenager in form.
Two out of three options propose Phantom is a child, and so Batman's tone is gentle when he says,
"Did you?"
"Yeah," Phantom says, words almost a sigh. Whatever is in his hand catches in the lamp light, shining green.
It's kryptonite. Phantom is holding a shard of kryptonite.
"Sorry." Phantom twirls his chair around to face Bruce. He holds the shard out in his palm. "I called you Bruce, didn't I? I know you hadn't told me yet."
"That's okay," Bruce says. He takes the shard calmly, his suit's layered biometrics disguising the fact his heart is racing. He recognizes this chunk from his stores, kept in the secure, deepest, impenetrable section of the cave coded to his DNA alone.
He's been aware Phantom's powers include invisibility and intangibility, but the ghost has been benevolent, honorable, and heroic since introduced and he had allowed his guard to slip. All it would've taken is being tailed one time, and now he must rely on that benevolence.
"And I'm sorry about that," Phantom says, nodding at the belt Batman has tucked the kryptonite inside. It will do nothing to stop Phantom should he decide to pluck it away again, but kept out of sight in a lead-lined pouch still feels safer than out in the open.
"I needed to make a point." Phantom says. The words are threatening but his tone is not.
"Oh?" Bruce asks, wary nonetheless.
"I'm really strong," Phantom says. "I can walk through walls. I can disappear. I can fly. I can blast and freeze stuff. I don't need to breathe. Traditional weapons don't really work on me."
"I can duplicate," a voice says from behind Bruce. He whirls around, batarang in hand, to see another Phantom rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "That duplicate will have all the same powers," the doppelganger says, apologetically. He floats back over to the Phantom sitting on the chair and the two merge.
"I have bad powers too, ones I don't like to use. I can scream at things until they fall apart, even buildings. I can...I can possess people, and make them do things," he admits, unable to look Batman in the eye. "It's not that all ghosts are like this, pretty much all of them aren't, it's just that I'm one of the stronger ones, and I'm only going to get stronger, and the stronger I get, the more powers I might get, and the less weapons even made especially to fight ghosts will work on me."
None of this is phrased as a threat, but rather a confession.
"Why are you telling me this?" Batman asks.
"I had a nightmare," Phantom repeats weakly. He reaches under the computer table and pulls out a purple JanSport backpack, cotton dirty and frayed with use. He unzips the front pocket and pulls out a small plastic baggy. He offers the baggy to Batman, his hand shaking.
Batman takes the baggy, examining the contents. Inside are six tiny little dots. They look like poppy seeds, but held up to the light are a deep purple in color.
"Phantom, what are these?"
"Hemo Prunus," Danny says, eyes stuck on the baggy. He's paler than usual. "Colloquially: blood blossoms. At the time they were grown it was believed they required drops of blood to grow, but a friend of mine who likes plants thinks it's more likely they actually just like a higher quantity of iron in their soil. You know, truths found in witch's tales and stuff like that. I don't know much about their care beyond that but I do know they were grown previously in Salem in the late 1600s, early 1700s during their summer seasons with some amount of success so perhaps you can mimic that environment and go from there. From what I've gathered they're incredibly difficult to grow, but I figure if anyone can do it it's you."
"I'm not exactly the gardening type," Batman says dryly.
Phantom laughs faintly. He looks like he's about to pass out, which should be impossible and is not the correct reaction to gifting someone a rare piece of flora.
"Phantom," Batman says again, slowly. "What are these?"
"They're my kryptonite."
Bruce closes his fist over the bag immediately, taking several steps back to put distance between himself and Phantom. "Are you alright?" he asks sharply.
"I'm fine," Phantom says, waving a hand. "As seeds they just sting a little, like nettles."
That's not the reaction of someone being lightly stung, Bruce thinks. Phantom looks like he needs the chair he's sitting in just to stay upright.
Then the rest of his words click together.
"You're giving me these," Bruce says.
"Yes," Phantom says. "For safekeeping."
"To grow."
Phantom's smile fades. "For safekeeping," he says, looking at Bruce's belt. Where he has stored the kryptonite.
The enormity of what Phantom is entrusting him with hits Bruce like a ton of bricks, and he finally realizes that Phantom is not sick but terrified. He is quietly, deeply, terrified. Bruce also realizes that a reaction like that is not born out of fear of the unknown but is the reaction of someone who has felt the sting of the bee and felt their throat close up. At some point Phantom has felt the blood blossom flower, and the sheer memory of it is enough to make the ghost go almost catatonic with terror.
