#also as someone who has been on this site for over ten years it’s just not worth getting so worked up about what other people think or ship | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 year

Text

Here, Kitty Kitty (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnlingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: I done had this idea for YEARS & finally decided to write it. Idk how long this will be BUT I hope y’all live for some coworkers to friends to lovers type shit. Enjoy! -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

*************

ONE.

Briiii-iiing!

After what feels like an eternity, the bell signaling your third period and your lunch break has finally rung its joyous sound throughout the halls. You don’t even mind the way it sounds shrill to your overly-sensitive ears. But that’s the way of a cat: everything is sensitive to you. Even as a cat hybrid.

You turn to the student who has become a regular in your office, smiling kindly at him. “That’s for you, too,” you say with a wink. “I don’t think you’d wanna eat lunch with the school counselor, Katsuki.”

Katsuki Bakugou, with his intense stare and a permanent scowl that reminds you of a bulldog, grumbles as he stands and slugs his backpack over his shoulder. He turns to head out of your office without another word.

“Hey,” you say, stopping him. He looks over his shoulder expectantly. “Remember what I said: if someone says something to piss you off, just breathe. Think about what you’d be giving up if you resort to violence. You’re a very intelligent and good kid, Katsuki.”

Bakugou doesn’t reply, but you see something shift on his face. He looks taken aback at your words. But just as quickly as it came, it’s gone and he’s back to his usual cool stare. With a suck of his teeth, he’s leaving your office, slamming the door as he does.

You sit back in your seat and turn towards the window, exhaling slowly. Your view from your office showcases the gorgeous cherry blossoms that are about to bloom–they’re just pink buds right now. You sigh dreamily, so glad spring is here. Finally, you’ll be able to crack open your window to breathe in the sweet scents of blooming flowers and sun.

You remind yourself once again to thank Nezu for such a wonderful spot for your office. Not only do you have the best seat in the house for the view, but you also have your own couch for naps in between breaks and a mini fridge under your desk where you store your lunch and snacks for the kids who come in here to chat about their problems or incidents with other kids (mostly Bakugou).

“As the UA school counselor, it’s important that you’re just as comfortable as our students here!” Nezu brightly proclaimed after giving you the tour of UA on your first day at work. That was at the beginning of September. Now that it’s March, you’ve been here for six months now. You couldn’t have asked for a better job! You get paid what you weigh with your degrees, you live in an apartment on campus you don’t have to constantly dish out money for public transportation, and everyone you work alongside is so, so nice…

Well, almost everyone.

Not wanting to waste any more time before another kid comes crying into your office about their issues, you take your lunch out of your mini fridge and hurry to head off to the UA teacher breakroom, locking the office door as you do.

When you enter the cozy-looking breakroom with its mini sofas, expensive coffee machine, and sterling steel microwave, you find Nemuri and Mic already sitting at a table. Nemuri glances at the door and grins at you. “Ah, there she is!” she coos. “My favorite cat girl!” Her eyes trail over your form, humming suggestively. “And looking quite fine.”

“Absolutely,” Mic agrees as he pops some rice into his mouth. “Pink is definitely your color, Y/N.”

You flush at the sweet compliments, glad you went for a pink blouse and a nice skirt today. “Why, thank you,” you giggle as you sit next to Nemuri–your usual spot. Your trail curls around your legs, relaxed and content. “So, what’s on for the conversation today?”

“Tonight,” Nemuri replies, wiggling her brows mischievously at you. “We’re still on for tonight, right?” She grips your arm dramatically. “Please tell me we are! I’ve been needing to get my ass in my clubbing dress for months!”

“Yes, drama queen,” you laugh as you unzip your lunch bag. A bento box, a yogurt cup, and a bottle of Kombucha tea sit inside. “We’re still on. I’ve been needing to shake my ass for the one time, too.”

“And get yourself someone to take back home tonight you watch you shake your ass,” Nemuri adds. You roll your eyes while Mic laughs. “Aw, come ooon, Y/N!” she whines. “You’ll never know the thrill of bringing someone back for a hot night at your place until you try it.”

Nemuri has been trying to get you to try casual sex for the longest time after her plans for being a matchmaker fell through. When you told her you didn’t have a boyfriend during a night out after becoming fast friends, she just about fell out of her chair. “No,” she gasped into her cocktail. “A woman as gorgeous as you? There’s no way! This is a tragedy!”

And because of this “tragedy”, she took it upon herself to try and match you up with other pros she knew. So far, it’s been All Might, who was very nice but you found you liked as a friend, and Snipe, who was fine as hell behind his mask and amazing in bed, you felt like you were leading him on because of your feelings for another person. Snipe told you he understood but if things never worked out with “the other guy”, he was always there.

What Nemuri didn’t realize is that dating never seemed to work for you. It always ended in casual sex due to you being a cat girl. Most men you’d dated or slept with always seemed to want you for the cat girl they thought you to be…which was usually out of a hentai. So you steered clear from dating, feeling more than happy being single if it meant not putting up with the BS. Cat girls had a bad rep because of the shit Hollywood thought of for pornos, which meant you had to work ten times harder to get what you wanted. Including being taken seriously in a relationship.

“First of all, that’s against the rules, ‘Muri,” you sigh despite your friend’s pouting. “Nezu is against bringing any outsiders onto campus, especially in our dorms.” Nemuri and Mic glance at each other, knowing damn well they’ve broken that rule many, many times. “And two, you know I’m too busy with work to date.”

“It’s not dating though,” she protests. “It’s sex! Tell her, Mic.” The blonde pro looks between the two of you, bunching on a rice ball.

“I’m not in this,” he mumbles, making you laugh. “And the last time I bought someone to my apartment, I shattered some windows in the entire complex because I was so loud.” Your eyes widen at his confession and he flushes. “He was good, okay?”

Hysterical giggles rise to the surface in your chest, Nemuri laughing with you. “That’s hilarious,” you sigh, wiping at a tear, “and exactly why your idea is a bad one.” You poke Nemuri’s side with a fork. “Besides, you know I don’t want just anyone in my bed.”

As soon as the words are out, you realize your mistake. Your friends stare at you expectantly, leaning in as if desperate to know your deep, dark secrets. “Then who do you want, Y/N?” Nemuri purrs, raising a brow at you. Mic nods. “Yes, do tell!”

You flush, popping a piece of chicken kara-age from your bento box into your mouth to keep your mouth occupied. They both knew who you were referring to; they just wanted you to say it aloud. The truth was, you could never date just anyone because you already had feelings for another. It was stupid, really. A pathetic, schoolgirl crush because you knew he could never return them.

As if on cue, the man of the hour and your dreams walks into the room, as quiet as a church mouse. He’s so quiet that you jump, your tail fuzzing up, when you see him round the corner wearing his signature jumpsuit and scarves, hands in his pockets. He truly is an attractive man despite his tired eyes–about six foot something, a nice build, black locks of shoulder-length hair that frame his handsome face, and a five o’clock shadow.

When he glances at you as he walks in, it’s so hard to breathe suddenly. No matter how many times he looks at you, it always has the same effect on you. His stares are intense and bothersome; haunting almost. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that your skirt rises just above your knees, giving a tiny slip of thigh behind your nylon stockings.

“Aizawa!” Mic exclaims, grinning at his friend as he slinks into the room. “To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing your gorgeous face?”

Aizawa doesn’t spare his friend as much as a glance as he looms over the coffee machine. He grabs one of the Plus Ultra mugs above the sink and takes a pod of the dark roast. “Lunch break,” he blandly replies. “Needed coffee.”

You can’t help but watch his hands as he works to whip himself up a cup. His hands are just so big! And his fingers are so long. You wonder if he plays piano by any chance.

And if one day, he could play you by any chance. Would his hands be calloused and rough from years of hero work? Would they be gentle and careful with you? Would he know how to touch you? Would he be willing to know how, practically begging you to show him how to make you feel good?

You can picture him now, his eyes drilling a hole into you as he kneels between your thighs, his fingers plunged deep into your sobbing wet–

“Oh, Shouta!” Nemuri calls, scaring you half to death out of your nasty thoughts. She’s smirking at you while Mic silently laughs beside her. “Will you be attending our nighttime activity after school ends? We’re going to Hot Spot. You know, that one club all the pros go to?”

You flush, knowing what she’s doing. She knows damn well Aizawa isn’t going. He never goes anywhere except he’s forced to. “Of course, you are,” he mutters, tapping one finger on the counter as he waits for his coffee to finish brewing. “And no, I’m not. Don’t know why this is even a question.”

“Oh, sorry,” Nemuri sarcastically replies. “I forgot you’re anti-social and you hate anything related to socializing or people.”

Aizawa gives her an irritated glance. “Not the reason,” he growls. “It’s because I have better things to do than be in a room with a bunch of drunk people I don’t know. Like grading papers.” Once his coffee is done, he takes the mug along with one packet of sugar. No cream or anything else.

He walks to the door but glances back at his friends before he makes his grand exit. “And I’m not anti-social.”

“Sure, you’re not!” Mic yells to him once he’s gone. He then turns to you and Nemuri with a smirk. “He totally is.” You smile along with Nemuri’s laugh, but you can’t help the way your body feels from Aizawa’s presence: hot and very, very bothered.

***************

You could burn a hole into someone as you watch Nemuri giggle and charm the man trying to sweet-talk her next to you at your booth.

The man is so obviously eyeing your friend’s cleavage that she flaunts in her dress with the sweetheart neckline. This is the fourth man that’s talked to her tonight since she, you, and Mic arrived at Hot Spot an hour before.

‘Horny bastards,’ you think to yourself, though you can’t help but be jealous.

Why can’t you be more like Nemuri and just be free with your inhibitions like her? She flaunts, flirts, and fucks without care. But then again, everyone wants to fuck Ms. Midnight. Nobody even knows who you are. And you’d like to keep it that way. Plus, being a cat girl gains you unwanted attention anyway. It’s bad enough you get the occasional weirdo asking you about your tail and if you poop in a litterbox.

Mic, in his Hawaiian shirt, wraps an arm around you. “What are you doing later?” he asks you playfully. You giggle, poking at his chest. “Not you,” you reply wittingly.

“Oh, that’s right!” he recalls, giving you a smirk. His eyes look slightly hooded from the several shots he, you, and Nemuri did. “Because you’d like to be doing my friend right now. And don’t deny it either!”

You say nothing. Instead, you stare down at your hands clamped firmly in the lap of your skinny jeans. You went for a nice sequin top and heels tonight to pair with the jeans that made your ass and thighs look fantastic. You swear, Mic and Nemuri told you that at least five times tonight.

Nemuri finally turns around to face you, placing a folded napkin in her bra. “Got a number,” she sings. “Might just give it to you.” She goes to take the napkin out and give it to you, but you push her hand away. “No,” you protest. “I already told you, Nemuri; not interested in fuckin’ someone I barely know.”

Nemuri puckers her lips at you, giving you a scowl. “Leave her be, ‘Muri,” Mic chuckles, wrapping his arms around the both of you. “You know her heart is set on another.” He and Nemuri begin to pucker their lips at you, moving to kiss your cheeks.

“Cut it out!” you laugh, slapping them away. “I don’t want your drunk ass kisses either!”

“I don’t know why you don’t just talk to the guy, babe,” Mic chuckles, already on his fifth shot of the night. “He’s really not that bad! He’s just extremely shy and doesn’t have that much experience with talkin’ to women. If he happens to meet one, it’s usually just a hookup.”

You wither at his words, silently drinking your cocktail. You don’t want to be just a hookup to Aizawa if you ever managed to get that far with him. But those changes are slim to none since he barely speaks to you. The most you ever get out of him is a “good morning” or a “see you tomorrow”.

You’ve been working at UA for six months now and you barely know anything about him except for the fact that he’s pro-hero Eraserhead, he’s fine as fuck, and all his students love him like a dad, even calling him “Dadzawa” which you think is utterly adorable. You’d love to know what’s underneath that stoic expression and intense eyes, but Aizawa purposely keeps to himself and barely speaks to anyone.

Despite this knowledge, your body still quivers at the memory of those damn eyes setting dead on you. Then you just feel stupid. You know that you and Aizawa could never date. It’s just not in the cards for you right now, with your job as a counselor and your “nightly activity”.

So when is this stupid crush going to end?

“Oh, wow,” Mic suddenly says. He’s on his phone, scrolling through Apple News. “Look at this!” he excitedly says, practically shoving his phone in your face. “Can you believe this shit? Street crime has been down more than 50% in the past few months. More than it's been in the last five years!"

Nemuri glances at you, a knowing smirk on her face. You flush with pride and do your best to bite back a smile as you match Mic’s astonishment. “Wow, them underground pros must be workin’ hard, plus the night patrols.”

As if not wanting you to be blue over this weird ass man the entire night, one of your favorite songs comes on too. You take Nemuri and Mic’s hands in yours. “C’mon’ let’s go dance.” Nemuri squeals and practically drags you to the dance floor, Mic following close behind you. The music is good tonight, the DJ playing mostly hip hop, transitioning between 90s tunes and modern stuff.

