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s-4pphics · 6 months

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where we meet. (e.w.)

when ur a monsterfucker n its kinktober lol am i right guys

*silence*

…..

thank u 4 the pointers baby :3 ilysm @elliesbelle

wc;cw: 17.8k, baker!oc, demon!ellie, HEAVY ANGST [mentions underage drinking + alcoholism + drunk driving + car accidents + death], oc’s an eldest daughter… yeah, HORROR? [gore + animal death/mutilation? + vomit + idk scary shit like blood n stuff], SMUT!!!!![HEAVY DUBCON + sexual tension + ellie shape shifts LOL + her tongue is barbed and forked and long like a fruit rollup + blood drinking + fucking outside HAHA + splash of sadism + edging + tentacles WOOO THIS BITCH IS SHAKING THE TABLE!!! + pain kink + spit but venomous + lots of cum/squirting + anal/d!p + err restraint? + oral + crazy size kink + dirty talk + masturbation? + dumbification/mind break + dacryphilia + burning/marking

“Alright, my love! A dozen red velvet cupcakes, four slices of carrot cake, and ten brownies!”

You handed two large brown bags filled with desserts over to your favorite regular, Roxanna, “I threw in two complementary cannolis, don’t tell Hattie, please!” You whispered.

The older woman laughed, turning to depart with the sweet treats, “She ain’t getting a word outta me. Thank you, baby. See you soon.”

“Have an amazing birthday! Try not to get too rowdy on that yacht, now!”

“Girl, I’m grown! If one of my guests show up without a bottle, they ain’t gettin’ on, point blank!” You both giggled.

She blew you a kiss and scurried off, the small bell above the door ringing at her exit. You sighed and scurried to the back and into the kitchen, untying your apron and hanging it on the coat rack.

“Now, Miss Hattie— “

“I know you ain’t tryna disrupt my craft right now. You know better!” The elderly woman had her gray hairs pinned back under her hair net, practically squatting near the counter as she perfected the icing job on the three-layered wedding cake, shrouded in gold and sparkly silver. Your heart grew fonder at the slight tremble in her hands as she piped sprouts of buttercream around the cake topper.

Hattie, despite her stubbornness, was reason your… fresh start went so smoothly. Meeting her was a blessing in disguise; It was raining when you stumbled upon the old bakery she worked at years ago. You’d just moved as far as you could from your hometown, in desperate need of a job. She turned down your desperate pleads time and time again, that is until you showed up to the shop one last time, drenched in rain, with your homemade red velvet cake.

She’d nearly cracked you with a broom herself when she saw you standing by the service stand, but you pleaded one last time, and left the foil wrapped dish on the register counter without another word. You’d piqued her interest. Just a smidge.

You’d received a call from a random number — the owner of the shop— days later, offering you a position at the local bakery.

As a dishwasher.

Your victory didn’t last long, however. Turns out your boss was a thieving bastard, cutting all the employee's earnings by a third months after you were hired. You were shocked no one shoved a piping bag up his ass.

Weeks later, you were out of a job. And so was Hattie.

… Did she reluctantly ask you for tips on how you made your cake that moist as you two waited for the bus, hairnets still on? Absolutely. And you shared them on the ride back to her small home.

She swiftly became your support, your right-hand man, your newfound comfort only after a few months. You silently thank the universe for her everyday; You couldn’t imagine opening your spot without her with you, making sure to double — triple whatever shit pay her previous boss gave her.

“C’mon, Roxie just picked up. We needa head out now,” Closing was always a hassle whenever Hattie was in the zone. The extra five minutes she often requested easily turned into an hour if not regulated; Bless her heart.

She sighed and stretched, “Alright,” Reluctance in her tone. “You’re lucky my grandkids are coming to see me tomorrow!” She set her piping bag down and allowed you to stroll the wedding cake into the walk-in fridge.

Hattie hardly ever asked for time off; You practically have to shove her out your bakery doors every Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, New Years! The only request — demand she’s ever made was no work on Halloween. She gave you explicit instructions when you hired her years ago: don’t call my phone during the day of evil!

Her request threw you for a whirl at first. You assumed she was joking because what seventy-year-old woman still cares about Halloween and its lore? When she hadn’t laughed with you, however, you apologized and offered her three days off for the end of October. Everyone deserves to be with their family, regardless of time of year.

You wished you had someone to call during the cozy Fall.

You threw yourself into work the second you got the chance. Opening your bakery a year ago was something you’d been working towards since you made your first batch of cupcakes at ten years old. You and your mother baked until your arms burned from kneading years after that, and the hobby swiftly became your down time. Your shop was small and crowded, but your name was printed on the door.

You never thought you’d be able to own anything after the last decade of being locked up, after the accident you’d caused.

That horrid day and its repercussions continues to loom over you like a dark cloud no matter where you go, filling your life with trails of dread that refuse to be washed away. You lost your family, some friends, a potential partner, and it was all because of one mindless decision during your reckless and dark teenage years.

To put it bluntly, you never recovered. Everyday is a struggle, but you’ve managed to distract yourself with work. Your newfound friends hate that they never see you, but you beg them to accept that you're busy whenever you receive an invitation to dinner.

Sadly, your accomplishments are not companions, and your heart is forever vacant. Nothing — or no one — will change that.

No matter how many times you’ve tried to reach out to your loved ones, your calls go unanswered. You came to terms with the fact that they’ll always see you as the force that destroyed their unity — the disappointment, ages ago, but your heart still longs for their affection.

You wake up and hope for their forgiveness everyday.

“You comin’?”

Miss Hattie’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as you silently walked her to the door, her work bag in hand and ready to go.

“No, ma’am. Still gotta check the inventory.”

She sucked her teeth, “I coulda still been decorating— “

“Enough of that! Get on home!” You waved her off with a smile.

“Uh huh,” She rolled her eyes and left with a nod, “See you next week!”

You waved goodbye, shutting the door fully and flipping the open sign to close.

You stretched your arms above your head, your achy shoulders and neck popping with stiffness. All you wanted was a fucking massage.

You made your way back to the kitchen, clipboard in hand, marking off products that desperately needed refilling. What kind of bakery runs out of sugar? Sugar!

The bus ride home was nauseating; You need your own car desperately.

You politely greeted your neighbors as they left the elevator before heading to your floor. The late afternoon sun was blooming through the hallway windows of your building. You unlocked your door, the waft of cool air from the open window in your living room brushing your skin.

You tossed your bag off your shoulders, and it thudded to the floor, the overworked bones in your arms cracking when you stretched them up at the ceiling.

The small ball of fur rubbing against your leg rejuvenated you in seconds.

Your cat meowed happily when you bent down to plant kisses on her head. She followed you into the kitchen as you heated the kettle on the stove, hopping onto the counter to watch you work.

“You know better. Get down,” your eyes squinted.

She only tilted her head at you before sitting on the granite completely. You were too tired to move her.

Whistles erupted from the small hole in the pot minutes later. You filled your mug to the brim with the soothing herbal tea your friends gave you before heading into your bedroom.

You closed your blinds and undressed completely, plopping onto your blankets, taking sips from your mug as exhaustion and warmth flooded your body.

The last thing you remember was your cat walking all over your back.

THUD, THUD THUD THUDTHUD—

Your body shook awake at the pounding coming from the entrance of your home. Anxiety surged in your gut when the loud knocks against wood came to a sudden halt, only to start up again, even more frantic and aggressive.

THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD—

You kicked your blankets off and sat up, your sweaty form clinging to the sheets as you searched around your room. Everything was where it was supposed to be, but your door was wide open. You never leave your door open. Did you shut your door when you came home from…

Where were you before this?

You called for your cat once, twice, three times, but she never came. Your apartment was always quiet, but this silence… It was weighted, a heavy press on your chest.

You don’t remember how you got into your living room, but your toes were digging into the soft fluff of your rugs, attempting to sketch into the floor. Even the slightest movement felt like a fight against sludge. Like trekking through the rain in drenched clothes. The knocks didn’t cease, and was synced with the pounding in your ears.

The walls were breathing. Why couldn’t you breathe? You swore you were going to throw up.

The painted plaster moved in waves, your door plunging in and out of its frame, back and forth like a pendulum, but you couldn’t see behind it; Your toenails scratched harder into the floor. You couldn’t stop staring at the door. Every nerve in your brain was urging you to run, find a place to hide, but your body wouldn’t allow it. You simply stood, trapped in a cloud of distress.

The banging stopped and you inhaled, air finally filling your lungs. The feel of fabric beneath your toes was no longer there: something softer than hardwood. Something squishy, something sticky and wet with hair. Your nails tore into it, oddly comforted by the sensation.

All was quiet again, the familiar steadiness of your home calming your racing heart.

Until a weak, wheezing exhale came from beneath you; You nearly missed it. Your heart rate skyrocketed when you peered at your feet.

Your cat’s neck and stomach were sliced open, her small organs pouring out of the large slit in her body. Maggots and spiders were crawling all over her, your feet completely drenched in her blood and your nails plunged deep into her decomposing skin. The insects devouring your nearly dead pet rushed up your legs at an alarming rate, tearing into your thighs like desperate rats fiending for a meal.

You woke up screaming.

“Girl…”

“I don’t know why that happened! I’ve never had a dream like that before!” All the lights were on in your home, your kitty purring in your lap as you stroked her comfortingly. “I know it’s late but can you come over? I’m honestly… freaked out right now.”

Your good friend, Celeste, exhaled over the line, “… Yeah,” she resigned. “Gimmie ten minutes. I love you. Just… try to relax.”

You breathed when she told you to, your head bobbing like she could see you, “Okay. I love you too.”

You almost didn’t want to hang up, but you’d already bothered your friend enough tonight. It’s been a while since you two hung out together; You hope she’s up for a sleepover!

Your kitty nuzzled your chin affectionately. You hoped she knew you would never hurt her.

“I’ve never been so horrified in my life!” You spoke around the sugary spoon in your mouth. “Dreams have never… felt like that for me. I swear, it doesn’t matter how deep my sleep paralysis is! I felt like I was really,” you quickly peered around the room for your kitty, praying she couldn’t hear you. “Stepping on her body! My poor angel.”

Celeste shoveled more ice cream into her mouth, “Girl, that’s fucking crazy,” she assured, nodding towards your sleeping baby on the table. “Just remember that nothing actually happened. You love her and she loves you.”

She continued after a heavy sigh. “But you know me. Dreams, nightmares, they’re all from something, and if it felt as real as you say…” Her brow arched at you. What the fuck is she talking about?

Her eyes rolled in exasperation, “Isn’t your coworker, like… mad superstitious? Queen, but still. The devil’s working, girl.”

You took a deep breath like she instructed a billion times over since she’s arrived. A smirk grew on her face.

“Plus… it’s that time of year. ,” she stuck her tongue out and playfully grabbed her tits, “We gettin’ slutty. Gotta show out for Scorpio season. I made my own costume.”

Your nerves calmed at the reminder of your friends' packed weekend. Since your only true time off was during the spooky season, they always encouraged you to join them in their reckless behavior, especially during your time off. You resigned from partying a long time ago, but did indulge in the lively atmosphere from time to time during the holiday season.

“You’re right,” you sighed and placed your hands over the resting ones on her chest.

“Thank you! Take that damn chef hat off!” she scolded. “No more business talk until— “

“Next week, I know,” you mocked, “And I don’t wear chef hats, thanks.”

“Don’t give a shit about any of that. I’m getting pipe tomorrow night,” Celeste fell back on the sofa, giddily kicking her feet in the air.

A hearty chuckle escaped you. Maybe you’d meet someone too.

You were finally able to get some rest— thank god for Celeste — and start organizing your costumes for the… large sum of parties they planned to drag you to.

You still haven’t completely recovered from your nightmare two nights ago. The vivid imagery that your subconscious conjured up still gives you the ick, but for the sake of your friends, you chose not to bring it up again. You silently thanked the universe when you managed to get a full nine hours the night before.

Your friends managed to pull you into the Halloween spirit and take you to… Spirit. Despite the void stares from your friends at your costume choices, you settled on the Zelda outfit that’d been on sale at Party City for the past two weeks. Celeste couldn’t stop herself from… cutting your costume up and making it as revealing as possible. She opted to cut off the sleeves, sew the pants into a skirt that hugged your body way too tightly, and did your makeup how she wanted. You didn’t stand a chance against her.

You despised how hot clubs get; You probably looked like you were melting.

You stayed as far away from the bar as you could, watching your friends down shot after shot as the night progressed. Your surroundings were crowded and stuffy, the bass of the DJ booth rattling from your feet all the way up to your chest. Your moves were sloppy and disoriented, but Celeste was behind you, grabbing your hips and supporting your weight.

Your thoughts were hazy and incoherent as your arms waved around to the beat. The music blasting in your ears turned into white noise; The environment completely entranced you, your eyes shutting at the weightlessness of your clammy body.

The hands behind you were suddenly grabbing tighter, yanking you closer, as you continued to dance.

You pushed back onto them and their arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back, yanking you close, your clammy flesh practically melding with theirs. Their scent engulfed you, rich and deep yet distinct. Your arm wrapped around the back of their neck, pulling them down while their hands explored your hips.

Their lips were on your neck, your head resting on their shoulder. Something hot was stirring in the pit of your stomach the more they swayed you, the arch in your back deepening; You haven’t felt wanted in so long.

You tried to spin to face them, but they held you still, pressing their chest into your backside. Your breaths picked up when they bit the most sensitive spot on your neck, your toes curling in your heeled boots, your manicured nails nearly chipping in your stockings.

Their mouth moved higher and higher, right under your ear, the hand coming up to wrap around your throat to hold you still. Your core squeezed as the grip on your neck tightened… and tightened… your airways were closing, and swiftly, the feeling was no longer pleasant. Your eyes snapped open when they didn’t let up, a shocked gasp escaping your dry mouth. The moment was no longer sensual, but straining and forceful. Almost angry.

Your lust turned to panic instantly, your eyes bulging as your nails dug into their hands, their taut thighs, their wrist, but they didn’t budge. You thrashed and shook with terror. You gasped for air and tried to push them off but it was all for naught.

Nobody came to help you. Suddenly all the faceless bodies around you were gone, heaps of black smoke pooling at your feet as you wailed for Celeste. The hands and lips were replaced with razor sharp claws and fangs as cold as ice against the side of your face, murmuring voices and screaming chants roaring in your ears. The former body grew monstrous, tripling in size and darkening.

The sensation of decaying, bloody skin was at your feet once more, fiery red ants and black widows nipping at your skin as the smoke flooded up your body, swallowing your calves, thighs, waist.

Weak shouts and begs for release went unheard by the force behind you. A faint whisper of your name made you sob harder; You’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die—

The whisper called your name again. And again. And again, much louder and urgent. Desperate for a response but all you could do was holler for your mother.

One last shout of your name made you drop to the floor, all the sensations surrounding your body gone. Your crown clanked onto the vibrating hardwood as drunk clubgoers gawked at you in confusion and annoyance, Celeste and your friends staring in concern, reaching to help you up.

But you couldn’t be touched. Any brush on your skin surged your heart to your throat. You needed to get the fuck out of here.

Your friends kept yelling about what happened, how they could help, but you couldn’t speak. You swore you were going to vomit.

You pushed yourself off the hardwood and through the crowd, away from your friends, away from everyone. Your smudged makeup stained your wrists, the shouts of your name going unheard as you shoved passed security and ran into the night.

You didn’t sleep at all that night.

You immediately left the club, hauled a taxi, and ran up into your apartment, double — triple checking to make sure all your doors were locked and windows were closed. You tore your costume off your body and threw it into your garbage before hopping into the shower. You desperately wanted to wash your hair, but you refused to close your eyes. The darkness when you blinked was haunting enough.

To put it lightly, you were fucking horrified.

Your body trembled under the steaming water, soft sobs escaping while you scrubbed your skin raw. Especially your shoulder.

Your phone rang off the hook until the sun rose, your kitty refusing to leave your lap. She never failed to comfort you in your times of need, but you barely rubbed her all night. All you could do is cry and think.

Your friends pounded on your door multiple times, but you refused to move from your bed. Their frantic knocking was very reminiscent of the pounding in your nightmare. You couldn’t shake how real everything felt: the comfort, the desire, the destress, the pure, unfiltered terror at the imagery of you being eaten alive by darkness. If you could even call it that: imagery.

Imagery is not enough to describe what you experienced. You were attacked in public, and no one bothered to help you. Nobody… saw anything.

You’re not fucking crazy.

Your friends were sweet enough to stop by the same afternoon with candles and lavender-scented bath bombs after your public breakdown. Their efforts at lifting your spirits didn’t go unnoticed, but your thoughts kept racing, every time you shut your eyes, even for a few seconds. How the hell were you going to explain what you saw that night?

Despite your friends’ skepticism, you were eventually able to convince them that you felt severely claustrophobic and the lack of air sent you spiraling.

… It wasn’t a complete lie, at least.

You were able to get some minuscule hours of sleep after they left before it was time to prepare for your shift. Dark circles were imprinted under your eyes, your skin was dry, and your uniform was not ironed, but you were up and moving. Small victories.

Your hand was practically glued to your forehead in extreme fatigue, your eyes burning at the brightness of your computer screen as you checked the time. Your emails always boomed during this time of year as people prepared for the holiday season; A good night's sleep seemed even farther away now.

You swiftly replied to each request with your availability before grabbing your bag and keys, kissing your kitty goodbye, and running down to the bus stop.

You greeted every familiar face with a polite smile before entering the already packed vehicle, the beginnings of a rising sun beaming through the scratched windows. You plopped onto the only available seat — farthest away from your neighbors — with a heavy exhale, your head falling against its rest.

This week is going to be so gruesome for orders; You prayed Ms. Hattie was prepared for it.

Returning to work was just as draining as you’d assumed.

Your business line has been ringing off the hook all morning, people asking for dozens of gingerbread cookies and wedding cakes layered to the ceiling. You could make a nest for yourself right on the clean tiles of the kitchen and nap.

You’ll never know how Ms. Hattie did it: wakes up at five in the morning and moves through decorating like a walk in the park. You can barely lift your arms and it’s only hour three.

You whipped egg whites and sugar like your life depended on it — it did — with your landline tucked between your shoulder and ear, reciting pick-up addresses and numbers in voicemails. You’re so fucking tired.

Hattie wasn’t, though. Just quiet. A bit too quiet.

She hasn’t said much since you’ve arrived. She got to the shop much earlier than expected, politely saying good morning when she caught you standing by the kitchen entrance. She hasn’t acknowledged you since. You tried to get some laughs out of her, but she only half-smiled before silently returning to her work.

You two continued to carefully wrap and deliver dessert-filled boxes like a well fueled machine up until the last minutes before closing. You stretched before grabbing the broom to sweep the entire shop, making your way into the kitchen where Hattie was staring off into nothing.

“Hey, girl. I can close up, so,” you murmured, wiping the sweat off your brow.

She seemed to be pulled out of her trance, “Oh, sorry hun,” Her head bobbed. “Are you sure you’re good on your own?”

“Yes, ma’am,” You paused. “Umm, are you doin’ okay? You seemed… I dunno, quiet, I guess.”

Hattie nodded, and you took it as an invitation to speak. “Somethin’ you wanna talk about? You didn’t even tell me how your weekend went. How’re the kiddos?” You asked gently, propping your broom against the wall.

A heavy exhale left her.

“I… Something was…” she stuttered.

Another deep inhale. Another lengthy exhale.

“Something felt different, no?” She whispered.

Your brows pulled down in confusion. “What d’you mean?”

“This… this weekend. Wasn’t it different?”

“Umm…” you pondered. “Not really, no. Why, what’s goin’ on?”

More silence before she huffed, “… Nothin’. You know how I get this time of year. Sorry, dear.” She turned and snatched her work bag off the counter before departing with a skittish nod, “See ya tomorrow.”

“W-Wait—“ You tried to stop her, but the kitchen door was already slamming shut, the small ding alarming Hattie’s departure from your shop.

You allowed your tense shoulders to drop, snagging the broom and heading towards the front of your shop for cleanup.

That was odd.

The front door of your apartment shut and you fell back against it in exhaustion. You desperately needed a massage.

You stretched before pushing yourself off the door and wobbling over to your cat’s area, refilling her bowl and cleaning her litter box. You clicked your tongue to lure her over to eat.

You called her name out when she didn’t come. You snagged her filled bowl and shook it, alerting your baby to come and eat. She still didn’t come. You huffed and made your way into your room; She probably took over your softest pillow again.

The bowl in your hand clattered to the floor and your screams nearly shattered your windows. Bile rose in your throat and you heaved at the scene in front of you.

Your beloved pet was dead. Completely mauled, her blood and organs pouring out of the giant slit that went from her throat to her stomach. Sobs wracked through you at the savage attack. The one source of comfort that you looked forward to seeing every morning and night was gone, snatched away from you in the blink of an eye. You've tried to alleviate your anxiety by suggesting that your nightmares are merely that. Dreams. Creations by your subconscious to try and solve issues that occur in your everyday life.

But nothing so heinous would ever cross your mind. You would never harm the precious angel who brought you healing in your times of need.

This wasn’t a coincidence. Someone came into your home while you were away. Someone killed your baby.

“We’re sorry, ma’am,” the county deputy sighed, “But there wasn’t any sign of breaking and entering. You stated that everything is where you left it, correct?”

“Everything wasn’t where I left it,” Anger rushed through you at the officer’s dismissiveness. “My cat was fucking fine before I went to work. I’d never… put her in an environment where she could be harmed,” Tears flooded your eyes.

“We understand that this was an attack done in your home. What happened here’s definitely not normal, but we won’t be able to solve everything in one night,” He consoled, “We’re getting a team here to investigate. I would suggest packing an overnight bag and staying with family or a friend until we get this situated.”

Family. You almost broke down.

When you didn’t respond, he interjected, “We can also find you a room to stay in for a few nights— “

“No, uh, thanks. I got it.”

You dug in your pocket for your phone and dialed Celeste. He nodded and spun towards his partner who jabbered into a walkie.

Your friend’s tone blared through the speakers, “Hiii, baby, what’s up! I haven’t heard from you in a minute.”

Your bottom lip wobbled, “Sorry I didn’t call. Um… can I ask a favor?”

“Of course you can. What’s the matter? Are you good?”

The floodgates that’d been building in your eyes overflowed, pouring down your cheeks and onto your work shirt. You wept.

“Can you come pick me up?”

“I just feel like… I feel like I’m going fucking crazy,” you whispered and picked at your fingers, “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but— “

“Nah, it makes perfect sense. You’re fucking psychic. That’s literally the only explanation,” your friend shook her head at you. “You dreamt about something and it happened a couple days after.”

“None of that shit is real, Celeste.” She sighed in disappointment.

“It’s not real to you,” she pointed from the other side of the couch. “My grandmomma was a witch—“You huffed and adjusted the blanket draped over your shoulders.

“But, hey,” she raised her hands in defense. “I can’t make you believe anything. But coming from the most superstitious bitch in town, somebody is trying to tell you something. You’re not freaked out?”

“Of course I’m freaked out! But I'm not wasting my time thinking about some… fuckin’ ghost— “

“What happened when we were at the club?”

Your blood went ice cold. You couldn’t stop the pure terror that spread across your face at the mention of that night. You’ve attempted to block… whatever happened out of your memory for the last couple days for your sake, but Celeste read you like a book, and you hated her for it.

“Exactly. Are you ready to talk about it now?”

“I… I told you what happened— “

“You lied about what happened. And don’t try to argue,” She leaned closer, eyes comforting. “We tried calling out to you for so long. We thought somebody fucking… laced you, or something, you were so zoned out. We were this close to calling the fucking police.”

“… What do you mean? I lost y'all in the crowd before I started dancing with somebody— “

Celeste shook her head, “No.”

Your throat went dry, the blood rushing to your head almost making you faint.

“We tried to tell you, baby. But we didn’t wanna push you to talk to us about it,” she said gently. “We were with you the entire time.”

The tightness in your chest wouldn’t subside, shuddering breaths leaving your nose with every denial from Celeste.

“No one else came up to us,” she whispered, “and no one danced with you.”

Your head kept shaking in attempts to disprove her claims, in attempts to combat the fear that was attempting to slice you from the inside out, but deep down, you knew she was onto something.

Celeste’s hold sadly didn’t bring comfort, but she held you close anyway, ensuring that you’re not by yourself, but all you could think about was your mother. The smile she used to give you whenever you succeeded never failed to recharge the dying battery in your back. It’s depressing how little impact her grin has on you in adulthood.

The dark cloud of your past cascaded over the two of you; If she were here, your best friend would’ve forced you into the passenger side of her father’s pick-up, already halfway across town by now, set to isolate. To escape.

“Whoever did this is incredibly strategic,” The tall detective stated with a journal in his hand, “They didn’t leave traces of anything: hair, fingerprints, nothing. It’s almost like they never broke in.”

You haven’t been able to get any sleep or go to work for the last week, completely isolated inside your friend’s home. When you received a phone call from the detective assigned to your case, you caught the first bus you could and flew back to your apartment complex. You don’t remember the ride.

Your hope plummeted at his declaration, even with his reassurance, “We’re doing everything we can to find this person. Your safety is our number one priority.”

He gave your shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and it brought you comfort. While you weren’t satisfied with their reports, you could see that he was trying. Was this your first time meeting him?

He seemed familiar, but you couldn’t place it.

He stared into your eyes with a gentle grin and continued, “If we should even call them that. They’re a cold-blooded, heartless fiend that needs to be taken out.”

Your brows furrowed at his sudden determination, but your head bobbed in agreement. Your mind was racing but you couldn’t say anything. Someone killed your baby. Did his grip on you tighten? You couldn’t move.

“The bastards that get away with such vicious crimes need to be put away forever,” his tone was harsh and sharp, and it made your fingers twitch. Your stomach plummeted when his smile stretched higher, his teeth shin

His other hand landed on your other shoulder. You tried to move back, but you couldn’t, “S-Sir— “

“They need to be hung from the ceiling by their throats and slaughtered like fucking pigs! Like the worthless animals they are! —“

His spit landed on your face at his screams. He hollered about how much he hated killers, how they were scum and deserved to be tortured. How you…

“You thought we forgot about what you did?” He whimpered; prior menacing smile vanished.

The bearded man in front of you was sobbing, his gaze pinning you against the wall. He didn’t blink and his eyes were bloodshot, his mouth turned downward, the corners of his lips nearly touching his chin. Your eyes frantically traveled over his form, his uniform replaced with pajamas and slippers.

“YOU’RE A KILLER! YOU’RE A KILLER, YOU’RE A KILLER, YOU’RE A KILLER! —“

Cursed murmurs amplified his pained shouts. Your home was melting away, the walls seeping into the floor before you dropped, the terror weakening your limbs. Your nails dug into the grass and dirt below you, panic electrifying your system.

The man was gone, but you were outside in the middle of the night, decomposing trees surrounding you. You tried to stand but you couldn’t. You were forced to take in the scene that you wished to never see again. The one scene that your subconscious couldn’t eliminate no matter how hard you tried to forget.

Your parents' car— wrecked car. The vehicle was completely destroyed, the bumper and windscreen ran into a tree. You screamed and shouted but no noise left, the sinister chants resounding in your ears. The wreckage seemed to move, closer, closer, your eyes locking onto the two bodies inside completely mangled in the accident.

The two bodies were younger you, thrown over the dashboard and your arm twisted to an alarming degree, blood running down your head and mouth, shards of glass piercing through the skin of your bare legs.

You couldn’t stop yourself from peering at the body beside you. You hollered for help, cried and begged to wake up, all while staring at your best friend — your soulmate, completely maimed from the waist up. It was just as brutal as you remember: her blood splattered all over the airbag, her limbs shattered and broken, large pieces of glass pierced into her skull. You were sick, you were sick.

Suddenly, the mantras that attempted to swallow you whole stopped.

Then there was laughter. Your soulmate’s laughter, but it wasn’t how you remembered. It was darker, hollow, empty. Enraged.

Everything around you went dark.

Sobs tear through your throat the second your eyes open, the comforting scent of Celeste’s lavender candles intruding your senses. Your body was drenched in sweat, and you could hear your friend calling out to you, her cold hands on your face, but you couldn’t think. You just screamed. Her attempts of trying to sit you up failed, your fingers hanging onto her sheets for dear life. You were paralyzed with fear.

Somehow, your biggest regret came to pay you a visit.