And he has still handed over the one weapon that can hurt him to the Batman, and told him all he knows on how to make more.
I had a nightmare.
"Is this all of it?" Bruce asks, the question coming out brusquer than intended. Phantom blinks.
"Yes, I'm sorry, that's all I could--yes that's all," he stammers.
Bruce shakes his head. "I mean, does anyone else have access to it? Is anyone else growing this that we should be aware of?"
Phantom can't mask a sudden shudder, his reactions always woefully transparent (pun not intended). "No, that's the last of it. No. No. I don't think," his eyes grow wider, "I don't think so," he whispers, to himself, an attempt at comfort.
Way to go, Bruce, a familiar voice whispers, you just scared the kid harder. Bruce drops the packet on a table beside him and strides forward to put a firm hand on Phantom's shoulder.
"I'll make sure of it," he says. He'll pull Kal in and together they'll make sure, the same way they raided every GiW base across the United States four months prior. Phantom looks up at him the same way he did then, with complete and utter trust.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "But if you do...if you do find any more, promise me you won't destroy it. Promise me you'll keep it, the same way you keep the kryptonite. Please, Bruce."
He's not just asking him to keep it. Another weight finds its place, settling on the Bat's shoulders like the cape he wears. Another contingency for a hero he fears will one day be a dear friend.
"I promise, Phantom."
"Danny," Phantom says, "My name is Danny. A name for a name, right?"
"Danny," Bruce says, heart growing ever heavier. "I promise."
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Thinking back to that one post about how every batkid needs to pick a persona they get to swear in. I would like to expand it.
Dick swears all the time, but he does it in other languages. He picks a language for each persona to swear in and sticks to it. He did still do his whole “Aw, fiddlesticks!” routine as Robin, mainly just to watch everyone’s faces when he did it. (But everyone remembers the time Robin’s leg was broken and he just screamed “FUCK!” so loud that the entire battlefield turned around in shock.)
Jason knew that thanks to classism, people would assume he swore even if he didn’t. So like, why bother restraining it any more than he absolutely had to? As Robin, he didn’t swear even when he really wanted to, though sometimes he slipped up when caught off-guard or when chatting with someone who knows him in both identities. (On one very memorable occasion, Robin got so mad he actually shoved his fist into his own mouth to muffle the screaming rant of obscenity he needed to express.)
(As the Red Hood, Jason doesn’t really give a fuck, but he still falls back into his old habit of cleaning up his language when in costume. It’s very funny to hear him say something like, “Well, golly! You’ve gotta be shitting me.”)
Tim Drake is a proper young man who doesn’t swear, even when he’s hurt (he has totally stolen that biting-my-fist move from Jason.) Robin swears like a fuckin’ sailor all day every day, to the point where not a single goddamn hero in the entire caped community that has ever worked even adjacent to him has not heard, “Ask me if I fucking give a shit,” muttered under Robin’s breath directly into the com line when someone tries to correct him on something. He will switch languages to insult you in the one you best understand, too. His friends have a running bet about how many of those languages Robin actually speaks, versus how many he just learned how to cuss people out in (when asked, Robin just smirks and says, “How fucking many do you [always a swear from a different language, usually one they haven’t heard before] think?”)
Damian mostly sticks with old-timey faux-Shakespearean insults, mainly because it’s very funny when adults can’t figure out what to punish him for when he sasses them. As Robin, Damian likes using animals in place of swears, and just telling people to go fuck themselves—it keeps them on their toes.
Steph does not fuckin’ care.
Duke canonically swears both in & out of costume, and I love that for him.
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Look, friends.
Do you think this is a post about my adorable baby succulents? No. Look harder.
It's about the GIANT HOLE IN MY FENCE that I had to patch up with cardboard.
I can't blame Pampérigouste for this one; the brutish nature of the damage is not consistent with her usual modus operandi. Pampe outsmarts locks like Arsène Lupin; she doesn't charge at fences like a bull who saw a red cloth. This is Pampe Pondering A Fence Problem:
No, the damage to my fence looked a lot more mindless this time. Boorish. Boar-ish. I'm blaming a boar. A deer would have destroyed the whole thing rather than just the lower half. Note that there is not a single tuft of llama wool on the damaged wire mesh.
(Note no.2: the boar's smile was originally meant to be a tusk but it really just looks like a sardonic smile)
I brought some chicken wire to patch up the hole—but there wasn't enough of it. Then it started raining and I felt persecuted and decided to just cover the hole with cardboard and go have my morning coffee and get back to this later.