The alcohol you consumed gives you the confidence to dance the night away, your hips swaying and ass bouncing in time with the different beats. You’re well aware you’re catching eyes from many different people out on the floor, pros or not, and it fills you with the sense of confidence and sexiness Nemuri must feel every time she walks out of the house. As you dance under the strobe lights, sweating out your makeup and braids, you feel like you could take someone home if you wanted to. Who needed Aizawa? He had no idea what he was missing.

That intoxicating feeling doesn’t let up for a moment, even as the night comes to an end hours later. It is about 11 PM when you, Nemuri, and Mic finally depart outside the club. “Thanks for inviting me,” you say, hugging Nemuri. “You sure he’s gonna be okay?”

You nod at a very drunk and sleepy Mic who has his arm slung over Nemuri’s shoulders, his head lulling. “He’ll be fine,” she giggles, wrapping an arm around his waist. “He thinks he’s a steel bull when it comes to shots, this one.” She laughs at Mic’s light mumbling as he sings the lyrics of a Beyoncé song. “Where are you about to go now?” She asks, shifting her weight in her heels to accommodate Mic’s.

“Where do you think?” You playfully ask, giving her a wink before you begin to strut away from her at the club down the street. “Just be careful!” You hear Nemuri call after you.

You turn to her, seeing her concerned gaze, and you give her a reassuring smile. “Don’t I always?” You laugh, blowing her a kiss before turning around and strutting away back to UA just as Nemuri and Mic get into the Lyft she called beforehand. But you know you can be faster.

You don’t stop moving until you’re finally behind a nearby building to a jewelry shop. You turn to look in the glass window at the woman staring back at you standing in her leather jacket, skinny jeans, and sequin top. With a slow exhale leaving your nostrils, the reflection of the woman vanishes, now replaced with a teeny, tiny, black cat.

To anyone who was to walk through this alley, all they would see is a stray walking the streets. But only you know the truth.

Though the streets are empty and quiet at this time of night, you can’t be too careful, so you decide to take the rooftops, jumping from one building without a care in the world to the next with your heightened agility and senses. All sounds of Musutafu at night–the chirping of birds; the drilling machinery of constructing workers in the streets; the honking of traffic; the occasional bark of dogs–drift to your ears, making them twitch. Everything in your sight is ten times as close, even the farthest tree where you can clearly see a couple going at it in the park.

It only takes you ten minutes you get back to UA, faster than Nemuri and Mic. You hurry across campus to the faculty dorms and jump onto the trunk of a nearby cherry blossom tree. Your claws immediately shoot out and stick into the bark, allowing you to climb up the tree with no problem.

You then creep along the long branch that stretches right to the window of your dorm that you keep cracked specifically for you–just enough for you to slide through. When you’re finally inside the clean, dark apartment, you quickly shift back into your human form (clothes still intact) and proceed to hurry to your closet.

You open it, your eyes falling on the black box pushed to the back behind your shoes. Trembling with excitement, you pull the box out and look inside where your hero’s outfit, complete with fingerless gloves, knee-high boots, and a mask, sits inside. “Hey, baby,” you coo, taking out the mask. It’s simple and black with two cat ears popping out of the top to protect your ears. You slip the mask over your head before putting on the rest of your gear.

The black leather bodysuit stretches across your skin and accentuates the curve of your ass, the fullness of your breasts, and the best parts of your body. Decorated along your front, back, and thighs are silver, glitter-coated slashes to appear like claw tears. You thought that was a cute touch. The back isn’t tight enough on your backside to hurt your tail, but you don’t like it out when you’re fighting. It’s too risky since you know your opponents could pull on it.

The mask covers the top half of your face, making you feel like a stranger as you stand in your mirror, admiring yourself. The knee-high boots are high enough to make you feel sexy, but low enough for you to kick ass or run if need be. But half the time, you’ve got the running thing covered with your cat form.

With a smile on your glossy lips, you admire the sexy woman standing in the mirror in front of you. The Night Claw. Musutafu’s newest and cutest nighttime vigilante. And your alter ego–one that you’ve secretly had for months now after starting UA.

“Time for some trouble,” you purr. With another inhale, you transform back into your cat form. You stretch, arching your back and yawning, before jumping up on the window and then leaping from the ledge.

You praise yourself when you hit the ground on all fours. Then, with a happy meow and a blink of your yellow eyes, you race out into the night, yowling happily as you do, for another night of excitement.

#aizawa x black!reader #bnha smut #black coded reader #black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #here kitty kitty #my fic shit #black writers #shouta aizawa #shoutaaa #shouta aizawa x black!reader

422 notes · View notes

charlidos · 2 months

Text

I'm having a serious bout of nostalgia these past weeks. I started reading from my pile of fanfiction which I've printed over the years. And ended up reading the only Lord of the Rings story I have saved for posterity, namely Calico's brilliant (but sadly unfinished) Viggo/Orlando fic Blood Oranges. And wow, it's really quite an intoxicating read.

It was never a big fandom for me back then, but I remember reading a little, and I remember finding that whole cast quite wonderful.

All of a sudden, I felt a strong need to look back at the Viggorli pairing of yore. Turned out to be a bit of a rabbit hole for me.

I realised I find it very fascinating to have this soon 25 years perspecitve on them, since fandom is usually quite topical. Particularly RPF, since it's quite dependent on that darn thing we call reality.

Looking back at a pairing like Viggo and Orlando is wrought with wistfulness, with all the could-have-beens and never-happeneds. In the now of a pairing, you can fantasise of a future, but with the reality of a past, it's quite different.

I've always been intrigued by the relationship that Viggo and Orlando had during those 18 months of filming LotR. Sharing a make up trailer, getting lost in the woods together, and just generally spending a lot of time together. And waxing lyrically about each other. More than ten years later, O said in an interview that V is his biggest influence, that the way V took care of him on the LotR is something that mattered a lot to him. And that V in general is a legend, a beautiful soul etc. It's quite touching.

But it's also a quite melancholic and wistful statement since O also implies it's not that easy to keep in touch with V because "he's an artist, an ACTUAL artist".

youtube

A few years later, O very randomly appeared on a rather odd Italian show where people are reconciled with each other, live on tv. O was there when two estranged sisters were reconciled. O says he has a similiar situation with a "good friend", someone with a similiar age difference as the sisters, someone who used to take care of him. It's not at all clear, but it seems this "brother" gave him a ring with the inscription "To Wherever it May Lead". A line from Legolas to Aragorn which was cut.

(It's a little difficult to hear, but O says that the line from LotR was engraved in the ring when it was given to him, and that he always has it, as an encouragment. I've only found this clip on a Chinese site, hence the subtitles.)

So, it seems to be implied that V gave this ring to O. That O maybe also lost touch with V. And that maybe they've reconciled? It's unclear, but I find it terribly intriguing.

Of course, I know nothing about what's actually going, and it's all fantasy, but it's nonetheless quite a fascinating perspective to look back like this over the years. In my brain - warped by years in fandom - it turns into this EPIC. Either an epic romance, with its ups and downs, loss and great love. Or an epic tragedy, full of unfulfilled desires, bad choices and opportunities lost. There's still some fanfiction written these days (not much, but I'm in awe that there's any at all!). The lovely recent work of chaosmanor really sold me on very wistful, but also quite hopeful, reconcilation fic.

O and V are getting old, but they are still two quite handsome fellows. And I hope there will be a proper, public LotR-cast reunion in time for the 25 yrs mark. They had a few covid-oriented reunions on zoom for the 20 yr celebration, but I hope it'll be live one day.

I would like to see the fellowship of tattoed nine together again, as long as they're all still alive.

#orlando bloom #viggo mortensen #lord of the rings #viggorli #nostalgia #fanfiction #lotrips #fandom warps your brain #it's chronic

36 notes · View notes

fuedalreesespieces · 2 months

Text

ramble-y post incoming:

tldr: is the inukag to izanori pipeline real, and am i falling headfirst into it? yes, yes i am.

[This post does contain spoilers for Kanata Kara and Inuyasha.]

recently (and by that i mean two days ago) i decided i wanted to start a shojo manga that wasn't too long, something I could read in between lectures. i checked some of my saved manga on the website i use, and found one that i had saved purely because i'd been enthralled by the cover art, which looked like this:

(i mean, look at them!!)

...that, and it was 14 volumes, so I thought i could finish it within a week or two, reading a few chapters every day.

i was wrong. i'm on volume ten and it's been a day and a half.

i haven't finished and I'm making this post (partly because i've been rambling about it in ballistic keysmash-consistent twitter posts) to say that Kanata Kara is good. very, very good. damn that one-star review on the site i'm using, because that shit has to be an accidental click. I love the world-building, the diverse cast of characters, and the art is magnificent. I think my favorite thing of all has to be the themes represented so far in the manga, perpetuated by our titular characters noriko and izark. I may make a future post about that when i finish the manga, but there is one thing i noticed while reading that struck me as really interesting: the dynamic between izark and noriko, and the characters themselves, remind me a lot of inuyasha and kagome.

now i'm gonna preface this by saying i'm not trying to say that these are the same dynamics or something, because they aren't - I just want to point out parallels i thought were really interesting, as someone who loves both relationships in their respective mangas. i also want to establish that Kanata Kara predates Inuyasha by three to five years*- so what I really should be saying is that inuyasha and kagome remind me of izark and noriko, but you get the picture. you could argue a number of things with this in mind, but i'm not here to discuss any of that. this isn't meant to be some sort of dumb gotcha; both series are good in their own ways, and some of the similarities i'm highlighting can be attributed to similar tropes being at play!

*(sources vary, some say 1993, others say 1995)

izark/inuyasha

demons - inuyasha is half inu-youkai, whereas izark is the sky demon from a prophecy that makes up much of the manga's internal and external conflict for him. an interesting contrast i found was that while inuyasha's half-demon features are present for the majority of the manga and his human side shows up only a handful of times, it's the exact opposite for izark, whose "human" appearance reigns for the majority of the manga.

both characters were shunned by their respective communities (and humanity at large, though inuyasha had his mother for some time, and izark's mother tried to kill him). when both parents died, they began living on the fringes of society, never interacting with anyone and, according to them, "preferring to be alone."

both share moments where their demon sides take over and they are unable to control themselves - unless, of course, their loved one is present to help them. otherwise, both are trapped in a violent, bloodthirsty state of mind that makes them lose parts of their identity each time transformation is undergone. both try to avoid this part of them out of fear of losing themselves, but when occasions rise where they are in those forms, their respective loved ones pull them out of it/help them ground themselves.

powerful fighters willing to quite literally put everything on the line for their respective loved ones - i'm talking half-dead-dragging their-bodies-across-the floor and thinking "well, at least she's okay."

one interesting difference to me is how izark and inuyasha approach their humanity. izark is constantly shown in his "human" form and is only in his demon form a handful of times, and the exact opposite is true for inuyasha. izark's earlier (brief) plan of doing away with noriko is spurned from his desire to avoid the tragic fate tied with his demonic form, whereas inuyasha's earlier actions are motivated by his desire to become a full demon. izark relates his demon side to inevitability, to the idea that he might just become the monster everyone prophesied him to be; inuyasha (in the beginning) views his humanity with scorn and associates it with weakness. he wants to embrace the possibility of achieving full demon status, and why? is it just because he wants power? in my opinion, no - I think it's a way of finding a place; being free to go where he wants. inuyasha is already powerful in his own right, and even when he's given the opportunity to claim a formidable weapon like his father's sword, he says he has no interest in it (until, of course, kagome mentions he could try to claim it just to spite sesshomaru, and only then is his interest peaked.) inuyasha seeks freedom by assimilating into a full demon identity, izark seeks freedom from that full demon identity, and only then will he feel in control of his life.

kagome/noriko

both from modern era japan and get isekaied into another world - kagome's instance is time-travel, though - noriko is transported to a whole other world with different culture, geography, and language (noriko having to learn the language of the people there and taking part in their customs is one of my favorite things about the manga!!)

the beacon of light in their respective groups/found family, bringing everyone together

key players in a "Prophecy of Doom" - kagome's "destiny" is to continue the cycle of the shikon jewel; noriko's "destiny" is to awaken the Sky Demon (izark). both girls, and their loved ones, change their futures.

damsels? maybe, but never in distress:

and, of course, the most prominent parallel for me: their acceptance of their lovers and the ripple effect that love has on their lovers' relationships and life:

"i'm not leaving you no matter what happens, no matter who you are - I will stay by your side":

"you changed my life for the better":

"i've opened up and become more vulnerable":

there are a ton of other examples i could use for this bullet, since it has a pretty broad spectrum of events that could fall under it, but these are my favorites.

i also want to draw attention to the way noriko deals with feeling powerless - both she and kagome are surrounded by powerful, experienced individuals, but unlike noriko, kagome has a reign on her archery and spiritual skills pretty early on in the manga, so she contributes in battles one way or another. one of noriko's longest internal conflicts is that she feels guilty that she can't do anything to help and that people are getting hurt on her behalf:

i absolutely love the advice given to her, and how it ties into the themes of the manga. noriko feels like she isn't helping, but even a simple thank you helps - even if it's just thanking one person for a single deed, everyone is intricately tied, and that goodwill spreads. it grows. it becomes a part of everyone. you don't have to be a fighter to spread good.

conclusion: the parallels are neat and READ KANATA KARA!