Your instincts finally kick in, pushing Celeste off you and bolting towards her bedroom door. She was calling for you; she even reached out to touch you, but you pushed her harder.

She screamed for you to stop, and you lost it.

“Get the fuck away from me! STOP — stop fucking touching me!” you rush out into her living room and towards her front door.

Shocked plastered across your friend’s face.

Celeste whispered your name; Why did she sound like her?

“I gotta get the fuck outta here, I can’t,” heave, “I can’t fucking do this, I can’t, I can’t — “

Distraught mumbles fled your tongue on your way out, not bothering to look back at your friend. You heard her sniffling before the door slammed shut, guilt swarming your chest, but it wasn’t enough to overcast the terror ripping you open from the inside out.

After vomiting outside of Celeste’s apartment building, — multiple times — you took your leave. As fast as you could. You couldn't say a word to her; She desperately tried to get information out of you, but your throat felt like it would crack open at the slightest whisper. The fear you’d been trying to invalidate crashed into you all at once.

You fled without your belongings, only slowing when night goers surrounded you in the city.

Celeste has been worried sick about you this entire time, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care.

Your steps were jerky and quick, and you kept scratching at your shoulder. You felt her everywhere. All over you, but it wasn’t comforting. Not like it used to be.

You walked and walked, your mind racing with moments from your past: the last moments with your best friend. Your kryptonite. The scar in your shoulder was covered in fresh, red lines from your nails.

JUNIOR YEAR: 2012

You frantically shoved your books into your locker, anticipating the alarm that sounded for lunch. You can’t wait to get the hell out of here.

The second it goes off, you're booking it for the door. You hoped Ellie kept her word and brought your birthday present.

You busied yourself in your small cubby whenever security or teachers walked by, politely greeting them with the most innocent smile you could muster. They didn’t bat an eye, wishing you a happy birthday before turning the corner at the end of the hall.

You gave them all fake greetings until the loud tone blared through the hallway speakers, students instantly rushing out of their classrooms to head to the cafeteria. You grabbed your now empty backpack and merged with the crowd, trekking for the exit. You managed to scurry through the double doors of the school and bolted towards your parents’ old car, ducking behind the driver's side as you waited for your best friend.

You texted her a few times but she didn’t respond for minutes. You almost gave up and returned inside the building before two hands pinched your sides from behind. A squeal left your mouth when you whipped around. Ellie snorted at you, her arms wrapping around your neck in a tight hug. You reluctantly hugged her back.

HAAAPPY BIIIRTHDAAAY TOOO YOUUU—

You shushed her shouts with a smile, Shut up! Someone might hear you.

She kissed your cheek before releasing you, No ones fucking here, relax. Open the door, her head jerked towards the vehicle.

You stealthily unlocked it and the two of you jumped in. You shoved the key into the ignition as Ellie cranked the speakers all the way up, your car rattling with bass as you two exited the parking lot and zoomed down the main street.

Ellie belted Cherry Waves out the window, bright laughs leaving your throats as you drove to… anywhere. Times like this always bring you joy; You love being around her.

Ditching class might’ve not been the best birthday celebration, but you were having a ball.

You drove until you reached the end of town. There was a small campground that you and Ellie found on your first couple drives together, and it swiftly became your little get away spot. You’d spend hours talking, drawing, screaming at the top of your lungs until the sun disappeared and your parents demanded you come home.

You two raced to your designated spot by the lake, Ellie’s filled backpack slamming onto the sand, glass clattering from the inside. You mischievously eyed it, I think someone owes me a present!

I don’t owe you shit. I’m a good friend, say thank you, She rolled her eyes. You grabbed her hands and clumsily twirled her.

Thank you, Ellieee! you nearly ripped her bag apart as you inspected the contents.

Don’t go too crazy. Remember what happened last time? her smile was light, but you could tell she was scolding you. You snickered.

Um, yeah. We had a ball. Help me open this, you downplayed, passing her the unopened bottle.

You know exactly what she’s referring to; You might’ve drank a bit too much at your friend’s birthday dinner. And Christmas party… and when you all went to the fair, but it was all in good fun! You’re young and living life; Ellie’s always a bit dramatic when she comments on your drinking.

Ellie snatched the bottle and opened it, taking a large swig from it before handing it back. You followed in her lead, taking three large gulps of the liquid, the burn flowing down your throat and into your stomach. Ellie pulled her speaker out of her bag and queued your joint playlist.

The two of you drank and sang and danced until sunset, your vision blurry and legs wobbly. Ellie was sweet enough to help you back to the car, snagging the keys from your pocket before helping you into the passenger side. You tried to talk to her, but she couldn’t understand. She always looked so cute when you mumbled nonsense, wispy brows pulled down with a light smile. You felt so happy whenever she was around.

She drove you back home and you threw up all over your front yard. Somehow, she snuck past your parent's room without hassle, ushering you into bed. You couldn’t stop laughing; Her bright smile only made you cackle louder before her hand pressed against your mouth.

—

Ellie’s soft palms moved up and down your arm bare, occasionally squeezing your bicep. You couldn’t stop smiling, goosebumps following the drag of her fingertips.

You’re such a dork, she whispered between snickers.

You love me, you said much louder, but she hummed. The look in her eye was suddenly far away. You nervously nibbled at your bottom lip, your eyes dropping to her mouth. Did her lips always look this soft?

You admired every aspect of her face in silence, your index finger continuing to trace over the bridge of her nose, the apple of her cheeks, down to her chin. Ellie’s a sight.

Your hazy mind barely noticed the tint on her cheeks, your bedroom dimly lit by the moonlight cascading in from your window. Her eyes were glued to your mouth.

She inched closer, her moves subtle. You would’ve missed it if she wasn’t right there.

You don’t know what came over you, but your mouth pressed against hers. Her lips were stiff against yours, and it made you pull away.

She didn’t seem… happy, not how you felt. Her expression was gloomy, her eyes flashing with… everything and nothing at the same time. You locked up instantly.

You love me, Ellie… right?

Your tongue felt swollen in your mouth when you slurred.

Ellie didn’t answer, and you held yourself up on your elbow, your brain alarming your legs to get up and leave. To abandon.

Ellie… d-do you love me?

O-Of course I do—

The tremors in her voice sliced through you like a hot blade. Her confirmation was only meant to appease, your drunk brain told you. Ellie doesn’t love you, not like that. Your own parents’ love is conditional; Why wouldn’t hers be?

—

You were never a rebellious kid.

Your parents always praised you for being a remarkable role model for your younger siblings: incredible listener, studious, eager to help others. They never failed to highlight, amplify, pressure your good behavior. But their doting smiles disappeared when you failed to meet their expectations.

The transition from middle to high school was rough for you. Your grades suffered and you were surrounded by other kids you didn’t recognize, and your “star-student” streak vanished in an instant. You’ve never seen your family so disappointed in you.

You broke your back trying to save your academic status for the next few years. You hardly slept, ate, spent time with your newfound friends, and it was all for your parents. They didn’t acknowledge you until that offer to join the early-college program came in the mail during your sophomore year. When you accepted that you needed to have something to show to get their affection, you spiraled downward.

You swiftly replaced the emptiness in your heart with a bunch of seniors. They agreed to let you tag along if you could hang, so you did whatever was necessary to gain their companionship: started sneaking out, staying out late, going to parties that you had no business being at.

Started drinking.

Just one sip, loosen up! Little did you know that’s all it took to get you hooked.

The drink was rancid and a gross, murky color. You weren’t enjoying it, so why couldn’t you put the cup down for the rest of the night? You threw back cup after cup until you were unconscious on the front porch of the house. None of your friends bothered to take you inside where it was safe.

You barely recall being hauled back inside and upstairs, plush pillows under your head as you drifted off. When you woke, you swiftly decided that the pounding in your head and the nausea in your gut was worth it. Last night was the freest you’d ever felt. You almost missed the small sticky note stuck on your arm. Someone gave you their phone number, demanding that you tell them if you made it out alive (i hope so.)

You gained a best friend from that sloppily scratched note.

Meeting Ellie was a blessing. She was funny, smart and kind. She was so nice to you. None of your old friends treated you like she did. Ellie’s friends were much warmer and welcoming when she introduced you to them for the first time. Every time they had plans, you were invited, no conditions needed.

Every vacant space in your heart was filled with something brighter. It’s unfortunate that your brain has already mastered its attachment to something more dangerous.

Ellie… for the billionth fucking time, I don’t have a problem. Can you just let it go? you scoffed from your bed.

I’ll let it go when you cut it out. You can’t do shit without it anymore, She spat, pointing at the McDonald’s cup filled with Tequila. You grinned nastily and sipped your straw. You were so sick of having this conversation with your friends. With her.

Yes, I can. I’m fine. See? You sarcastically rubbed all over your body. Another huge gulp. I dunno why y'all are acting like this. I’m not the only one that drinks.

You’re not fuckin’ fine, first of all! It was fun at first, but you don’t know how to control yourself! You’re scaring everybody off, Her arms flailed as her voice rose. You’re so happy your parents are working.

You weren’t “scaring everybody off”; You did have some outbursts some time ago, but your friends were still around. They always called you for a fun time, and you were always there to show out.

Oh my fucking god, you’re so extra, you got up with your cup, grabbing Ellie’s hand and leading her into the bathroom down the hall. You removed the lid and dumped its contents out; You tried to hide the surge of anxiety as you watched it go down the drain.

See? I can stop whenever I want.

Then stop, she whispered, sadness in her eyes, No more… okay?

The emotions flowed through her eyes like water, and it made you uncomfortable. You already wanted a refill, but you nodded to appease her.

O-Okay, Ellie, I’m sorry, you whispered, and she hugged you so tight. Kissed your clothed shoulder, and it gave you solace, even if it was just temporary.

But when she left, you were alone, comforted by the temptation of your own thoughts. You broke into your parents’ locked liquor cabinet that same night.

—

When you showed up to exam day drunk, Ellie began to pull away.

She didn’t bother to beg and yell when you were entranced by your vice. You simply saw her less, and your heart cracked whenever your calls went unanswered.

Abandonment was the worst feeling, even more so when it’s a result of something you’ve done. Your anxiety spiked significantly when you strolled around campus and your friends ignored you, and it only made you drink more when you got home. The acidic pacifier you discovered was turning you into someone unrecognizable. You were failing, and you were alone. You’d wished your siblings were older so you could talk to them.

Everything came crashing when your parents received an alarmed call from your principal.

You’d been vomiting in the nurse's office for half an hour, and they ended up calling the ambulance. Your stomach was getting pumped hours later.

When you regained consciousness, the only thing you could hear were your mother’s hysteric sobs in the hall.

—

Summer came along, and you were out of rehab. Withdrawal fucking sucked; It took you almost three weeks to fall asleep in the center.

You didn’t expect to see Ellie and your friends sitting on your porch when your parents pulled into the driveway, flowers and your favorite candy in hand. Your best friend cried into your shoulder for an hour straight; You refused to let her go as you sobbed into hers. You’d missed hugging her.

When everyone was seated on your parents' couch, you offered to share the secret to get melty, gooey chocolate chip cookies every time. They couldn’t stop grinning at you; You were finally back to normal.

Ellie spent the night at your house and hugged you to her chest until you drifted off.

You accepted that you were a terrible person when all you could think about was a drink. Just one.

All the promises you made were broken a few months later, crushed into dust by your own hand.

—

Everyone you loved hated you. Liquor always forced you to see the truth in people, melted away the fantasy that you created out of self-preservation. It fueled the rage that you desperately tried to keep hidden from your family; You’re so fucking mad, and you can’t remember why.

Your parents hated you; your siblings hated you, your best friend, the one person you have to confide in, the only thing you had left to love, hated you. Everyone hated you, and it was all your fault. Selfishness was the only way one could be a successor.

The second Ellie climbed into your parents’ car with that soft look in her eye, fury swallowed you whole. You barely said a word to her, her favorite song cranked to maximum volume.

Ellie? Your voice was quiet, but you were seething. You don’t remember why.

Hm?

D-Do you still care about me? your hands were clenched around the wheel so tightly, you thought it would snap in two. She was suddenly tense in the passenger seat, but she whispered without hesitation. Of course, I do… always.

But you didn’t believe her.

Ellie should’ve never agreed to go on a drive with you.

The way Ellie whipped her head towards you was vicious, her hand slamming onto the volume button of your car to silence the noise. You hated how she knew instantly.

… Are you fucking drunk right now?

There it was. All the proof you needed. Confirmation that you were nothing but a disappointment. You hadn’t moved from the stop sign. Self-loathing thrashed from the inside; your teeth are bound to crack like glass with the tightness of your jaw.

She’d whispered your name with so much disdain. A molten tear eased down your face like magma. This was the same residential area you parallel parked in for your driver’s test.

Your eyes were glued onto the dimly lit street as Ellie cried and begged for you to stop the car. She admitted to loving you and apologized for everything she said that could’ve hurt your feelings. All you had to do was stop the car and everything would be fine, she said. You pressed the gas so hard; it nearly touched the floor of the vehicle.

I love you… Please don’t do this… I love you so much…

Ellie’s last scream was haunting before everything went silent.

—

The reality around you never rebuilt itself after that night.

You were able to convince yourself that the accident didn’t happen for a few weeks. Until your best friend’s burial. According to your parents last voicemail, Ellie’s father wanted to strangle you with his bare hands. You took his life away with one decision. No one contacted you after that. Not your parents, not your siblings, not your friends.

You were charged and placed in juvenile detention until you were of legal age, and sent off to prison for another six years after that.

Your habit fed you lies about the people you loved most, and it cost the life of your only constant. The one person who tried to get you to change. The purest form of love you had.

You killed your soulmate, and you never recovered.

PRESENT

You walked until you reached Hattie’s front porch. Your calves were on fire.

Your tightly clenched fist pounded on the wood with all the strength you had left. You could see the shadows of someone walking around inside, but she didn’t open the door. She probably wanted nothing to do with you after not showing up to work for weeks, but you were desperate.

“M-Ms. Hattie, please,” you hollered, “I really need t’talk to you! Please, please— “

The door barely creaked open. You expected her to scream and berate you for disrupting her so late in the night, but she was silent. Didn’t utter a word. She only peered through the small crack in the doorway, her eyes bloodshot. Her voice sounded graveled, like she hadn’t slept in days.

“What the hell are you doin’ here.”

“Ms. Hattie, I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t know where to go,” You harshly wiped your eyes, “May I please— “

“No, you may not,” her glare sliced through you, sharper than any knife. You bawled.

“Please, I’m beggin’ you, ma’am— “

“What…” her voice quivered, her gaze breaking away from yours for a split second.

“What did you do… to that girl?” She whispered like it pained her, and it felt like your chest would concave.

“… W-What?”

The look on her face was enough for you.

She knows. She knew.

“It was you,” tears filled the woman’s eyes, “I had a dream that you… How could you do that… That poor baby…”

Your head shook in denial. It was an accident, you wanted to scream, I don’t know what came over me! Your eyes squeezed shut and you fell to your knees, thunderous pleads leaving your throat as you begged her to listen. You hunched over and miserably tried to grab at her feet.

I loved her, I loved her, I loved her! You couldn’t speak.

“Whatever happens t’you…”

“No, nonono!—“

“I hope God… the universe… whoever the hell,” She spat, “Has mercy on you.”

You couldn’t stop screaming. Your voice was muffled by the concrete floor.

“Get the fuck off my porch.” And the door slammed in your face. You heard the locks click, and just like that, your last inkling of hope shunned you.

You hadn’t realized you’d been screaming for Ellie until you sat up, burning eyes glued to the dark, cloudy sky.

The sun rose from behind as you climbed your apartment steps.

The bundle of police cars and black trucks outside the building were an indication of your case being ongoing, but it brought you no comfort. A constant ache was present in your chest every time you breathed. Murmurs erupted from behind as you dragged your body inside, ignoring the deputies who were urging you off the premises.

Officers and residents stared at you in confusion, shock, bewilderment the second you hopped off the elevator. Exhaustion was pouring out of you, your under eyes almost black and pajamas wrinkly. You can’t recall the last time you showered.

The elevator dung, and you made your way down the hall, police tape surrounding your front door. You dodged it and crept in, the sight of the investigators almost sending you into a panic.

Terror built in your spine as they gawked at you; Ellie’s fucking with you. You’re probably asleep right now.

“Ma’am?”

You shakily turned towards the investigator assigned to your case. “Are you alright?”

No. You nodded, “I came to get some things.”

Some silence passed before you spoke.

“I need a place to stay,” your cuticles were scabbing. “As far away from here as possible… if that’s even allowed.” Your living room felt like it was tipping.

Their brows furrowed, scanning over your ragged appearance, “Um… The farthest we can place you is about a half hour away. We still need to monitor you… Especially now.” You bit the dig with a tilted head.

You nearly leaped into the air at the sudden, distant ring in your ears.

“Will y’all still cover m’stay?” The tremor in your hands built with the shrilling pierces in your drums.

“Yes… Are you sure everyt— “

“I’m fine! I’m fi— I’m fine!” The shrieks overwhelmed you, both hands coming up to cover your ears, your head pounding. Foreign hands were attempting to steady your hunched form, but to no avail. Your body gave out completely, pained wails leaving your dry lips.

I’m fine, I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine—

You tried. You tried your hardest, but you couldn’t convince anyone — yourself that you were okay. Something’s here. When did the air in your home get so cold?

The softest call of your name frosted the blood in your veins.

You’re hallucinating; You have to be. Don’t look up. Don’t open your eyes.

The voice called again, elation enriching her tone. Your head shook in disbelief.

It can’t be.

“L-Look at me. I’m here! I'm okay!”

No, no no no, you told yourself. Sobs wracked through your hunched form.

“Look at me! I love you!”

Shoe-covered feet inched towards you, slowly. Almost… cautious.

“Wake up! Wake up, wake up!” Your whispers were harsh. Urgent. Desperate.

A comforting hand rubbed your shoulder. You flinched and wailed, frantically pinching the skin of your wrists.

“NO! No, no, fucking get up— “

“Shhh,” Her hand squeezed you, “It’s me.”

You’re going to fucking puke. Your eyes stayed shut while she cradled you, your head resting on her shoulder. She felt taller, stronger, but she smelled the same. You couldn’t move, but she hugged you so tight.

Ellie, Ellie, I love you, I’m sorry—

A kiss on your shoulder. Right over your scar.

“I love you more.”

You calmed in her presence as she rocked you on the floor. Your guilt almost made you push her away, but you’re selfish; You need this, for her to hug you.

It felt like she held you for years, right on your apartment floor. She didn’t let you go.

But when your eyes opened, eggshell white hospital walls surrounded you. Kept you trapped in the small hell that Ellie’s created.

You haven’t slept or eaten. You’ve barely showered.

Ellie was with you. Ellie’s with you. You felt her there; She held you! You’re not fucking crazy.

Three days have passed since you were carried out of your apartment by EMTs, according to the investigators that are still terrorizing your fucking home. They assumed you were having a seizure by how still you were. You were unresponsive for minutes, they’d said. Celeste was right. You didn’t have the courage to face her and apologize.

You haven’t left your motel room since you’ve arrived. You hate it in here — it looks like it’s eroding from the outside, the windows are scratched and tinted a murky yellow, the sheets feel like sandpaper, but it’s better than home. Better than being in public amidst your impending psychological breakdown.

Ellie’s here. She’s watching you and laughing at the wreck you’ve become.

You’re slipping; You can feel it. The way she hugged you… You could’ve melted into her for eternity when she said she loved you, never to be seen or heard from again, completely under her control. Not that anyone would care about your disappearance. A gutted huff left you.

Your past finally caught up to you. Tears flooded your eyes for the hundredth time tonight.

The faint shuffling coming from your bathroom didn’t even shock you. She’s here again.

Your eyes overflowed, and they shut in resignation; You’re going to die.

“E-Ellie?”

Silence.

Your eyes squeezed tighter. You have nothing left to fight for.

“Just do it! Just fucking do it!”

That’s all you’ve ever been: a quitter. More shuffling, then silence.

“FUCKING KILL ME! KI— KILL ME, ELLIE!”

You heaved and rose from the edge of your bed. You marched down the seemingly endless hallway, heart cracking in your chest.

“KILL ME! KILL ME, KILLME! —“

Weighted knocks pounded against your room door, shocking you into silence. She’s here, she’s here; She’s fucking with you.

A dark chuckle left you.

“You’re fucking sick,” You spat with a sniffle, “I hate your fucking guts, just like you hated me! You fucking hate me, right?”

You’re awake. And you’re angry.

You tramped towards the entrance and knocked back just as hard.

“FUCK YOU, BITCH! FUCKING — FUCK YOU, ELLIE, YOU FUCKI— “

Heat traveled across your face the second you ripped the door open.

A woman… a motel employee… with sheets in her hand, visibly stunned.

You’re going fucking crazy.

“Uhh… just came to give you new, uh, sheets,” Her voice was high-pitched, clearly uncomfortable. Your eyes flickered with embarrassment, cheeks blazing.

“S-Sorry…” You allowed the shorter woman entry, and she scurried over to the small nightstand in the corner of your room.

You picked at your fingers, “Um… sorry if I scared you. It’s been a weird… fuckin’ weird couple of weeks.”

She didn’t acknowledge you at all. Just silently laid the sheets and pillowcases on the side of your bed.

“Am I,” You huffed, anxiously rubbing your eyes. “Are you gonna report me or somethin’?”

Silence.

Your brows furrowed at the sudden stillness of the woman, her back turned towards you.

“Hey, you okay?” A cautious step forward. “Look, I’m… I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m fine— “

“Fuck you.”

You flinched at her venomous tone; voice filled with spite. The fuck?

“… What?”

“After all this time…” she whispered, the ponytail in the woman’s head shaking in disbelief.

“You’re still the same… selfish, psychotic fucking bitch I remember you to be.”

Your knees buckled at the sudden low timbre of her voice. Goosebumps ran up and down your arms at its familiarity. She sounded just like… She’s… It can’t be. It can’t be, it can’t be—

The one window you cracked for air earlier slammed shut, the clicks from your door signaling your confinement. You’re trapped.

Your nails sunk into your palms; She’s here. She’s real and she’s fucking here and going to kill you.

Her laugh filled the room, low and vengeful, and the one lit lamp on the nightstand flickered off.

Your breaths were shallow and desperate, sheer panic rushing through your body. You took blind, scurried steps towards the door, feeling around for the knob to take your leave, but it wouldn’t budge. You pounded on the wood from the inside, screaming for anyone to come save you.

Something cold and slimy slinked around your ankles and roughly yanked you to the floor, your hands scrambling to grab onto anything on the hardwood as they pulled you towards her. You caught glimpses of her glowing, red eyes with every panicked look over your shoulder.

You were pulled up, up, up by your feet until you were dangling upside down, her glowing orbs piercing through yours. You barely made out her manic smile, fangs bright and as sharp as knives. Something sharp pressed against your windpipe, ready to tear your throat out.

The room she trapped you in disappeared completely, an empty, dark void surrounding her, you. There’s nothing anywhere.

You hollered as your stomach flipped; She’s going to kill you right here—

“Ellie, please, please don’t! —“

A sharp slice right through your shoulder. You released a pained scream before your vision grew cloudy, body growing limp as you swayed in the air. Your screams quieted, your drowsy mind filling with images of Ellie smiling affectionately at you.

Ellie… Ellie, please…

Trees danced with the wind before everything went dark.

Water erupted from your mouth, your eyes ripping open, fingers tearing into the dirt beneath you.

You pushed yourself into a sitting position, more water dripping from your hair and clothes, down your bare legs. Pain shot through your shoulder with every move. You reached to touch it and… ouch. Blood coated your fingertips.

You gazed around. You knew exactly where you were, but it was off.

You and Ellie’s hideout. The campground is exactly how you remember, but it was darker, murkier, less inviting and cozy. Familiar, yet foreign.

“Miss me?”

You jolted, scurrying away from whatever was behind you.

“Aww, don’t be scared,” Ellie mocked, fake pout pulling at her lips. “C’mooon, it’s just me! Welcome to my humble abode!”

What the fuck, what the fuck—

The same appendage from earlier wrapped around your leg, yanking you back, and your heart sank. Your eyes were deceiving you; They had to be.

Ellie, much taller and stronger than you remember, stood over you, pupils pitch black, a devious smile spread across her face, sharp fangs glimmering in the dark. The two horns that swirled atop her head were dark, the protruding veins red and throbbing like they were alive. You saw the sharp edge of her tail glowing behind her head, speckles of red liquid crusting over on the tip.

Is… Did she cut you with that?

Your heart squeezed painfully with familiarity; The small spots that dusted her face and the scars that covered her legs from biking accidents were still there.

“E-Ellie?”

She posed, arms extended, “In the flesh. Kinda. There’s no… actual flesh for the dead… Well, we technically could have skin, but it wouldn’t be ours.”

“I’ve been lookin’ for you. You look good,” she muttered, eyes dark as they traveled over you. You suddenly felt exposed.

Silence passed between the two of you. How was her tone so casual?

What the fuck is going on…

She huffed at your silence, “Didn’t think our ten-year anniversary would be this fucking awkward. Can’t even say hi?”

Her words were hardly registering.

“Huh.” Her eyes flashed back, and the organ around your leg untangled, retracting into the grass beneath you.

“You’ve… you’ve been looking for me?”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, carelessly playing with her razor-sharp nails. “You got outta jail, got a place… bought the bakery you always talked about. Congratulations, jailbird! You beat the system… and were able to outrun the devil for some time!”

She showcased the ashy, decaying scenery like it was a prize. “Here’s your first glimpse into the other side. Is it to your liking? Should I fluff your pending gravestone? Put some roses over it since everyone you love won’t?”

Other side? “… Am I dead?”

“Nope! Almost. You have a purpose before I take you out. Finally, am I right?” Sarcasm sharpened her tongue.

“… You're insane,” your voice was hoarse, shattered. You swore your esophagus was bloody.

“Me?!” She snickered sickly, eyes darkening, “Remind me what happened between us again? Who hurt who? Who killed who?!”

“… I— “

You paused. What the fuck do you say to her? I still love you somehow. Please don’t hate me forever. I’m a worthless fuck up—

“None of the above,” she interrupted… your thoughts? “To be frank, I don’t wanna hear shit from you,” she swayed sassily, circling you like a shark, her tail sashaying around.

“… Why’m I here then?”

She paused, the muscles in her back flexing. Your gut tumbled.

Ellie turned to face you, lips curling devilishly.

“Well… ” she trailed off, voice alluring. “It gets lonely down here. I don’t have anybody to call. Nights are so cold.”

She suddenly dropped to her knees, sensuality practically leaking out of her as she crawled towards you. Your heart was thumping, stomach in knots.

“I need you… to do exactly what I tell you…”

Your breaths shuddered the closer she got.

“I’m so fuckin’ hungry… Just sit there and let me take what I want,” Her mumbles were drunk and lustful. “You fucking owe me. I’m trapped here ‘cause of you.”

She straddled your lap, eyes glued to yours. They flashed red, and an appendage locked around your throat, knocking the wind from your lungs and pulling you flat onto the dirt. You tried to pull against it, but it tightened on your airways. You choked, pain searing in your shoulder, causing you to let up. Another set of slimy appendages clasped around your wrists, followed swiftly by two locking down your ankles.

The burn from your bleeding shoulder made your nipples harden under your filthy sweatshirt. She chuckled above you.

“That was quick,” Her brow arched. “Haven’t gotten any? What, no one wants to drill a felon?” She cooed with a pout.

You shot her a glare. A squeeze on your throat. A clench from your walls.

“Oh!” She exclaimed in remembrance. “Sorry about that club fiasco. I was gonna fuck you then, but seeing you enjoying yourself got on my nerves, so.”

She rambled on about how she made a whole plan to ruin your life the second she found you until you were rotting in the grave, but you weren’t listening. Your eyes moved over her lips, down her neck, over her bare chest, blood burning under your skin. Another squeeze from your cunt. Your face burned with every drop of slick that left you.

“Think I’m cute? The horns doing it for ya?” she interrupted your gawking.

You averted your gaze. She snorted before her expression went lubricious, eyes glossing over.

“You smell so good,” she slurred with fluttery lids.

No, you don’t. You haven’t showered—

“I meant your pussy, you fucking idiot,” her eyes rolled in annoyance. “You’re killin’ my vibe. Shut up.”