This is not an Innocent Pampe post; there is no such thing. My temporary cardboard solution lasted 8 to 10 minutes. I'm not sure exactly when she got out, but by the time I went back outside to repair the fence there was a Pampe-shaped hole in the cardboard.
(Not really; she just kind of lifted or ate a corner then wormed her way through the very small opening. I think.) (See, this is how you recognise a Pampe escape: you're not entirely clear on what went down, you just know there was a llama inside and now there is a llama outside.)
It was still raining and I didn't feel like going after her, plus it felt pointless to bring her back in her pasture before the fence was repaired, so I went in the barn to look for my tools and rummage through leftover pieces of previously-destroyed fences, hoping to find something the right size.
Then I heard Pampelune's hyena shriek, aka the llama alarm call. It was followed by:
horrified chicken screams and frantic feather noises; the soundtrack of a violent fox attack
infuriated barking from Pandolf
very loud panicked braying from Pirlouit
basically, chaos.
I ran outside just in time to see Pampe emerging from the woods at a full gallop, pursued by a bear. I didn't immediately identify the animal that was chasing her as the giant dog that he was, because he was running with a weird gait, with his legs going everywhere like he was frolicking at top speed (I now know that this dog is a puppy that has learnt to run just a few months ago, but that didn't occur to me at the time because this puppy is the size of a calf.)
Pampe was running towards the cardboard through which she had escaped and she managed to squeeze through her small corner hole again (I assume—there were trees blocking my line of sight and I only saw her again once she was in the pasture, running for her life along with the other 2 llamas + donkey.) Meanwhile, the dog didn't see the corner hole and tried to power through the cardboard much like a boar, or was carried away by his momentum and didn't brake in time; I don't know. In any case, when I reached him, he was stuck.
My large piece of cardboard was tied to the fence posts and still holding strong, but the middle was a bit soggy with rain and not too solid, so the dog's head went right through it. The rest of his body didn't.
He could have probably finished breaking the cardboard quite easily, but for some reason he instantly gave up. On life. By the time I got there the dog was half-in and half-out of the pasture and he looked defeated. Which made my piece of cardboard look like a mediaeval beheading apparatus with just a hole for the head.
I went to lock an angry Pandolf in the barn and checked on the chickens along the way (ruffled & offended but fine); I was hoping the dog would figure out how to extricate his head from the cardboard in the meantime. He did not. I tried to call him in a friendly tone (from behind) to encourage him to free his head by stepping back, but the concept of taking a couple of steps backwards in order to extract his head from the hole might as well have been advanced engineering. He clearly had no idea where his head was, where his body was, how to make the two a coherent whole again, and he started whining pitifully.
I untied the rope I had used to attach the cardboard to the fence posts, then wriggled the piece of cardboard a bit to try and free the dog's head. The dog was alarmed by the wriggling and took several steps back—but I didn't manage to hold on to the cardboard so it just moved with the dog. He clumsily ran away, taking the cardboard with him, wearing it around his neck like the world's largest cone of shame.
He immediately got stuck between two trees.
I was starting to find the situation hilarious, but the poor dog did not—he lay down and started making sad broken noises like a malfunctioning dog-robot. He didn't look very threatening but he was still a very big (and stressed) dog so I felt a bit wary of touching his head to help him, and decided to run home to get a box cutter. I figured I could easily rid him of most of the cardboard and leave him with just a soggy cardboard collar that would soon fall apart. I heard my landline phone ringing from afar and ran faster, and it was one of my nearest neighbours, the retired lady who lives on the plateau.
"I've been trying to reach you!! I saw your llama in my garden earlier, I was going to give her a little treat—" (she loves Pampe, for some reason) "—but then my dog saw her too."
I know this woman's dog—he's a tiny thing with fragile nerves who thinks the whole world is out to get him, so I asked anxiously, "Did Pampe scare your dog?" and she said "Oh no! Domino is here with me; but I have a new dog. His name is Texas."
I thought of the gigantic puppy currently sobbing in my woods, held prisoner by two trees, a self-inflicted cone of shame and his total lack of reasoning skills.
"Yes", I said. "I've met Texas."