#inuyasha #inuyasha a feudal fairy tale #kagome higurashi #inukag #inuyasha x kagome #kanata kara #from far away #izanori #comparison

44 notes · View notes

kirain · 3 months

Text

I've been on this site for over ten years and I've never had to do this, but sadly the time has come where I feel forced to make a call out post, if only for the safety of my blog.

Please do not harass this person. PLEASE DO NOT HARASS THEM! That is not my goal here. That said, I do suggest you avoid them at all costs, for your own safety and sanity.

A few days ago, I made a post responding to some anonymous hate I received regarding Gale Dekarios, a character from BG3. An account named Turtwg, who has now changed her name to Shdowheart, took issue with the content and tone of my post. Instead of simply blocking me, she attacked me and several other people in the notes, and accused me of sending the anon to myself.

I responded, arguing against her accusations and a few other remarks she made. Just typical fandom discourse. Or so I thought.

I regret it now (only because I've lost some evidence), but I deleted many of her and my messages. They were clogging up my post and veering extremely off topic, but eventually she admitted I didn't send the anon to myself. When I asked her how she knew that, she said she traced the anon to a Gale-centric account. You see, she believed the anon wasn't sent by an Astarion fan, but by a Gale fan trying to create discourse. In a normal situation, I'd say that's a fair assumption for anyone to make, but something seemed off.

First of all, despite several people telling her it's not possible to track down blogs through their anonymous messages, she insisted she found the user responsible—which honestly made me wonder if she sent the anon herself, hoping to create drama. If she did, then mission accomplished, I guess. We messaged back and forth in the notes for a while, with me commenting on both the impossibility and morality of tracking down an anonymous user. During that time, her responses to me were lightning fast. Constant. Remember that for later.

Second, she soon told me she had the anon's IP address, which she said she'd "happily send me". I told her an IP address doesn't prove anything because it can be photoshopped and a lot of people use VPNs. I also pointed out how utterly insane it is to dox/cyberstalk someone over a post about a video game. It's really not that serious. But out of sheer curiosity, I told her to give me the blog name. Not because I believed her, but because I was curious to see if she'd accuse a popular blog or someone who could defend themselves. The moment I asked, she went silent for nearly an hour. 🤔

When she came back, she gave me the name of an account called Dekariosbf. She told me to message the account, so I did, though I made no accusations against them yet. As I waited for a reply, I accused Turtwg of making the account herself, as it was barren with no activity whatsoever. No likes, no posts, nothing. She easily could've created the account during that hour of peace. Moreover, after she gave me the account name and I accused her of creating it, her responses were once again lightning fast. 🤔

As we argued, I sent my brother-in-law and a friend of mine a link to my blog and had them read through the discourse. They don't have Tumblr accounts, but they're both computer nerds and my brother-in-law literally works with computers/programs for a living. I asked them if anything Turtwg said was valid, and they (along with someone else in the notes who claimed to work in UI/UX) confirmed that no, absolutely nothing she said was valid. Tumblr pays for a service that protects their users, and the only way to trace anons is by using extremely unsavory and illegal methods ... and even then it's extremely unlikely to work.

Speaking of, my brother-in-law eventually messaged me and told me he found the actual account that sent the anon. I stupidly believed him and jumped the gun on that, because it turns out he was just being a shit disturber. That said, I used this information to call Turtwg out on her lies. In response, Dekariosbf miraculously (and in a rather timely fashion) responded to me. Unfortunately I don't have any screenshots of this interaction, but I'll explain why in a moment.

Dekariosbf was chatty and cordial at first. I asked them for their main account name, but they refused to give it, saying they only use it for poetry; which, as you can see from the screenshot, directly contradicts their bio, but I digress. I was suspicious, but also kept in mind the possibility that this might've been an innocent person Turtwg accused. For a while we shot the shit, talking back and forth about BG3, reading, teaching—but I did this for a reason. I wanted to get a feel for their writing style. Sure enough, they wrote exactly like Turtwg. Same spelling mistakes, same pattern of punctuation, same use of lower case letters instead of capital letters, same abbreviations, etc.

Finally, when I was sure it was her, I dropped the bomb. I very gently told "Dekariosbf" that someone named Turtwg accused them of sending me a hateful Gale anon, but that I didn't believe it. Low and behold, they did a complete 180.

"Yes, it was me. It was totally me. I just LOVE your blog and RESPECT you so much. I LOVE Gale and I wanted to know what you'd say if I sent that anon. It wasn't meant to be hateful. Please don't write a call out post about me. Please don't tell your followers. I mean, I understand if you do, but please don't. Turtwg messaged me and threatened to dox me and sent me a photo of my IP address. She's so smart, I don't think you should mess with her. Oh and my mom can't speak English. If we get doxxed, I think it would kill her."

Right...

I said I didn't believe them and accused them of being Turtwg on a sock account. They kept insisting they weren't, begged me to believe they sent the anon (and I mean they were desperate for me to believe it), and very strangly didn't express any anger or confusion over the situation. When I brought up the accusation, they completely changed their tone from friendly to "oh yeah, that was me". I kept saying I didn't believe them, particularly because of what my brother-in-law said, but promised not to call any attention to them. I was happy to simply let the matter rest. Suddenly, mid conversation, they deleted their entire blog. Poof. It's gone now, along with all our messages.

I thought that would be the end of it, but not even five minutes after Dekariosbf flung themselves into the void, Turtwg herself DMed me out of nowhere and accused me of trying to hack her account, presumably because I told "Dekariosbf" that my brother-in-law is computer savvy. Keep in mind that before this moment, our entire conversation took place in the notes of my post. I never DMed her, nor did I have any intention of doing so. I also had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, I just knew she was lying to me. Now it looks as though she's ramping up to lie to the Tumblr admins in order to get my account deleted.

And all because my post about a video game made her angry.

I really hate drawing attention to this. You can see in my other posts that I always censor people's usernames, but as I said at the beginning ... I don't feel like I have a choice this time. I want this up so the Tumblr admins or whoever can see it.

Turtwg has attacked other people for posting their opinions as well. For example, she attacked this person just because they expressed their opinon on wyllsterion. She went so far as to call them racist when Wyll is literally one of their favourite characters. She just got mad because they don't think Wyll and Astarion make sense together; a perfectly valid opinion. And I only know about this because I received messages warning me about interacting with Turtwg/Shdowheart from someone who recognised them in the notes of my post.

I guess I should've blocked her from the start, but I've said many times in the past that I enjoy a good debate. Plus I was genuinely curious to see how far she was willing to take her lie. Unfortunately, I underestimated just how unhinged she truly is. On her own blog, she's even admitted that she's had to make a new account seven times, likely due to other drama she started.

I was very hesitant to put this in the BG3 tags, but since that seems to be the fandom she interacts with the most, I figured it would be a fair warning to anyone else she might harass. She's particularly active in the Astarion/Wyll/Wyllsterion tags. Stay safe, everyone. I think I'll sign off for a while. I'm tired, and this has somehow become the most toxic fandom I've ever dared to be a part of.

Please do not harass this person. PLEASE DO NOT HARASS THEM! That is not my goal here. That said, I do suggest you avoid them at all costs, for your own safety and sanity.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep

37 notes · View notes

souryogurt64 · 2 months

Note

Something that really irks me about livestream culture is that everyone is sitting here criticizing concert attendee behavior from behind their screen while actively encouraging people to livestream the show which imo is extremely annoying concert behavior both for the people around them in the audience and the artist (regardless of who’s playing)

I get that it’s expensive and hard to get to shows now but the biggest proponents of this behavior are people who talk about seeing them on every tour so… idk maybe I’m just, like, old… but I’m truly not a fan :/

Yes, I 100% agree, it is so rude.

I feel like it’s now seen as rude to sing/scream/dance at all (within reason). Yet I feel like I see people on bandom absolutely crapping themselves in rage over “concert etiquette” that doesn’t affect anyone at all like people sitting down between sets or “looking bored” during the opener.

And I DON’T understand the livestream things. Like yes. I support people taking a handful of videos during the show and posting about the show is normal. And of course everybody is going to talk about the show every night.

But I DON’T understand how I have been seeing these bands live for literally 10 years, everyone has had smartphones all 10 years, and suddenly only now livestreams are a ginormous deal. I don’t understand how seemingly everyone has time to watch a 2.5 hour shitty phone video of a concert 5 nights a week and the site becomes actually unusable whenever there’s a MCR or FOB concert, which is every night. I don’t understand why people get so worked up and upset if they have to miss a stream because of work or because there isn’t a streamer. Who fucking cares. People will post videos after the show if something cool happens. I don’t understand why this is the world now. I think it has to be because so many people can’t go due to the insane prices.

I also think artists (including FOB) are actively encouraging streaming culture and these insanely high “demand prices” by constantly needing people to be scared of missing out so they’re always trying to do new things every show and like. Some of it is cool but with FOB lately I feel like they’re running out of ideas and people are paying way more for an actively worse than “normal” FOB concert because they’re scared of missing out on these gimmicks. Like I don’t need 20 people nobody cares about performing their solo music onstage at a FOB show plus also 20 covers by Fall Out boy. Just fucking have FOB play FOB songs. Also I feel like the “demand pricing” is part of why MCR continue to taunt an album for 5 years because everyone paying 5 trillion dollars for a MCR show is banking that they will be the first to hear a new song or whatever.

I also think most people in bandom (not anyone specific) are all lying about how much they paid for concerts because concerts are so expensive it’s completely socially unacceptable to admit you can afford it, and in order to be popular on Tumblr you have to cosplay being as oppressed as possible. Like I’m not going to judge someone for saving up for something nice or making a dumb financial choice but it’s deeper and more cultural than that. I feel like so much of bandom is suburban white american teens making and reblogging posts about how FAKE PUNKS on TIKTOK wear $20 lipstick, unlike REAL PUNKS WHO are POOR LIKE THEM, and they could NEVER AFFORD $20 DESIGNER LIPSTICK and we need to EAT THE RICH, then they see MCR or FOB barricade ten times in a row or whatever.

Like one pit ticket to Fall Out Boy costs almost my monthly rent. I have now paid this much for FOB tickets 3 times. I always have to buy a friend’s ticket because nobody has this kind of money to go to a concert so I pay like $1300 every fucking time. I also have a credit card (which, by the way, requires “excellent” credit to have) that allegedly gets me these tickets at a discount. Yet every single person online says they got lucky and got front row tickets for $40 or whatever. What is going on.

Like I am able to afford to see FOB when they tour because I grew up privileged, have a well-paying office job, have never traveled in my adult life, and do not own a car, partially to afford concerts. I’m also in the top .001% of Fall Out Boy listeners and top 1% of Spotify listeners overall, so like, of course I will pay this because I’m not the average fan. But not every single fucking person at these shows is also in the top .001%, so they just like. Can afford this crap for random bands they like.

Anyway, I don’t really think I get “unlucky” when buying FOB tickets, I think this is just what concerts cost now and everyone is lying about it so they can continue fitting in with like all the social justice posturing and because it’s rude to admit in public but people need to talk about it because it’s crazy and it’s not okay for Livenation to be doing this and its not okay for artists to be participating!!!!!!!!

I also feel so bad for teenagers because when I was a kid going to concerts at all ever was a huge battle with my parents and they cost like $40-100 a ticket for like. Pit tickets to bands like All Time Low and Green Day. I never, ever would’ve been able to experience a concert as a teen if they cost back then what concerts do now, and it’s just really sad because those are important experiences.

Anyway I think the fact that people can’t afford to go to concerts anymore HAS to be driving the weird livestream obsession and the emotional dependency people develop on these shitty obnoxious 2 hour phone videos. I also feel like the financial shift in who is going to concerts is driving a lot of the weird meltdowns about “concert etiquette.”

Also as a final tangent, I feel like the livestream stuff is so immediate and impermanent too. Like everyone needs everything right that second and once its over it doesn’t matter? When I was younger it felt like people just blogged about the Tour and Tour Stuff as one big event for months/years, but now if videos are posted hours or days later its like they aren’t relevant and no one cares because everyone is panicking over finding a streamer for the next show. IDK i hate it

28 notes · View notes

elfwreck · 11 months

Note

can i ask your personal thoughts on whatever is going on with OTW? you've always had fandom thoughts that i respected. as an ao3 volunteer of five+ years, i know for a fact that at least some of what's being spread around in the big info posts is false. and given that, and that fact that it comes from FFA, it's hard for me to trust the motives behind any of it.

it feels like we've always said, the code is publically available and if you don't like AO3 you can make your own site. and this time, the response is "for 10 bucks a vote? nah, we'll just take yours"

it just feels like the bad actors who have always been around have figured out the language that gets some very reactionary people on board, and everyone else goes along with it because if you don't agree 100% then you must be racist.

The membership support is NOT vote-buying. There’s no way to verify how someone votes. (There’s no way to verify that someone votes; getting the membership doesn’t guarantee they’ll use it to vote.) (Although it’d be silly not to, if you’re not getting a tax break from the donation - membership doesn’t get you anything else.)