Your eyes widened in shock; Don’t think, don’t think—

“She smelled like that in the club. Just needed some lovin’, hm?” Her hand reached back to pat your pussy over your pajama shorts and you squealed. You’re leaking.

“Oh, she’s starving— “

Fear and arousal flurried in your tummy, “What’re you gonna do?”

You could almost see the wires in her head sparking to life. She leaned over you, her cold body pressed against yours, noses almost touching.

“I’m gonna rip that pussy open until I feel better…” The aura around her was smokey and blinding. “And then…” Her nose bumped against yours, almost affectionately. “I’m gonna rip that fucking throat out. Might hang your body from a tree. I needa decorate.”

A choked sob left you, thighs rubbing together as tears plummeted down your temples. Ellie shushed you gently, her forked tongue licking over the droplets before they cascaded down into the grass.

Every swipe of her tongue sent a zap through your face. The sting sent your jolt through your spine, hips bucking into her. A hot, slick line ran up your cheek, grazing your jawline, cat-like spines digging into your clammy skin.

… Is… Is she really…?

You couldn’t stop the shudder that ran up your body, your foot jerking outward at the sensation. The tentacle clenched around your ankles, and you gasped. Ellie was grinding on top of you, whimpering into your neck, marking your skin.

“E-Ellie, El— ��

Another swipe, a thick, sticky trail burning its way into your hairline. Your whines are almost inaudible. Pain is burning up your legs when the organ twisted tighter; You’re shocked your ankle didn’t snap in two.

She moved faster on top of you, pleasantly sighing into your neck. Your face is fucking sizzling.

“What the… fuck,” The situation is settling in for you: Ellie’s dead… but, not? And she’s humping you like a dog. You shouldn’t want to watch her, observe the love of your life get off on your fucking stomach, but you — your pussy wants it — needs her.

You missed her so fucking much.

Soft chuckles erupted from her, icy breath on your neck. She sat up, rubbing her bare cunt on your tummy.

“You wanna watch?”

No, no no please—

Your head shook, mind racing with pleads for her to touch you, but she stared back in disapproval.

“I think you wanna watch,” She sat up, lifting her knees and resting her freezing hands on your thighs, her pretty pussy on full display, “Missed me that bad?”

She’s right there, but you can’t move. More tears, more begging from you.

“Wanna see a trick I learned?” She inquired mischievously. You didn’t have a chance to answer before more vine-like organs emerged from the dirt, eager and throbbing, globs of slick dribbling from their tips.

“When you’re sad and horny, answers will eventually fall in your lap,” She watched the appendages sliver all over her shoulders, her back, down her stomach. Her head flew back, her short flyways waving around her horns.

“I bet that fucked up head of yours never expected this would happen, huh? Never thought you’d see me like this?” She moaned out as the suctioned limb traveled over her left nipples, her eyes beaming red, scorching through your chest.

Your walls squeezed down on nothing, desperate groans leaving your throat, underwear clinging to your cunt. You couldn’t close your legs, the members slinked around coming up to suck on your thighs.

Nasty little cuck, her voice boomed through your skull, Wanna watch me get fucked, right?

Your head bobbed dumbly. The appendages scurried down her body. You watched as the veins in her horns glowed brighter, her eyes shading an even deeper scarlet, her lip catching between her teeth when the suctions came in contact with her clit.

The slippery members attacked your thighs with strong suctions, the sensitive skin littered with blotchy, dark spots. A wet slither made its way up your body, under your sweatshirt and in between your tits. The tip teased both nipples, your back arching deeper for more friction. The air was muggy and your body was disgustingly sticky; The sensations made your clit jerk.

You blearily stared up at Ellie, nearly cumming at the sight of her with a thick, throbbing appendage fucking into her pussy, another two attacking her nipples. Her walls were stretched around the dark, pulsing tentacle, her juices filling the open air with sopping squelches.

Her eyes fluttered open and refocused on you, a dark line of drool dripping from her mouth and landing on your exposed torso. You released a pained shout, your skin burning at the contact. Tension built tight in your core, clit throbbing in your underwear. You’re struggling to breathe, head floating further into the clouds with each whimper from Ellie. She giggled hazily, moans sounding between her condescending snickers. She gathered spit in her mouth and allowed it dribble onto one of your breasts.

S’hitting it s’good! Fuck, I can’t—

Finally, finally, the tentacles choking your legs unraveled and crawled up, closer to your drenched cunt. Just one touch — you need one touch and you’ll cum. Just one, just one, please, please—

Slut needs t’cum? Beg some fuckin’ more, c’mon, Ellie’s moans and shouts in your head were somehow bringing you closer to that peak you desperately craved.

“Please, El, please, fuck… me— “

“I’m — oh, fuck, yes— “

Your shorts and underwear were being ripped from around your waist, yanking you in all directions. The friction made your walls constrict tight. The harsh suctions on your clit were instantaneous. Finally, finally, finally—

You and Ellie’s moans melted together, colors floating behind your eyelids. The wet sounds from Ellie’s pussy made your peak build in record time, zoning in on her cries. You’re going to cum so hard. It’s almost there, just a little bit more—

Ellie’s everywhere. In your head, line of blurry vision, on top of you, about to break and shatter. She's so perfect, shrouded in darkness and gloom and desire.

The tentacle suddenly expanded inside her pussy, stretching it wider, massaging all the spots that made her see white.

“M’gonna fucking cum, s’gonna make me cum— “

You’re so close, you’re close, you’re close. You wordlessly begged her to cum with you. Her knees trembled while her legs begged to close, but she forced them open. Forced herself to take everything, all of it. The tentacle pulsed sporadically inside her, and she crashed.

Pleasure was snatched away from you in an instant, the suckles on your clit gone. You cried and sobbed for Ellie to make you cum, but she ignored you, her body wracking in pleasure, heavy globs of black slick dribbling from her cunt, right under your tits.

She rode it out, bouncing on the large appendage before it shrunk to its original size. It jerked inside her a few more times before leaving her completely, more dark, gooey liquid dripping from her pussy.

She came down slowly, giddy laughs leaving her swollen lips as her walls rippled from the aftershocks.

“This is gonna be…” she scooped up some of the substance with her razor-like nails before shoving them into your mouth.

The peculiar twang coated your tastebuds. She continued.

“So much fun.”

You never thought you’d have the chance to kiss Ellie again.

But you are, and you’re so fucking nervous.

When you kissed her for the first time, you were confident, impulsive, reckless. Your regret didn’t come until after, but now here you two were, her split tongue messily sliding over yours, your tongue sizzling from the venom coating her mouth. Ellie’s mess seeped into your skin with each jerk of her hips. You’d give anything to touch her.

Your eyes squeezed shut every time she suckled on your lips, licked up your chin, squeezed her hand over your throat. She’s much more secure this time around; It’s almost enough to get you there.

Almost.

You were suddenly yanked back by your hair, head thudding the ground. Ellie seemed deep in thought, eyes distant.

“You’re a bad kisser.”

Your lip quivered. Ouch, “S… Sorry…”

“Ellie?” Your throat burned.

“Yes, dear?”

Her tone made you flinch. Everything you wanted to say left your brain in a cloud of smoke.

“Am… Am I…?”

“Are youuu…?” She trailed off. Her hand disappeared, lower, before a loud, sticky noise blaring in your head. She sighed happily; Ellie’s touching herself. Right in front of your face.

Your face is on fire and your shoulders are cramping up.

“Will… Can I, can I cum?”

“I don’t know… can you?” She shrugged with a smile.

Your eyes nearly rolled in annoyance; they would’ve if you weren’t so desperate to be fucked senseless.

She sat up fully, her wet hand reaching right in between your legs. They nearly clamped shut on her wrist, but more tentacles appeared to hold them open for her. She wasn’t looking at your pussy, but she knew exactly where to touch you. She rubbed her own juices into your clit, a nasty shhlck filling the calm air.

Tears built in your eyes at the sensitivity, your toes digging into the dirt beneath you. Her thoughtless mumbles were barely registering in your melting brain. Your impending orgasm nearly crashed into you before she stopped.

Your body tensed and your pleasure dissipated. Sobs left your mouth as you garbled, “E—llie, please, please, no more— “

“Don’t close your legs, I mean it. Take what I give you like a good bitch,” Ellie shimmied down your body, resting in between your legs. The tentacles hooked under your knees and forced them up, holding them right against your chest. You can’t see what Ellie’s doing and she’s silent.

You wanted to ask what was taking so fucking long—

A loud crack rang through the heavily wooded area, pain searing through your thigh. The stinging sensation brought tears to your eyes, sobbing softly to yourself.

The sudden flicking against your clit brought tears to your eyes. She’s touching you, finally. Your arms pulled at the veiny tentacles still clamped around your wrist, aches running down to your shoulders at the stiffness.

Ellie’s fingers were replaced with something much softer, and your body turned to mush. The appendages around your thighs twisted tighter, gripped harder, as the barbs from her tongue caught on your clit. It felt so fucking good; her split muscle moved so quick on your clit; your yelps of her name sound into the crisp air. You’ve been on the verge of cumming this entire time, but you can’t.

Suddenly, her tongue is easing downward, brushing against your perineum. Your hips tried to push down into her muscle, but to no avail. You could feel numbness building in your feet from the restriction.

Look at this tight little ass, two of her fingers were massaging your other hole, causing you to whimper.

Yeah? she pressed down harder, Like it right there?

Your head gravely bobbed in approval; you’ve never been touched there, but you crave it now.

Tiny fucking hole… gotta get you ready, huh?

Her voice is thick and haughty; you’re shivering.

A glob of spit lands on your ass, the sensitive skin tingling, numbness spreading across the pulsing area. She rubbed it in quickly and gave your hole one last slap.

Her tongue was back at your cunt; you squealed at the sensation of her tongue slivering past your entrance, walls stretching over her muscle. The soft splinters massaged your walls just right, caressing all the spots inside you and you felt it building —

Suddenly, her tongue stretched wider, expanded, pressed down on your walls, right on your spot; you were squirting on her tongue seconds later. You couldn’t warn her of your orgasm before you bursted, walls desperately milking her as satisfied shouts escaped your lips, your brain turning to goo.

“El — mmh! Fuck, yes, rightthere! —“

Sniveled thank yous were pouring from your lips as Ellie fucked into you, your juices coating her face. Bursts of color exploded behind your eyelids.

You thought you would never come down, but the intensity of your orgasm slowed, eyes slowly blinking open. Your vision was spotty; Ellie slowly pulled out, humming at the squeals that left you. You couldn’t move.

Suddenly all the tentacles were gone, limbs free and weightlessly plopping onto the ground. Your eyelids fell shut in exhaustion, your heart flooding with longing.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” A light kick on your shoulder.

Ellie…

“Get the fuck up. I’m not done,” she snorted coldly.

Ellie… please…

“What the fuck did I say,” The agitation in her tone rose.

I’m so sorry…

“I don’t care,” You were suddenly pushed onto your back, Ellie standing over you, eyes glowing dimly.

I miss you so much…

Memories of your past flowed through you, soft sobs shaking your weak form. Ellie deserved… everything good out of life. The purest forms of happiness were destined in her path, and you took it away. You took everything from her, and all you could do was watch what she’s become. What you caused.

The more you cried, the more disgusted she seemed, eyes growing darker.

She pounced on you in seconds, nails grasping your bunched sweatshirt and sharp tail tip prepped to end you right then and there, speckles of spit splattering on your face due to her shouts.

“DON'T!” The dying world around you shook with the bass of her tone. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

You didn’t fight. You allowed her to berate you, call you every vile name in the book, and digested her wishes of you dying instead of her. Every scream slammed into your chest; you merely laid there, ready to die with love in your chest.

I love you… I love you… I love you…

“FUCK YOU, YOU LYING BITCH! FUCK YOU! YOU FUCKING DID THIS TO ME! I’M GONNA KILL YOU— “

Bloody streams fall from Ellie’s eyes, the veins in her head changing from maroon to coal, the veins in her arms darkening as her voice deepened, razorous teeth baring. She sobbed and screamed from above you, wailing how much she hated you. You’re numb.

The venom from her tail was discharging from the tip. It’s time; it’s your last day alive. You nodded to yourself. You deserve this; You’re ready. You hope your siblings aren’t too saddened by your disappearance.

Is this the final stage of grief? Your body is lax and accepting, heavy droplets leaving your eyes when they shut.

I love you… I’m sorry… I love you…

Another sharp prick went through your shoulder, and darkness enclosed around you.

JUNIOR YEAR: 2012

You’re such a dork!

Ellie swears her heart is going to grow legs and crawl up her throat in the next thirty seconds if you keep staring at her like that. She's projecting; She’s the dork!

The few shots she took at the lake were wearing off, and her nerves were finally catching up to her. She was surrounded by your pillows, your stuffies, your scent; she could barely swallow, her throat was so dry.

You love me.

She does. Ellie never acted on her swiftly developed crush; she’s not built for rejection, especially from you. The smile on your face was so bright; your joy was so apparent whenever she was around. She hoped her own happiness reflected the same way; Please love me back! Please please please—

Her heart exploded, sewed itself back together, only to explode again when your hand came up, fingertips barely grazing her cheek. She’s going to faint; your touch was so soft. Was she crazy to compare the feel of your hands to rose petals? She tried to keep her nuzzles subtle, pushing her face closer to your hand; Is this how cats feel when they want cuddles?

You proceeded to explore her face in silent adoration, and she did the same, memorizing every detail she could. The moles on your face were lined like stars.

She scooted closer to give you more access to her now burning skin, and you kissed her. Ellie was stunned, body stiff; she didn’t have a chance to kiss you back before you pulled away. The scent of alcohol was pouring from you, and Ellie snapped back to reality.

You’re drunk. You kissed her and you’re drunk.

You’re probably not going to remember the entire night when you wake the next morning. Ellie’s eyes nervously searched your now downcast face. Say something, you coward!

But you spoke first.

You love me, right?

More than anything, Ellie wanted to scream, not caring if your parents woke up and kicked her out. But she couldn’t. Her brain was moving a million miles a minute, trying to find the words that would satisfy her feelings, but they were too strong. She’s in too deep; Words aren’t enough.

But you look broken and your body’s tense. She’s putting you on edge and she hates herself for it.

Do you love me? Your begging tone snapped her out of her head.

Of course I do, she gasped, mouth gaping like a fish.

More than anything! More than anything! I love you!

You only nodded, relaxed back into her, and shut your eyes.

Ellie went to sleep with a terrible feeling in her stomach, but she held you anyway.

Ellie’s weight crushed you as she sobbed into your neck, her cries loud and guttural, the sharp puncture of her horn pressing into the plush of your cheek. Her curses grew weak and quiet, mumbles of I fucking hate you cementing into your skin.

You simply laid beneath her, unmoving and stunned wordless at the memory — the truth that Ellie exposed to you. Her body jerked on yours as she wailed.

You hardly noticed the fresh tears rolling down your face. You sniffed, “Ellie…”

She sobbed, her head shaking dismissively.

“Ellie… Look at me…” You couldn’t move.

“Fuck you,” her choked murmur was hushed.

A sad smile grew on your face.

“Almost did…”

Ellie sniffed harshly against the burnt skin on your neck, almost touching your bloody shoulder, “What.” She mumbled flatly.

“Y’know… you almost did fuck me.”

Some silence passed before a wet snort came from below you. Your grin widened.

Ellie’s shoulders shook slightly as she snickered into your neck, arching hers slightly to look at you.

“I should kill you for that, you cunt. You’re not funny.”

Your body jerked with laughter, and you grimaced at the pain in your shoulder. “That's what you get.” Ellie sat up straight, smile slowly dissipating, eyes glossing over.

The light moment between you shifted, and sorrow weighed you down like bricks.

“I fucking loved you,” Ellie whispered harshly. “I wanted you to be happy. And you didn’t fucking care.” Anger was radiating off her, but the dread in her eyes was more telling. “You were… everything to me.”

The wounds in your heart were overflowing; your efforts of repairing your heart were proved pointless, blood and love and suffering filling your chest to the brim. Quiet sobs were shared between the two of you.

“Please k-kiss me,” Ellie’s eyes squeezed shut at your hushed proposal.

“Just one more. You can do whatever you want… just one last time.”

You sat up slowly, ignoring the deep aches in your side, your trembling hands cautiously raising to cup Ellie’s frosty cheeks.

Her face is so close; her lips are right there… just one more, just one—

Ellie’s eyes traveled across your face, lust and years of longing flooding in her tears. Her eyes shut and she leaned forward, her cold lips melding against yours. The kiss was gentle, your eyes squeezing shut as you cried, your tears transferring onto her cheeks.

Ellie’s hushed tone filled your head.

I wish I hated you.

You choked a sob, arms wrapping around her hips to pull her closer, her arms enclosing around your neck, the kiss growing hotter. You needed her closer; so much closer.

Her tongue slid past your mouth, the split muscle messily flicking over yours as her hips bucked down. You heard loud tears of cloth coming from behind you as Ellie shredded your sweatshirt with her claws, discarding the fabric on the dark heaps of grass.

She sighed into your mouth when you laid her back onto the grass soaking, crawling on top of her. Her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you down to reconnect your mouths, her fangs cutting into your bottom lip. She sucked the injured skin, humming at the metallic taste; your hips bucked down harder to meet hers, and she whimpered.

Her hands were freezing as they slid down your bare sides, claws pressing into your hips. You could feel your heart pounding in your throat as you kissed down her neck, soft noises of satisfaction erupting from beneath you. You suckled on her throat, tongue sliding down to her jaw and back up again.

“Can I, fuck, let me do something— “

You moaned in approval, thighs shaking at the sound of her voice, coming back up to press your mouth against hers.

A heavy gasp left you at the feel of slime dripping onto your thigh. Ellie dug her nails into your hips to steady you, and you whined at the sting. You stared down, entranced at her gleaming eyes, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

“Hold still.” Ellie’s whisper was strangely comforting, your body relaxing into hers. The light suck on your thigh made you squeak, chuckles releasing from the girl beneath you.

“And you’ve been doing this for how long?” you jokingly snarked, voice shaky.

“Meh, six years, nothing crazy,” she replied, shrugging sarcastically. “Just don’t move.”

Ellie’s hand moved lower, pressing at the end of your spine to deepen the arch in your back. She shushed your eager whimpers, slowly easing your hips back until your cunt brushed against the serpent-like organ. You shuddered and attempted to jerk away at the strange sensation, but Ellie held you still, snorting to herself.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips at the feel of its tip swirling at your clit, your head dropping onto Ellie’s shoulder. It took mere seconds for the suction to attack your sensitive clit, pleasured moans huffing from your mouth. Ellie’s mouth was right by your ear, her chilled breaths sending shockwaves down your spine. Your clit throbbed under the pressure: how were you already on the verge of cumming?

“Feels g-good? Yeah?”

Your walls were squeezing down harshly, desperate to hug and milk something hot through your orgasm. It takes all your strength to lift your head and kiss Ellie, but she does all the work; licking into your mouth, sucking on your tongue, bruising your lips with every slice of her fang. Every pass of her tongue is a pull in your gut, your clit pulsating with vigor.

She pulled back, just barely, to whisper how excited she is to fuck you, to turn your pussy out, to make you cry. Your moans were loud and eager, your head bobbing dumbly in compliance with anything she wanted. You’d give her everything you could in this moment.

Ellie’s in your head, in your senses, in between your thighs, and you’re losing it. She’s reaching at you, tugging at your body in any way she could: scratching at your tits, pulling your hair, clawing into your skin with intent to scar. You’re sure your back is bloody. Her touch is painful; why does it feel so good?

Your thoughtless head drops yet again as your orgasm is forced out of you, your walls choking the hot air surrounding the two of you. Your wails are muffled along with Ellie’s spat praises, your hips bucking back for more. The pleasure is almost too much and you’ve barely started; She hasn’t even fucked you yet.

Your juices are pooling out of you, knowingly making a puddle on Ellie’s tummy, her affirmed moans pulling more and more out of you. Your peak is unrelenting, draining every last bit of energy your body has left. Your limbs gave out, your weight crashing on top of Ellie’s.

She hastily maneuvered you onto your back, the spines of grass puncturing your skin from beneath you as she climbed on top.

“Your stamina’s fucked.”

Her winded snide remarks didn’t bother you; you need her to fuck you. You’re sweaty and desperate to feel her everywhere. She wasted no time, reuniting your mouths in an eager kiss as her hands ventured anywhere they could. Your body’s aching, but for some reason, you crave more. More hurt, more pain; You need her to use you.

The world around you moved like water; unlike your first dream, the waves brought comfort. Ellie’s touch felt like the ocean washing you away, all with effort to finally bring you peace.

But it didn’t work. You love her; You deserve pain, and you love her.

Her mouth is on your tits, biting and sucking at your nipples. It feels so good to have her this close; your body’s wet and ready for her to ravish you.

Ellie scurried down your body, sat on her knees in between your legs, her hands pressed under yours to hold them up. Your thighs are resting on your chest as Ellie dribbles a line of slobber over your soaking lips. Hums fill the space between you as it slides down, right over your entrance.

Seconds pass as Ellie stares at your cunt; You call out to her by mistake.

“What.”

Fuck. “No-nothing. Sorry.”

“You want something. Say it.”

You shake your head, and she smiles. Raunchy imagery of her fucking your pussy flash across your mind in an instant, and her grin widens.

You jolt at the sudden slap on your cunt before Ellie presses your legs even higher, knees almost next to your head. You ignore the aching stretch in your limbs and reach to grab your ass cheeks, holding them open for her. Heat spreads across your face when she moans at the sight.

Oh fuck, Ellie’s whimpering to herself; whining about how good your pussy’s going to feel, how you’re going to swallow her whole, choke her out. Juices are oozing from your cunt with each jerk of your walls.

A tentacle emerges from the ground, and Ellie’s expression darkens. It’s lecherous; the way she eyes your pussy as the organ slivers closer to your entrance. You couldn’t hold your moans in anticipation of the stretch. It’s right there, swelling and twitching.

Your head falls back against the sopping grass when your hole grasps the wide, leaking tip, eyes rolling into your head as Ellie’s moans ring deep in your skull. The tentacle is practically melting between your walls as they spasm.

Ellie’s so loud above you, completely hunched over your form as her body shudders, her lip trapped between her sharp teeth. They must’ve pierced the skin, a thin trail of black liquid dripping all the way down her neck.

You take it so fuckin’ good, Ellie’s slurring, tongue swelled in her mouth. You’re already peaking, your legs attempting to slam shut at the tight hug of your walls. The organ is suddenly swelling, walls stretching around the girth to trap it as deep as it can go. Tears are running down your face, groans of Ellie’s name melding with your harsh breaths.

Seconds pass, and the tentacle’s shooting inside, and your head goes blank, your orgasm slamming into you. You're silent as it wrings your body. The intensity is almost painful, like it’s being forced from your body and your cunt’s drained dry: it’s hot inside you where the fluid pools, and your walls are sucking it deeper.

You didn’t register Ellie falling forward, her body convulsing on yours, screams of how good your cunt is leaving her in a flurry. Her words are gritted and deep and her nails are in your bicep, but the pain only makes you cum harder.

It’s been minutes, and you’re deadweight, walls twitching around the still jerking organ planted deep inside your guts. No time to recover, though; Ellie’s pulling out, a nasty sound echoing at her departure as cum seeps — drenches the grass under you. It’s never-ending and sticky and you need more.

Ellie’s already up and moving you onto your stomach, your cheek pressed against the dirt. She’s hasty, spitting on your cunt with a fiery just a dumb slut, huh? You nod, squeezing your walls to push more cum out. There are heavy suctions on your back, forcing blood to the surface at the curve of your spine. Followed by a sharp stabbing on your ass cheek.

Ellie’s mouth is on your supple skin, and the blood in your ass rushes to the surface. Her fangs are locked into you as she empties the veins in your ass.

You couldn’t even scream, eyes squeezing shut at the searing pain as your walls release more cum. Ellie hums: another bite. More blood’s leaving you, being sucked from your ass, your thighs, the end of your spine, but it’s not enough. You need more. Ellie’s draining you but it’s not nearly enough.

Another tentacle presses in once more, and your vision’s blurring; there’s another tentacle sucking at your ass, your eyes crossing at the stimulation of both your holes. Ellie’s nails are breaking the skin of your back, dribbles of blood sliding down your sides and into the dirt. You love her and you love it; everything feels so warm and full and good.

Ellie’s chides are making you wetter; your thighs won’t stop shaking, she sounds so sexy. Every shockwave in your brain is memorizing every word, every syllable. She's babbling about how she might spare, keep you trapped here forever so she can drain your blood through your pussy, suck you dry, and it gets you there again.

Ellie — m’cu—cumming!

You don’t know what you’re saying; voice muffled against the dirt, tears and snot running down your face while you squeal like a pig. Ellie’s calling you one as you squirt on her, just a dumb, worthless pocketpussy; The smile on your face is stupid as your walls drain her while she throbs inside you. You’re so stuffed with her cum already, but you need more inside you. You feel so fucking good and the pleasure won’t seize.

It picks up again as the thrusts get faster, hitting you deeper, just where you need it. You don’t get to recover before you’re slung into another mind-numbing orgasm, your body wracking without rest. Ellie’s massaging every spot that makes your spine break, dirt collecting under your nails as they puncture the ground. Your groans are cracking in your throat; You can’t even swallow.

The tentacle’s swelling again, and Ellie’s hand is on the back of your head, pressing your cheek against the grass, nails scratching at your scalp as you beg for her cum. Her moans are picking up again, demanding that you beg some more, that you fucking cry for it, be a good girl a bleed for me. And you do.

As messily as you can; slobber pooling at your mouth as you sob and choke for her cum, eyes crossed in your skull as your tongue lolls, and Ellie’s shooting in you again, stuffing you to the brim as she cries your name from behind, grunts leaving her with each rope of cum seeps in your womb.

Your pussy’s melting around her when the sucking at your ass pauses, only to push in the incredibly tight space, to stretch your virgin hole open around its girth. It should hurt, having both holes filled to such a wild degree, but it doesn’t. Your weak arm is reaching behind, desperately grabbing at Ellie. You expect her to smack you away, to hit you, to slice your hand clean off your wrist, but she doesn’t; You almost miss the light touch, her pinky lacing with yours.

You’re joyous, head dropping as you sob from pleasure and happiness, heart filled with a love that you never thought you’d feel again.

She’s drilling your ass, fucking you so hard and good as she holds your smallest finger with hers, kissing down your bloody back, licking up the scarlet that leaks from your skin. Suddenly, another tentacle — much smaller than the ones tearing your holes up — emerges from the ground, right in front of your face, its juices leaking onto your cheeks.

It wiggles in front of your open mouth before shoving in; the taste is salty and metallic, but your lips work it, sucking and licking all around the length. You feel so filthy and it’s making your tummy tug, another orgasm building in your pussy and ass. It’s going to shatter you completely from its strength, you can feel it.

Your body’s aching for more cum; you’re surprised it’s not coming spilling from your throat and onto the appendage in your mouth. But Ellie’s close, every whisper becoming more frantic as she rides that edge.

You’re mine, she whispers in your ear, Fucking mine, you understand? You’re not going anywhere.

You get it, you get it! You’re never leaving her again. Fuck everything you’ve built for yourself! Your life is pointless without Ellie next to you. You’re going to cum so hard for her.

Your body’s hers; Your heart is hers; your soul is hers. You love her, you love her!

Baby likes that? I own this fucking pussy?

She knows she does: whispers so gross and conniving and you’re twitching under her. You’re babbling around the swelling appendage, telling her — screaming that you belong to her, you always have. You always will!

You feel her teeth as she grins madly in satisfaction, sloppily mumbling mine mine s’ my pussy against your skin as she swells inside you. You’re stretching, gaping around her and you snap, head planting into the dirt. Both sets of walls clamp down sporadically around the large digits between them, the tentacle slipping from your mouth as you scream.

Ellie’s exploding inside both holes, the tentacle above you spraying all over your face, heavy globs of cum landing in your hair, the back of your neck, splattering on your mouth, anywhere it could reach. Juices are spraying from between you, and Ellie falls forward, her freezing chest on your back as she jerks on top of you. Hearing her just as destroyed from the pleasure sends another surge of euphoria through you, somehow stronger than the first.

You can barely take it, but Ellie makes you, continues flooding your holes until they’re overflowing and sticky. You’re both sent to another plane as you convulse together, her pinky still locked with yours as you lose consciousness.