The old lady asked worriedly if he'd scared Pampe ("Il est un peu zinzin" she said—he's a bit crazy. "I wanted to call him Rex, but then I met him and thought—Texas!!") I told her I was pleased with her dog for scaring Pampe, because she needs to learn that her pasture is her only hope for safety in this cold uncaring world and as soon as she steps out of it she returns to her lowly status as a prey animal. Then I ended the phone call because I was worried both about Texas and about the large hole in my fence. Thankfully all my animals were still terrified and hiding far, far away from Texas.
Texas actually managed to free himself before I attempted to cut the cardboard, but he still thought of me as his saviour and was very happy to follow me through the woods back to his owner's place. Before we left I propped up the cardboard against the damaged fence, and despite the hole in the middle no llamas escaped in my absence; I think the whole area still smelled like Texas and fear.
I'll admit I was initially tempted to leave Texas with his head stuck in the cardboard in a more permanent capacity in order to patch the hole in my fence with this amazing anti-Pampe Cerberus. Like this
(I know this artistic rendering makes my llamas look like frightened carrots and my donkey like a bunny but I will not be taking constructive criticism at this time)
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I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!
[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]
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Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.
“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.
“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.
“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.
He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.
“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”
Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”
Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.
“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.
This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”
Steve snorts. Is he okay?
Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”
Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.
Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.
And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”
It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.
He couldn’t.
He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.
So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.
But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.
“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”
Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.
“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.
Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.
“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”
Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”
“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.
“I guess,” Steve mutters.
“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”
Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.
Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.
Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.
“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”
At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.
“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”
But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.
“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”
“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”
“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”
Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”
In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”
Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”
Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”
“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.
“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.
And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?
(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)
(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)
“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.
“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”
Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”
“Sort of?” Munson presses.
“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.
“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”
“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).
“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”
Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”
“Ah,” Munson says.
“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”
“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.
Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”
“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.
“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”
Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”
“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.
“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”
The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”
“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”
Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,’ but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.
“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.
He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.
“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”
That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).
“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.
“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”
“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.
“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”
Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.
“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they’re the ones stuck with me.”
“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?
“What?” Steve asks.
“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”
“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”
And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”
“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”
“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.
Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”
“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”
Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”
Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”
Steve blinks at him. “What?”
“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.
It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.
On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.
“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.
Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.
“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.
“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.
“Hm.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”
It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.
“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.
Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.
He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?
Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.
He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.
The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.
After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.
“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.
“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.
When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.
“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”
Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”
“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”
Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.
(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)
“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.
If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.
He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.
“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”
Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”
“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”
“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”
Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”
“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”
“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.
Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”
“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.
His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”
“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.
“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.
“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”
Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.
“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”
Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”
Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.
Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”
Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.
“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.
“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”
Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”
And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.
And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.
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(Idk if ur taking requests since it says "asked closed" but I just HAD to get this thought out of my brain)
Monster!König x Quiet reader
since I'm quiet and just like to listen not talk to ppl I got this idea that reader listens to König talk about his day 🤷♀️ you can add more but that's just my little idea :>
(I'm srry if it's bad, this is my first request lol)
Naturally, Konig isn't the most talkative person. He is fine with letting others talk, as long as they won't forget to listen to his orders - and the monster version isn't all that different. He doesn't believe others to be worthy of his words - of his attention, even. Most of his soldiers never heard him talk outside of a few taunts here and there and some orders that get passed through his officers.
He was fine with letting you be quiet at first. Humans should be afraid of him - his little human wife should be timid and shy, so he is glad that you're smart enough to close your mouth and listen to him instead of pathetically trying to argue with your mate. It plays into his ego - into his fantasies of being this cool stoic knight with his shy human wife who knows when to shut up and how precious her husband is. You're literally so freaking adorable - he can't wait to show you off in front of other monsters. His pretty little mate is tame without even the need to be tamed - so, so precious.
He starts to talk first in the conversations. Knowing that you won't ruin the moment with your dumb mumbling or your beginning to let you go, he can talk about everything. His current missions and objectives, who is probably going to die on the next task and which soldier he hates most. Talks about supply lines and how fucking expensive it is to try and find more human mates for his guys - he would always kiss you after this, mumbling something about how lucky he got with a human who knows better than to speak their mind. Would often praise you for being quiet and obedient, even if he knows you're like this only because you're scared.
He opens up more and more to you - whispering some soft things into your ear while he fucks you. Making it his goal to make you as loud during sex as possible - forcing moans out of your throat and making sure you're calling his name every time he makes you cum. You're so embarrassed during sex, so scared of actually allowing him to treat you like this...but there is nothing else you can do about it - you're just getting on your tummy like a good girl and hope that if you push your face into the pillows, he won't make you scream like he usually does...you're wrong, of course.
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