The people behind the “we’ll buy you a membership” push - I think Petra was first but several more people have jumped in with money - are mostly long-time supporters of the OTW. Many of them are people who were around at the start, and this is their way of saying “we want to fix the OTW, not burn it down.”

Part of the problem is that fandom-at-large is oblivious to the OTW as “a pack of fannish volunteers who are working on their fun fannish project together.” Getting more people memberships, getting them invested in who’s running for the board and what changes happen over time, is a way to help with that.

Also. There is absolutely no way to buy a hostile takeover of the OTW. None. Someone can buy all the memberships they want - make fake accounts and buy them memberships, buy ten thousand of them - and they’re still stuck with “these are the 6 people running for the Board; pick 4 of them. The Board will be a total of 7 people, and they will shape-but-not-control the future actions of the OTW.”

The OTW was built with “hostile takeover by fanatic evangelicals” in mind. That’s why Board candidates have to be active volunteers who’ve been involved for at least a year. You can’t buy your way onto a volunteer committee.

I think the EOR campaign has some good intentions, and calls out some real problems, and is also tangled up with fandom drama that isn’t going anywhere. And that a lot of the racism problems at AO3 would be best dealt with by fixing the administrative and communication problems, and/or better curation tools for the archive - and that none of those is going to look like “fixes for racism.”

Regarding “what’s really going on” - as a volunteer, there are limits to what I am willing to talk about in public, but I’ve liked some of the discussions on the inside. People are asking, “Hey Board, wtf?” and “Hey Legal, wtf?” And they’re able to shape their questions with an understanding of the internal processes. A lot of the public questions, the answer winds up being “um, no, it just doesn’t work that way. At all.”

(Insert cracked laughter at the idea of the Legal team stepping down and the OTW hiring lawyers to replace them.)

Of course, both the Board and Legal know damn well every answer they give is going to immediately be screencapped and leaked, so they are, sigh, just as careful talking on the inside as in their public announcements.

#otw #otw elections

67 notes · View notes

drdemonprince · 11 months

Note

How do we undo the adverse effects of social media on our brains/culture/capacity to organize? As someone who's been online since the age of ten and in the trenches of online "social justice activism" for a decade and change, I feel like there's been little net benefit to any of it, and that the mechanisms of these terrible sites has mostly just made us more hostile and reactive without bringing us closer to the ostensible goals we're duking it out over. Like, I'm not saying that nobody online deserves to be called out ever, but after ten years of this shit I'm just not sure how funneling a majority of our energy toward reaming bigoted strangers in the name of "accountability" translates into meaningful collective action, and that's without touching the circular firing squad phenomenon I see in a lot of leftist spaces.

I dunno. I just don't feel like getting in fights online all the time is activism, and I also feel like I'm in a minority among leftists for holding that opinion.

Well, most of the leftists online don't hold that opinion. But if you go to a DSA meeting or a Food Not Bombs or a local mutual aid group or any kind of on the ground queer lefty events you'll very much find many people who are doing the work and are mostly not online and don't think that online nonsense is all that important.

As for your first question, the way we fix this kind of mentality is by getting offline (and off platforms that incentivize that kind of thinking) and start relating to people in a slower, more personalized way.

The brain is not ruined forever by exposure to this shit, humans are just very very pliable. Who we are and how we think is dramatically shaped by our daily habits and the incentive structures around us. If we wish to change how we think and behave, we leave the structures that are rewarding us for behaving in counter productive ways. We can adapt to other modes of being quite quickly when our environment changes.

This does not have to happen exclusively in person, I understand people are disabled and COVID conscious and some can't leave the house. There are a lot of groups devoted to this stuff that meet partially or exclusively online -- look up a local chapter of some of these orgs and see what their virtual meetings are like. Even like Meetup and Eventbrite have a startling ton of online meetings and events listed for marginalized groups and organizers.

so much of this annoying focus-pulling shit that can distract you and enrage you online fully does not matter. the people engaging in it are categorically not the people doing the work in person. so go find the kind of in person work that is genuinely meaningful to you -- or find ways to connect in a slow, personalized fashion online, away from the social media apps. once you start digging you'll be shocked at how much there is!!!

140 notes · View notes

strangerhottotties · 2 years

Text

Grease and Grunge Prolouge - E.M. and B.H.

Series Summary: Nancy convinces your friends to be camp counselors for the summer. It goes sideways when you discover both Billy Harsgroove and Eddie Munson are there too... and they're both set on screwing your brains out this summer.

Episode Summary: You just can't seem to wake up from this nightmare of the boy who's been harassing you all semester. Also you need to find a summer job and you partner up with Eddie Munson on your final project of the year.

Warnings for this chapter: tw:period blood, nightmare with Billy, Billy harassing the reader, trapped in a dream, dom!Billy, praise kink, reader's parents are strict, dirty talk, nipple play. Reader's mom not being the nicest, everyone lowkey bullies Steve. No character deaths!

Rating: Explicit, 18+, MDNI

Author's note: oh. yeah. starting heavy, i know. There are a lot of themes involving strict parents and guilt/shame based behavior. I'm laying some ground work for the camp story I promise! There will be camp counselors!

Tap. Tap. Tap.

That's what rouses you from sleep. You're too foggy at first to open your eyes. Your eyelids are too heavy.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It's slow. Taunting. Your breath involuntarily gets fuller. You suck it in through your nose sharply, your lungs expanding like they haven't for hours. The stretch to your ribcage burns and satisfies all at once and your mind tries to catch up with your body.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The muffled call of your name really is the trick that has your eyes fluttering open. With a sleepy noise falling from your lips, you wet your dry mouth and lift your head to see what disturbed your heavy sleep.

Nothing seems out of place, you decide after a moment. But your still under the fog of your dreams. They taunt you with sweet whisper of someone's cologne and cigarettes.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The window. Something's tapping the glass, your realize and your head lolls toward it. It's a confusing site, one that doesn't alarm you in the way it should, only enough for you to push yourself up, blankets slipping down from the warmth of your cocoon.

You swallow thickly because it almost looks as if Billy Harsgrove is outside your window. The call to reality is slow and dizzying, but his pearly smile and hooded blue eyes are unmistakable.

His lips move around your name like he's dangling it out of his mouth. "Won't you open up?" You make out through the muffle of the glass. And then he lifts his finger, palm raised up as his knuckle tap, tap, taps the glass like before.

Your feet move on their own accord, too confused and curious to see why Billy was crouched on the roof of the porch, right outside your bedroom window. His eyes glitter as your toes meet the 'Oasis Blue' shag carpet your mom let you pick out at ten.

Robin liked to make fun of you for it. It was the bane of your sleepover-existence, thinking back on how you'd begged your mom because it would make you so cool even though it completely clashed with the ombre, 70's wall paper at the complete opposite of the color spectrum.

Sometimes you'd let the intrusive thoughts take over and you pick at the wall paper despite knowing how terribly wrong it was to do. Despite imagining your mother's reaction to you destroying it. Your dad had never installed wallpaper before in his life and the edges bubbled and didn't quiet line up, leaving little imperfections.

Sometimes with little imperfections, they nag the back of you mind. They itch. So you itch them back and it's just so satisfying. It calls to you. It sings so high pitched, like ringing in your ears and you just have to pick. Only the rip of paper, so quiet, drowns it under a tidal wave.

You step back, realizing you only stoked the fire, more shame climbing up your throat with an acidic taste in your mouth.

Because you really, really shouldn't have. Because it was wrong.

So you took to hanging up band posters and faded album covers for warped records. Patching over the little itches like bandaids.

It feels like floating as you move to the window. Limbs heavy and tired still as you reach to open it. The screen to the window has been discarded against the asphalt shingles.

When Billy leans close, you lean back, plopping backwards onto your ass with uncoordinated movements. "Atta girl," he hums. His hand leans him through the windowframe and when he's ducks through he towers above where you're currently seated on the floor.

"This doesn't make any sense," you insist quietly, voice thick with sleep still. His chuckle accompanies the sound of crickets as the humid chill of late spring night brings in the scent of rain.

"Why not?" He asks, grinning. His eyes cold and empty. Dead.

You gulp when he slowly moves his boot between your thighs and begin scooting slowly across the carpet.

"Because your..." you crackle out but lose the word to the fog of reality.

His eyebrow lifts as he moves with you, listening to the lack of your response. The silence continues too long. "Don't be shy now," he repeats like he did in Spanish II this morning. The whisper chilling you to the bone, "You're gonna be good girl, right?" The burning cold of his gaze digs at your bones. Some of his curls are falling forward.

Your back meets the bed. Billy kneels in front of you.

The Beatles album cover is fluttering like water on the wall.

This is a dream. Holy shit! This was a fucking dream!

"Because you're not here Billy!" You expect him to vanish. To fade into consciousness. You expect him to become a shadowy monster in the next moment to come eat you.

You don't expect him to chuckle at you. "But you're not going to wake up until I say to, good girl. I'm gonna give you exactly what you need," he purrs out to you. Humming like a big panther. His big panther paw gathers your cheeks in his fingers. "Isn't that right?"

You nod shakily in his hold. Terror makes you tremble as your dragged upward and pushed back onto your bed.

"I wanna wake up!"

Amusement twinkles in his eyes from above you. In the darkness he peels his jacket off. The leather glitters as he reveals the bright red of his shirt.

"Oh, I know you do, sweet girl." He leans over you slowly, his lips parting for you to see him bite his tongue like he was rolling a toothpick in his mouth. "What did I say today to make you wanna touch yourself so bad tonight?"

You pant beneath Billy as he slides his hands under you thighs and around. You moan when you get pulled into him roughly meeting his groin. The feeling makes you aware of the wetness between your thighs.

"Lemme guess?" He says, minty breath fluttering over you both. "Was it me telling you that I get this dirty little fantasy about you? About what a good, good girl you are? About how hot it is to make you feel bad," he hums, his eyes almost glowing blue.

"Look how lax you are in my hold, bet you want it bad." He scoffs loudly down at you. "Or was it how you have this fantasy about me?" He demands. "About how dirty I make you feel?"

"Not... not real. This is a dream, just a dream."

"Or is it this one?" He demands, drawing up your shirt. "One where I put your fucking tits in my mouth." You gasp when he pushes up your shirt up over your shoulder. The fabric pulls across your neck but you twist to look down and watch. His eyes glitter and you watch his mouth open, tongue sliding out of his mouth and he seals his lips around your nipple to suck. You can feel it, despite this being a dream. The warm welcome of his tongue laving over your nipple is too much.

"Oh, fuck, Billy," you gasp when his chuckle vibrates you breast.

"What a good, good girl. Good girls get rewarded, baby, don't they?" When his eyes flutter up to yours, he grins something dark and malicious. Then he's back on you, his teeth sink in and you moan loudly, accidently rocking your hips into him. A pleased purr rolls around your nipple and Dream Billy rocks back into you. His mouth releases your breast and lets it bounce. "Now you can wake up." He winks when he looks up at you.

Your alarm ringing has you jerking out of bed with a thumbing heart. You slam a hand down blindly to find the button until you hit it quickly. Trying to recover from that freakish nightmare, you can still feel the teeth scraping over your skin. What did Robin say about sex dreams? Some cultures believed they were demons?

Then there's a stickiness to your thighs that feels odd when you shift in the sweltering bundle of sheets. And oh shit! You jerk up and wrench the blankets off your sweaty form. The obvious dark stain easily lit by the morning sun painting the sky a gorgeous lilac.

A horny period dream. Great. And you were prepared to enjoy the sunrise without an early cycle.

You're morning was a clash of fantasy and disappointing reality. You step into the shower and reflect under the water with the burning shame that came with the fucked-up dream you just had.

The first time you met Billy was in Spanish II at the beginning of the semester. He got assigned to sit directly behind you. The good girl certainly knew who he was. Reputation of perfection was truly false, however. The only mark on his record it seemed, was the fact that he was such a pretty boy that girls flocked to him. Women too.

Your idea that he might be secretly nice was blown to bits shortly after meeting. Little mouse, he'd called you. It confused you at first. And then the torture began and you realized it had nothing to do with how you looked and everything to do with him being the big, hungry panther. He was playing with what he wanted to eat. You knew the moment it truly began, having replayed it in your head a thousand times.

You were partners for a project. Assigned. He hadn't wanted to participate and you were nearly pulling your hair in frustration as he watched you. Not just walked, evaluated you as prey. Tilting his head, poking and prodding you metaphorically. You had no idea that every response you had was only fueling his desire to torment you. "You're real cute," he'd finally rumbled, making you flush and ignore him.

"Can we please just focus on these conjugations?" You whine quietly, not wanting to escalate him.

It was his vicious smile that caught your attention as he slowly leaned in across the table towards you. "I bet a good girl like you gets even cuter when you're stuffed full of someone's fingers, don't you?"

Ding, Ding, Ding.

He hit the fucking bullseye with getting under your skin, that much was obvious when you turned cherry red and tried to bury yourself in your textbook.