When you wake, there’s warmth.

You’re still filled to the brim with cum, but your form is blanketed. Small, tired huffs hit your back as Ellie shivers on top of you, barely audible noises alerting her satisfaction. You smile.

You can't move; all your strength is used to wiggle the cramped muscle of your interlocked finger. Tears well in your eyes when Ellie’s finger hugs yours tighter with every small movement.

Ellie’s the blanket; Ellie’s warm.

Suddenly, everything around you is pink, the formerly empty spaces in your heart filled with affection. You missed Ellie so much; You’re finally reunited, and in love. You can’t stop smiling, and neither can she.

—

‘BREAKING NEWS: BAKERY OWNER FOUND DECAPITATED IN MOTEL BED’

Today marks one of the most heart-wrenching, horrifying days that our community has ever seen, the local reporter stated. We have never witnessed a case end this disastrous.

To the loved ones of this individual, we share our deepest condolences. The victim made such a large impact on our tiny town with her small business. Nobody… the reporter sighed, Nobody could’ve seen this coming.

Please be on the lookout for any updates regarding the suspect. Investigators are putting as much effort into this case as they can. Police suggest staying indoors with your loved ones this holiday until further instructions.

May God be with her family. Have a blessed night.

idk how to use picsart sorry yall LOL

taggiesss ily thank u 4 being patient :D :

@digit4lslut @hrtmal @sawaagyapong @starologist @shurisbigtoe @iamtootiredtopost @elliew-illiamsmissingfingers @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @slutty4abby @chrry1ovr @moonchild184 @womenofarcane @ohlawdthebirds @ellabsprincess @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @dropsofs4turn @masclover111 @dyk3ang3l @zzzlove @jayy2inlovee @aandersonsbackpack @jade-posts-sometimes @elspeanut @elsbunny222 @alittlextrahoney @ultraviolenceellie @shamelessparty @0verthebluemoon @yuckyfucky

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst #ellie williams au #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #the last of us 2 #kinktober #lesbian #demon!ellie #works 𖧧࣪

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ectologia · 7 months

Text

TERNARY

TOMURA SHIGARAKI + FEMALE READER + DABI

WARNING: DUBCON/NONCON, CLIT TORTURE, GENITAL SPANKING, ANAL FINGERING, MALE MASTURBATION, THREESOME, CREAMPIE, HUMILIATION, MOCKING, SLIGHT GORE, MENTION OF TORTURE METHODS, PROFANITY, SLIGHT DABI X SHIGARAKI?

“Come out, come out..” Shigaraki sing-songs, shuffling against the moist gravel. “Where the fu— Dabi!”

“Mm.” Dabi hums, hand lax in his pocket while the other occupies a smouldering cigarette, pinched between his ashen finger-tips.

Shigaraki snarls a groan from the back of his throat. “Stop stroking your dick and come help me, you moron.”

“What’s the fuckin’ point? She’s probably long gone by now.” Dabi shrugs, making no attempt to gather himself. “And does it really matter? It’s just one chick, what’s she gonna d—”

Shigaraki spikes, shoulders prickling as he lurches towards Dabi. “What’s she gonna do?” He scoffs. “Tell those fuckin’ bastardin’ heroes where our base is, that’s fuckin’ what! I’m starting to think I should reconsider putting you second in command if you’re just gon—”

Dabi throws his hands up, feigning an apologetic frown. “Alright, alright! ..Damn.” He brings the smoked pick back down to the seam of his lips, inhaling until a puff of smog rolls out of his nostrils. “I was just kidding, Boss.” He smirks from beneath his clutch of scarred knuckles.

Shigaraki eyeballs Dabi with a flat face. “Dumb-ass.” He swats Dabi on the back of the head, a bit to strongly for his liking once the cigarette previously perched between his fingers is flung onto the sludge-stained pavement.

“Nice one.” Dabi huffs with an audible breath, shuffling through his pockets for another. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to be a li—”

“Shh. Shut the fuck up.” Shigaraki hisses, pressing his index to the petals of his flaking lips. “I just heard something.”

The two stand, frozen in ear-splitting silence.

Both pairs of eyes meet, knotted and furrowed as Dabi’s arm suddenly darts out, snatching at the blackened void.

“Ah, now would ya’ look at that.”

You yelp once a mangled hand swipes at your neck, clamping down and holding you in place.

“You were right Boss, little shit was hiding here all along.” Dabi snickers, jostling your shaken form like a hunter vaunting it’s kill.

Shigaraki rolls his eyes at his comrades witty intimations, eyeing the tiny thing hanging from his clutches.

He clicks his tongue, re-adjusting Father’s thumb across his cheek-bone. “Sneaky little bitch.”

You’re bound and stiff, eyes wide and jaw locked in your shell-shocked petrification.

“What do you wanna’ do to her first?” Dabi drawls, tilting his chin down to look at you with a wicked grin. “Break her legs? Skin ‘er? Blood-eagle?”

“Hm..” Shigaraki hums, tapping a thumb against his chin. You’re spun once, twice to get all the best angles as they inspect your physique. “I mean.. It’d be a shame to let her go to waste.”

Dabi smirks, darting an intrigued brow upwards. “Oh, yeah?”

Shigaraki’s tongue slips out to wet his parched lips. “Yeah.”

“Mmh.. What a messy pup.”

Dabi coos, tracing the rim of your clit’s hood with his middle-finger. He has your nerves standing to attention every time the abrasive digit dabs against your stiff nub.

“Look how hard that little clitty is.” Shigaraki chuckles, toeing your pussy with the tip of his shoe, nudging Dabi’s marred knuckles in the process. “Could probably jerk it if you wanted to.”

“Yeah?” He tweaks the thin layer of skin surrounding the vulnerable dot, bending your thighs back further in the process. “Wanna’ try?” He swirls his tongue along the crevice of your ear, spitting into it as he croons.

“Please, let me g— Mmph!”

“Ah.” Your pleas are soon cut off by the wrinkled texture of Dabi’s palm. “I don’t wanna’ hear any cryin’ or whinging now, a’ight?”

Shigaraki sneers, squatting down to replace Dabi’s cold, stapled flesh with his own.

He pinches your clit between his crooked fingers, grinding and tweaking the tiny seed, while Dabi bounces you on his knee like a child to soothe your oncoming fit.

“See? this is what happens..” Shigaraki spits with a bitter smile. “This is what happens — when nosy little bitches like you can’t mind their own fuckin’ business.”

He pulls his arm back, tugging your tiny, quivering clit along with him until the stretched skin snaps back into place at the crest of your pudgy pussy.

Your raw cunt earns a sloppy, half-hearted spank from the hard heel of his hand, noticeably avoidant to catch you with his surely destructive finger-tips.

“Hey, woah, woah. Who said you get first dibs?” Dabi splutters, pressing your knees back together almost defensively once he sees the shimmering glare of Shigaraki’s belt buckle.

“I did.” Shigaraki grunts, clumsily rooting around inside the pouch of his stained boxers before pulling out the sluggish length of his pink-tipped cock. He’s flaccid, smooth layers of pale-porcelain skin wrinkled and folded against the chubby softness of his un-cut dick.

“You ain’t even hard yet, you shmuck.” Dabi sniggers, abiding his time by twiddling and flicking at your labia.

“Shut the fuck up. Just gimme’ a sec..”

“No way, I ain’t sittin’ here to watch you rub on your lil’ love-stick.” Dabi peers down at you through his leaden eyelashes. “We wanna’ have some fun, don’t we babe?” He smooshes the pudge of your cheeks, scrunching your lips into a pucker. He snorts, sticking his tongue out to engulf the cavity in a wet-hot kiss. “Mmh..” He swirls the leacherous muscle around and around your teeth, bobbing his head as though he was trying to suck out your soul like a dementor.

“Hey, knock it off. We’re not here to play house.” Shigaraki stutters through his raspy chokes, jabbing at his limply-hanging cock.

Dabi smiles as he retreats, smearing a muggy trail of saliva across your chin all the way to the tippy top of your nose, flicking off at the soft cartilage.

“Was just introducing myself, Boss.”

“You don’t need to introduce yourself.” Shigaraki bites.

“Awh..” Dabi coos. “Big bad villian can’t get his teeny weeny hard?”

He expects Shigaraki to explode into a feral ball of flames at this, only to be met with something much more mellow and.. down-right — timid.

“Do something..”

“What?”

Shigaraki clicks his tongue and huffs. “Do something.. Finger her or some shit..”

“Oh.”

Dabi’s struck dumb, but only for a short moment — before he’s bouncing back to his usual unperturbed and snarky demeanour.

“Well then.. let’s get down to business. What’re we feeling, you little rat? Twat or ass?”

You shiver in Dabi’s lap, the sporadic jolts of your spine spiking every-time the dewy humidity of his breath blows over your nape.

“Only kidding Babe.” Dabi smiles, a wide, wolfish, toothy grin, reaching no further than the dimples of his cheeks, half-lidded eyes set purely on the little patch of flesh below your navel. “I’m choosing.”

“Holy fuck!”

Shigaraki jerks his — now, fully erect cock. Striding up the sweaty length to halt just at the ridge of his pumped mushroom-tip, shiny with a sheen of smeared pre-cum. The tiny slip of pink peeks through his curled hand every time his fist bobs, fapping away at his chubbed up prick while his second set of fingers make themselves useful by rolling and fondling his tightened ball-sack.

“Yeah? You likin’ the show Boss-man?” Dabi’s nose crinkles from the force of his own boyish laughter, tapping your left ass-cheek for the 8th time, just to watch the squishy dough ripple around his stapled wrist.

The scrunched rim of your taught asshole barely has enough room to encompass all three of the fingers Dabi persistently tries to stuff in, shuffling and flexing the digits inside your gummy walls to engage you into a more flexible position.

“Fuck me, look at that butt.” He jerks his elbow forward, impaling you further on top of the jagged bumps of his torn knuckles.

“Ah!” It’s a guttural cry of pain that escapes your hoarse throat, bent at an angle with your stomach pressed across Dabi’s lap, consistently jouncing along his thigh at every attempted means of escape.

“Ooh, yeah.” Dabi croaks through his grit teeth, puffing from the back of his throat once he sees how the smooth curvature of your back arches as he prods at your asshole with a forth digit. “You bouncin’ that ass back for me?”

“Yeah she is, look at her.” Shigaraki can’t help but invite himself into the conversation, leaning back further against the porous red-bricks for support. “Stick her another one Dabi, I wanna’ see blood.”

“Another one? You want another one?”

“No!” You squeal.

“Yeah you do.”

Dabi hooks his left thumb around the puckered hole, stretching you open further to dig a fourth finger into the cramped space.

“Shit, yeah — I like that.” Shigaraki nods in approval as he pumps his massive dick, anchoring from his wrist to his shoulder as he squeezes his plump cock-head.

He thrusts himself off of the wall, waddling over to the scene with his jeans bandaging his thighs together.

“Uh oh.” Dabi mocks, almost giddy once he sees how frantic Shigaraki’s strokes become, huffing with humid cotton-balled clouds of steam.

“Mmh.. want..” He staggers, almost losing his balance before stationing his forearm next to Dabi’s streaked mane of ink. “Pussy.. lemme’ see her twat..”

Instead of directing your stance by your waist, Dabi deems it appropriate to use the hooked fingers clenched inside your back-pussy as a handle, pulling your little ass up into a painful arch by the tiny hole, almost tearing you through the middle on his metallic spikes in the process.

“She’s all yours.” Dabi hollers at his Boss.

“Shut your mouth, stupid cunt.”

A pair of grimy fingers slither down towards your puffed up folds, while a third taps away at your ticklish little clit. He’s no longer aiming the head of his dick at himself, but rather the penny-sized hole left unoccupied below your taint.

His hand drops in favour of clutching your stomach, clawing and grappling with the squidgy meat as he rubs his penis through the slicked up gash.

Dabi’s satisfied with just observing, perching his chin atop your shoulder to visualise how your tiny cunny is gonna take his Boss’s fat, steaming horse-cock.

“Agh! Mmh — Mmh — Shit!”

Or not..

He chooses not to mention the strings of semen shooting against the denim of his jeans, in favour of keeping his head.

Or the same blobs of pearlescent coating dribbling out of your fuckable pussy-hole, left to waste after being soiled by Shigaraki’s acerbic spunk.

Dabi makes no effort to move until he’s sure the low-hanging set of balls swinging against his knee have come to a slow waltz, rocking leisurely beneath Shigaraki’s girth.

“Was that good, you little freak?”

Shigaraki’s unsure if Dabi’s talking to you or him, uncaring enough to ask as he basks in the glowy state of his post-nut glory.

It’s surprising how long it takes for the two men to recognise the faint sniffling smudged into the leather of Dabi’s shoulder, opaque spots of crystalline tears seeping into the veined material.

Dabi juts his bottom lip out, mocking your timid warbling. “Awh, you made her cry Shiggy.”

Shigaraki rolls his eyes, swivelling as he stuffs his cock and balls back into the pocket of his ratty underwear.

“She’ll get over it.”

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coentinim · 1 month

Text

Sweetest Perfection...

...to call my own. James and his curious ghost body.

Contains: ADULT CONTENT. MDNI. Sexual content, body worship/exploring, James is on the subby/more passive side here (+masochistic), comparing him to a dead body a few times, mentions of murder, reader has a thing for his neck gash, reader is absolutely smitten.

Longest fic yet. A bit of character analysis sprinkled in? Oh and first ever porn fic <3 pls lmk what you think!

@feefymo @nahoyasboyfriend @taintandviolent @fear-is-truth @silverzoomies (?)

James was a secretive man - he rarely showed geniuine emotion and never appeared without his three piece suit. And even though he looked dashingly handsome in it, you couldn't help but wonder...

Even while intimate with you, he never disrobed fully. Most times, he just pulled his dress pants down and took you in the heat of the moment, be it after a stressful event or particularly exciting kill. He has seen, touched, kissed, and probably cut every single crevice of your body, traced every scar and all delicate gooseflesh, dug his nails into every possible surface. Yet, you were deprived of such pleasure, as he always covered at least parts of himself. If his torso was visible for a second, he was wearing pants. If his lower half was bare, he had an undershirt on. Truly, it wouldn't hurt him to just show himself!

He rarely rested with you, usually opting for giving you an exaggerated goodnight kiss and leaving, sometimes watching you sleep and entrancing himself with your calm pulse and breathing - he loved your life. But tonight, he felt unusually calm and satisfied with the day, resting on the bed next to you and gently threading through your hair. He stared off into space, allowing your body close to his, relishing your lively warmth against his cold. His breath was audible, but his heartbeat hardly present, making him seem like a cadaver incapable of movement and thought. The impression of a corpse was amplified by the open wound on his lower neck; he usually made sure to cover it with a cravat or a button-up, but now he lied there in just an undershirt and boxers, making the disgusting gash visible. It enticed you. It looked delicious.

You were entranced. Tracing every muscle and vein on his arm, carefully. For such a vulgar, degenerate serial killer, he was strangely uncomfortable with human touch. You figured it was a control thing, that he must hate vulnerability, and you smiled at the thought - how human he was despite it all! You dared not interrupt his reverie with anything but slight touches on his arms and glances at the gore on his neck. And then he looked at you, his empty eyes glinting.

"You seem awfully curious, dear"

You jumped at his sudden words. You were under the impression that he was asleep - or at least in the way he "sleeps", staring off into space and dissociating completely, consciousness impossible to reach.

You gathered your courage. "Well, we are rarely this intimate. I just wondered..." you trailed off, cringing at how lovey-dovey you sounded. He was a murderer, for God's sake, asking him to strip wouldn't make him think less of you! He stared at you, expression unchanging, as always when he was his authentic self.

He raised one brow. You had no idea how you should explain it, so you let your actions speak instead. Never breaking eye contact, you trailed your hand down his body, slipping it under his shirt. The feel of his skin was strange; cold and slightly moist, but not like in living humans, but as if some otherwordly mist sat atop his body. You trailed it up, caressing his chest and making his undershirt fold up to expose some of his body. He smiled that hungry, predatory grin at your actions.

"Ah, darling, your hands stir me back to life", he said, definitely intrigued by your ministrations.

The words rolled off his tongue with such ease, despite their poeticism. How did he do that?

And this way, he had allowed you to slip off his shirt. God, his body was so pretty, you just had to lean over him and press a sensual kiss to his chest, and the side of his body, and the side of his back. He seemed to like the positive attention as he hummed and observed you keenly. He usually would have taken the initiative by now, fucking into you hard and rough or making you gag on him to the point of tears, but this time, he just lied there, allowing you to kiss him, his lips slightly parted.

His eyes looked as if he was reminiscing something, and that's when you truly got how old this man was. You wanted to know his every thought and secret. But his mind had to wait, as you were busy taking apart his body tonight, anxious to try touching the most forbidden part of him... but not yet.

You gestured for him to sit up, and strangely, he complied, allowing you to do your thing. It was unfair, how majestic he looked even while sitting on the bed. Would it kill him to look casual for once?

You continued your kisses on his body, eating up the cold stiffness and the death of his skin. Up to his collarbone. Down his shoulder, to the shoulderblade. And he looked back at you, curious, but tired, and so, so calm. It was awkward, him not saying anything about how entranced you were with his definitely deceased charms. You stayed silent as well, kissing along one particularly deep scar on his back, letting your tongue dip into it for just a second. God, his taste. You'd die for his taste. Rot, sweat and cigarette smoke. Not a perfect combination, but it made your thighs clench nonetheless. How it enveloped you every time he held you close, his thick and veiny fingers in your pussy and sweet words in your ear.

You were worried. He never told you much about his adolescense, yet he did mention the scars were gathering there his entire childhood, and that his father was a particular case of sadism and aggression combined with religious hypocrisy. So you never mentioned it, anxious that he might just ignore you and go on a killing bender, lashing out as always in times of heavy emotion. Some things ran in the family, you thought.

But he didn't react, other than letting out a pleasured huff of air, muscles relaxing into your careful caresses. He had to admit, you had a way of handling his body into a state of ultimate peace and relaxation. You could make thousands as a masseuse, but he'd never allow such a frivolous career for his darling. You leaving the hotel for your dreaded job was already sacrifice enough on his part. If it were up to him, your hands would serve no other purpose than caressing his lifeless form and bringing avocat and marcipan chocolates into his lips. Decadent, sweet, forbidden. Your touch and kisses on his back grew more intense, though, as you had become more hungry for him. He gasped when you scratched his skin deeply. You knew his greatest weakness; sensual pain. Digging your nails into his textured back, you kept kissing and licking sweetly. Your nails drew the faintest hint of blood.

James swallowed thickly, his slit throat exposing all muscles used during the motion. God, you wanted your fingers in his muscle.

"Dearest- I believe you've become ravenous?"

God, his way with words. You were no match for him when it came to sweet talking. So you just nodded, feeling his strong hands grip your hips, maneuvering you onto his lap, only underwear separating your groins from touching. You suppressed a whine.

Again, you expected him to pound your cunt with his usual fervor, but he just held you there, leaning back against the pillow with that mad smile of his, expectant. You almost grinned, knowing that he wished for more agonies. So you wasted no more time waiting for his move, the arousal overtaking your body. You felt inclined to make him a bit less relaxed, though, and since he had allowed you to worship his back before, you continued the exploration with your fingers and lips. Your hand wrapped around his neck, right under his chin, and you tried to kiss his chest, but you've gone hasty with your arousal; you practically slobbered all over his body, sucking deep marks and biting harshly, making him groan in prespiration.

You had a target in your mind, so you inched your kisses closer to his neck. He has never been so submissive to you before - at least on his own volition. He just gripped your hips, so hard they almost bruised, and held you there as if forcing you to please him, so he wasn't entirely subservient to your touches. He bucked his hips into yours teasingly, making you whimper. Oh, you were losing your patience with this man...

Still holding his upper neck firmly, you pressed your lips to the edge of the gash on the lower part of it. Finally. God, you've been wanting to taste it for hours now. You licked the edge of it gently, not wanting to cause him too much suffering; it was an open wound, after all. He gasped and gripped your hips tighter in reponse. You hesitated, looking him in the eyes while giving the gash slow, kitten licks, as delicate as you could. And James Patrick March, the Ten Commandments Killer and the most prolific serial murderer in all of America, whimpered. Loudly. He winced in pain, but still smiled at your sweet hesitation.

"Go ahead, savor me... don't... hold anything back"

Why, your hesitation was completely gone now.

You have decided to devour your lover down to the bone. You sucked on the edge of the wound, and he jumped, gripping the soft material of your panties so hard it almost tore. Oh, that must have hurt.

But the taste... oh, his taste! The laceration tasted like blood, obviously, but also rot and a certain heaviness, like it was filled to the brim with James' absinthe. You couldn't help but dive a little deeper into the interesting combination, ignoring his desperate gasp and groan.

This time, his grip tore your panties to shreds, and he quickly removed the admittedly sticky material from your lips. You whined into the gash, kissing deeper, letting your tongue delve into it. You swiped against his muscle and trachea, all the while grinding your ample wetness against his hard on stuck in his boxers. His self control dwindled and he tried to take down the exasperating garment, sliding his hands from your hips, but younwere having none of this.

"You'll hold me on top of you. You will.", you parted from his gash to whisper it in his ear venomously, holding his hands on your hips, not allowing him to disrobe. He let out a whine so pathetic you had no idea he was capable of such noises. It was delicious.

His cock ached in the confines, grinding against you, and because he was the one in underwear you were getting more pleasure out of it than him! Outrageous! He hadn't felt so aroused in at least three decades.

You grinned and continued your assault on his wound. You gently sucked on the flesh, still holding the upper part of his neck, preventing his squirming. And oh did James squirm under you; his hips bucked up against yours at an unrelating pace and let out deep, guttural moans of pain.

Your forehead felt sticky with sweat and the taste of his wonderful gore, along with the control made your eyes roll back. You knew he was just dying to slip himself deep into you and pound your living, pulsing pussy, you were aware of his animalistic need, and denying him that very pleasure felt exhiliarating. It made you grind against him harder, your cunt fluttering with each thrust he gave back, each moan, each depraved cry of pain and desperation.

And then you sucked, harshly, feeling the gore swish and move under your lips, and hearing the scream of his pain. You felt the wetness between you grow and realized he came in his underwear.

It was all too much. His desperate ministrations overwhelmed you and you followed soon after, finishing with a groan, squeezing his neck so hard any living being would asphyxiate.

You collapsed onto his chest and he held you firmly, cradling you tightly, whimpering like a scared dog.

You sat up and wiped your bloody lips, assessing his expression, judging whether he felt any pain anymore.

He had the biggest grin plastered on his pale face.

"...once I gut you, right here...", he pressed a hand to your stomach, "I'll, ahhh, I'll return the favor"

#james patrick march #james march #evan peters #jpm #james march x reader #ahs #ahs fanfiction #ahs hotel #american horror story #kai anderson

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virtualreader · 8 months

Text

silver blade

deanwinchesterxfem!reader

summary: reader heroically kills a shapeshifter to save Dean, but not without getting hurt in the process. When the blood covering the reader's hands, nearly triggers a panic attack, Dean is quick to comfort her.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: gore, not natural creatures (if u know, u know), anxiety, panic attack, blood, grotesque killing, wounds, emotional shock. could be read as romantic or platonic.

a/n: i live for hurt/comfort fics. also, i thrive on feedback, so don't think twice and send me some! constructive criticism is also welcomed!

"Dammit, Dean," you cursed under your breath as you tried calling Dean, only to be sent straight to voicemail once again. To say you were exasperated was an understatement. You couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that was starting to creep up on you. “Where the hell are you, guys?”

As little as a single missed call was enough to seed concern within you. One—they had probably walked into a crowded bar. Two—Dean had most likely found a chick worth flirting with. Nine in the span of two hours? Nine voicemail messages and no sign neither of the brothers were still alive? Now that was downright worrisome.

You slid the combination 11-02-83 into the lock, and it opened immediately with a subdued click. You had been with the Winchesters long enough to have figured out the access code to the weapons compartment. Nonetheless, you were still finding your feet in the supernatural world, not having ever seen any of the creatures you read about.

With one hand, you scrambled to lift the bottom of the trunk, gaining access to the secret compartment John had built in the '67 Impala Dean insisted on nicknaming baby.

If there was anything you had a grasp of, it was lore beyond doubt. Therefore, you sifted meticulously through the vast array of weapons until you finally laid your eyes on the one you had been seeking—a glistening silver knife, ornately engraved. Legend has it both silver bullets and silver-bladed weapons were lethal to shapeshifters, the very creature Sam and Dean were after.

As you became aware of your scarce fighting skills, you hesitated for a moment and second-guessed your brash decision to defy the blunt order to stay in the motel the Winchesters had given you. Instead of backing down and following said instructions, you headed towards the nearest sewer cleanout driven and determined, and trawled the cover aside with great effort.

With the silver knife in hand, you descended into the sewers, climbing down the rank, rusty ladder, diligently making it to the bottom. You jumped off onto the ground, which you found to be swamped with turbid water. Or at least that was what you hoped the muddy puddles soaking your feet up to the socks were.

The air was humid, and the sewer halls were silent except for the rhythmic dripping of leak drops splashing on the concrete. You took a deep, shaky breath, wondering how Sam and Dean managed to remain level-headed during hunts, especially given the unforeseen aftermath.

You were undoubtedly scared—terrified even. You bore in mind all the plausible deadly outcomes facing a creature as powerful as a shapeshifter entailed. Yet, not even that did withhold you from sacrificing your own safety for the sake of the two boys who had become your family over the past year.

You were willing to pay your weight in blood if it was their lives at stake. Without them by your side, life would only be reduced to a meaningless solitary existence. So you might as well devote yourself to wrestling them from the peril you sensed they were in.

You crept through the dark, dank sewers, your grip on the silver knife tightening with each step, refraining it from slipping from your moist trembling hands. You couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was watching you, lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce at any moment.

The stench was overwhelming, and you had to cover your nose with your free hand to avoid gagging. But you knew that giving up was not an option. You had come too far to turn back at this point.

You dropped your gaze to the concrete beneath your feet, scrutinizing the ground in search of any signs indicating Sam and Dean’s whereabouts.

One, two, three blood droplets stained the cement and left behind a vague trail. It was a somewhat chilling sight, and your thoughts immediately went to the possibility of the guys being wounded.

Barely a few feet before you laid a mucilaginous shred of skin. Next to it was a clump of dark hair, matted and tangled, still attached to its corresponding patch of torn skin. You shuddered at the realization that those gruesome remnants irrefutably belonged to the shapeshifter.

Faint grunts died out in the distance. It sounded human, and you recognized them as Dean’s. You tensed up, gripping the small bladed weapon steady in your hand.

With an adrenaline rush pumping through your veins, you crept towards the direction of the sound. The grunts grew louder, and you could now hear the pained sounds of Dean's voice as clear as day. Your heart leaped into your throat, and you picked up the pace, sprinting through the dark corridors.

You skidded to a stop as you came upon the scene. Eyes narrowed and brows raised, you did your utmost to wrap your head around the commotion you witnessed before you.

Sam laid sprawled on the floor, his mouth stuffed with a smudge rag. There was sweat and blood coating his face and clothes and his chest inflated and deflated frantically as he struggled against the plastic flange restraining his wrists.

Your attention then turned to Dean, who was pressed against the wall with his body tense with pain and fear. There was another loud thud, the broad creature gripping Dean's jacket collar tossed him onto the ground, the sound echoing throughout the sewer's hallways. Dean gasped in pain, and your heart sank even further at the sight of his helplessness.

“Y/n…get outta...here...” he spoke falteringly in a hushed tone when he registered your presence.

You followed his gaze, and your eyes locked with the shapeshifter's dusky ones. The creature’s features were practically indistinguishable under the dim light seeping through the storm drains, yet the illumination was sufficient for you to discern its current shape.

It was not human, you acknowledged that fact in its entirety. But it sure resembled a person, and not just any person. The shapeshifter, whose eyes were currently fixated on your unnerved shaky figure, had taken on Sam's form with such accuracy it left you utterly bewildered, propelling your mind into an insurmountable surge of confusion.

Its gaze was intense, almost otherworldly, and it seemed to be studying you with a cold detachment that sent shivers down your spine. The shapeshifter seemed to be waiting for your next move, but you froze, clueless as to how to act in the face of his defiant demeanor. And with each passing moment, the pressure mounted, threatening to engulf you in a tidal and paralyzing wave of haze and dread.