You got paired with him all the time to this day, despite you pleading with the teacher to move your seat away from him. And as much as you wanted to lose your patience with him, you would breathe through it and continue on. Being paired with projects with him was horrible. He was pushy and purposefully annoying. Always running his mouth with a whip of his tongue. That tongue.

He said the dirtiest things. You'd had vague sex dreams before but you'd never been trapped in one. The chill of it still clung to the edges of your mind.

There were more important things to do today than digest your psyche. Like find a summer job. Yes, that was it.

"Mom?" You call, shuffling into the kitchen, snagging one of the green apples out of the bowl of bruised fruit.

"In the basement!" She calls. Ah. She was doing laundry.

"I'll do my own laundry when I get home!"

"What?" She calls but you hear her footsteps approach. "I don't like how you do the laundry," she responds.

"Well," you start uncomfortably, "I got my period early and I woke up-" your mom heaves a sigh, easily silencing you.

"Have you rinsed the blood out yet?"

"Not yet, I just showered," you reply meekly.

"You need to rinse it out a soon as possible with cold water or it'll ruin those sheets. Hurry up so you're not late to school. I'll wash them." She grumbles and walks away, leaving you mulling it over at the top of the steps before pushing the apple back into the bowl on the counter and heading to go get your sheets, trying to let it roll and not sour your mood.

Another deep breath and you head upstairs to pull the sheets off and head into the shower to rinse them. You set them by the washer in the basement before heading upstairs to dress for school.

"Do you have all your homework done?" She questions.

"Yeah, and the extra credit for Franklin's class too."

She sends you a smile that makes your stomach a little sick, only because you know what her next words are going to be as she tucks some of your hair behind your ear.

"Ah," you breathe, "that's my good girl."

"Thanks, mom. For the sheets too." She nods.

"Off to school, now."

It's a exactly point seven miles to Robin's house. It only takes about fifteen minutes to stroll down to her house. Once you'd made it there in seven minutes and thirty four seconds.

Today as you approach, she's already perched in shorts and a sweatshirt on the damp brick railing of her porch. "Hey, loser!" She calls. You smile and wave up at her.

"Hey, nerd!" You giggle back and drop your bag beside you as you drop onto the top step.

"Dude, you look like the walking dead," she grunts out. "Did you do anything other than study last night?"

"Not really. Ever since I got that 'B' in Spanish II my mom's been riding my ass. On top of that I woke up in a puddle of my own blood this morning. Totally soaked down to the mattress." You sigh out.

"Shit, bad morning then."

"Yeah, do you got any asprin?"

"Yeah. Here," she goes digging through her bag quickly.

"Then when I told my mom, she got kinda mad."

"Seriously? Why? Not like you could help it." You let her shake a couple into your hand as you toss them back, wrinkling your nose at the nasty taste.

"Not like, mad, mad. Just like, sighing and rolling her eyes 'n' stuff. I think she's just, like, stressed out lately. My dad's been pulling double shifts again."

"Your dad's always pulling double shifts." You shrug, glancing out at the yard.

"Can I borrow your paper?" You ask.

"Knock yourself out." Climbing to your feet you throw your next words over your shoulder.

"Worst part, I got one of those weird dirty period dreams last night about Billy." She gags dramatically as you scoop the waxy sheets out of the wet grass and shake excess off it.

"Ew!"

"You're telling me! I was trapped in a dream with him. I'm totally just blaming hormones." When you are sitting beside her, you focus on flipping through it to find the help wanted section. "Can't wait to graduate next month," you whine.

"What with that 'B'? There's no way your eligible to graduate!" She teases with exaggerated shock. It works though, a smile cracking on your face. "What are you looking for anyway?"

"A summer job, I don't know that I'll be able to stand another summer filled with summer reading. I want to go out. Do things. Maybe kiss someone."

"Just kiss?" You pass your friend an amused smile and shrug as the familiar rumble of Steve's BMW approached.

"Maybe get really dirty with it and hold hands. Oh! There you are!" You shake the page loose.

"Good morning, ladies!"

"Morning, Steve!" You call, climbing in behind Robin as you fold your stolen newspaper sheet down and buckle up.

"You know I can pick you up from your house, right? You don't actually have to walk down every morning."

"No offense, Steve, but my mom would kill me if she saw me climb into a boy's car. Even if Robin was there." Steve's nods and goes to shift gears.

"So, is that what you did with Billy in your dirty dream? Hold hands?" She jokes and Steve whips away from the shifter.

"Ew! You had a wet dream about Billy?"

"Robin!"

"What! It's Steve!"

"Yeah, don't be stingy, give us the deets!" You groan, head lolling back. "I will not drive until we hear about this wet dream." You knew Steve could be petty.

"Fine! He bit my nipple!"

"WWWWHAAAT!?" Robin cackles with that and Steve blinks wildly, confused.

"HE CAME IN TO MY WINDOW AND HE BIT MY FUCKIN' NIPPLE! WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME! I WAS TRYING TO WAKE THE HELL UP, DUDE!"

"That was your dirty dream? Billy biting your nipple?"

"What do you want from me, Harington? He talked dirty and then right before I woke up he told me it was time to wake up and my alarm went off."

"Just not as... dirty as I expected." You flush, if only he'd seen it himself...

"A classic horny period dream," Robin chuckles as she calms down.

"What?" Steve demands, more confused. "Those are two considerations."

"We work in a video store. You know classic and horny go together all the time!"

"No, no, no, not that!" He groans out, actually moving into gear now. "Girls are so not horny on their periods."

"Definitely not true," Robin replies, and you both stare at him.

"It's like not possible, right? Right?"

"It's a hormonal reaction, man! What are you talking about? Are you listening to you?"

"Steve," you start, leaning forward. "It happens, it's just... messy."

"So then... period sex is supposed to be good?"

"I hear it can help with the cramps actually."

"But be careful," you advise, "everything is extra sensitive, so go slow and gentle."

"Oh yeah! It can hurt otherwise." Steve's eyes are huge as he takes in the road before him.

"Why do girls always use the excuse of their periods than?" He asks after a long moment.

"Cause you feel bloated and gross and most guy don't want to dive dick first into a cavern of blood and clots." Steve tries to hide his gag at what Robin says and then nods furiously.

"You know, I thought hanging out with girls I'd hear about more gossip and feelings! Not this can we change the topic? Please?" You and Robin both laugh at him.

"Sure. What did you raid our morning paper for?"

"I need a summer job."

"Uh, family video?" Steve offers.

"No thanks." Robin gives you a half hearted gasp of offense. "How many times have you been asked by some creep what you'd recommend from the adult section?"

"Twice this week. Point taken." Both of them seem to be appeased by you response.

"The pools always hiring."

"Billy works there," Robin reminds.

"Perfect, maybe he can bite her nipple."

"Aw, c'mon," you whine when Robin bursts into side splitting laughter. "Whatever," you grumble as Steve grins at you in his rear view mirror. You send him a half glare back and rest against the window.

When the bell to announce the beginning of third hour began, disappointment welled in your gut. It was caused by the empty seat one row over, two seats forward. Not even Robin understood why Mr. Franklin's Creative Writing class was your favorite. She'd just assumed you liked the short stories and poetry.

In all actuality, it was Eddie Munson.

The metalhead with no filter was never phased by any sort of attention. He truly let his freak flag fly with zero regrets, bulldozing his own path despite anyone else's opinion in mind. Something you'd never been able to pull off. It was a freedom you admired with a great passion.

Particularly this was your favorite because when he did participate, he was absolutely amazing. Concocting well thought out, adventurous tales with dragons and orcs. Epic ballads or even tragic poems. Truly, it was amazing.

You'd been looking forward to listening to his animated retelling of today's assignment. The extra-credit you knew he'd gravitate to despite it being announced last week that he was going to graduate with you next month. His final attempt before they wouldn't allow him to get his diploma.

"Alright, everyone settle, we're going to get started," Mr. Franklin calls. Next to you Tommy Hagan and Tammy Thompson are still giggling and you're too irritated to find any of it cute. "Tommy," the directness of his voice silences the room. "Take Eddie's seat for the day." That sinks disappointment straight down into your belly. Like that was the finalization. An acknowledgement that today's creative writing class would be boring and a little lonelier. Even if you never actually spoke to Eddie Munson.

Tommy rolls his eyes and moves up to the front of the room to sit beside the desk.

"If anyone has there extra-credit where they were asked to write horror story, you can bring it up and set it on my desk so I can grade it." You reach into your bag, dragging out the three back to back pages of your store on notebook paper. You'd already peeled the edges and stapled the corner before you fell asleep last night.

The shriek of sneakers on the wax floors in the hallway has everyone glancing at the door. You suppress to your relief, when Eddie flies through the door, panting. His long hair billows behind him as he struts in and holds it up a stack of notebook paper. It's crumpled and messy. From here you can spot something on the edges of the paper.

"Sorry, I'm late," he laughs, grinning at the teacher.

"It's alright, good to have you today, Eddie." The one sentence makes Eddie beam. "Drop it on my desk, I can't wait to read it." The metalhead is quick to drop it on his desk before moving back up the isle to the only open desk beside you.

You try to ignore the tightening in your chest as he struts. The chain on his pants bouncing with his gait. When he drops into the seat next to you, he passes you a heart stopping smile and you can't help but pass one back, cheeks flushing.

"Hi," he offers as the teacher begins to write today's topic on the board in chalk. Knowing he was probably only talking to you since Steve and Robin both bought their weed off him and recently started to hang out with him. You'd heard them talk about how cool he actually was, despite the drug dealing.

"Hi," you squeak back quietly.

"You did the extra credit too?" He asks, eyes bright. You nod, climbing to your feet and moving to set it on the desk as well. When you sit, the lecture starts, and all conversation is stifled.

The two of you spend the next twenty minutes stealing glances at each other as the lesson is filled. It's halfway through class that you get to experience Eddie surprising you again.

"I need everyone to find a partner and Tommy and Tammy, I will assign partners for you. This is going to be the last assignment this year. It's going to count as your final so take it seriously! You've got sixty seconds, go." The room erupts with excitement and the metalhead turns to you.

"Do you want to be partners?" He asks, eyes glittering. It nearly steals the breath right out of you, and it really shouldn't flatter you the way it does. You don't mean to sound so breathy when you laugh at yourself quietly.

"Uh, yeah, sure," you agree with the surrounding squeals of metal tables and chairs shifting. You find yourself looking away under the intensity of his dark gaze.

"Fuckin' awesome!" He pushes his desk up beside yours and eagerly follows with his chair.

"What did you write?" You ask, catching his attention but the extended silence between you makes you realize it wasn't specific enough. You wince mildly and try a second time... a little worse than before. "I mean... the, um-" you gesture with you pen towards Mr. Franklin's desk.

"Oh? The extra credit?" He grins.

"Yes," you breath in relief and decide today: you're going to be bold. "I, um, have to admit," you laugh shakily at yourself, feeling ridiculous and lame, "I'm a little disappointed I didn't get to hear it." You don't expect the shocked look on his face.

You nearly regret saying anything as he seems to stop working for a moment, frozen. He starts to rise in his seat but he's grabbing the front of it and turning both himself and the plastic towards you fully, caging you in between his long legs.

"Oh, now I gotta hear why you are disappointed. That has to be remedied." His eyes are completely full of life and it threatens to suck your soul out with it. You could get lost in them.

"A horror story? Isn't that right up your alley?" You don't miss the way he bites his lip. "You're a really good story teller," you promise, "I suppose I was waiting for your masterpiece." You're surprised by the pink flushing of his cheeks and his delighted laughter.

"Tell you what," he hums, leaning Iin just inches from your face, forcing you to look him in the eye as your heart wants to tear right out of your chest, "as soon as Franklin grades it, I'll give you your very own reading of Eddie Munson's Horror Extravaganza."

You try to suppress your smile and fail miserably. His excitement is just too cute. "Really?" You manage, accidently squeaking in the process.

Eddie's eyebrows shoot up and he presses one of his ringed fingers across his mouth. It takes him a second to respond as he dramatically sinks himself against the side of his desk. It's his eyelids flutter and those dark eyes rolling back into his head that you get caught up by. You're completely unaware of how wild that one word was driving him insane. You could ask him anything in that tone of voice and he'd absolutely crumble.

"Abso-fucking-lutely," he groans out, "just be prepared for a bloody, gorey mess."

Seemed to be a common theme for you today. Your finger, blindly scratches through your hair.

"Okay, has everyone found their partners? Alright, let's go over the final project! I'm passing out the rubric..." you spend the rest of class too focused on the earthy smells that Eddie radiates to really listen to the teacher. Especially after he takes off his jacket and exposes the bat tattoos decorating his forearm close enough for you to touch.

You spend what feels like forever hyper aware of his presence right beside you, jumping a bit when his foot bumps yours. "Sorry," he whispers.

"It's fine," you whisper back. And then his foot stays and you can feel heat creeping up the back of your neck like you were under the midsummer sun.

You forget that your not supposed to pick at the wallpaper. Biting your lip, you shift minutely. Your foot lifts just a bit you just needed a little friction. Just a touch. Eddie's breath hitches beside you as your foot skims across the top of his and stops on the inside of his foot, tangling your ankles.

When his breath hitches, there's just this... quiet little idea that rattles in the back of your mind. What would he sound like saying all those dirty things Billy always did?

He'd be unabashedly loud, wouldn't he? Like he always was. You tried to imagine his voice instead. Hard to focus on anything when this was the sound of tearing wallpaper, drowning everything else out. You could feel the heat of his skin as he rubbed his leg against yours, riding his pant leg up you can feel his coarse leg hair against your skin.

The shame crashes over you in a hot wave when the bell rings, reminding you that good girls didn't play footsie with hot, tattooed metalheads in class. You snap to your feet.

"Maybe we can work on this project Friday night. I should have the extra-credit back by then. My place?" Eddie asks in a cavalier manner, and you can't meet his eyes with all of the mortification.

"Lunch," you squeak meekly, "find me at lunch and we can figure it out." And your rushing from the room without a second glance to look at him. It was half way down the hall that you came to a full stop and want to cry because of a single realization.

Did Eddie Munson just ask you out?

Eddie was no where to be found an hour later. And hour after you'd barely been able to keep up in physics with all the back and forth in your head.

After scanning the cafeteria twice, you make your way to your normal table, nervousness rising in your belly. Your mildly relieved when you see Steve and Robin chatting at their normal spot. You waste no time in dropping your lunch box down beside them and grabbing Steve's arm.

His eyes widen at you. "Well, hello to you, too."

"I need you're guy's help. Now."

Robin and Steve both shoot to their feet, collecting their trays. "How about outside today?" Robin asks and you can only nod quickly. They herd you toward the doors that lead to the picnic benches - Steve following behind and Robin in front as you all head towards the wet tables.

It must have rained during class, which is fantastic because now there's no one to over hear this.

"What's wrong?" Steve asks as soon as the doors shut behind you guys.

"I think...Eddie Munson might have asked me out?"

"Dude! What!?" Robin gasps. "What'd you say?"

"I'm not surprised." Steve hum. You freeze in your steps to face him.

"Why?" You ask him quietly.

Steve shrugs like it's not a big deal. "He's asked about you before is all." Robin punches his shoulder for you. "Ow! What?"

"Well what did he ask about, Steve!" Steve rolls his eyes.

"Like basic shit!"

"Like what?" She presses. "We need specifics!"

"Like if we were friends! Like if you were cool!"

"And?" You ask.

"And what? And are you!?" Steve gasps, flabbergasted. You nod once, staring up at him. "I told him, yeah. Of course your cool, now can we eat? I'm starving!"

"Okay," you sigh and you all move to sit in the cold wet patches on the table.

"So what exactly makes you think he asked you out?" Robin insists as you all sit but the door to the cafeteria is thrown open and Nancy and Barb come out with their lunches.

"There you guys are! We've been looking everywhere for you!" Nancy calls, there's frantic waving from your best friend as the two of them approach.

"No Jonathan today?" Steve asks.

"No he had to take Will to his appointment today," she replies and makes a face at the wet bench. You don't miss Steve pulling off his jacket to drape over it for her.

"Shhh, c'mon, spit it out," Robin insists. Ever your wing man.

"Well, he asked me if I want to partner with him on the final for creative writing and I agreed. And he might have been flirting with me and I think I was definitely flirting with him-"

"Wait who?"

"Eddie Munson, keep up, twinkle toes," Robin chirps.

"Ew!" Nancy wrinkles her nose. "You don't like him, do you?" Her eyes widen at your blush. "Oh my god, you do don't you!" You give a grievous groan.

"Yeah, yeah, I think I do." You wave a hand and the whole table gasps. "He's kinda cute, you know, in like... a messy, crazy way and you guys should hear how he writes. It's amazing."

"Leave it to you to find golden qualities in everyone," Barb offers you with a sweet smile. You smile back at her warmly.

"Okay, so what exactly did you do that was flirting?" Steve asks dubiously.

"I... told him I want to hear the horror story he wrote," you begin slowly, "and I kind of... like... this? With my leg?" And you hook your ankle like you hand in class with Robin beside you. Everyone ducks to look.

"You played footsie with Eddie Munson?" Nancy giggles. "That's actually really adorable."

"Well... the bell rang and I realized how much my mom would ground me if she ever found out that I was flirting with a guy like Eddie. And I tried to bolt when he asked me if I wanted to work on the final this Friday at his place... so he could also read to me his short story." You glance around at the reactions.

"He was definitely asking you out. Maybe he'll bite your nipple and make your horny period dreams come true."

"Not helpful, Steve," you hiss out.

"Uh, what?" Nancy says when Barb chokes on her sandwich.

"Nothing," you insist.

"So what did you say in response?"

"I told him to find me at lunch." Steve groans.

"Why not just say 'yes'?" Barb asks.

"Because he mom would never agree. And she has to run everything past her mom. Even hanging out with me."

"So secretly date him," Nancy says. You don't miss the satisfied little smile that flutters on Steve's face. Reminding you of their secret relationship a few years back. However, they certainly got caught.

"If I don't pull it off, I'll be grounded until I die. And I need out of the house so bad. I haven't even had time to look at the job boards today."

"Come work with me," Nancy offers.

"At the Hawkins post?" You demand.

"No, no. I'm skipping this summer and Jonathan and I are going back to the summer camp this year. It's a lot of fun. Plus we get a discount for Will and Mike to go."

"It is a lot of fun," Steve insists. "Kids rotate out all summer for different things and you get to do activities with them but mostly the teachers take care of them. You be helping with breakfast and things. You still get weekends off to kind of do your own thing. Pays shit but you'd be out of the house all summer in one of the cabins."

"And all of us hang out on Saturday nights, play dumb games. It's like college kid's spring break all summer."

"And someone hooks up every year- ow! I wasn't referring to just you!"

"So?"

"Actually, that sounds really nice. I could use some space from my mom."

"I'm going this year, too." Barb chirps.

"Robin, you should totally apply too! We could all have one last hurrah before college and it'll be fun."

Robin mulls that over. "Yeah, I think I'm over the creeps at Family Video. Steve will you take us to apply tonight?"

"Yeah, sure. Nancy would you be cool with me going this year?" He ask. She jerks like she's been whipped. Her jaw opening as she tries to find the words. The whole table slows to watch.

"Of course, Steve. We're all friends. This will be so much fun, you know? It's going to be a summer we'll never forget."

As you pop more fruit into your mouth, the door to the cafeteria opens again. Everyone glances over and there's silence as you see Eddie approaching across the wet grass.

You stand, terror filling you. Today you will be bold. You promise yourself as you meet him halfway. Eddie grins and you feel like your floating across the grass towards him. "There you are," he hums.

"Yeah, I looked for you before we sat down."

"I had to stay late to talk to Kilton about a couple last minute graduation requirements, hope you didn't think I got cold feet. I was little worried when you bolted as soon as the bell rang." It was incredible how he didn't even show a wink of nervousness.

"Yeah, sorry, about that," you offer, turning really red as he steps closer. "I didn't honestly even register much of what you asked me until I was in the hallway."

"Oof. Should I be offended that the part you missed was me asking you out?" He teases, stepping closer. So, he was asking you out!

"I hope not. It's just... complicated, is all." You admit.

"Do you even want to hang out? We can figure something else out for the final-"

"I do, I do," you insist, eyes meeting his, attempting to show him how genuine you were about that. "I just... don't know that I can... or that I'm allowed to I should say." A knowing smile crosses his face.

"Ah, Mom or Dad?"

"Mom," you reply. A sorrowful little song fills your heart when he grins and kicks at the grass with his foot. The way he jumped to this conclusion so fast made you wonder how many times he'd heard parents banning their kids from him. "But... maybe," you start quietly, "maybe I can tell her Robin and I have to study for our physics final."

His eyes light with something mischievous as he tuts your name. It sends a thrill through you, hearing the way he rumbles around it as he chuckles. "Are you offering to sneak out and come over to my place?" You smile and shrug a little, letting that tearing sound just continue. "You're too good," he seems to say mostly to himself. "Way to good for me." He hits you with another stunning grin. "Where should I pick you up?"

Thills shriek through you, vibrating your soul like strummed your heartstrings.

"Robin Buckley's house?" You offer. He passes her a glance and nods in affirmation.

"On one condition," he breathes then. You meet his eyes as he leans in almost close enough to kiss you. "You know that frilly black skirt you always wear with the little flowers on that?" You nod. "Wear that." You flush cherry red as he turns without waiting for a response and walks away.

Maybe... maybe this could work. Maybe you could get away with peeling some more wallpaper without your mom noticing. Maybe you could date a boy for a month before you had the best summer of your life.

G+G Taglist: @music-is-all-i-need @devilcherryhot @hauntingtherosebush @simp4mullets @theelephantroom4 @dumbmarvelchick @your-local-rockstar-simp @holyfanficbooksgeek @shittypunkbarbeque @psychoticbirb @im-bout-to-pass-otutt @sameyessblue @boopmedaddy @animeboystuff @santaatemypuppy @bdudette

#eddie munson #eddie munson fics #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things

379 notes · View notes

jazzthatonewriterchick · 13 days

Text

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it?

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Writer's Note: This one is LONG. A lot of action and fighting n shit like that lol. Also, trigger warning for the reader because she has a panic attack later in the chapter. Enjoy!! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen PT I & PT II. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

SEVEN: HIT ‘EM UP!

You arrive in the tiny, dusty, damn-near abandoned town of Bull’s Creek by the next morning.

You three didn’t stop for a night of rest, only taking breaks to feed the horses and let them rest their hooves before continuing on your journey. Most of what you do is on Reneigh’s back: brushing your teeth; eating your snacks; power naps. You now feel sweaty and tired, but not exhausted, only happy to finally be at your destination.

Bull’s Creek is as depressing as it is quiet. Nothing moves but a tumbleweed that noisily rolls across the dusty road among the disturbingly quiet shops and boutiques that you’re sure once were brimming with life and vibrancy, but are now dingy and sad-looking. “Beauty, ain’t it?” Gojo sniggers as he and his horse totter beside you.

“Where is everybody?” you question, feeling eerily uncomfortable with the silence. You half expect to be ambushed because of it. “Most of ‘em moved because of Benji’s crew members takin’ over,” Geto explains. “Sad. Most of the civilians had been here for years, but couldn’t take the terror anymore.”

“Buuut,” Gojo interrupts with a grin, “lucky for the ones who stayed, we’re here! And we’ll make sure we send the baddies on their way.” You continue to look around for someone, anyone, in this ghost town. “So how are we supposed to find these guys?” you ask. “Just ask around?”

“Exactly that, little miss,” Geto chuckles, suddenly coming to a stop in front of you. “And we’ve found just the spot.” You and Gojo stop your horses in front of a small saloon where you can just hear the sound of music and chatter. Gojo hops off of his horse first and goes to help you down, but you ignore him, choosing to get down yourself.

You walk by, ignoring Gojo’s pout, and look up at the bar’s sign coated in dust: “Bull’s Bar,” you read, hearing Gojo giggle.

“That’s so original,” he comments as he pats the holster carrying Hollow Purple. He goes in without even waiting for you or Geto, but his partner doesn’t seem to mind. “The woman who wrote us asked us to meet her here in her letter,” he explains as he walks you inside. “So she should be…”

His words die when he opens the wooden doors and lets them swing shut. The sound of them creaking is the only sound among the silence in the bar. The bar is small with tables covered in cowskin, bullheads mounted behind the bar, and every eye in the place on you, Geto, and Gojo, including the piano player in the corner.

It’s beyond uncomfortable and you feel your face prickle with nervous sweat beneath your bandana. But Gojo and Geto are immune to discomfort as they confidently walk towards the bar. “Rough crowd,” Geto mutters under his breath. You nod in agreement, keeping a close hand on your hip.

The bartender watches you come to the bar and sit, slowly wiping off a glass. He is tall and burly with unruly, spiked brown hair and a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. “So what’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here, mister?” Gojo kindly asks.

The bartender doesn’t say anything at first; just continues to stare you all down. The music hasn’t resumed yet and that makes this moment even more tense. “Kusakabe,” he says, his voice smooth and rough. “What will y’all have?”

Gojo’s smile widens, pleased. “Jack n’ Coke for me and my partner; Sherly Temple for the lady.” You shoot him a look that could kill. “All Jack n’ Cokes, please,” Geto sighs, passing Kusakabe a couple of coins. He takes them and nods, still giving you a suspicious look that has your skin crawling.

“U-Uh…excuse me?” a small, feminine voice asks behind you. You turn, finding a young, petite girl with long, sky-blue hair cut into a bang standing there, looking nervous. “You’re Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru, right?”

The duo turns to face her now, making her face go beat red. “That, we are, ma’am,” Geto says, tipping his hat at her. “And you’re Miwa, I’m presumin’?”

The girl damn near pops a blood vessel. “T-That’s correct, yes!” she stuttering replies.

Another young girl with two blonde ponytails comes up beside her. “You ain’t ask ‘em to sign your book, Miwa?” she snorts. “That’s all you’ve been talkin’ about since we showed up here.” Miwa gapes at the girl, mortified. “Momo!” she shrieks. “That was private!”