You felt compelled to pin your hopes on your self-reliance in order to beat the creature down. After mustering all your courage, you leaped to Dean’s defense. Without hesitation, you charged forward, brandishing the silver knife that you had retrieved from the Impala's weapons compartment.

The smug laugh of the shapeshifter only fueled your determination to protect the brothers at any cost. You saw red. With a swift motion, you plunged the blade into the shapeshifter's chest, slicing and carving it wide open out of fury, and it let out a bloodcurdling screech as it fell to the ground, lifeless.

What seemed blatant moments ago became now an incertitude, as you saw what appeared to be Sam's inanimate body on the concrete. Even if the real Sam drew breath a stone's throw away from you, growing ever more relieved as Dean aided in freeing him from the restraints, the thought of having killed the younger Winchester brother eclipsed your brain.

“I’d never peg you as the stabbing type,” joked Dean trying to alleviate the tension in the atmosphere as he helped Sam to get up, earning a sheepish 'thank you' from the younger brother. He then turned his attention to you. “Jeez, y/n, white paint has more color than your face.”

You took a step backward staring down to your hands, absolutely unable to hear what Dean was saying, let alone fathom it out. Blood was all you saw, blood drenching your hands from the very fingertips all the way up to your elbow.

When your only response to his jokes was silence, Dean began to realize that something was off. In a desperate attempt to get you to snap out of your distressed paralysis, he grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you slightly.

You looked at him, trying to discern his worried features through your foggy vision. You felt trapped inside your own mind, unable to break free from the suffocating weight of your thoughts.

"Everything's spinning, De," you muttered as you managed to loosen the knot that had formed in your throat. "Please, make it stop.”

"I promise you—your head is the only thing spinning right now," he said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. "You did good, y/n/n. You saved my ass back there."

Your usually regular and calmed breathing pattern developed into a shallow, rapid one. You could feel your heart hammering at great speed in your chest, which caused the veins in your neck to throb and made you feel rather light-headed.

"Hey, hey, hey. I've got you. I've got you," Dean whispered, pulling you into a tight embrace not willing to let you fall when he saw you swaying, and losing balance. "Just listen to my heartbeat, okay?"

You hummed in response, utterly unable to voice your distress. You could hear and feel the wallop of his heart, forcefully rapid yet steady and calming, along with the resounding sounds of his voice inside his chest. You clung to him for dear life, feeling his strong arms around you as you kept a white-knuckled grip on his plain flannel.

"That's it. Just focus on that," he reassured you, rubbing his hand up and down your back, your breathing gradually returning to its even pattern. "You're safe now. It's over."

As soon as you were out of the sewer, Dean ushered you to the Impala opening the door for you to enter the back passenger seat. As much as he loved baby, getting her bloodstained was not a problem as long as he got you safe and comfy.

The ride lasted hardly ten minutes, although to your clouded senses it felt everlasting. You made a futile attempt to divert your attention from the dry blood coating your hands to the sparse traffic outside, before your mind was dragged into the abysmal hole of anguish that the earlier incident had dug into your psyche one more time.

Throughout the ride, Sam kept asking if you were okay every now and then, displaying a genuine concern for your well-being. He knew how traumatic the experience must have been for you and wanted to make sure you were coping. His kind words and comforting presence helped soothe your frazzled nerves, even if only slightly.

Truth was you were far from okay. You were grappling with a multitude of emotions that were threatening to consume you, and the weight of your thoughts felt suffocating.

Meanwhile, Dean would occasionally shoot glances your way through the rear-view mirror, silently checking on you to make sure you were holding up. Despite his tough exterior and being kind of rough around the edges, he was quick to show his caring and nurturing side when it came to you.

The car rolled down the highway, the engine humming softly as Dean expertly downshifted gears, slowly bringing the vehicle to a smooth stop in the motel's parking lot.

You stumbled out of the car, feeling dizzy and disoriented. Dean rushed to your side, supporting you with a hand on your back.

"Easy there, champ," he said, concern lacing his voice. "Let's get you cleaned up and patched up, yeah?"

You nodded weakly, grateful for his support. It was then that you noticed the large gash on your forearm, which must have been incurred during the prior wrestling. How could you have missed it before?

The keys clattered as Sam unlocked the door to your assigned room, pushing it open gently. The three of you entered the motel's bedroom, steps heavy as your energy was depleted.

While Sam tended to his own injuries, Dean took you to the bathroom, where he turned on the tap and began to gently wash away the blood that coated your hands and arms. The touch of his fingers was soothing, and you closed your eyes, letting out a sigh of relief as the water washed away the evidence of the shapeshifter's blood.

In spite of his sarcastic jokes, you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Dean was mad. And he had every right to be.

You looked up at him, feeling guilty for disobeying orders and putting yourself in danger. The instructions were clear—stay safe and focus on research. They had let you take charge of the investigation duty reluctantly, let alone get fully involved in the hunting business. But you found it impossible to resist the urge, you couldn’t stay in the motel doing nothing knowing they could be in trouble.

Notwithstanding the potential fallout, Dean didn't scold you. Instead, he patiently led you to the toilet, he retrieved the newly restocked first aid kit and gently placed it on the countertop.

“I'm sorry,” you said in a whisper. "You weren't answering my calls. I got worried sick. I'm sorry."

Dean leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"No need to be, sweetheart," he said softly, tossing his resentment for your disobedient behaviour to the back of his mind. "As much as I hate to admit this, you did what had to be done. You saved us back there."

He proceeded to tend to your wound, his touch light and careful as he cleaned and bandaged the gash on your forearm. You couldn't help but feel grateful for his presence, for his unwavering support and understanding.

As he finished up, he looked up at you with a small empathetic smile.

"You wanna crash in my room tonight?" he asked. "I promise to keep the nightmares away."

You nodded, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

The knowledge that he was there with you, ready to support you through thick and thin, was a comforting thought. With Dean by your side, you knew you could get through anything.

#dean winchester #dean winchest x reader fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #spn #dean supernatural #supernatural fandom #supernatural fanfiction #sam and dean #supernatural #supernatural imagine #sam winchester #the winchester brothers

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 7 months

Text

From the depths

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, October 2023 edition

Prompt: suck, 480 words

CW: Mild blood and gore; Drowning; References to murder; Monsters; Tentacles

Rated: M

Notes: It's October, I'm all up in my spooky shit

Eddie’s first thought as consciousness returns is that he’ll murder Jason fucking Carver.

He should have known something was off when the asshole asked to make the deal by Lovers’ Lake, shouldn't have walked into the forest. Because of course his goons were hiding somewhere to tinker with the van.

Eddie heaves a wrecking cough as the memories come.

The rear swerving off the dark road. The brake pedal limp under his foot. Hitting the water. The sickening vertigo as the van went under. Water rising in the footwell, weight pressing in. The noise as the windshield cracked.

The realization that he was gonna die.

"Shhhh, breathe."

A hand in his hair, a voice in his ear.

Air in his lungs.

Eddie's eyes open.

For a second, he thinks he died and went to heaven. Because hovering above him is the prettiest boy he's ever seen. He's ethereal in the moonlight - chiseled features, soft hair, smooth skin dotted in moles.

"Wha-?"

"Don't speak," smiles the boy. His voice settles over Eddie, calm and commanding. "Only just pulled you out."

He turns Eddie's head, probably to check for injuries? Eddie blinks as the surface of the lake swims into focus. Bubbles burst where the van disappeared.

"Fuck," he rasps, sitting up. "Looks like I'm walking home."

"No," coos the boy, and grips his hands. He's close, eyes very bright in the dark. They're hypnotic, like they're sucking him in. "Stay. It's been so long since I ate."

Eddie freezes. Because the boy has just put a hand to his face, and it's clammy and cold like the water. Because there's something spanning between his clawed fingers, something webbed like membranes.

Because the boy doesn't have legs.

His bare torso melts into a coiling mass of tentacles, slithering all around them, wrapping around Eddie’s limbs, cold and moist and choking and-

"Wait!"

The boy - the creature - blinks gleaming eyes at him. One clawed hand pulls Eddie's fingers up to plush lips. They are still bloody from pounding against the walls of the van. A too-long, too-pointed tongue darts out to drag them into a mouth full of sharp fangs and sucks the blood right off.

"You're hungry," Eddie smiles through his horror, tries to make it disarming. "I can get you food. Lots of food, way better than my skinny ass."

The boy releases his fingers with a wet pop.

"Continue."

Eddie frantically rambles on. "I know this big, meaty jock. Lots of muscle, very healthy. He should still be close, I can-"

One membraned hand grabs his jaw.

"Do not try to wiggle out of this. I've marked you. If I call, you'll come. And I'll feed. Are we clear?"

Eddie swallows. "Crystal. Now let me get you that snack."

Jason disappears on that night.

It's the first of many times Eddie feeds the boy from the lake.

Part 2

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie microfic #steddie microfic October #mer dude but make it spooky #murder boyfriends but one of em is a flesh eating lake creature or whatever #hype's microfics

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doflamingosstrings · 6 months

Text

Havik X Reader - Warnings: Severe gore, violence, blood and gore, bones breaking, guts, smut, AFAB reader! Period sex! ~ 4K words! 💕✨

Pain Is Salvation

—

Havik stared upward, his eyes unable to shift from the picturesque scene above him. It was like he was stuck in a dream, a mirage of something he couldn't believe. He was almost afraid to look away, wondering if he did, would the image above him fade away, and he simply couldn't risk such a thing. He refused to blink, even as blood dripped onto his face, and fell down his cheek, his eyes were lidded with lust. He was huffing and heaving in desperation, his mouth open, and his tongue lolled out in hopes of getting even the slightest taste, but alas, even as he silently begged, red only dripped onto his nose and sat there unsatisfyingly instead of him getting a taste.

Your knees were placed on either side of Havik’s head, but you were holding off on taking a seat just yet, admiring the way the raven haired man struggled under you.

Havik was raising his head up, as if the few inches he could raise his neck would allow him to get a taste of the ruby red heaven.

Havik would have happily grabbed your legs and forced them down on his face, but his arms were laying aside, detached at the elbows as he layed on the ground, bleeding out, turning the concrete below him a dark crimson. His arms had been ripped off, which was obvious by the way his skin was torn apart, no clean cuts on either side, and the way his muscles had been split in a similar manner.

Havik’s chest was heaving up and down as it looked like he was having trouble catching his breath, but he was simply too busy trying to inhale your scent so deeply he couldn't keep his breath steady.

If it were cold you were sure you’d be able to see his breath in the air, his mouth wide open and impatient.

The only time Havik’s tongue moved was when a drop of your blood finally landed on it, closing his mouth immediately, wanting to taste you desperately. Havik hummed, but it was more of a groan as his voice was so rough as he savored your flavor, wanting nothing but to have more of you.

“..More…” Havik said between desperate breaths as he lifted his head up, pleading with your pussy to give him more of what he desired.

Havik was entranced by the vision above him, adoring, almost worshiping the way your pussy was tinted red, slick and moist, and so fucking wet. Your essence dripping out of you, it was messy, and it had no shape. Your blood mixed with your lust flowed where it pleased, unbothered by form or correction, in its most basic form, it was chaotic. And what more would Havik need to consider your pussy something worth his worship, than the simple fact that its essence took the properties of chaos in its stride?

“What do we say when we want something?” You ask deviously, as you playfully swayed your hips from side to side.

“Let me taste..let me have it..” Havik begged, but you just looked at him, silently telling him you wanted more.

“Bleed on my tongue, smear your sanguine lust from my nose, to my chin till it runs off my face,” Havik begged, and you couldn't deny he was one hell of a begger.

“I’m not sure if there's enough for that,” You said with a smile, even though it certainly felt like it.

“Then let’s make it otherwise,” Havik said as he raised what was left of his arms upward. He would have been grabbing your thighs and pulling you down if he could, but his hands were left twitching on the floor, unattached.

“Hmm,” You thought for a moment as you teased the man under you, Havik licking at nothing in the purest form of desperation. “That’s really cute,” You said as you saw another drop of your blood splash onto the other’s cheek.

Havik grunted, almost growling in frustration as he lifted his head as high as he could once more, and started biting, but he still couldn't reach. You thought he looked like a piranha being teased with its one and only meal of the day, but it was a look that suited him rather well.

“You want it that bad?” You asked, knowing the answer to your question already.

“YES!” Havik yelled in frustration, as if he were angry. “Now give it to me you temptress,” He said, but you just gave him an evil look.

“That’s not how we ask, now is it?” You asked, and Havik’s furrowed brows immediately softened, knowing he had just fucked up.

“No…no, I didn't mean to yell..” Havik said, his tone breathy and full of worry. “I just need it, It’s all I've been able to think about for weeks!” Havik explained in a panicked manner.

“Oh?” You asked with a grin, wondering why he had come crawling back to you.

“Damn your tantalizing body,” Havik said with a hiss. “To restrain my high to once a moon,” He said, and he almost sounded spiteful.

“If only you leaked red every day…” He said as his breathing became heavy. “I would be the throne you sit on, the bed you retire to, and the clothing that covers you,” Havik said, panting like an animal as he spoke.

“There is no one in any realm I've seen that can satisfy me the way you can,” Havik said, as your eyes lidded in response. “No one hurts me the way you do…” Havik said as he stared into your eyes.

“So please….” Havik begged, as his eyes pleaded with you. “Please let me have some…” Havik begged, and you couldn't help but shiver at his words.

“If you ask like that..” You said as the other’s eyes immediately widened at your positive tone. You laughed, and then lowered yourself onto his face, knowing he didn't want to hear any more words, and Havik immediately went to work.

Havik opened his mouth, his tongue immediately licking at your pussy, allowing his tongue to lay flat, and move from your opening, to your clit, immediately swallowing once he thought he had enough.

Havik couldn't help but shiver as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. In his mind, there truly was no better bliss than this.

Havik would have been singing your praises, adoring every part of you, but he didn't want to waste his breath speaking when he had the most precious thing in any realm in his mouth right now.

Havik’s tongue lapped at your insides hysterically, wanting more and more with every taste. If his arms were attached, he would have been clawing at your skin.

The noises the Chaosrealmer under you was making were more than depraved. His grunts and whines mixed with the slurping and sloppy licking had you almost unable to hold yourself up. He was so good at it, and your pussy was being fully attended to.

“Fuhh…” You attempted to curse, but Havik’s tongue was making you forget your words. For a man with no lips, he certainly didn't let that hold him back from pleasuring you. You shivered, grinding down on Havik’s face, smearing your creamy red essence all over his face, just as he requested, and the groan he let out was pathetic.

His tongue snaked up inside of you, causing you to fully sit on the other’s face, wanting his tongue to go deeper inside of you. He was lapping and swirling it around inside you, only taking it out so he could swallow, then a moment later, it was back inside of you, cleaning the blood from your walls.

His tongue was curling against your walls, in an attempt to collect any and everything that was inside you. If you let him, he’d eat you out till you couldn’t even tell you were bleeding, and he’d do it again and again, until his tongue fell off, and even then, he’d just regrow it and start once more.

“Hgnnghh..” Havik moaned under you, his eyes closed in pure bliss as he indulged himself in your flavor.

You smiled, and then pulled away, causing the man below you to shoot you a confused look, his mouth open in lust as his blood coated his teeth and gums, down to his chin, but not as much as he would have preferred.

Havik looked concerned, wondering if he had done something wrong, or if he wasn't pleasing you properly. Why did you pull that sweet nectar away from him mid feast?

You smiled down at him, which calmed his nerves ever so slightly, relieved that you weren't upset with him at the very least.

Your hands, and legs from the knee down were spotted in blood, but not yours. Your blood was staining the inside of your thighs, but that was nothing compared to the splotches of scarlet Havik had created on the floor. Your hands were damp from creating these injuries, but there were only small pools of red on the ground, so your knees had gotten splattered.

You smiled to yourself as you moved away, scooting your body down so you were now straddling the other’s legs, your knees on either side of Havik’s thighs.

Havik was entirely clothed, but he didn't wear much from the midriff up in the first place. You looked around, growing slightly when you couldn't find what you were looking for.

“I could've sworn I had a knife somewhere…” You said as you searched the room you were in with your eyes.

You were in a basement attached to your house, fully concrete, cold, and dark. There were four lights flickering in each corner, and a single one above you, illuminating the scene under you. It was hard to see what wasn't under the direct light, so you weren't surprised you couldn't find what you were looking for.

You glanced at Havik, and he turned his head, pointing with his eyes to his arm lying to the side of you. You followed where he was looking with your own eyes, realizing you had left your knife over on his arm.

While it was true his arms were ripped off, you were having trouble breaking the bone by yourself, so you first tried to hack away at it with a knife, but Havik proposed a better solution, and broke his bone off himself, which is why his arms were torn off at the joint.

You slumped, you didn't feel like crawling off of him to go fetch your knife, even if it only were a few feet away. You thought for a moment, and suddenly an idea came to your mind.

“Make me something sharp,” You requested as you sat right below his lap, on his thighs.

Havik felt a wave of lust wash over him, though he didn't know exactly what you were going to do, he knew where this was going. He knew you were going to hurt him, and the thought had him nervous with excitement.

With every moment he wasn't being actively torn into, he was on edge. He never knew if he was dreading or hoping for the pain, but he did know that there was always a rush before it happened, and that rush felt like a high.

Havik nodded, sat up, and regenerated his arms, flashes of pink light sparking as the limbs formed seemingly out of nothing. In an instant, his arms were back together, fully formed and fully healed. Havik tested his arms, flexing his muscles and curling his fingers, making sure they were working properly. He moved his arms at every joint, and as expected, there were no problems.

Havik then grabbed his right arm with his left, his hand wrapping around his forearm, right where it met his elbow. He then grit his teeth together, and bent his arm downward, opposite of how his joints allowed his arm to move. His heart sank when he felt an alarming pain in his arm, as his bones cracked, but didn't break. His heart sinking was the start of that rush he’d always get when his injuries were major.

Havik then moved his hand to his wrist and pulled downward even harder, this time his bones did more than crack, and they broke apart. His arm was still attached by skin and muscle on the bottom, so he had to pull his arm away by the wrist, feeling his muscles sting and burn as they were torn away from skin, ripping apart until his limb was once again free from his own body.

Havik shuddered as the inside of his flesh once again felt the cool air, a feeling most people would never experience. Havik then looked at his own arm in his hand, and brought it upward so he could look.

There were two pointed bones sticking out of his appendage, they’d both been broken off at the same angle so there was a notable point. This was a sight Havik was familiar with, as these bones were the easiest to break on the spot and did the most damage when stabbing.

Havik brought his arm upward and opened his mouth, biting onto his radius and closing his teeth down around it tightly. He let go of his arm, his teeth holding it up before he replaced his hand on his ulna. He gripped one bone with his teeth, and the other with his hand, and then started to pull it apart. Blood was spurting everywhere, getting Havik’s upper body messy in the process. Flesh was torn apart, the ripping noises almost inappropriate, until his arm was split in half.

Havik then tossed the extra half of his arm aside, still holding the other half up with his teeth. He then gripped the flesh around the other side of the bone, and started tearing away at it until the bone was clean, as clean as a freshly torn-out bone could be.

Havik was breathing heavily by the time he had scraped all of his meat off of his bone, but he was proud of how good of a job he did. He then held out his bone toward you, and your brows were raised in surprise, noting how quickly and flawlessly he completed your request.

You happily took the bone in your hand, examining it momentarily before smiling. The bone was split rather crudely, which made it jagged on one side, almost perfect for what you were intending to use it for.

Havik was leaning back, his one arm placed behind him as he leaned back and admired your form. You only had a shirt on, so it was quite a sight to behold.

Your gaze immediately focussed on Havik’s stomach, examining how he had armor on, attached by two straps. One strap slung across his chest, while the other crossed just above his navel.

“Perfect,” You thought, knowing you didn't have to cut any clothing away.

You placed a hand on the other’s stomach, using your middle and pointer fingers to rub soft circles against his skin. You glanced up at Havik and gave him a genuinely soft smile, which threw the other man off. You then softly lined up Havik’s detached bone right where his belly button was, and without any doubt or hesitation, you stabbed him. The bone entered easily, with only a pained grunt coming from the raven.

“Good job,” You said, truly meaning your praise.

Havik shivered, not at the pain, which was very much apparent, but at your praise.

“Just a little more,” You said as you started sawing the bone to the left, effectively cutting the man open.

“Haahh..” Havik moaned as he felt a rough tearing sensation in his stomach.

“That’s it,” You said with a smile as you looked back down to make sure you were making a straight line, moving the bone back and forth, forward and back as blood came pouring out of his stomach and into his lap.

“HNGhjhh…Uhhhh..Hahhhh…” Havik moaned rather loudly as he felt his blood start pouring out of his stomach.

You smiled at his moans, loving the way his breathing was being interrupted by your violent addition to his body.

“FUuckk…Ahhhh..” Havik moaned out loudly as you sawed away at his flesh.

You stopped your movements, and Havik was more than disappointed when you did. You gave him a grin as you pulled the bone away, blood still pouring out of him, your hand now covered in it up until your wrist.

You then stuck the bone right back into where you had originally plunged into him, turning the bone so the serrated side was facing the other way.

Before you could start sawing the other way in order to have a straight line cut into him, Havik leaned forward and placed his hand on your wrist, now having to lean the other way so he wouldn't fall over.

You looked up at him, wondering what the problem was, but his eyes were lidded with lust.

“I’m gonna cum…if you keep...ahhhh…going..” Havik said in between groans.

You felt your lower half throb when you heard him speak, you didn't think more attractive words could ever have been spoken. You looked down at his crotch, and though it was still clothed, but covered in blood, he was clearly fully erect.

You smirked, shoving the bone inside the man further, which had him huffing in pleasure. “Hold that,” You said, and he did as he was told, holding his bone inside of him.

You placed your hands on his pants and quickly slipped them away, Havik needing to lift his hips momentarily so you could. It’s not like they were doing him any good bathed in blood anyway.

You admired the basically naked man in front of you, not that you hadn't seen it before, but it was always a pleasure to see.

You then reached forward, and placed a hand on his cock, throbbing and standing to attention. Havik’s eyes twitched when he felt your hand on his dick. He was more than sensitive, and he wasn't sure he could handle you touching him.

“Fuhhh…fu..fuuhckk….” Havik said as he shook his head. “Dont-..Ahhh..don’t touch..” Havik moaned.

“Too sensitive baby?” You asked, and all you got back was a pathetic nod.

You chuckled, letting your hand slip away. “You can let go now,” You said, as you placed your hand back on Havik’s detached bone that was sticking out of his stomach. Havik moved his body to the same position he was in before, setting his hand on the ground behind him and leaning backward.

“If you keep going…” Havik warned you as his eyes stayed fixed on where you were ravaging his body.

“Go ahead,” You said as you started cutting, which made the other man throw his head back in pleasure. You then got back to work, cutting the other open, sawing his flesh apart till warm blood started gushing out of him even more. His cock was now covered in his own blood, though you were sure he would've loved to be covered in yours.

“Fuck..” Havik whimpered out, a tone you didn't hear often from the other man.

“Just a bit..” You said as you continued to cut through him. “More,” You said as the bone had finally gotten through to the other side of his stomach.

You swiftly pulled the bone out and admired your work. You glanced at the other’s cock, standing tall and leaking precum, drenched in red.

Havik was shaking, his eyes glossed over in pleasure as he knew one last thing would throw him over the edge.

“Awe,” You said as you placed the bone on the ground. For such a violent man, he was acting so cute right now.

You looked at your hands and tried to swipe the blood off of them, but all that really did was smear it around. You then shrugged and stood up. You would have brushed yourself off, but you were already covered in gore, so it wouldn't make much difference.

You stepped aside, over the other’s legs till you were standing directly beside him. Havik turned his head and looked up to see you, but his gaze was met with a heavy kick to the chest.

Havik barked, not expecting that to happen. He glanced back up at you, his eyes full of desire, but as soon as your eyes met, his body received another kick.

“AUgk-!” Havik yelled as he was thrown off balance. You kicked him to the side, flipping him over so he was now lying on his stomach in a pool of maroon.

Havik couldn't keep himself upright properly because he only had one arm to work with as he was kicked over to his stomach. His cheek was laying against concrete and he shook his head. He placed a hand on the ground and raised his upper body.

Havik raised his upper body till his chest was a solid foot off the ground, but that’s when he couldn't stop shivering and shuddering.

At that point, as soon as gravity hit him when he tried to sit up, his organs started slipping out of his body. Those cuts were so deep, and his

“Oohhh..ugh-...ahhh fuck-” Havik cursed as his intestines fell out of his body and onto the ground.

Havik could hardly keep his head up, as his insides slipped out of him, his blood painting the floor in an absurd amount of gore.

Havik’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he felt unable to stop himself from cumming right there and then.

“AHHhh! Hnghh- ahhh..” Havik whimpered out as he came all over his own blood and intestines.

Havik’s cheek was planted on the ground as he could hardly keep his eyes open. He felt his cock throb and twitch as spurts of cum came out of him.

He was moaning like a fool, his white streaks of pleasure disappearing into a seemingly endless ocean of red.

“Ahhhh. Fuuhhckk…” Havik said, though his words were hard to make out at this point.

You smiled and kneeled down, placing a hand on the other’s bare ass, rubbing his gore against his soft cheeks.

Havik huffed and writhed on the ground, he had always fantasized of his stomach being sliced open, and his organs leaking out like a sack of produce. He squirmed at the way his insides felt, his stomach and pancreas shifting as his intestines made space for them to move around.

Havik was drooling at this point, unable to feel anything but the purest form of pleasure. His fingers, toes, and cock were twitching, as he released the contents of his balls onto the floor

All you could hear was Havik’s panting, trying to catch his breath, but with such severe injuries, you were sure it was much more of a challenge.

You were caressing the raven's back, grabbing at his ass from time to time as you painted him in carnage.

“...Be..” Havik started between shudders. “..my queen,” He finished as he finally opened his eyes, and turned his head so he could see you.

You smiled and placed a kiss on his back, tasting his scarlet desire on your lips, and Havik needed no more answer than that, his blood in your mouth a mark of your devotion.

#mortal kombat #mk1 #mk1 2023 #havik x reader #mk havik #smut #period sex #cw: gore #mortal kombat havik #havik smut #mk1 smut

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satocidal · 7 months

Text

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ “Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene” — Geto Suguru

Synopsis: For money and power, Suguru would do a lot, but for a love he didn’t want? Somehow, he finds himself bending even the strongest of ideals. Five years ago he’d saved a monkey—not actually processing the estranged entanglement that would lead him to.

— word count: 8.7k

— A/n: I wouldn’t be a thorough Suguru fucker if I didn’t write cult Geto and just something I (we) deserved<;3

— New Taglist: since the last one got confusing, here’s a new one babies<3

— Warnings: smut!!MDNI!!Afab! Reader x Suguru; use of religious themes; minor death; power play; slight gore; impact play; sub-dom dynamics; degradation; humiliation; impact play (fem receiving); oral (m! And f! Receiving); reader is mostly referred to as a female; complicated storyline; mentions of blood

The first bell.

The second bell.

Then the third.

Married.

~5 years ago~

The words echoed in your head, over and over and over and over—it hurt.

His hands were soft as they held yours, he led you slow, your father’s did.

The white veil that you’d spent hours to decide upon, the one you would never care about—it swept beside you, gasps escaping the lips of many as you walked out. And there, there your eyes met his.

Poised he stood, white hair slicked back—nothing like those superficial memories his Servants had sung to you about, nothing like the glimpses you’d caught of him. This man, the one on your altar—that was Suguru Geto.

Not the Geto-Sama you’d heard of, the ones who was a deity to all- a pretty hand fared upon those who sought him blindly; not the Curse user Geto, the fugitive you recognised him to be, the one you hated—no.

None of that.

This was Suguru Geto—your husband to be.

You hadn’t assumed your wedding to be a fairytale—in all honesty, you hadn’t assumed anything at all. But the heart of the little girl in you wept, openly so, when the worn upon thin line of a supposed smile didn’t do so much as even cast a shadow upon you. Not to be perceived wrong, however—Suguru certainly had grinned and smirked, laughed and tickled himself senseless—perhaps so to forget this ordeal—to forget you.

Eyes moist, a tear he did let go off—superficial it was, you knew it, but a saint Suguru Geto would be deemed the next day in the whispers of his followers, especially the ones who envied to be you.