“Miwa!” a male voice calls suddenly from across the room. A young man comes hurrying up to the two girls, tall and handsome with a spiked, black ponytail and a scar on his right cheek. “Are you alright? Who are they?” He ticks his eyes between you three suspiciously.

“Mechamaru, it’s okay,” Miwa soothes him, gently stroking his arm. “They’re here to help us.”

“Friends of yours?” Gojo chuckles, not at all phased by this. Mecamaru glares at him. “I’m her boyfriend, actually,” he sharply corrects the gunslinger. Miwa nods at Momo who barely even smiles. “This is Momo. She’s a Bull’s Creek native, just like me. She told me not to write you guys!”

Momo narrows her eyes at her friend. “Way to throw me under the bus,” she huffs. “It was only because I didn’t want more trouble comin’ into this town!” Geto nods understandably. “We ain’t here for trouble, little miss…well, not the kind that’ll get y’all killed. We just want the four we came here for.”

“And who would that be?” Kusakabe asks suspiciously. “Who the fuck are y’all to come into my place of business askin’ around like y’all own the damn place?” You go to put your hand on your glock, but Gojo stops you, shaking his head at you.

“We don’t mean no harm,” Geto gently says, “but we’ve got business in this town and with her.” He nods at Miwa. “She wrote a letter to us askin’ for help to save you from the four takin’ over this town.”

The three younglings share a wary look with each other. “Don’t say their names,” Mechamaru warns. “They’ve got a tight hold on this town already. Last I heard about them is that they’re livin’ up in the mountains beyond the creek among the riches they snatched from the town.”

“We’ll take you to them!” Momo excitedly announces. But Mechamaru shakes his head. “No,” he firmly says. “You two are stayin’ right here. I’ll take them.” While Momo tuts in disappointment, Miwa looks damn starstruck by her boo.

Gojo gulps down his drink, finishing it off with a burp. “Fine with us, just as long as we get to where we need to. But before that…” He takes an ink pen from his pocket, smiling at Miwa. “Who wanted an autograph?”

But before Miwa, who has now turned red, can hand over her book, Kusakabe stops her. “Hang on.” He leans over the bar toward the three of you, his eyes deadly and intimidating. “You get them and then you get the fuck out of my town. We don’t need no more trouble here.”

With a silent nod, you three agree and Mechamaru guides you into the mountains.

*********

The creek is quiet when you make it up the hill.

Too quiet. Though the soft sloshing of the water should be comforting, it’s damn disarming to you as you walk with the duo and Mechamaru along the creek yards away from Bull’s Creek (funny enough). The air is sweet, the sky is blue, and you know danger lurks.

You finally come to a shabby-looking house up on a grassy hill yards down from you four. The roof is missing some tiles, one wall is caging in, and it looks abandoned.

“They should be in there,” Mechamaru says, pointing at the house. “They stay there because there are trails in the woods to escape through if the law ever happened to sniff ‘em out. But they haven’t for months because so many people are too scared to speak up for fear of being killed.”

The young man stares you all down as you silently examine the home. “You gonna get them out of here?” he asks, hope in his eyes. The duo doesn’t answer, so you do, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Mechamaru,” you gently say. “We’ll take it from here.” ‘Yes, we’ll get them out of here for you.’

Mechamaru seems to be happy with your words. Meanwhile, Geto is stringing up the horses to a nearby post while Gojo spits his cigarette out of his mouth and crushes it under his heel. This is just ordinary work for them. “Go on back to your girl,” the white-haired outlaw says with a wink. “She’s a cutie.”

Mechamaru narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything back. Instead, he backpedals and hurries back the way he came towards town. Once gone, you follow the duo up the hill to the small house, the grassblades tickling your ankles as you move. Finally, you come to the wooden front door padlocked shut. “So how are we doin’ this?” you ask. “Do we just bust in there and–”

You’re rudely cut off by Gojo’s foot smashing into the padlock, forcing it open. The door opens with a long creaking sound like in a horror film.

The way this house looks feels like a horror film too: stained, old furniture in the living area; dishes in the kitchen sink and rotten food on the counter down the long hallway leading to the back door; ripped curtains covering the stained windows, making the entire downstairs dark and dreary. The smell in the air is rotten and rancid like something died. You cover your mouth despite the bandana covering your lower face.

As you creep inside with the duo, your hand on your holster, your eyes shift from left to right, top to bottom. You look for a shadow; some slight movement from around a corner or behind something. The floorboards ominously creek under your boots, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “There’s no one here,” you whisper.

While Gojo stays behind, Geto walks ahead of you towards the circle of furniture, his gun hanging from his hand. He places a hand on one of the leather armchairs and shakes his head. “No,” he protests. “There is. Feel the chair.” You carefully walk over and place a hand on the seat, your hear thumping wildly. “It’s warm,” you gasp. “Someone is–”

“Y/N, look out!” Geto shouts from behind you, but it’s too late. Your words are cut off when you suddenly feel something snatching you by the ankle, causing you to fall onto your back. The noose tightens and begins to pull you throughout the house on your back despite your screams. You try to grab the knife in your pocket, but you can’t. You’re moving too fast.

Finally, you stop and are suddenly facing two men with very bad intentions in their eyes. One of them is nothing short of a pretty boy: beautiful bone structure in his face with high cheekbones, dimples, blue eyes, and a Colgate smile. If it wasn’t for the gun in your face, you’d think he was a model. This is ‘Angelface’.

“Well, well, look what we’ve got here, Zankoku: the prettiest little trespassor we’ve gotten.” He smirks at his partner. “What do you reckon we should do with her?”

His partner, Zankoku, looks like he’s all types of crazy: unruly curls that fall in his face; a bumpy nose like he was punched too many times in his lifetime; a scar running from his left ear down to the corner of his mouth; wide, wild eyes that frighten you more than the gun pressing against your noggin.

“I’ve got one idea that would make her sorry,” he growls, his voice like jagged glass to you. “Do you know what we do to trespassin’ bitches like you?” Angelface shakes his head at Zankoku. “Now, now, that’s no way to talk to a lady!” he mockingly tuts.

“Y/N!” Geto shouts from beyond. You manage to twist around to look behind you and find the duo running to save you. However, they are stopped by a woman who pops up from under the staircase, pointing a gun at Geto’s head and a man jumping out from behind a wall to pull Gojo back and put a knife at his throat.

The only woman in this crew, Makima, is tall and slender with long red hair and cold eyes. “Don’t move,” she warns. “You move and either I put this bullet in you or Arata puts that knife in your partner’s throat.” Arata is mute as you’ve been told, his tongue cut out long ago. But what he lacks in words he makes up for with his knives that are as long as his hair that cascades down to his hips.

“Or we fuck up this cutie’s face,” Angelface growls, pushing the gun into your cheek. “Never thought I’d meet the famous Fatale Femme in the flesh.” He uses the barrel to pull your bandana down, revealing your nose and mouth to him. “And see her gorgeous face,” he cackles. “You’re almost prettier than me.” You could spit at him.

“You motherfuckers got a lot of nerve comin’ here,” Zankoku snarls. “First you leave like y’all are better than us and then you start workin’ for the fuck ass law?”

Gojo smiles despite nearly grazing the knife at his neck. “Good to see you again too, Zankoku,” he titters. “I guess this is our welcome wagon?” Makima rolls her eyes, annoyed. “God, you always talked too much,” she huffs. “I should put some lead in that throat right now just to shut you up.”

She cocks her gun, moving it away to point at Gojo while she slips another out of her holster and points it at Geto. The entire room has turned into a warzone. One wrong step and you’re dead. “Listen,” Geto says, raising his voice. “We don’t want no trouble.”

“Oh, shut up!” Makima spits. “Why else would y’all be here? You’re obviously here to wrangle us up like cattle and bring us into the sheriff.”

“Y’all tryna get in a good place with the law?” Angelface scoffs, grinning at the gunslingers. “Tryin’ to become good guys ‘cause prison scared y’all? So sad to see what happened with that train.” You can almost feel the rage radiating off of Geto and Gojo in waves. “We don’t want to put y’all in prison,” Geto says, his voice roiling with simmering anger. “We just want information on Benji. We need to find him.”

The bandit crew share a brief look. “Why would we tell you?” Angelface scoffs, eyes narrowed. “We don’t know where he is anyway. We were in Cherrywood before he fucked outta town months ago. We haven’t seen him since.” As soon as he says it, his partners look at him like he just sealed their fate. And he did.

“You dumbass!” Makima hisses. The gears in your head are turning and you share a look with Geto and Gojo. “Benji was in Cherrywood?” you ask, finally speaking. “When? Why?”

But the cold barrels of the guns pressing into your head and chin stop you. “Enough,” Makima growls. “We don’t have to tell you fuck shit. Now hold still so we don’t fuck up our home.”

She points her guns at Geto while Arata pushes the knife further into Gojo’s throat. You stare at the guns in your face, shaking. “Sorry we couldn’t have any fun, darlin,” Angelface sighs. “You’ll make the most beautiful corpse though.” Staring into the barrels is like staring into death and suddenly, you see a flash of your mother’s face.

You don’t think. You just do. Quickly, you wedge your hand under your ass and pull a knife out. In a flash, you stick the knife into Angelface’s side, making him scream in pain. Immediately, Makima shoots but Geto ducks and swings his leg to trip her. Gojo elbows Arata in the face and rolls away just as Arata cups his nose to stop the blood flow. Makima, who fell, quickly rises and pulls the trigger on both guns.

Bullets immediately start flying from Zankoku and Makima aimed for Geto and Gojo who you’re sure are hiding. You have no time to see where though, too focused on your attacker. Angelface staggers back and drops the gun, holding his wounded side. “You fuckin’ bitch!” he bellows. “You’ll pay for that! Kill her, Zankoku!”

Zankoku is momentarily distracted, too busy popping shells. You take that loophole to cut yourself free with the bloody knife and kick him in the back. He staggers, but not enough. He turns around, baring his dirty teeth at you. “You,” he growls and raises his gun. He suddenly falls onto his knees, revealing Gojo standing behind him with a gun that whacked him in the back of the head.

A bullet zooms over his head and Gojo quickly covers you. “Over here!” he yells as he drags you into the kitchen as quickly as possible. Geto quickly crawls in behind you and rips the table up to turn it over to serve as a shield from the bullets. Gojo pulls you behind the overturned table. You sit there, the three of you, as bullets whiz past you, breaking windows and putting holes in the walls. “She’s still shooting!” you announce among the flying bullets. “This bitch is crazy!”

Geto busies himself firing back at Makima from behind the table while Gojo points at the back door. “You go out there,” he tells you. “We’ll take care of her in here.” He slides his gun out of his holster and cocks it. “Just wait for us with the horses,” he whispers. “We’ll find you.” So you go, hurrying over to the backdoor as fast as you can on your hands and knees.

You turn for a second to see Arata stabbing through the table right above Gojo’s head. You itch to help him and Geto both, but you know they’d tell you to get out and save yourself. So you keep going. When you finally make it, you shove the door open with your shoulder and roll out into the open, landing on your back in some grass. Quickly, you look up, squinting in the sun.

The backyard is nothing but an empty pig pen and a stretch of forest. Down below the slope of the hill the house is on is the creek and beyond that, your horses. On wobbly legs, you get up and try to run, but two arms wrapping around you stop you. One tightens around your midsection while the other wraps around your neck, nearly choking you.

“Hel–!” Your scream is cut off by a choke as you struggle to breathe with the arms squeezing you tight than a vice.

“Gotcha,” Zankoku chuckles. “Stupid bitch, thinkin’ you could run from me…but I’m not goin’ to prison. So I’ll let nature take ya.” He begins to walk with you as you struggle helplessly in his arms, not even able to reach your weapons.

When you realize where he’s taking you, it’s too late: you’re suddenly being dangled over the side of the rushing water of the creek. Without a warning, Zankoku drops you in.

Your body plunges into the icy depths of the water, shocking you to the core. You immediately swim to the surface and gulp down the air. The waves are rough and wild, splashing you repeatedly in the face as you struggle to reach for a rock, a tree branch, anything to stop you from going downstream.

Zankoku stands at the bank and pats his knee once. A horse comes running from out of the forest, stopping at his feet and allowing him to climb on. “Have fun with the fishes, bitch!” he cackles before galloping off on his horse upstream.

“Wait!” you scream, so loud that your throat goes raw. You watch helplessly as Zankoku disappears, growing smaller the farther the water takes you. You try to pedal to stay afloat, but the current is too rough and the water too deep. You can’t feel the bottom. “Gojo!” you wail out. “Geto, help!”

All that answers you is the water flooding your ears and mouth, salty and overbearing. All of your senses are taken over by it as the current swallows you up. Tears of desperation begin to slip down your cheeks, sobs leaving your mouth. You once again feel alone. Abandoned. Just like all those years ago. And you’re tired. So, so tired.

Finally giving in to the creek and the ache in your muscles, you let the current take you and find yourself going beneath the ice-cold, salty depths of water. But you don’t sink. Just as quickly as you went under, you’re suddenly pulled back up by some invisible force yanking on your arm. You look up into the sun’s rays, wondering if it’s God.