Don’t get me wrong, congratulated by everyone—he did show joy, in some meaning of the word, just not the way you hoped—or even supposed for that matter.

Yours was never meant to be that perfect wedding, not at the core of it—you knew that from day one of the sequenced wedding but then—just something, a little dream and heart crushed grudgingly when you realized it wouldn’t be your husband who cried the moment he set his eyes on his bride—it wouldn’t be you telling those cute stories about your wedding day.

It wouldn’t be you—it was normal you’d heard, for grooms to be overwhelmed in their weddings- the thought of spending a forever with his bride, the supposed memories flooding their mind—but it wouldn’t be for you. He stood there with hands behind him, eyes awaiting your presence still.

A smile he held—empty as you joined him—eyes were very telling your father had preached, never once had you found him to be wrong.

His hands felt cold as you held them—cold like the storm his warm hands had saved your family from, colder still somehow was his presence, then and now. And you realized, your heart — to what you had thought to be a void, trained so — breaking as you realized that the marriage was a cage to him as much as you. Neither happy—he wasn’t happy within your presence, or anyone else’s.

Pathetic.

But again, did it truly matter?

The wedding had begun— officiated, soon your “I do”s would slip, the wedding couldn’t be stopped now, not ever.

And in that moment your eyes flickered to your own mother—she stood regal.

Embroidery she’d fought into you, cooking and baking, sewing a skill she’d made you own too—pity she couldn’t teach you controlling your emotions—pity you despised all that was your influence.

Your eyes managed to flicker onto him—saintly, your brain mused—your heart couldn’t help but agree. And those saintly features held an ugly heart you told yourself, solace to a lonesome mind.

“Suguru, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Y/N, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?”

When he took a moment to answer with a blank gaze, you could feel tiny pricks being sent straight to your heart. Just a mere glance at his stolid mien was enough for you to believe that he was going to call off the wedding and run away—mayhaps you wanted that, mayhaps, you didn’t.

What else could you expect?

He clearly didn’t want this, understandable was the fact. It wouldn’t surprise you if he took a step back and announced that he couldn’t go on in making an oath to offer the rest of his life with you. That he would rather get out of this hell hole and be somewhere else than to proclaim a love that was being forced out of him.

But it was his choosing, was it not? And mayhaps, yours.

The cult leader had chosen you, and in the process, you—him.

He’d watched you a while, days, you knew of his lingering gaze—respectful then, disgusting now.

“I do,” he professed, despite the inner turmoil that plagued his head.

You sighed—soft.

“Y/n, do you promise to love, honor and cherish and protect Suguru, forsaking all others, and holding only unto him forevermore?”

You remembered the day clearly—father had knocked once on your once—a new found privacy in your sheltered house was the first sign.

A wide smile—“He’s chosen you.”

Your heart sunk.

He’d chosen you.

Your eyes were quick—a glance here and there and everywhere—the pause was heavy; you watched your father’s nod of encouragement—your mother’s sharp eyes—his daughters’ smile, innocent - his followers’ sip of champagne—your sister’s eyes were hazy; his best man’s tipsy.

You couldn’t say no—“I do,”

“Bride and Groom, you have heard the words of love and marriage, have exchanged your vows and made your promises, and celebrated your union with the giving and receiving of rings. It is at this time that I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant declared, “you may now kiss the bride.”

Your eyes widened behind your veil- not your first- the breath hitched as Suguru removed your veil—crystal seemed his eyes, crystal clear was his distaste. He was tall—comical in fact—you tip toed slight, he leaned in a bit—the kiss was warm, chill, foreign. His hand rested upon your cheek, a stroke—a pull, brief.

Your eyes watched as he pulled away, a new smile on his lips—an actor he would have proven to be—or, as you knew, he was.

A million thoughts clouded you and him—known to only the two of you—marriage worked quick in that sense you supposed, your mother and sister were perhaps right. But when all was said and done—the marriage was officiated.

And your eyes met then—a thought passed between you and your husband—stuck together—sincerely, fuck you.

The ride back ‘home’ was tedious, it burnt, it burnt all too much.

“Geto-Sama will prove to be amazing,” the driver yapped yet, all too soon—as he had been for the past anxious hours—time moved slow, slower than the gaze you didn’t dare hold against him.

A soft smile he held, serene as if, “I’m sure he will be,” just as fake a smile you held too—husband and wife—equal footing, equal qualms at the truth you didn’t accept and lies you foretold.

‘Geto-sama’ this and a ‘Geto-sama’ that— the entire reception had been torturous, you hated it—hated the man they chose not to acknowledge—hated the murderer.

All to your liking though, the car finally came to a stop, at your residence—your new home.

“You may sleep here,” soft a voice, too cold, however, compared to the gaze he held—it felt welcoming.

You nodded just as quietly, a good wife would never fight, they’d taught you—more important than ever for your life now depended upon so.

“Geto-Sama,” you hated the way it rolled off your tongue so smooth—meant to be, “where will you sleep?” Innocent enough a question and yet the scoff he passed under his breath was all well noticed by you.

“Not to worry you darling,” he smiled softly still, “I wouldn’t ever imagine sleeping with you,” and wrapped in his words lay the tone of condescension—hidden all so beautifully, a small round of hide-and-seek in itself.

Lips pursed, you stared at him—“Alright, drop the act, we’re alone,” the tone itself surprised you—the confidence all the more so, as you bore deep into his eyes, unwavering.

A brow cocked, he passed a smirk well of his own, “So the monkey is capable of thinking huh?”

“To call the bearer of your children a monkey, you should know your kids will be a part of me,” it was desperate really, bringing in the prospect of a future you never wanted for the sake of some respect.

A deep rumble emerged within his chest—chaos, “You think you’ll have such rights? What are you if not worth less than your father’s money?” Your face burnt at his words—hot, embarrassed, it was true.

“A reminder perhaps,” you spoke through clenched teeth—“you were the man who came begging to my father for-”

“-begging? Please,” he scoffed, “and I wanted protection not a whore to be passed around,” his words lay sharp, all so much so that the hilt of his words was enough to penetrate too mayhaps.

“Could have called yourself a celibate, Geto-Sama,” his sharp- yours blunt, impact lay the same with both—regret caused to the other.

“Are you so desperate that you are willing to fight to sleep with a strange man, all so alien to you?” There it lay, that constant lazy smile—the one he never shied to portray to his desperate followers—now, to you.

“A husband,” gritted teeth, you baree, “you are a husband now, accept the fate,” sharp inhale—sharper exhale, you simply despised him.

Annoyance hung loose in the air, an open wound to you both.

“The only fate,” he paused—ears ringing unto the sound of footsteps—his daughters’, “is the one where you’re no more but a mere shadow in my life, monkey,” disgust all so prevalent on a pretty face as his—pity, really.

“So be it,” you nodded, a lick of your lips and a deal on the tongue, “no more a legal wife am i to you,”

“Be glad you could achieve that at all,” and just as quickly the somber mood had shifted to annoyance, it was back too—as the door clasped open, the twins rushing in to meet their new found mother.

Mother—oh just how hilarious the fate’s jokes lay.

A mother—a wife—a woman for his needs.

A week.

A week spent in solitude, the white ceiling, a new friendship you’d found, the dark wood flooring your vice as you suffered.

Day in and day out—seconds ticked by, slowly churning out the hours and eyes that lay moist

forever remained so.

You despised it all.

His expanse and his family, his charm and his style, his maids and his followers — his daughters, ah.

Something, perhaps you didn’t hate, that belonged to Geto, did exist.

Innocent smiles, the kind you’d never worn—hefty laughter he provided them with, his pride and his joy—now yours too, mutual a partnership the marriage was.

“Y/n,” they’d murmured excitedly, Nanako had— Mimiko's shy glances and little smiles, just as endearing.

A mother you’d become, how complicated.

But fickle was your happiness, just there and often never at all.

Your heart raced, ears perked up at the voice of approaching footsteps—daughter of Suguru Geto’s best hitman, a little too many tricks lay up your sleeves themselves.

Quick, soft, padded—your servants.

Loud, racy and sudden? His daughters.

Soundless? Suguru.

Thoughts proven none but correct, Suguru did stand bearer of your observation—a frown as always on the beautiful face.

And you wondered just how prettier it could be, if only he were gagged and stuffed aside.

“Get up,” words shuffled fast—frenzied, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

“Why?” Defiance, slight defiance in the form of annoyance presented to him you displayed, little impact but just enough—especially when he would let out a ragged sigh, holding himself back.

“Don't question me, now is not the time.”

Your heart soared giddily at that too—“What? Your blind followers realized your reality huh?”

A sharp gaze, piercing, bore into you.

Dead, at a finger’s flick if he wanted—but then again, he didn’t, he couldn’t.

So he did the next best thing that he’d realized in a week’s worth of time- the little smirk was wiped off quick as he kneeled close to you, so close.

“Shut the fuck up,” a whisper, all too serious, curious, you looked up at him.

“Get up,”

“No.”

Your head turned to the right sharp, a swift slap he’d landed on your cheek—it didn’t hurt,

you’d faced worse after all—but oh how it hurt you.

Apathetic, he stared.

Blankly, you stared back.

A moment of silence, heavy.

“Are you dumb?”

Silence again—you wanted to rip his hair out—“Get up,”

“Why?”

His voice, almost panicked now, it was weird.

A clench of his jaw and a brush of fingers through the hair—“Monkeys like you aren’t safe here, let me take care of it.”

And somehow, it warmed your heart.

“I can fight-”

“-yes and I know you’re hunter as passed down your lineage but shut the fuck up right now,”

Dumbly, you looked—“what is it? Some…” your mouth ran dry, “some attack?”

An unamused chuckle he was quick to let go—“no,” he paused, face reigning back to all his seriousness—“wouldn’t want my pretty wife to suffer,” his words felt fake, maybe they were.

You swallowed hard—“where to?”

“My chambers,”

Your heart sunk and yet you felt a rush of serotonin.

~3 years ago~

“Y/n,” Nanako’s voice dragged, “c’mon we’ll be late!” The constant sound of typing annoyed you—squinting eyes stared at her from a distance.

“Remind me why such enthusiasm again?”

“Papa’s dealing with non-sorcerers today,”

Again-as he had been, always.

“Mama,” the word rang in your mind—Mimiko’s voice was soft in contrast — Mama, a certain ring to it, familiarized and yet so antagonized in your head.

You hummed in response simply—“Papa requests you to be there tonight…” her words trailed away, the convocation all too loud, the impact all so evident.

“Right…” you let your words hang open as well—he wanted you present, in day and light, flesh and sight—his wife to be shown off.

Every once a while, you were his lucky charm after all.

Crowded, nauseating, full of idiots.

A dagger rested at your side, gift from no other than your Geto-Sama, two years ago—a

wedding gift.

You hated the fact that it was the best you could’ve managed to find.

Slow, the proceedings were, lazy his smirks as the likes of you begged.

As the monkeys begged to him.

“Headaches, nauseating? Hmm,” he smiled, pensive, reflective—“sounds to me like you’re troubled,” and just so, it amused you—to how dumb humans truly were.

Fickle-minded.

“Geto-Sama,” eyes squinted at the tone of the woman, a whimper—a common whore—begging for his touch in broad sunlight, for your husband’s touch.

Sure, you hated him—but oh how you hated the fact that he touched so many other women whilst being married to you.

And somehow, you always became the other woman.

“Yes darling?” He called back coolly, your blood boiled.

“I think…think you need to…” her words trailed away, a satisfied murmur erupting through the crowd—they remembered, remembered it well.

Engraved in the memory of most what you’d only caught the gist if, even as a rumour.

Suguru had fucked her—in front of them all.

In the name of all that was holy, all that was religious—he’d sworn it would help her—it made her addicted. One drug to another, Suguru did nothing, he would do nothing today

either perhaps.

Was this why he called you?

To humiliate you such?

“Ah ah ah,” click on pf his tongue, sharp—“Not in front of your goddess, don’t flatter yourself,”

Your heart burned.

Goddess, their goddess—you were their goddess—his goddess.

Jaw clenched, you stared from the side, distaste evident upon you and her—adorable, he deemed it.

“She’s nothing-”

-silence, as quick as she’d begun, just as quickly she retreated.

Beyond livid he seemed, amazing actor surely, never one to hear words against his precious wife.

A chuckle interrupted his thoughts and yours—“Oh Geto,” the suitor—the one Suguru’d been trying to impress—the one you’d been called upon for—to hit the nail on mark. The one who would sign his deal.

A continuity of a deep rumble — relevance all so long as Geto would decide.

“You act like she matters at all,” your stomachs dropped, he was right, was he not?

“What is she? A hunter?” Another prolonged chuckle—electing those from beside you as well, your ears hurt from how hot they were.

“Just a trophy wife for you isn’t she?” Unwantedly, even in moments such—of your disrespect, your eyes gazed onto him.

You hated the helplessness but…he was yours, right?

Something about the thin smile reassured you, it wasn’t much—not an ounce of anger reflected upon his face, if he felt any, that is.

You could feel the eyes of all, not the first time you’d been presented to the assembly, the first time the ruse you played was out.

“She’s my wife,” his voice was calm, “trophy or no is none of your business—she’s priced if anything—far more than you could ever afford, so think with that thick head of yours, at least once if you can manage before you dare to look at her.”

Definite—his words were fast, surprising all the more.

The laughter halted, silence was all so deafening, “You’re defending that slut before me Geto?” Shaky, the man’s voice was held—your grip tightened on your dagger.

Suguru’s smile only ever grew right beside you, “Do you want the honors darling?” You froze on spot.

Face whipped to face him, he could see the way your face shone—“Talk to me you fucker! That bloody bitch and your cult can’t do shit without me” His words rang through the hall as he did so—your feet worked upon its own.

“Just give me those whores beside you then,” he grinned further, directing his gaze onto Nanako and Mimiko.

A nodding smile from your husband being all that you need—swift you came, swift the man fell, mere seconds.

Bloods oozed, some rested upon your cheek just as much, three stab wounds—a drowning business deal of Geto—a sailing heart of yours and his smile.

The body twitched in dismay, adrenaline coursed through you—three years since you’d last killed something living, you couldn’t the feeling.

“Dismissed,” Suguru spoke aloud, basking in the shock of his followers and alike—however, yours too.

A hunter you were, sure, but not humans.

Never humans.

A sinner—his sinner.

Your body shook, the dagger fell quick, the moment the Hall was empty, just you and Suguru inside.

“What did you have them prepare for lunch today?” Domestic as if, normal, if he’d name it—acting as if a murderer did not just happen—the man’s body was still warm.

You offered none but a soft silence—“y/n?”

You hated him.

You hated everything.

You hated how he pretended to be confused by your moral dilemma.

“Can you stop?” A hiss of a voice—“you just- I- stop!”

Small an outburst, tears trickled the verge of falling apart.

“It’s fine,” he mused, “you can let go,”

“shut up,” you whispered fast- “don’t talk to me like that- like- like you’re superior. You just made me- fuck- I-”

A step all too close he took, “come here,” softly he spoke—uncharacteristic, why now?

After three years of an empty marriage—had he found your use? A hunter for him?

Not the first time you’d cried in front of him, many a confrontations had come and gone—many a times you’d thrown empty jars at him—many times he’d threatened you, all in vain.

So why now?

Empathetic all over a night? Couldn’t be.

Your heart paced, mind hurdled- hands held onto his form tightly as he did yours, body convulsing in his embrace, your kill lay astray, forgotten.

“You’re fine,” he murmured against your head—all so close, first time. And a thought you couldn’t help but withdraw—is this how those women felt? When he held them so close to where you’d never been?

“You did as you should’ve, a great wife you are,”

Sheer shambles your heart lay in—you wanted to hate him, perhaps you did—most probably, not.

“Why?” You whispered, pressed deep into his chest—an almost soothing hand upon your back rubbed, all so confused—both him and you.

“Figured you’d like it,” he smiled, “you’re not a pawn y/n,” a fumbling kiss pressed on your forehead, the spot was now sacred.

“You’re the queen on the board and it was wrong simply to let go the potential,”

“Why all this? Why now?”

An urge to pull away, an urge to ingrain yourself in him.

An empty marriage—all too loud your desires.

“You’re their goddess aren’t you?” He didn’t sound sweet anymore, it was all real—you knew so.

Two weeks since your outburst, two weeks since he’d held you for the first time—two weeks, you’d suffered all so much.

Mentally, emotionally—physically.

It was absurd, you’d spent three years still, yearning just some touch—but now more so than ever, you would perhaps beg for him.

A shared bed you lay in, the heat in your heart was

scorching—nothing close however to the desire between your legs.

You craved him.

“You’ll accompany me tomorrow?” fingers clasped right around the book he was reading, he didn’t do so much as glance at you—yet, it was somehow endearing.

Gradual was the display from being ordered by his servants to show up when he pleases you to, to his daughters requesting you—to him, personally recommending it, it was sweet.

You knew you were grasping on broken ends—but just something to the fallen was miraculous enough.

You poised to think, “WAR AND PEACE”- Leo Tolstoy, hefty the handler, heftier its state, creased in the middle—whitening, pages browned years ago and a certain scent you couldn’t place.

Golden were the words still, it shone.

A simple “well?” From him broke your trance, a nod you passed.

Second time in the past fortnight, perplexed you say by, watching moments tick by, unsure.

“Should I carry the dagger?” Same question as you’d asked last week—same reply awaited you, the same cunning smile, “Just your presence is enough,”

“23, 594 of you,” Suguru spoke in the same sweet tone of his—a mistake his words held.

A tilt to the right, to correct him or no—you sucked in any air, perhaps your last.

“Not a simple feat it-”

“-25, 394,” your voice was low, had the crowd been that of a murmuring one, it would have gone unheard—not from him perhaps, but in general.

Not a glance spared, just a single smirk, “Ah, of course.” A lick of his lips and a look downturned, “I apologise—how sweet of my wife to remind me,”

My wife.

Amusing how you still shivered at the thought of it.

The rest of his words were a blur, his tone was hollow right after the apology—the same as you’d heard when he was upset—mad.

When he’d condemned your family.

“Leave,” the words seemed final, a tear rolled down your eyes.

“Geto-Sama,” your father panted, pathetic—simply so, no deniance to it.

“Please,” three days you’d been beggin, three days that Geto Suguru had stripped you all of any and every sense of dignity, of some thought of self preservation.

A scoff you heard, heart shattering—as eyes gazed onto the sight of your crawling father- a hitched breath, Suguru’s eyes lay stuck on you.

“The debt,” Suguru mused quietly, “you want it forgiven?”

Your father nodded at his feet—broken sobs your mother flushed, sister’s nimble fingers upon yours—you hated Geto Suguru.

Perhaps that was exactly why you found yourself such.

Hating his woes, his breaths and his ideology—perhaps all lay a lie.

Perhaps you hated him for the humiliation he granted that day, 6 years ago.

“You’re nothing but a monkey, you know that,” Suguru mused simply, “But you are one of my best,” a hun he passed to second himself.

Eyes, obsidian as they bore into yours—“What’s your name?”

Quick, you almost didn’t catch his words, “y/n,” your father weakly muttered before letting out a pained cry—result of none but a kick from Suguru.

“I was talking to her,” a lazy smirk he adorned, “hunter?” He inquired, a nod you passed.

“Skilled?” And that you were, having served so many over the years—skilled you simply were.

“You can have her,” your father’s words lay rushed—heart seizing up deep. He couldn’t- wouldn’t- your mother wouldn’t.

“Virgin?”

“We can offer a fine dowry lord,” pants, his—gasps, yours—“Uoull be doing us a favour, in fact two.”

The man’s face flits curiously between the two of you. You wonder if he can see the embarrassed tears threatening the corners of your eyes, the set of your lips, the way your fingers are clenching and shaking.

Your heart raced, face flushed—your parents eyes’, your sister’s, all trained upon you.

What a pity—a shake of your head, Suguru’s smirk widened as he knelt onto your level.

“Whoever would marry a used whore hm?” It was the exact smooth voice that you hated—the exact low grumble you feared.

“Fuck off,” the words were quick to slip out—perhaps, not appropriate but you regretted not a single moment.

Not your mother’s gasps or your father’s tremble or Suguru and his furrowed brows.

“You’re talking to a god,” he whispered—“I don’t worship a fraud.” Your reply was defiant—the situation was bared.

A made up god among men and a woman who would never worship him—and hence came about the dilemma when the god simply found his religion in the woman.

“Interesting,” he’d hummed then, the same smile that he wore then in the assembly, three years after your marriage.

A padded thumb reached into your cheek—wiping your tears away roughly—“I think you’ll be just as useful as your father,” he grinned, and something told you he’d use you in ways more than just a hunter.

“You’ll be a better pet right?”

Before you could gasp, before you could cry—before any sense of grief had caught you, fate had tied its strings with a man you deemed a monster—and the monster to his angel.

The assembly took a good while to finish, 2 hours you sat, anticipating everything.

Something told you Suguru wouldn’t go tough on you—usually, he’d have someone humiliated to no extent but…you were his better half—not you, right?

“Dismissed,” he muttered as always, you couldn’t help the squirming anymore.

The last two hours you’d suffered, the wetness in you edging onto itself at the worst time possible—everytime he’d make eye contact, every time he’d glare.

“Not you,” your heart dropped, you stood as a deer in headlight then — just about to step out of the room as everyone else had.

“Come here,”

You swallowed hard—“I- I am sorry my lord I didn’t-”

“I didn’t ask you to talk monkey,” a slight pang to the heart—two weeks of overthinking was all down the drain, it didn’t mean anything perhaps.

Slowly, you trudged over, near to his feet—as close as he’d let you for the last time.

Cold eyes met you, blank a face and hair brushed open—“kneel,” he simply commanded, most days you’d have fought back- earned yourself a reprimand but not that day.

What you had was enough already.

From your position, you stared up at him—lips parted as small breaths you let out.

A moment of silence while you watched him take off the yakuta, slender a form inside—the one you’d watched simply all too many times.

“You think you’re smart hm?” Your body shook, blame put on the coldness, you let yourself shiver—passing him a shake of the head.

“Geto-Sama I-”

“-is it that difficult an instruction?” Sharp a voice, it pierced through you, “don’t talk unless I fucking tell you to.”

A frenzied nod, any deniance to be passed onto him leaving your body as you gazed upon him, ethereal—and maybe, just maybe, the fraud of a god you hated was not all so bad a money to adore.

“Thought you looked cute correcting me hm?” Ever so serene a voice, one couldn’t almost differentiate whether he truly was upset or not.

Another shake of your head, another tug at his lips.

“No?” Squinted eyes stared at you, “then attention? You wanted attention?” Your ears felt hot pink, maybe you did.

“I wouldn’t be shocked honestly,” he paused, squatting down to your level, “your father did offer me a whore,” bottom lip clasped between your teeth, you dared not to look up at him—afraid simply of the hot tears spilling.

“What is it, hm?” A large hand raised to flick the hair of your forehead—“Jealous, are we?”

Clenched jaw, you stared at the ground—audacious he was to even question it—“but that shouldn’t be it right? A legal marriage is what you promised eh?”

Too smug his voice lay, you hated him.

His hand rested at your cheek, hot to the touch—searing cold to the testament—“what was it then? An attention seeker? Or a whore?”

A ragged breath you let out—“You think it’s hilarious?” Your eyes stared down into his, “to make a fool out of me?”

The hurt in your voice was no less than prevalent, it echoed still.

“You fuck women left and right like it’s nobody’s business-”

“-oh it is about that hm?” A short chuckle he passed, euphoric to the ear, “you are a jealous bitch after all,”

“Cut it out Suguru,”

His brows raised too, and internally—yours, at the courage of calling him such, “You don’t respect me but at least respect the wedding,”

“With a monkey?” It angered you as to how deep just a couple of his words could cut—‘a monkey’ you’d never be his equal.

“Yes, with a monkey—with your wife—with the woman your daughters seek a mother in,” quick you spoke—desperate to get it all out—“The woman you’ve turned into a murderer,”

Another short laugh.

“And now it’s about that is it?”

Your blood boiled—to see him treating it all so insignificantly, “you made me-”

“-made you kill him? You killed a monkey darling, an animal of incoherent thinking. You should be glad. If anything I did you favors by granting you the opportunity to regain your skills, which are impeccable if I may,”

A tug here, a tug there— your heart was torn at his words.

“Further, you liked it—you like everything I do,”

A desperate no spilled of your lips—meaningless.

Maybe you did like it—maybe you did like the way he took you away from that monster of a father, maybe you did like the way he isolated you, gave you all to hone your skills and what not, maybe you did like the little shows of affection because you were starved.

Maybe you were simply naive.

A series of clicking sounds of his tongue entered your ears—“you create ruckus over such things hm darling?” He got up again, “calls for a punishment doesn’t it?”

A final plea you passed—broken.

“Suguru please,” shaky, “I just- you can’t fuck women like that, the servants spread rumours and- and- its all so-”

“Strip and get on all fours,” lower an octave, his voice was serious, you bit your lips and complied.

No other choice-dead at his feet otherwise, with a fate worse.

Slow, your fingers moved to take off all that was left of your decency—never the first time that you’d stripped for a man, but the first time you felt the lingering gaze.

All down to the matching set of lingerie that he’d gifted you—every once in a while as he did, a sought compensation for his actions mayhaps.

“Faster unless you wish to lengthen your punishment?” A quick shake of your head, your face felt hot, fingers twisted into the waistband of your panties —silk and lacy, almost As if innocent—as you slowly pulled them your lower half, feet tugging them off.

Bra forced away the same, shame enveloped you—not strong enough for all of you stood exposed, a cry of mercy to the god all in vain—for all too apparent, your supposed god was a fraud.

A step taken slow towards Suguru, you were interrupted with a cough—“You’re a what y/n?”

Mind blank, you stared dumbly—and exasperated sigh he let out until you finally responded, “A monkey,”

A nod of encouragement, he smirked, “and monkeys don’t walk right?”

Heights of your shame were peaking with every second passed, no other option to substitute, you nodded back—down on all fours as you crawled over to him.

The carpet was coarse underneath your knees, it hurt—not more so than your mind.

“Already so pliant sweetheart,” too giddy a voice, you wanted to punch him—but perhaps this was far better than what that would entail.

You reached over to him shortly, “only had you been all so quiet from the very beginning…but oh how does it matter now,” a grin sounded to your ears—you wanted to cry.

“All so naked,” he was walking about you now—all so exposed you stood, “so vulnerable—is this what you wanted?”

Your ears burned.

“Jealous of the women I fuck in front of my followers right? Would you want to be fucked the same? I could summon them now—” another short chuckle, “their god with their goddess.”

You swallowed hard, lips licked as you awaited—unsure of what he could do.

“Tell me, does the thought make you wet?”

“No,” lies—you knew it, and you hated yourself at that.

A hum sincere, was all he passed—“alright then. Since you do love running your mouth all so much, your tongue and hands—”

Your ears ringed as the sight of the man you’d killed flashed in front of you—“25 strokes.”

Eyes wide you stared at the ground.

A silence awaited his words and he sighed loudly.

“Say yes or does my whore want more?”

Another silence—soon he was right ahead of you—a sharp slap soon adding to the sting on your face.

Tears took no time, resting at the verge—you stared up at him, broken a voice meeting him.

“I'm sorry,” you muttered softly—trembling at the look of it—not even sure what the apology was for.

“Please please please don’t I can’t-” and somewhere along your blurred sight, his eyes softened all too little—“15.” He decided silently.

You nodded, knowing the bargain had gone deep— lowering your head, unsure of the entirety.

“Spread your legs,” he murmured, you winced slightly as you did so—the texture of the carpet felt rough—your predicament all the more.

“Count and thank me after each,” and all before you could agree— smack! The first smack struck hard.

Your eyes widened and a sharp inhale—“One—thank you Geto-Sama,” he nodded in confinement, satisfied Mayhaps, to your words.

His hand rested along the round of your ass—squeezing it, feeling it around—another smack alternated on the other cheek—“Two! Thank you Geto-Sama,”

Another squeeze—another exhale, you could feel your wetness spread.

The third strike was on the same spot as before—a pink tint added already to your ass, he adored the way you felt in his hand—“Three— thank you Geto-sa-! Ah!” You bit hard onto your lip as in the midst of your count he landed another strike at the same spot and another.