But when you turn to look, you realize that it’s Geto. He is hanging off the side of the bank, boots and pants muddy, grunting as he struggles to pull you out. He finally slips in and yanks you to his body, both of you floating in the water together. “Keep your eyes open, Y/N!” he yells among the rush. “Geto,” you try to say, but your voice is so weak that it gets carried away by the water.

Geto swims to the side of the creek with one arm and quickly grabs an upturned tree root to pull you both up and out of the water. “I’ve gotcha,” he huffs, dragging you into the mud once he’s on the surface. He then pulls you into the grass and finally releases you.

When he does, the shakes start. And the shivers. Your body convulses as if it’s back in the water and not in the warm sun on dry land. You can’t stop. It’s as if your body has kicked itself into fight or flight. Your fingers tremble and your heart pounds, causing your breath to become labored. “Y/N?” Geto questions. You don’t see him. All you see is the blue sky above you.

“C-C-C…” You don’t know what you’re trying to say. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. Geto’s handsome face appears above you and his expression softens when he realizes what’s happening. “Y/N, you’re havin’ a panic attack,” he says.

He slowly picks you up and places his hands on your forearms. “Breathe,” he demands, his voice and eyes firm. “I need you to breathe, Y/N, okay?”

You shake your head, still trembling like a leaf. “I-I can’t,” you gasp. “C-Can’t…” It’s a struggle to form a coherent sentence. Your brain can’t keep up, sending warning signals to your body when there isn’t even any danger anymore.

“Look at me, darlin’,” Geto coos. His big, calloused hands hold your cheeks, willing you to look at him. “Watch me, okay?”

You do, hypnotized by his warm, soulful eyes. “Do what I do, slowly,” he instructs. “In.” His chest expands. “And out.” His chest falls. He does it again and you mirror to the best of your ability. It’s shaky and choppy at first, but soon, your breathing is less labored.

Then your heartbeat slows and your body relaxes in his touch. All the while, he is gentle and patient. “That’s it,” he says, nodding. “It’s alright now. I’ve got you now.” And you believe it. You believe that you are safe. How the fuck did he do that?

A whistle pierces the air from down below the hill. You look to see Gojo jogging uphill with the horses. His smile fades when he sees you and Geto, soaking wet and coated in mud. “What happened?” he demands. Quickly, you stand without Geto’s help and wipe at your snotty nose. “It’s not important,” you sniffle. “Did you get her?”

Though Gojo still looks concerned, he doesn’t push it. “We got them,” he corrects you. “Angelface is knocked out cold ‘cause of blood loss thanks to your knife, but the other three are conscience so we should be able to talk ‘em.” You sigh, relived.

You hop on your horses and ride back up to the house where, sure enough, the four bandits are bound tight in a rope tied to the pig pen, back to back. Angelface is slumped over, his side stained in blood. Meanwhile, his partners look downright scared, no longer having their weapons to help them.

You and the duo stomp over to them, relishing the way they shiver at the sight of you. “Please don’t kill us,” Makima whimpers. Geto kneels before her, his expression like steel. “Then tell us what we want to know: Benji the Bandit. Where is he?”

Gojo kneels beside his partner and pulls down his blindfold to reveal his piercing, blue eyes. It’s enough to make the bandits cowar. No weapons or force needed. It makes you wonder just what the duo did to them while you were in that creek. “The last time we saw him was in Cherrywood,” Zankoku admits. “He was conspirin’ with the outlaw Valentine to rob a train.”

“Valentine?” you gasp. “He works for Benji?” You look at Geto and Gojo as the realization hits you. Could it be that Benji was behind that train massacre? Could it be that he framed his two former employees?

“After the train massacre, Benji cut us some money and said he was headin’ to Sage County to hide out,” Makima adds. “That’s all we know, we swear!”

Gojo smiles, happy with this turnout. “Thank you for your participation,” he sweetly says as he stands up. He reties his blindfold before letting out a whistle that echos across the land.

You hear the sound of horse hooves and thudding footsteps, each sound mingling into one loud heartbeat. You turn, findinding law enforcement and other townsmen following close behind running out of the brush of trees and nature towards you. Among them is Kusakabe sporting a golden star on his shirt as the sheriff of Bull’s Creek (who also so happens to be a bartender).

“They’re all yours, fellas!” Gojo yells, moving away so Kusakabe and his posse can swarm the bandits like flies. Other townspeople follow shortly after and with them, they bring rewards for you and the gunslinging duo: money; food and spices for cooking; whiskey and ale; and more importantly, thanks.

Despite your reputation and appearance, the people stare you in your face and pour their hearts out to you. They shower you with gratitude, give you warm smiles, and shake your hand. It is overwhelming, but at the same time, it makes you feel good. It gives you a better feeling than how you feel after smoking a gunslinger and taking off down the road: cold and vengeful. Now, to see the very people you’ve helped with your own eyes, it makes you rethink your career path.

Nearly an hour later after collecting your rewards and goods to place in a sack for the road, Gojo comes up to you with a big, fluffy towel while Geto chats with some of the victims. “Gotcha somethin’,” he says, wrapping you up in the fluffy thing.

You don’t look into his eyes, still feeling weird from earlier. Once you’re wrapped up tight, he gives you space and chomps down on a sugar cookie given to him by a sweet old lady earlier as her thanks. “So where to now?” you ask, glancing at him. He just smirks at you.

Sage County it is, then.

**********

The night is still and so is the steely, cold, unforgiving prison cell Valentine sleeps in that night.

He’s been in the Black Water County prison for days now, eating their terrible food and facing terrible mistreatment at the hands of the guards. He is housed in a private cell, isolated from other prisoners.

Being a wanted criminal outlaw means that you have many enemies, so the sheriff thought it was best to keep Valentine isolated to avoid Valentine being attacked….not because he cares, but because he wants Valentine alive for his trial.

Valentine hasn’t tried to escape, waiting for the right time to do so. He has decided to lay low for now and play nice, keeping to himself and doing what the guards tell him to do. Meanwhile, in his head, he fantasizes about the moment he can put some bullets in those damn gunslingers and wrap his hands around your lying, backstabbing throat.

Right now, as he lies asleep on his pad, he can almost see your face turning purple as he wrings your neck. He can almost feel the way your hands claw pathetically at his, your body slowly going limp like a rag doll as he–

Clang.

Valentine immediately opens his eyes and sits up in his cell, looking towards the strange sound of metal banging against something solid. He squints into the dark hallway outside of his barred cell door. “H-Hello?” he stutteringly whispers in the darkness. “Is someone there?”

There isn’t an answer for a while, making him feel as if he imagined it. But then he hears footsteps and the young guard usually posted at his cell appears, staggering slightly as he does so. In his hand, he carries a tray of sloppy Joe and beer, possibly for himself, but Valentine makes a joke anyway.

“What’s that?” he scoffs. “You finally bringin’ me some decent dinner, boy? Do you even know what time of night it is?!” The young guard doesn’t answer. Instead, he teeters forward and falls onto his face like a tree that was just axed, falling at Valentine’s feet.

“Shit!” Valentine gasps, jumping and backing up against the cold cell wall. The food and beer spill along the floor, just like the blood pooling from the back wound the guard is sporting. That’s when he sees it: the knife in the guard’s back.

More footsteps follow and Valentine shakily looks up at the shadow figure entering the hallway, dressed in black clothes with a bandana covering his mouth. As he gets closer, Valentine cowares against the wall, shivering. “W-What did you–”

“Shh!” the stranger shushes him. He bends down near the guard’s body and takes off his black glove. There, Valentine recognizes the black rose tattoo on his knuckles. The flower of death. Benji the Bandit’s signature symbol. “The boss sent me here to get you outta here,” he whispers. He begins to dig into the guard’s back pocket and retrieves a ring of keys which he uses to unlock Valentine’s cell.

The door opens with a click and the stranger slides it open, narrowing his eyes at the outlaw. “If you don’t wanna spend the rest of your sorry-ass life in here, follow me and keep quiet.” It doesn’t take Valentine long to make up his mind. He would take anything over wearing an ugly black and white jumpsuit and eating God-awful slop.

Quietly, he follows close behind the stranger down the hallway and around a corner between two other wards of cells. Commotion begins to arise from each ward, prisoners awakening and realizing that someone is escaping. The stranger bends down to move a tile from the floor out of its place, revealing a deep hole that must have taken days to dig. “Down here!” he hisses before ducking down into the manmade hole.

The prisoners begin to knock against their cell doors and walls, yelling and hollering. Quickly, Valentine gets down onto his stomach and slides himself down into the tight, dark hole.

He has never escaped in this manner before and he can’t see why any criminal does it. It’s dank, dark, and dirt keeps getting in his mouth and nose. Not to mention how physically taxing it is. He grunts and struggles to get through certain spaces that are too tight, shimmying along in his elbows and stomach.

But finally, he sees an opening and the stranger pull himself up out of the hole. Valentine follows close after, pushing himself through the opening by his hands. With a gasp, he rises from the hole, breathing in the open air and the night sky above. He’s never been so happy to be above ground before.

But he isn’t at all happy to see who is waiting for him. Other than the stranger, Valentine’s eyes trail up the strong legs of a black Bronco before settling on the man sitting on its back. He is a big man––at least six feet––and the size of a bear with long hair, a salt-n-pepper beard, an eyepatch, and a gold tooth that glints at him in the moonlight. He wears black everything: a black hat; black slacks; black boots; a black jacket adorned with fringe. He is the most terrifying man to exist in the Wild West.

“Benji,” he gasps.

Benji’s smile grows, laugh lines and wrinkles by his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Valentine,” he says in his deep, gruff voice that could make any man tremble. “How was prison for you?”

He doesn’t answer. He rises from his knees and dusts himself off, looking towards the prison. They are right outside of its wired fence, deep in the woods that surround it. “Ya know, crawlin’ through dirt as an escape route ain’t really my style,” he grumbles.

Benji keeps smiling, menacingly so. “You’re lucky I even sent someone to get your ass bein’ that you fucked up and got yourself caught.” He nods at his goon who has settled onto his own horse.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Valentine protests. “That damn idiot duo came after me and threatened to toss me in prison!” He seethes, thinking about you. “And now the bitch that they’re with is against me. She turned out to be the Fatale Femme.”

He has no problem throwing you under the bus. You ruined his entire operation! He was so sure Geto and Gojo would take his offer and let him go free. He was going to leave the county, maybe go overseas, and make his life from there.

It’s bad enough to let Benji once again rope him into another one of his schemes. He just knew that robbing that Cherrywood train would bring him bad luck, but he listened to his boss anyway. “All ya need to do is grab the money with my men and kill the witnesses. You’ll get your cut and I’ll get mine.”

Down on his luck and in need of some quick cash, Valentine agreed, but also had questions: “What about Geto and Gojo? Why are they apart of this? You haven’t worked with them in years.”

Benji just smiled, puffing on his cigar. “Because they need to be reminded that they can’t run from me,” he answered, sending chills down Valentine’s spine. “They’ll never know that I was behind this, but that won’t matter. They think they can suddenly become these saviors, but when the law find them on that train with a bunch of dead bodies, they’ll finally understand that they can’t run from their sins.”

It was punishment for leaving Benji. He wanted the Gunslingers to suffer. Valentine just wanted the money, so he went with it and ran. Now, he not only wants revenge on the duo but on you too.

Benji’s brows rise at the mention of you. “The Fatale Femme teamin’ up with my old gunslingers, eh?” He ponders this, stroking his beard. “Then that means they’re a threat to me, but not for long. That means we’ll have to take them all out of the equation.”

He looks down at Valentine like he’s no more than a bug, those dark eyes like a shark’s. “Listen to me very carefully,” he whispers and Valentine roughly swallows his spit. “I only got ya out of here because I’ve got another job for ya.”

Valentine nods, hanging onto every word: I got word that those two gunslingin’ maggots are headin’ out of the West toward North,” Benji explains. “They’ll be passin’ through Sage County. I need you to follow ‘em with my crew and meet me in Sage County. Attack ‘em on the road if you need to.”

Valentine nods, placing all of these instructions in the back of his mind. “But why are you goin’ to Sage County?” he asks.

Benji pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and holds it between his teeth. “I got a call from four of my old workers earlier after they got arrested in Bull’s Creek. I know Geto and Gojo, so I know that they ask around and obviously know where I’m headed.” He pulls out a match box and lights a match in one strike.

He then lights his cig and takes a puff, holding it between his ringed, inked fingers. “If they show up, I wanna kill them myself–especially that nosey bitch they’ve got with ‘em,” he spits. “I can’t have no one lookin’ for me.”

The severity and seriousness of his words are set by the silence that looms over them along with the ice in Benji’s eyes. Finally, he glares at Valentine. “What are ya waitin’ on, idiot?” he huffs. “Get goin’ and don’t disappoint me.”

He snaps the reins on his horse and takes off into the woods, leaving his goon and Valentine alone.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #my fic shit #black writers #jjk smut #cowboy gojo #cowboy geto #satosugu #satoru gojo x black!reader #suguru geto x black!reader #cowboy!au #cowboy!geto #cowboy!gojo #poly smut #poly love

9 notes · View notes