“F-four and five! Thank you Geto-Sama,” a ‘good girl’ he murmured right after, and even such—humiliated to all accords, his praise did none but cause you to feel butterflies right there.

And just there you also hated how his slaps could provide you the pleasure you hadn’t been able to.

The same cycle went on, remaining 9 spanks hit hard as before— a grab and squeeze offered in the midst of each.

“So fucking pretty,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss one of your reddened cheeks—warm to his lips as his other hand smacked onto the other cheek.

“Spread your legs further,” and you did, afraid to upset him anymore.

And all to your surprise, suddenly you felt a finger probe your pussy lips—beyond ashamed you could help the weak whimper and desperate cry from escaping.

“Tch tch tch,” another sharp smack on your ass, “So wet? From a spanking?”

Another whimper as your head only ever lowered in response—“or was it thought of getting off in public huh?” You could feel his tough hands tease you, he wouldn’t enter, no—just tease your slit for the hell of it.

“So pathetically turned on f’me,” he groaned—face up right against your gaping hole, inhaling sharply and taking in your scent.

“N-no,” you protested, halted only by another mean slap on your ass—“Don’t lie to the man you worship,” another nod, he’d already broken you.

The pretend disappointment was sheerly evident in his voice—his expressions, “Well I cannot really move further until you’re punished thoroughly darling,” his words sounded almost calming, even when you knew they were all so not.

The tip of his fingers were slow, slowly gliding across your glistening pussy—your inner thigh—squelch!

Eyes wide, a gasp erupted from your mouth as his large palm landed flat against your folds.

“I don’t think it’s your fault however, it’s her issue isn’t it?” Words so sweet, you only ever could think of succumbing to him—finally passing a weak nod.

“Ah ha,” he smiled to himself—impressed perhaps—“That’s a smart girl, now how many do you think are appropriate for her hm?” As he spoke, his fingers wouldn’t be called shy in the way they inspected you—gathering your slick from your hole, never entering enough to please, and leading it up to your asshole—dirty.

A sense of dread coursed through you, involuntarily you tried turn around to beg him not to—another sharp slap, a sob from you.

“5?” Your voice was soft—and somehow, even in his moments of pure power Suguru couldn’t help but want to be kind to you.

And this time, he hated it.

“5 it is,” he murmured, pressing his fingers upright to your pussy lips—“Count, no need to thank this time,”

Slowly his hands already your thighs further apart—shame no more a blanket, you could only moan at the shy touches to your core.

His hands stroked your inner thighs slowly—easing you out, you knew the trick of course, as a hunter must and even then a sharp inhale and “sh-it,” you spoke as his hand Landed on your pussy.

“One,” you called out meekly, and unlike the slaps he used to redden your ass, these weren’t all so pleasurable.

Without a word he landed another—your body lurched forward just the slightest—“Two!” Your voice trembled at his touch, especially in the way he dragged his fingers all so close to your clit and then landed the third spank.

“You’re taking it so good sweetheart,” a mess, a sincere mess is all you were—breaking apart at his touch and words- all so unsure of how you felt.

The last two Spanks were a blur, broken sobs eliciting your throat at them too as finally Suguru caressed your hips— held it soft, smothered it with slight kisses—as if he cared.

“Think you deserve a reward now, monkey?” A whine escaped you at the reference to the animal he deemed everyone else as—and yet another “Yes please,”

You knew better than to hope he’d have pleased you but all how it went, you could help the slight disappointment in you when he sat across you—spreading his legs.

An amused chuckle he let out at your expressions—“You really didn’t think I’d touch a used up pussy as yours eh?”

He would—oh how he desperately wanted to—your eyes remained down cast.

“C’mere be a good slut and get me off,” hesitant was the way you crawled over to him nestling yourself between his legs—hesitant, yes but eager all the more.

And just the same his other followers felt engulfed by the need to please him.

Fingers fumbled with his belt for a second before a raised brow from him stopped you—“did I tell you to take it off?”

Your breath hitched- confused you gazed up to meet an annoyed expression, “Do only as much as you’re told to, don’t true that pretty mind of yours.”

All the encouragement you needed as you slowly raised your face up to his crotch—“Go on,” he murmured, placing his hand at the back of your head—and just so you found your face pressed hard against his crotch, taking in the musky smell— your eyes watered with the pressure he held you with, your pussy grew wetter with the avoidance he lay.

Soft whines you let out against the thin fabric of his underpants as your fingers gripped onto his toned thighs.

You could feel the thick outline of his dick—not that you lay experienced much but that would certainly be big as it went.

His hand stroked your hair softly and pulled you away too—“pull them down,” he ordered and fervently your fingers pulled the waist of the only fabric covering him down—his hardened dick spring out at once.

You fought all urges to touch it at once—looking right into his eyes, awaiting any command.

“Good girl,” he groaned as he shifted his hips to angle himself better—“Tongue out,” he muttered softly, staring at your face.

Adorable to him.

On your knees you say, tongue out and mouth wide as you watched him drag the tip of his cock and slap it against your cheeks twice—demeaning you usually would’ve found it—now you craved it dearly.

Three slaps he lay on your tongue from his tip still—plap! Plap! Plap!— salty it tasted, his Precum.

“Take it all in,” none to your surprise, you were quick to try your best—you know you couldn’t, but to try was the way to go.

“Don’t suck just yet,” he commanded, as his dick lay inside the warmth of your mouth—you wanted to gag immediately, pull away.

“Keep it there,” he whispered, the large hand gayab at the back of your throat, keeping you from pulling away.

Tears were quick to rush down your cheeks as you struggled to gag—the slight pull and an annoyed glare from him.

All too quick he pulled out of your mouth.

“Don’t fucking pull away,” a warning, “cry all you want—fucking throw up from gagging I don’t care, but don’t pull away,” you nodded through your tears as you took a second to catch your breath.

“Again,” he said and again, you began.

It was tough to breathe, yes, and hard not to pull away but a look at his blissful face and you couldn’t help it—“start sucking, slow,”

And that you did, tears dried as more came a afresh, you sucked slowly onto his tip and length—weak whimpers seemed guttural as you rocked your face back and forth onto his length.

“You know why- ha- ah,” he paused, moaning, as you teased him slight, “I let you do this?”

His eyes scanned your pretty face, sucking him all so good—trying your best to please him.

“So you remember that mine is the hand that feeds you,” just then his hands balled up your hair into a fist, rough, he pulled you.

“So you- shit! Suckin’ me like the slut you are huh?” Broken gasps he let out as well as he pushed his length down your throat.

As much as you hated him having the reigns, to see him lose composure was a beautiful process.

“That feels so fucking good — ahah — I'm not pleased with you fuck j-just can't believe how good it feels to — fuck — ahhhuh — yeah that's a perfect little slut, just take your master’s cock like you're meant to."

You couldn’t see from down there, his eyes rolling back but you knew it was tough for him to sit still—god how you loved it.

“Listen darling,” he began yet again—his fist was quick to pull your face away from his cock, all to yours and his displeasure.

He held you by the hair—a string of spit connecting your lips to his dick hung loosely.

“Always fucking remember that you’re the one begging to be fed by me—not the other fucking way around,” you wanted to nod but all that let out was small whines.

“Geto-Sama, please,” you cried, “pleasepleaseplease let me- fuck- let me help. Want you to- to mark me? Please will you?”

Suguru fought hard to suppress the moan he wanted to out—he hated that he loved seeing you this way—he hated how he wanted to see you such everyday.

He hated how for the past three years he’d wanted this but how he loved you.

Oh how he loved his silly.

And just as that his length was shoved deep into your mouth again—and internal conflict in his mind as he face fucked you senseless—he just wanted you carnally and you, him.

Not long did it take before you knew he was close.

“Stay right there, fuck — oh my god I'm close. I'm so fucking close. Gonna fill up that mouth, stuff it so good not a drop spills out.”

And at that, without another word he came inside—a warm gush in your mouth as you struggled to keep it all in—to please him—hot and sticky as he slowly pulled out of your mouth.

“So pretty,” he murmured as his fingers tapped your cheek—hinting at you to swallow it all.

Suguru watched as your tired body panted and lay still on his form—head resting against his thigh.

A soft hand brushed through your hair, a gentle smile as he wrapped the Yakuta around your naked body.

In hindsight, maybe he would regret it—but in the present of this entirely, he loved it.

He loved you.

Two weeks, suguru’s heart had churned—perhaps more than yours—to have you lay against him for the past three years was no issue, not until he knew your heart was opening up to him.

And something in him fought him to have him now that that, was a bad idea.

He realized now that, that something was all too stupid a thought—especially when he could now carry your body softly, pressed up against his chest as he Carried you to the shared chambers, his chambers.

Oh how he loved you being his.

A monkey—his mind called out, the woman I love, his heart snapped back.

It was confusing, to him and you and everyone around—that he was all so enamored by you—nothing more of a simple hunter you were, skilled yes, but it wouldn’t add up.

But then he’d look at the serene expression on your face as he slept and everything senseless would fall back—as he fell in love a little more when your fingers clasped onto his when he was pulling away.

~now~

Day and night.

Slowly they passed.

The first year, then the second and then third—all the way to five years and there you sat, right beside him, regal.

Don’t get me wrong, you perhaps still hate him and he despises you too—but it is in the certain way, that every third night you’re clamping down on his form and he holds you softly right after—“I love you” muttered by neither.

He wasn’t sure on to why it was the way it was.

He hated monkeys, you were one—so equally, he must also hate you—and yet, his heart ached the day your father thrust your hand into his.

He’d seen you before that day still, running about, aloof—you enjoyed your craft—he’d enjoyed seeing you do so. Marriage to him was simply a barrier to your skills—he knew that, and yet not being married to him was a barrier to mayhaps a comfortable life.

Never before Had Suguru pitied monkeys such—and yet, to the see the tears roll down your eyes, he felt captivated.

In the way the silence of his halls was dimmed when his daughters would call for you—in the way you unnecessarily commanded his house—as if you held that power.

But then, mostly you did.

In the way you held pillows all too close to yourself to feel some warmth—in the way you used the pillows as a means of a boundary between the two.

In the way you forced yourself to hate him, in the way you whimpered against his touch.

Everything.

And anything.

All he knew deep down was he wanted you happy, with him and often, without him.

“Do you know this man?” The words rolled off his tongue smooth, you stared intently at the man bowing at your feet.

“No,” words were often simple lies when you stood beside him in that assembly, the man, once referred to as your father, inhaled sharp at your words.

Suguru’s smirk only widened—your mother and sister long gone perhaps, you didn’t know, you didn’t care.

Suguru never let you care.

“He’s committed a crime,” Suguru motioned to the crowd awaiting—“A dire crime,” his eyes now trained upon you—“And as always, our goddess here will help us ride of it, yes?”

Not the first time you’d been asked—two years, the first murder you’d committed and since then, that’s how Suguru used you.

The best hunter he had, his prized one.

His hand wound around you softly, a creep to your abdomen—“wanna play a game?”

The blood inside you rushed—it didn’t matter.

None of it.

You’d killed plenty monkeys, Suguru adored you simply as you did and you did too—but today was different.

Today, stood in front of you, a true criminal.

Blood of monkeys never bothered you—you were their deity, Suguru had reminded you every time you cried—they were honored to die at your hands.

The wood that surrounded you was thick—beautiful really, especially for a game of hide-and-seek.

A shove he passed to your father, rough—“Run,” he ordered, dark eyes softening as they landed upon you.

“Kill him in 2 hours and I’ll let take over tonight,” a smile sketched onto your lips—“and if not…” a similar smile etched onto

his.

Legs sprawled beside his head—your fingers clutched hard onto the sheet beneath.

“Suguru,” your voice drew out—a whine, “Please…” you cried out softly as his tongue lapped onto your clit.

“Please what darling?” A sharp slap landed on your inner thigh—another whine.

“I was just 7 minutes late,” your dirtied clothes lay away forgotten—the neat white towels he’d used to wipe the blood off of you—used to cleanse and purify you again lay just beside his head as you tugged on hair harshly.

A soft giggle he let out—“7 minutes too late baby- you knew the punishment right? Let me edge you thrice more now, be a good pet.”

And another giggle he passed, eliciting a sharp cry of his name when he pressed his tongue flat on your clit.

And Suguru loved this, so Did you.

Your god and his goddess.

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

Tags: @illogicallyx @myrand0mfand0mbl0g @rizzmin @lavendervogh @kazoomas @gojoismybitch @mistyheart @spaceisfarfarawayy @4sat0ruu @isentsworld @gl0ri0us-l0ve @playboicartina @hiomi-hiomi @misaki-the-lotusflower @abitoldschool @immurrsed @bbytamaki @hqkalon (no because thanks for the amazing words frfr)

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bogleech · 11 months

Note

Ive always really admired your ability to draw just like super grotesque shit and I was wondering if you had any tips? grotesque not that its like "oh thats a spleen guy gross" but more the amount of pain and tension at the coffee shop, or any of the mortasheen creatures that involve maggots and moisture. I have tried several times to draw things that are rotting, or lumpy, or suffering, etc, and I can never finish those pieces.

If you mean it's just arduous designwise, I start with a huge canvas size (like 3000 pixels across), sketch it all out within that size and then zoom way in to draw little details with a normal size pen, or lately the "hard-edged" pixel pen so even the tiniest lines are fairly sharp. White highlights (even simple little white dots) make things look very moist and a dark blot of blurred colors, underneath the lineart and white highlight layers, can make them look translucent, here's what those quick steps do to a simple doodle of a slime:

Additional wrinkle lines and simple messy speckles make a design look even more detailed and grungy. As an aside, these little details look best when they're clustering near solid lines and leaving some open space towards the center:

If you mean how I can just "stomach" it though, I guess I just don't draw any gore or grime that really bothers me! Even when I drew Awful Hospital creatures based on revolting disease symptoms that I can't stand looking at in real life, it wasn't a problem because it was just natural to those creatures. A human eating a rotten smelly corpse would be horribly unpleasant but the video of the hyena rolling around in a maggoty wildebeest guts is cute because that's healthy normal hyena behavior. I do have a hard time allowing a creature to "suffer" even fictionally, and all my monsters end up being basically happy the way they are unless it's just a really crucial plot point that they aren't.

virtually everything in mortasheen likes being whatever it is (you can also see that this design just has the same couple things applied as the slime doodle but with a couple more layers of shading)

#art

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curiositydooropened · 4 months

Text

Wildfire • Inferno

The last march into the Ether is fraught with uncertainty. You stumble forward, partner and friends by your side.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Wordcount: 10,887

Warnings: This chapter contains gore and horror, including character injury and allusions to character death. • enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire, panic attacks, insomnia

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Six: Combustion

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THEN

May 1988

The woods sprawled forever, rows of monotonous chaos stretched to a sunless sky. You scrambled through, boots squelching in inexplicably moist soil as you toed over the twist of vines and fallen limbs. A shock of orange guided your way, a light in the greyscale abyss, just out of reach, dipping into underbrush and up the hillside.

You’d made this trek through dozens of times, the steady climb from Roane County Farms to Mary Hill Lane. Countless nights of your youth were spent feeding cows apples from your pockets and scurrying home before the sun crested its final valley.

You knew the resemblances were eery. The first time you’d stepped into this horrible place, the first time you felt the pull at your navel and the spin in your skull, you’d been nauseated by the carbon copy version of the town you called home. Grocery stores and public libraries crumbled beneath the weight of disembodied tentacles. City sidewalks crumbled beneath your feet. And even after all this time, after countless trips through the portal into the Hellscape, the similarities to your childhood never ceased to unsettle your stomach and itch like anxiety in your chest.

A different panic clawed there now, making the ascent more difficult. Your pack weighed you down, and your mask hung from your throat, lungs burning with strain and inhaling toxic air.

“Vickie!” You cried out for her again, your voice hoarse and cracked. A handful of mulch fell away to make room for your boot, and you pulled yourself up through the tree line and onto Mary Hill Lane.

The asphalt was torn up, a pot hole down the center of the little lane, right where they’d patched it that summer you turned 8. You used to take turns jumping it on your bikes. Once, Vickie hit the lip, and her frail little body went flying over the handlebars. You watched the blood ooze from her knobby knees in horror, and admitted delight, and helped her limp her bicycle two doors down to her house.

A wave of orange flickered in your periphery, and you steeled your breath. Two houses down, with pale yellow siding and a metal storm door, was your best friend’s childhood home. It hadn’t changed since her family moved to the little neighboring town of Hawkins. The tree out front was a little taller, the grass a little sparser, and of course the entire facade was succumbing to the overgrowth of demonic vines that curled and whipped beneath the shutters and peeled back the roofing tiles.

There was a residual off to the Ether, the dip in your stomach that never left once you’d crossed the gaping maw threshold, but now, staring up at a home you grew up in, the off settled into your ribcage like a bad breakfast. “Vickie,” you whispered, following your feet to her driveway. “What the Hell are you thinking?”

You reached over your shoulder to remove the flamethrower from its holster. Your hands shook around the cold metal. You tried to even out your breathing, panic clinging like condensation to your neck.

Bang! Something large smacked against the garage door, rattling the whole thing on its hinges.

You scrambled backwards, foot slipping on a rogue bit of gravel. You gasped, catching your fall before you heard another loud thwack to the door.

Then you saw her. Grimy, fogged glass lined one of the garage panels, through which you caught the terrified look of your best friend, a shock of orange and pale skin.

You called out to her, ran to the door, smacked your fingers against the glass.

“No,” she shook her head, slamming her hands into the other side of the wall. “Get out of here! Run!”

“Vick? What’s going on?” You shook your head. “Are you trapped? Stand back, I’m going to torch it.” You squared up, readjusting the trigger behind your forefinger.

“No!” She cried out again. “You don’t understand. You need to run.”

“Is there something in there?” You asked, trying to peer between her and a stack of boxes to look within the confines of the garage.

“Yes.” She said. “Me.”

She disappeared for a moment before she lifted the garage door, one strong push to expose herself and the rotting boxes abandoned beside her.

“What the Hell is wrong with you?” You growled, dropping the weapon to your side.

“She’s stronger than she looks,” she said, stance square. There was something in her eye that tickled at the base of your skull, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Vic?”

“Really, your friend held on for so long. She really tried to fight. The two of you had years of good memories for me to lose her in.”

Years of training stalled your reaction, running through your mind in reverse, hours spent on the Scorch course echoing in your skull. You raised your weapon again, and her name left your throat in a whisper.

“You wouldn’t burn sweet, innocent Vickie would you?” She took wide strides your direction, hands in the pockets of her pants. “Not here. Remember when we called this place home. You and I?”

You scrambled for the walkie on your shoulder, hands trembling. “Team Lead to Scorch team, requesting emergency evac.”

“Yes, yes, bring in the troops,” she smirked, something miserable and uncanny, something so un-her.

Steve’s voice echoed through the speaker, startling you. “Where are you?”

“Roane County, Mary Hill Lane. Quarantine required.”

“Her old house? Is Vickie okay? Vickie?” Robin’s voice called out before Steve cut her off.

“Copy that. We’re on our way.”

“R-Robin?” Vickie’s voice broke, and you noticed a distinct change in her demeanor. Her teeth were grit, fists clenched and shaking at her sides.

You caught her gaze, eyes filled with terror, and took a few steps closer.

“NO!” She cried out, holding a hand up to stop you. Tears welled in her eyes, spilled over, tracked through the ash on freckled cheeks. She whispered your name, bottom lip trembling beneath her two front teeth. “You have to do it.”

“Vickie, no. Just hold on. Steve and Robin will be there soon. We’ll take you back and -”

“It’s too late,” her voice cracked. “He’s in here, and I can’t hold him back much longer. You know I love you, right?”

“Vickie, stop it.” You shook your head, tasting salt. You didn’t realize you’d started crying as well.

“Please?”

You shook your head again, obstinate, every bit of you fighting the pleading look in her eyes, fighting the sad smile on her face, fighting the way she said your name.

—

NOW

October 1988

Your blindfold was made of wool, something thick and itchy against your nose and the tips of your ears. You scratched at it, exposing a sliver of light, and you hand was promptly snatched away.

“Will you stop that?” Steve huffed, voice a warm rumble to your left year.

“I’m not going to take it off,” you grumbled.

Your anxiety had peaked the moment he put it on, relieved only temporarily when he pressed his lips against yours. Then, you were promptly carted down the clanging elevator and shoved past a sea of whispers until a heavy steel door was opened, and brisk autumn air caressed your cheeks.

The familiar rumble of a truck bed chattered your bones, knees knocking against various others’. You sat in silence, sensing a handful of watchful eyes. You were desperate to ignore the gnawing at your brainstem, the villain clawing himself to the surface, desperate for air, for a hint. You focused, instead, on your breathing, on the warmth of Steve’s hand in your own, of the buzz in your fingertips and the weight of something that had been strapped to your back.

Steve’s grip tightened as you came rolling to a halt. Engines idled. The smell of diesel fuel burned at your nostrils. Your stomach churned.

Your partner pulled you upright with a strong hand beneath your armpit, and you teetered on your feet as the balance shifted with each body that jumped from the bed to the dusty ground below.

“Wait here,” he muttered, and then released your hand.

Panic curled into your organs. You reached out for him again, listening for the fall of his feet. Cold replaced him beside you. The ground shifting beneath you. You extended your toe until it hit something, a wheel-well, by the sound of it, maybe a tailgate.

A hand found yours again and pulled you to the cool metal. The machine trembled beneath your clammy fingertips.

“Sit here, swing your legs over. I’m going to catch you, okay?”

“I don’t need to be caught,” you scoffed, though you followed instructions, feet dangling over the bed’s ledge until you slid into Harrington’s strong grip.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, gentling setting your feet to pavement.

You shoved at his chest, and promptly chased him until his hand slipped firmly into yours again.

“Dudes!” A familiar voice called from not-too-far away, and you felt yourself led toward them.

A fist tapped your shoulder, and the sickly sweet smell of marijuana filled your senses.

“Argyle?” You smiled.

“You got it, dude.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “Hey, remember that time we played those pranks on Munson?”

The levity of his sentiment didn’t match the intensity of the situation you were all stepping into, and it caught you off guard. Your memory strained to strum up images of hiding Eddie’s notebook and replacing it with a replica you and Argyle had doodled crude images in. That felt a lifetime ago, when you were all just kids caught up in a war you didn’t understand.

“Well, that gave me the idea to doodle a dick on the dragon on his new notebook.” Argyle spoke it like a confession, whispered to you from around your veil, words muffled by the thick fabric.

You crinkled your nose. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he barked out a laugh. “So you’ll have to come back to see the look on his face when he sees it.”

The fear that had settled like a pit in your gut fluttered a little, a glimmer of a heartbeat added to the future you weren’t certain you’d have.

“Deal,” you choked out, and you felt a hand reach into yours to shake on it.

“Harrington!” Someone yelled from a few yards away, and you free hand was tugged with careful instructions to follow. You bid Argyle goodbye and stumbled after Steve, slow steps dragged along dusty streets.

You couldn’t tell the direction, though something deep in you longed for them. Something wondered if you could peer beneath the blindfold and make out a location based on the stones you kicked along with the steel toes of your boots. Something sensed the wind caressing your cheeks, your chest, wondered if it blew in an Easterly direction.

Another warm body pulled up beside you, blocking the wind. Your shoulders fell in gratitude. You hadn’t realized you’d hiked them up.

“Mind if I lean on you?” Byers muttered, wrapping a soft hand against the crook of your elbow.

You shook your head and accommodated for his weight. You noticed a limp in the sound of his walk, slowed your gait to match his. Another spring of panic fluttered at your chest. “No offense, Jonathan, but… should you be going on this mission? How’s your leg?” You squeezed Steve’s hand on your other side.

He squeezed back.

“Remember that day we took bets on the mats? The one where you wiped the floor with Harrington?”

“Alright,” Steve huffed on your other side.

You snickered, remembering the flow of cash into the hands of your best friends. High fives were exchanged. Munson had set up a hydration station in your corner to fan you off between rounds.

“I won like five hundred bucks thanks to you, you know?” Byers spoke softly beside you, breath a little labored.

“Oh yeah?” You swallowed back a lump. “Sounds like a deserve a cut of that.”

He laughed at that, Steve too. “Yeah, you do. Here’s the deal. You kick major ass in there, I’ll give you three hundred.”

“Double or nothing?” Steve said over your head.

“Deal,” Jonathan chuckled and squeezed again at the meat of your bicep. “What do you say?”

“Yeah, okay, deal.” Your voice sounded hoarse. When Jonathan released you, you nearly halted your walk to stay with him, but Steve tugged you along with a firm grip, and you stayed in line with the footfall all around you.

You kept your eyes squeezed closed, resisting the temptation to gain some sort of bearing. You thought of Argyle’s doodles and Byers the bookie and tried to push back the emotion clawing to escape you.

Then you felt it, the pull. You’d felt it before, dozens of times, that warped tug of gravity that started from behind your navel and led you onwards and upside downwards. It had to be close. You felt the pulse of a gaping maw as if it were your own, the steady thrum-thrum of a heartbeat. Or two heartbeats, in tandem to the pulse you felt in Steve’s wrist against your own. Or three heartbeats, the rhythm of dozens of soldiers falling into line.

A familiar voice called your name from up ahead, and you heard the stamping of feet as someone approached, others moving out of their way. “Hey,” Wheeler breathed. “Have you figured out what we’re doing yet?”

You couldn’t respond, overcome with emotion and terror, that call of the Ether drawing you closer with each step.

Nancy fell in sync beside you. “Remember our first run in the Scorch course? Me, you, Vickie, Robin?”

You remembered being terrified at the prospect of setting monsters ablaze. You remembered spying an intimate “good luck” between Steve and Nancy before she went in with you. You remembered Vickie and Robin exchanging nervous smiles. You remembered sweaty palms around a weapon you’d never used, and you remembered the heat that licked at your skin.

“We did it in record time, and they were still extinguishing three hours later.”

“Nancy, I…” You weren’t sure what to say, exactly, couldn’t understand the meaning.

“Us girls have to stick together.” She stuck a bony elbow to your side, then she shouted. “Ready? Let’s go. Battle stations, everyone. You know what to do.”

You heard the unsettling squelch of vines, the clearing of a membrane from the jaws of the gate, and the tug of your arm halted you. “Steve?” You muttered. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going in,” his breath was warm against your ear, and he brought your hand to his chest. His heartbeat was rapid, racing your own to the finish line you couldn’t see, couldn’t fathom.

Your mouth was dry. Things within you battled: the urge to turn heel and run and the urge to go diving headfirst into the Ether, into the frigid embrace.

“I’ll never forget the first time you pinned me to the mats,” he spoke soft, catching you off-guard. You could feel his smile against your ear, the upturn of his lips. “You knocked the wind clear out of me, had me seeing stars, and then you leaned over me to help me up. You had this big, beautiful grin on your face, like you’d never had more fun in your entire life. Robin was doubled-over laughing in the corner.”

“Steve,” you breathed, clutching at the soft fabric of his shirt.

“But when you asked me if I was ready for round two, that’s when I knew I was in love with you.”

“Harrington,” you grit your teeth, slammed your eyes shut. The pulse compelled you. Vines like tendrils slithering beneath booted feet to find you.

“Because I knew you were resilient, and any bullshit I could throw at you, you could survive. Are you listening to me?”

“Steve, are we ready?” Nancy called from several feet away, voice drowned by the thundering in your ears.

“You have to fight him, okay? I promise I will protect you, but you have to promise me you’ll fight back, that you won’t give up. Do you promise me?” He was holding your face now, large hands on either cheek, and you longed to see his brown eyes again, that furrow between his brow.

“I promise,” you nodded, and his lips were against yours, hot and soft, and then they weren’t, and you were chasing for his touch.

He hooked something into your belt, and you felt cold plastic, with a long cord attached. “Whatever you do, don’t take your blindfold off, or these,” he tugged headphones over your head, the foam around the ears amplifying the pounding of your heart. “I will stay as close to you as I can, but you just need to trust that I’ll be there to protect you. Are you ready?”

Again, the opposing forces within you pulled in separate directions. All at once, your senses will filled with pop music and panic that you had to swallow back as Steve took you by the hand and led you once more toward the door between worlds.

—

The Ether smelled damp, like mildew, the rotting flesh of vegetation left to spoil. It tasted of ash and ruin. Static lingered in the air, clung clothes to your skin. The music in your ears was muffled, somehow, like there was too much room for sound waves to travel, so they thinned out and became tinny. The blindfold itched at your nose, and you stood alone, cold, in a void.

You tried to focus on the happy memories your friends had presented to you, but with every chill that wracked through you, all you thought of was her.

That shock of orange had been extinguished, had vanished into the grime of this Earth, had smoked out. Happy memories of her turned to ash at your fingertips, laughter to choked screams.

Then, you smelled gasoline, sweet and strong. You were used to the fumes, that chemical after burn with each torch of the flamethrower, but this was stronger. This stung at your nostrils, made your mouth water. You took a few steps forward to ensure you hadn’t stepped in it and were waiting for someone to light a match.

You felt dizzy with it, that wobble as you walked. You called out for Steve, unable to hear your own voice though the music. You received no response, felt no tug on your arm, no warm hand to your waist. You were only cold, and you were all alone.

He’d left you. He made a promise he couldn’t keep, just like Vickie had, and you supposed like you had to them.

Then came the rumble, that slow wave of nausea that drifted from far-off, from mountain tops and Great Lakes, that cosmic sway of land that chattered your teeth and sent you off-kilter, to your knees. You caught yourself on a hand, feeling the snap of your wrist beneath your weight as the Earth continued to rock beneath you. You cried out, though you couldn’t hear it over shrill music.

Then you felt it, the searing agony of torched vines, every vein and nerve ending ablaze, punching the air from your lungs. Screams rippled through you, not yours but the screams of others, of them, agonizing, writhing in horror, screams from gaping mouths with rows and rows of jagged teeth, and you were them and they were you, and you felt it all.

You thought you might rip in two from the pain, maybe you already had, and you lie prone against a cold, hard ground, willing your body to push it away. Everything in you scorched, and everything in you begging to fight. How could you fight fire? How could you fight an unseen force?

Desperate for air, you ripped your blindfold from your face and stared up into a storm-filled sky. Bright red lightning flashed inside a black, billowing cloud. Your eyes ached at the orange glow, and when you turned your head, you came face-to-face with an entire forest ablaze.

It caught like wildfire, an inferno that scorched the Earth. Beautiful bright whites and yellows, oranges and reds painted the night sky, casting the forest in silhouette as limbs groaned and trees crashed down upon an army of soldiers.

You sucked in a breath, sputtering to the sand as you rolled over to gain your footing. Your wrist cried out under your weight, but your vision had shifted again.

It was as though you ran through the woods, double time, rushing to escape the fire. It was as though you flew through smoke filled skies. Your targets wore tactical attire and carried flamethrowers on their backs, and millions of teeth sunk into them, filling your mouth with the taste of their blood.

Something found your ankle, a thick vine that wrapped itself there and pulled until you slammed back into the pavement. You squeezed your eyes shut and kicked at it until you felt the satisfying squelch, the burst of ice cold liquid, and you scrambled away until another could find you.

Then your eyes were on him: Steve torching the wood. His face was tanned, dripping with sweat and grime. He picked up a barrel and threw it into the trees, shielding his face from the explosion as Nancy cocked her rifle and hit her target. Only, you were looking at Steve from an odd angle, and you reached out a clawed hand toward him.

“Steve!” You cried out, but it was too late. The demogorgon’s claws pulled through his chest to the bone.

Nancy fired rounds into the creature until it had backed into a truck. From there, it was blown to pieces.

You watched them now, from a few yards away, unable to lift yourself from the ground. She tended his wounds, and he staggered, glancing your direction. Tears stung in your eyes. Somewhere nearby, a song echoed through tattered headphones. Behind your eyelids, allies were being ripped open, guts spilling to the forest floor, but the fire raged on.

—

The pain subsided, and all was numb and black and void.

You sat at a desk, sunlight filtering in through a window overlooking the woods. You had a pencil in one hand. Times tables were etched into the paper in front of you. The lines of the numbers flipped and blurred, and you stuffed your tongue between your teeth in frustration. God, you were so stupid.

Your mother called from down the hall. Dinnertime.

You set your pencil down, and it rolled across the desk top before halting against a terrarium.

You stood and stretched, rubbed at bleary eyes. You pulled your sweater from the back of your chair and swung it over bare shoulders.

You crossed to your door, traced the wallpaper in your hallway with fingertips like you did every evening.

Dad’s chair was empty as you passed the living room. The television played something dull and quiet, reruns.

You rounded to the dining room, table stacked with food for two. Dad must be on another work trip.

Light filtered in through the sliding glass door. Winter had just begun. The leaves had all browned and fallen. The trees stood like soldiers, all limbs and armor.

You took your seat at the table and sipped the carbonation from your soda. The bubbles fizzed at your nose, and you itched at it before dumping a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes to your plate.

A slam at the glass door startled you, and you looked up to find Vickie. She looked different, old and grizzled. Her jaw was sharper, the muscles in her arms more defined. She rolled her eyes and peeled the door open. It rolled on its track, and she let herself in.

“This is where he’s keeping you?”

“Wh-what?” You blinked back at her, wondering if the times tables had messed with your head.

“Vecna, come on, idiot. You’re flayed. He’s got you by the strings, and he holed you up in the third grade for some reason. Do you have any idea how long it took me to find you?”

Her words processed like sludge, letters mixing and swapping like they had on the page.

She leaned over to dip her finger into the bowl of mashed potatoes. She tasted it and blanched, spewing the soft white back onto your plate. “Jesus, there are some tricks he really can’t master. Now come on, we don’t have much time. You need to snap out of this.”

She tugged at your wrist, and you cried out, a sharp pain zipping through you. You stared down at the tender and bruising limb.

“That’s a good start,” she nodded. She glanced out at the backyard, forehead creasing in thought before clicking her fingers together. “Quick, think about Steve.”

“Who?” You winced, nursing the dull ache in your wrist with a gentle touch.

“Harrington. You know, big brown eyes, floppy ears, a tail that wags when you pay him attention.”

“What?” Everything felt fuzzy, a slog of jumbled words that fell from soft lips and onto deaf ears. You hadn’t remember Mom giving you cough syrup, but perhaps you had a cold.

With a groan, Vickie grabbed you by the shoulders and lifted you from your seat. She shook you a little. “Come on, damnit, remember. You aren’t here in your mom’s kitchen, you’re in the Ether. The Scorch Team is blowing it up. A demogorgon got Steve, and I have a feeling he’s going to die if you don’t snap out of this.”

“Steve?”

You saw a flash of him staggering toward you, Kevlar shredded, blood tainting the inner corners of his perfect lips.

“Steve!” You cried out, but you were back in the dining room. The breaker had been flipped, everything dark, everything caked in a layer of rot and decay. Everything but Vickie.

“Nicely done,” she grinned, yanking at the sliding glass door. “Let’s get out of here!”

You didn’t hesitate to follow, staring up at the sky scapes of your mind as they began to implode. The woods beyond turned to the craggy, rocky shores of your grandmother’s beach house, and as you stepped through the bog water that had filled your backyard, everything turned to concrete and asphalt and tar.

“Yeah, this’ll do,” Vickie’s sneakers slapped against the tarmac as she ran toward the compound.

You took off after her, wind sweeping at you like wispy tendrils, desperate to hold you in place. “What do we do now? How do we trap him?”

“I don’t think we do,” she responded. “It’s kind of like a lucid dream. You’re in charge in here. We just have to get rid of all the places he can hide.” She bypassed a passcode to unlock a familiar steel door and held it open for you to go inside.

You entered the small hallway, floor-to-ceiling munitions lockers. “And how do we do that?”

“Well,” one locker opened with a creak, “they’re blowing his shit up on the outside. Maybe it’s time to turn the heat up in here, too.” She reached in and procured a flamethrower.

—

You scorched the Earth. You set fire to the Roan River bed where Vickie had tumbled. You set fire to the little covered bridge and all the horrors that lay within. You set fire to the little farmhouse where you lost her. You set fire to the woods that surrounded your childhood home, to the little fenced in backyard, the rope and plank that swung from the oak down the street. You torched the roof and watched it crumble inward over mashed potatoes and the tv turned to static in the corner. You watched the pages of a times table curl and fall to dust.

“Making record time,” Vickie grinned, slapping a hand to your shoulder. “Just like Nancy said. Us girls really do make a good team.”

She turned from you and began to jog down the little lane, pack bouncing, light on her feet as though the world wasn’t crashing down around her.

When you didn’t follow, she turned, fire lighting her eyes, and gestured for you to join. “You coming or what?”

The flames made no sound as they consumed your house, a dreamscape of embers in reds and oranges and yellows to the ringing in your ears. The roof fell first, like the house that nearly ate Steve, and then the windows burst and the walls came next. As the fire spilled out across the front yard, chewing at tires and overtaking flowerbeds, you stumbled backwards to join Vickie in the lane.

“One last stop,” she promised, intertwining her fingers in your own.

“How do you know that’s enough?” You asked with a frown, wheezing a cough into your free hand. Your wrist ached, and the purpling bruise was beginning to crawl up your arm. Your chest felt tight, and the faster you ran, the harder it felt to breathe. The smell of gasoline filled your nostrils.

“We’re running out of time,” she smiled sadly and turned into the driveway of her own childhood home, the place you found her, the place you watched the life leave her eyes.

“Vickie,” you warned, screeching to a halt just at the end of the driveway, where concrete turned to rubble. Looking to your left, you saw the pothole. To the right, flames had spilled to the neighbor’s house.

“Don’t be a baby. This is his favorite place to hide. We have to make it uninhabitable.” She explained, stacking lawn furniture to a pile between the garage and house.

It was his favorite place to hide because it was your worst memory, the place you refused to go back to, the truths you kept hidden under lock and key.

Something went boom far in the distance. Your ears rang again, and they hurt. Something hot and wet splattered your right cheek. You reached up to find blood spilling from your ear. “Vickie!”

“Hurry!” She removed her pack, added it to the pile.

“What’re you doing?” You crossed the driveway as she opened a can of lighter fluid from beside the grill and began trailing it across the closed garage door. She splashed some onto her shoes. The cuffs of her pants were soaked in it. “Be careful!”

She looked up at you then, a sadness behind the mischief in her eyes, and she shook her head. “Don’t you get it? It’s me. He’s hiding himself in me. I’m the safe space for him. He knows you’ll never touch me. You’ll hide from him in the good memories: the pranks with Eddie, the bets with Jonathan, the sing-a-longs with Robin. He’ll hide from you here, with me.”

Another boom rocked the world around you in ripples. Scratches clawed themselves into your right side, your cheek, your chest, your arm as shrapnel lodged itself within your skin.

Vickie rushed to your side, wiped blood from your cheek with a thumb. “Hey, I love you, and I will always be with you in your heart and your good memories, but this?” She gestured to the pile of furniture, to the scorch mark in the drive. “You need to let this go.”

You wheezed another cough, violence that clawed at your insides, squeezing every drop from you.

“Go back to Steve. Get yourself out of this Hell hole, as far away as you can, you hear me? Get married, have a dozen babies. Follow your dreams. Live the life I didn’t get to. Promise me?” She touched her nose to yours. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you managed, though tears blurred your vision and smoke choked at your lungs.

She kissed your forehead and took ten paces back, until her feet were touching the spilled can of fluid that had begun to weep down the driveway. “You promise?” She called.

You nodded, hands trembling as you lifted the flamethrower. “Promise.”

“Good,” her face lit with that mischievous grin, a smile of peace and of love, and she maintained it as the flames engulfed her.

—

Your ears rang, and your body thrummed, and every nerve in your body stood at attention. The smell of burning flesh and gasoline stung acrid in your nostrils. You blinked your eyes open, expecting the bright oranges of flames and finding only grey, only smoke, and then two big, brown eyes.

Steve came crashing into focus, and you pulled him into you with desperate hands. The side of his face was torn and bleeding. Thick, dark red spilled down his jaw and throat to gaping cuts across his chest and abdomen, but he was crouched over you, and he was mouthing something. No, maybe he was screaming.

He looked beyond you before he covered you with his body, and you felt the rain of something down on top the both of you.

After a long moment’s rest, you shoved at him, desperate to find his eyes again, and he sat up and looked around before he pulled you both to your feet.

The Ether was chaos all around you, a cloud of smoke and ash. Soldiers and monsters alike disappeared and reappeared through the cloud in flashes of thunder-less lightning and the splatter of blood.

You ducked into the crook of Steve’s arm and followed his lead as he ran, both of you a little wobbly, dodging vehicles and bodies.

He tripped over a vine, and you caught him under the arm, pulling him upright again so you could continue your journey. He stopped, peering around once more, shouting into the smoke cloud with a hand over his mouth until he was doubled over in a wheezing cough. You covered your own mouth with the crook of your elbow, but the smoke was too much, and the oxygen too small.

You threw yourself to the ground and pulled him too, breathing what air lie between particles of sand in the empty lake bed.

Steve lie beside you, eyes fluttering with exhaustion and defeat, and he leaned sideways to thumb blood from a stinging wound on your cheek.

That’s when you noticed the vines. Thick, black, oozing with ichor and something fouler smelling than the ash and smoke, these vines were reaching for something, crawling for air of their own.

You yanked on Steve’s sleeve and pointed to them, and the two of you crawled after the vines to the edge of a gaping wound in the sandbar.

The membrane had been popped and water bubbled below, steady waves that brought forth the prospect of life, of fresh air, of home.

Steve threaded his fingers through yours and nodded, spoke words you couldn’t hear. “I won’t let go.”

You nodded and took as deep a breath as you could muster before diving headfirst through the portal to the waters below.

—

Righting yourself felt different without gravity, the weightless tug of your body that begged to be back on the other side, back where up was up and down was down. But here? In the void of frigid cold and screaming wounds, of empty lungs? Your body and your brain couldn’t comprehend anything but out and now.

Steve’s hand remained in yours, though you couldn’t see past the blur of dark and sting in your eyes. So you just kicked and pulled at the space around you, weightless and yet too heavy all at once.

Something wrapped itself around your ankle, but you just kept kicking, feet as paddles and anchors.

You wrist ached, the numbing pull of something as Steve tried to yank you upward, and then you felt his arm around your waist and then your knee, and he was fighting something off, and then nothing. Then he was gone and his warmth and his weight, and your body was surging you upwards and outwards and now as fast as you can.

It hurt. Everything hurt. Your lungs screamed and your soul ached and your heart hurt, but when you burst through that surface and through your head back and filled your lungs at least that was right again.

You slapped your hands to the surface in an effort to stay afloat, and you gasped and sputtered and took in the fresh, clean air.

Starlight glinted above you, miles and miles upward, not shying beyond clouded skies. God, you’d missed them.

You floated for a moment, on your back, body screaming for rest, exhausted, eyes drifting closed while you drifted like a log on the water’s surface. Alone and weightless, but free and alive and alone.

Alone. You sputtered, coughed out water that spilled in through your nostrils, and when it had cleared, you looked frantically around you for Steve.

Your distress caused ripples in the water, ripples in reflected starlight, ripples alone.

You took a deep breath, weak, lungs pained, and dove. Your eyes stung and the darkness filled everything below the surface, so you reached out with frantic arms until your lungs couldn’t take it anymore and your body rocketed you back up for another gasp of air.

You cried out for Steve, a wheezing sound that had you coughing again. Your teeth chattered. You could barely hear your own voice above the ringing in your ear.

You dove again and again, dives decreasing in length each time until you finally surfaced, gasping for air and screaming for someone to help, screaming for Steve, screaming at Vickie, at Vecna, at the world for doing this to you, and that’s when you found him.

Several yards off, face down, like driftwood bobbing along the shoreline.

You swam to him, one stroke at a time, aching legs kicking until the tips of your fingers met the back of his head, and you turned him to face you. Liquid poured from his open mouth, the sweet curve of his lips.

You pulled him under your arm and dug in hard to the silt and soil, pulling him up and over the banks where cattails bloomed and crickets chirped. You pulled yourself up too, both of your bodies scraping the sand.

“Steve,” you wheezed, straddling his body. You tilted his head back. “I promised Vickie. I promised her we’d get married. I promised her we’d have a dozen babies.”

You ripped open what was left of his shirt, bits of material sticking to his shredded skin. You held back a cry and interlaced your fingers. Your wrist screamed, bruising crawling to your elbow. Gingerly, the palm of your hands found his sternum, and you began compressions.

“You have to stay with me because I love you, and I can’t do this without you.” You tried to keep time to the adrenaline thundering your heartbeat in your skull.

More liquid spilled from his lips.

“No!” You cried out. “Stay with me. Damnit, Harrington!”

You clenched your jaw until something snapped, a tooth, maybe his ribs, maybe your arm, but you didn’t stop, you couldn’t stop.

—

Your throat was so dry, a swallow that burned down your esophagus like sand paper. Your insides smarted with it. Everything was red, too bright, vicious like wildfire. You winced, turned your face to shield yourself from the light.

The beeping got louder, a steady rhythm that matched the thump-thump of your heart in your skull only fuzzier, dials turned down, a bit of static ebbing and flowing like waves, a current.

Then you heard a mumble, or at least, it sounded like a voice. No, two voices muttered to one another from over top of you, one louder, clearer, the other soft, strangled, too-far away.

“Have you been here all night?”

“If they try to pull me away from this bedside, I’ll kill them.”

“Have they woken up yet?”

“Not yet. No one can tell me if that’s good or bad. Do medical charts make sense to you?”

“Let me see.”

Something clattered beside you, too close to your head, and your reflexes startled your eyes open. You winced to find everything was no longer red, but stark white and too bright, and your eyelids were crusted over and burned. You groaned and shielded them with a hand wrapped in gauze.

“Holy shit,” someone spoke your name.

“Should we call the nurse?”

“Hold on a second. Sweetheart, are you awake? It’s me, Eddie.” A soft hand reached for yours to pull it from your eyes. “Hit the lights, will ya?”

Stark white dulled to softer blues and grays, and you lowered your hand from your face. Your eyes adjusted, room and faces blurred until the sweet, sad face of your best friend came into focus.

Munson smiled back at you, hair swept back over his shoulders, black t-shirt hugging his chest. His body was pressed to yours, butt pinching the wires that were jabbed into your hand and the crook of your elbow. “Bet those drugs are feeling really nice right now, huh?”

His voice was sweet and low, like molasses, and it buzzed through you warm and soft. You hummed, but the dryness in your throat cracked until you coughed and sputtered and gasped.

“Okay, I’m calling the nurse.”

“You want some water?” Eddie scrambled, snapping his fingers at something on the other side of you, and you turned your head to find Robin with a clipboard under one arm, frantically pushing a large, red button that hung on a cord beside you.

You tried to say her name, but once again the wheezing and sputtering halted your attempt, so you reached for her instead.

“Water? Yeah, here,” her voice trembled, and her hand as she lifted a large plastic cup from the bedside table and held the straw to your lips. She looked scared, frantic, and tears brimmed in her big, blue eyes.

“I got it,” Eddie took it from her, holding the straw steady for you to drink.

The cold water soothed your throat, and your eyes closed in the relief. You were exhausted. Your entire body sunk further into the soft cloud you laid upon and wanted to stay there.

“What��s going on in here?”

“You fall back asleep on us?” You felt the rumble of Eddie’s chuckle, and the tug of a smile played on your lips.

You peaked one eye back open, and the nurse who stood in the doorway dropped her arms from where they were crossed over her chest. “Well, good morning, sunshine. How’re you feeling? Don’t talk, but give me a thumbs up or thumbs down.” She pushed into Robin’s space to jiggle the tubes attached to you.

You managed a thumbs up, the world still a little fuzzy around the edges.

Eddie snorted. “Yeah, I bet you’re feeling good.”

“Your vitals are looking good, but you should probably rest. It’s the fastest way your body can heal.”

Yeah, rest sounded lovely. You nodded and closed your eye again, sinking farther into the warm cloud embracing you.

“I’m going to go check on Nance,” Robin muttered from beside you. “You going to stay here?”

“Try and stop me,” Eddie said, and it pulled another smile to your lips as you drifted off to sleep.

—

Seventeen gates had sealed themselves over night, leaving naught but severed vines and wet patches of pavement. Bits of equipment and body parts slowly began to wash up on shore, but when the lake beds were dragged, no gates had been found.

Your drug-induced dreams had been void of smoke and screams, void of ash and ruin, void of that shock of orange and the chill in your spine.

You’d gotten to your feet faster than any of your comrades, despite being one of the last living recovered by the Evac team. You joked about your competitive nature through wheezed coughs behind your cast.

You and Munson raced walkers down hallways. Much to your chagrin, he let you win.

Weaning off the drugs, your body ached, bones stiff. The stitches around your cheekbone and shoulder and hip itched something fierce. Your voice came back after a few days, scratchy and raw, but your hearing never returned on that right side.

You begged Eddie to read you the novel he’d been writing every night as you drifted off to sleep. You played card games with Jonathan and Argyle during the days, stuffing aces into the bright blue plaster of your bandaged arm.

Hopper visited when he could, cursing at a nurse under his breath when she came in to tell him to put out his cigarette. He did so in your abandoned jell-o cup, and before he left, he squeezed the fingers of your hand and said, “I’m proud of you, kid.”

Nancy’s recovery came along quickly, always two steps ahead, and you spent evenings distracting her while her bandages were changed. Burns covered half of her slender frame, but she grit her teeth through the agony. You helped her to her feet when she asked and held her hand to the bathroom and back to her bed.

Robin came bearing gifts smuggled from the outside, warm socks and soda in glass bottles, a record player and later, hummed tunes. She tried to teach you French one night, Russian another, and if she hadn’t fallen asleep at Nancy’s bedside, she was slumped onto Eddie’s shoulder, the two of them wide-mouthed, snoring out-of-sync.

Some such nights, you’d sneak out, carrying your IV so the wheels didn’t squeak, the pads of your feet cold against stark white linoleum. You’d bypass the common room, illuminated by the vibrant colors of candy wrappers from a vending machine, and tiptoe down the hall past the nurse’s station. You’d slip into a room two doors down, on the left, masked under the faint blue glow of a heart monitor and sidle up beside the patient there.

You didn’t like the blue, cast across hard features like the frigid chill of a drowned man. You much preferred the warmth of sunshine pouring in through easterly windows. If you stayed long enough, you’d catch a glimpse of that, honeyed light caressing soft skin, tousling the golds in his hair.

You glanced at his heart rate on the monitor, the steady but slow rise and fall, and then you slipped your fingers to the pulse point on his wrist to double check. “Harrington, I’m always saving your ass, aren’t I?” You tutted.

You tugged his torso to warm exposed shoulders, careful not to drag the material against the plane of his chest, where skin had been grafted together with vicious knots of needle and thread.

You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, taking solace in the warmth of life, and swept hair from the wrinkle in his brow.

You pulled up a chair and tucked your hand into his, resting your elbows and head beside the dip of his thighs, listening to the subtle beat of his heart until your eyelids felt heavy and your rhythms matched with his.

—

May 1990

Sunlight dappled the landscape in pale yellows and vibrant greens, pouring in from between the limbs of trees and spilling onto the grass like paint to a canvas. A breeze brew through, sweet florals on the wind. You helped it sweep fallen, wilted petals and debris from letters carved into stone. A petrified bouquet was replaced with a fresh one, and you primped rose petals and wiped lily pollen off on a pant leg.

Robin crouched beside you, freckled nose red and eyes bleary. She kissed a beaded bracelet before wrapping it around the little vase with the others like it.

You stood before her, helping her up by the hand, and both of you kissed your fingertips and placed them to the tip top of the headstone.

“You ready?” You muttered, giving her hand a squeeze.

She sniffled, nodded, and you began your trek up the dappled hill toward the parked car.

“Give a kiss for me too?” Eddie asked as you approached, frown etched between his brows. You sunk into his embrace, buried your face in the warmth of his throat. He smelled of the cigarette he’d stamped out on the asphalt.

“Always,” Robin muttered into his other shoulder, burying herself there too.

You pulled away with a sad laugh, mopping the tears from your cheeks to slide into the arms of the man beside him.

“Hey, Harrington, you doing okay?” Steve’s voice rumbled against your cheek, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear. He hadn’t stopped calling you that in months, and you delighted in the way his honeyed gaze lit up when he said it.

You swatted at his middle, fighting back the grin that tugged on the corners of your lips. “I’m changing my name back,” you argued.

He hummed a protest, rocking you back and forth, large hands tracing circles of comfort up and down the length of your spine. He felt safe, a tall drink of relief, calm tides after a storm.

“Well, I think I’m ready for brisket,” Eddie clapped Steve’s shoulder, and you reluctantly peeled yourself from your husband’s embrace to help your friend into the back seat.

Robin rounded the car to join him, and you accepted Steve’s sweet kiss to your temple before he climbed in behind the wheel.

With a sigh, you turned to cast one last look down the hill at Vickie’s grave. Light poured down sweet and soft. This place had never felt like her, a disconnect between the girl you knew and loved and the monument for soldiers fallen.

“Steve,” you turned to see him, big brown eyes staring back at you.

“Yeah?”

“Can we make one stop first?”

“Of course.”

—

The new owners painted it blue, still pale, but it matched the sky now. The garage door had been painted stark white like fluffy clouds, and a mini van was parked out front. Toys and bicycles spilled out onto the yard like it had when you were young. Someone paved over the pothole in the lane.

“Want me to come with you?” Steve mumbled, fingertips to your wrist as you opened the passenger side door. You noticed his glance in the rearview.

You shook your head. “I’ll only be a second.”

The wind ruffled the trees, forest curving downhill toward farmland and beyond, but you turned your back to the trees and took cautious steps up the driveway to the garage door. Two daisies had been chalked beside a hopscotch course.

You closed your eyes and breathed in all of the memories from childhood: running back and forth from your house to hers, her incessant humming, the sound of her laughter, dancing in circles in a thunder storm, the feeling of her slender fingers between your own, her nose to yours.

With a smile, you opened your eyes again and turned to go back to Steve’s idling car. That’s when you saw it, a shock of orange out of your periphery that ducked between slats on the porch and flew directly at you.

Your breath caught in your throat, anxiety clawing at your chest, when you felt the wrap of tiny limbs around your knees, knocking them together.

“Baby, what are you…? Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Honey, let go!” A woman launched herself from the front door.

You looked down to find a child, no older than three, with bright red hair and a toothy grin etched upon freckled features. You smiled back, tears welling in your eyes, and patted her little head. “Hi, sweetie,” you chuckled.

“I’m so sorry. We just learned what hugging is,” the little girl’s mother reached for her pudgy little hand to pry her off of your legs.

“Oh no, she’s okay,” you let out a wet laugh.

“Thank you,” the woman huffed. “Can I help you with something?”

You waved her away. “Oh no, my um… my friend used to live here, before the Earthquake. I came to check in on the place. We um… we used to play hopscotch just like this.” You fumbled for a reason to be stood there, in this stranger’s driveway.

“Oh, I see,” the woman’s face fell in understanding. “Would you like to come in? I might have lemonade.”

“That’s alright,” you smiled at the girl in her arms. “Your little one gave me just what I needed. Thank you. Have a nice day.”

“Bye-bye!” The girl waved before hiding, shy, in her mother’s hair.

“Bye.” Emotion swelled with a lump in your throat, but you turned to find that wash of relief in your partner, who stood, leaning over the hood of his car, knowing smile stretched across handsome features.

He waved at the mother and daughter behind you and waited until you were safely inside before getting back in himself. A large hand came to squeeze at your knee, two others squeezed your shoulders from the backseat.

“That baby was pretty cute,” Steve mumbled from his seat, shifting his car into gear to start rolling again.

“Yeah,” you smiled, letting the groans of your best friends fade into the background as you watched the colors of your childhood roll on by.

---

[[A/N: And here we come to the End. I'm a bit emotional here, and would like to, if I may, wax a bit about how much this story means to me.

I haven't written a story this long (haven't finished a story like this) since November of 2019. Like most of us, 2020 took a toll on my mental health, my physical health, my self-esteem, my confidence as a writer, and I think this year, with your help, I'm slowly gaining that confidence back. This story really proved to me that if I put myself into it, my values, my fears, if I truly tie myself to a piece of work, I can do it again.

Wildfire will always be my baby, my favorite, the reader and Harrington and Vickie and all of them mean so much to me, much more than even I know, I'm sure. And I really want to thank all of you for sticking along for the ride with me. I'll never be able to express just how much your words of encouragement have meant. So thank you, so so much, for reading xo]]

#stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington enemies to lovers #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #argyle #vickie stranger things #vickie

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