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bunny584 · 2 months

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A Girl with No Name

A/N: This one shot POURED out of me. All because of this incredible art by @chu-cho Thank you for creating this masterpiece. Hope I can do your art justice.

Ok, let me set the scene. Euphoria, SKINS, and Degrassi procreated in the basement of Kappa Alpha. Keg to the right. A designer tray of substances to the left. The boys in the middle. And you…you crack the whi— what? Who said that?

CW: Frat AU, implied substance use, mature 18+, MDNI

‘Ain’t a pill that I didn’t take’

Lyrics that feel too familiar tread water between Suguru’s ears. They glide along his skin. Which feels like silk, by the way.

Silk.

Who ever made that is a Nobel laureate.

‘Cause Imma sleep when I R.I.P.’

Euphoria.

Who chose the lights?

They’re vivid. Swarming. Like the walls are a tile dance floor. Yeah. Light picker deserves a Nobel too.

“You are so fucked right now.” His best friend’s sharp ass voice dices his lucid thoughts to smithereens.

“Shut up, Satoru.” He’s not wrong.

“We took the same shit.” Suguru perches on the solo cup ridden kitchen island. Sitting is good.

“Plus, I’m bigger than you.”

“If you wanna compare dicks just say so.” Satoru sneers, he’s cockier when inebriated.

In any other instance when Suguru is of sound mind, Satoru would’ve caught a jab to the chest. But two reasons why that can’t happen.

One, he’s currently tripping balls.

Two, you just walked in.

Like you own the house.

Maneuvering your body around the active pong table. Slipping past the chatty women gawking in their direction. Gearing for attack. Shifty and nervous, but the vodka cranberry is courage elixir.

The boys have about 45 seconds to engage with said women or divert.

But you are currently leaning over the counter reaching for a shot glass well out of your zip code. A little red dress on. All curves, no brakes. With an ass that could make anyone believe in God.

Sorry, girls. Tonight, they are going to divert.

Suguru catches Satoru’s heady gaze. No words needed. They share instincts. The boys have been in stride since the day they met.

They saunter over to the counter you’re mounting. An easy reach for them both.

“Didn’t realize your name was on the lease, princess.”

Satoru plucks the double shot glass down from Mount Everest. Handing it over between two fingers.

Still propped up on the counter with one knee, you peer down at them both. Letting the white noise of utter disinhibition drape the space between you.

Suguru planned on softening Satoru’s blow, but then you smile.

Cavalier and gorgeous.

Like it’s a golden ticket into spaces you don’t belong in.

The answer to questions people don’t realize need asking.

The cure for everything.

And right now? It is. The cure.

Suguru stands stupefied as you brace yourself on his shoulders. Thank God his hands still know what to do. They snake around your tapered waist and pull you to solid ground.

Speak, dumbass.

“You didn’t? It’s in the fine print.” Your voice beats him to it. And is fucking dessert.

Bad for you. Horrible for you. But good in the way self-indulgence is.

You take your shot glass (really, anything in the house is yours if you want it). And steer away to the refrigerator.

Your absence jumpstarts Suguru’s out-of-commission brain.

“Excuse him, he was raised by monkeys. Can I help you find something?”

Suguru and Satoru reposition themselves behind you while you rummage. Bent over at the waist. Head nearly submerged in the pull out freezer.

Are you doing this on purpose?

Are you trying to be a cocktease?

Satoru isn’t even attempting to stop eye-fucking you.

Suguru pulls his tongue ring in and out of his teeth. Anything to stop ruminating on the melody of sounds that’ll fill the room when his hips slam into your ass repeatedly.

“There it is,” you stand back to your full height. Triumphant. Jack Daniels in hand.

Your eyes are pools of quicksand. Why else would Suguru’s mouth feel more stuck than his feet?

“You’re a whiskey, kind of girl?” Satoru smirks, amused at your vice choice.

Again, the boys follow your movements like two expertly trained German Shepards. Flanking you when you settle at the corner of the island. Meticulously over-pouring your first double shot.

“I’m a good time kind of girl.” The way your slender neck tilts back is immoral. Throating the dark liquid like water.

…what else can that throat handle?

“Okay, good time girl wh—“

“Listen.” You snip Satoru’s snide remark at its base. Leaving both of them silent. Watching. Waiting.

“Brad,” you pointedly look at Suguru.

“And Chad,” eyes dagger into Satoru.

“Thank you for the warm welcome but I’m not interested in talking.”

The back of your hand swipes against your full lips. And Suguru can’t seem to pull his eyes off of them.

Satoru, after a moment of stunned silence, lets out his laugh. The one that means you’ve won his undivided attention for the night.

“Close, but no cigar baby. Try again.” Satoru leans onto his forearms. Tilting his intoxicated gaze up at you.

“Right idea, though.” Suguru chimes in. Tongue finally deciding to work.

“Ahh, I hear you loud and clear.” You retort, golden-ticket smile back on your face.

Your nose wrinkles in feigned concentration and Suguru nearly passes out.

Are you really this hot? Or is he just that blasted?

“Preppy,” your hand cups Satoru’s face. And his Adam’s Apple bobs deeply.

Good, Satoru is feeling this as hard as he is.

“And Edgy.” Suguru gawks at the way your lips hang open after your snarky guess at his name leaves your mouth.

Satoru’s wolfish chuckle is what re-tethers Suguru to this dimension. How the fuck is he keeping up with you right now?

“No, no. I got it.” You pipe up.

Placing one hand over each of theirs. Suguru greedily intertwines his long fingers between your petite ones.

“Thunder.” You squeeze Suguru’s hand and his soul nearly leaks out of his dick.

“And Lightening.”

Cotton candy dusts Satoru’s nose to his ears when you look up at him. Suguru can see the vulgar scenarios on cinematic repeat in his best friend’s mind.

And it’s tame compared to the ways Suguru wants to disrespect you.

“We can work with that.” Suguru flashes a smile of his own. Purposefully keeping his tongue ring out of your view.

“And what can we call you?” Satoru probes. Zeroed in because no one else in the room exists.

Your hands return back to your side, and Suguru misses your warmth immediately.

“No name.”

Flippant. Lighthearted like what you said was normal.

“What was that?” Satoru spurts out. Saliva bubbling in his half open mouth.

You glide away from the kitchen. Into the den with bodies colliding. Walls thrumming. Lights strobing.

Delicate hands cup around your mouth. Turning back to face your new guard dogs.

“Not here to talk, boys!”

The three of you are interwined at the center of the crowded room in seconds.

But time is warped.

Because Suguru is traversing Death Zone altitude on the mountain. And Satoru is swimming at Abyssal Zone depth in the ocean.

You are the 8th cardinal sin.

You writhe and undulate your curves in and out of their grasp. Gripping onto Satoru’s neck, strumming his undercut when he’s facing you. Winding your hips against Suguru’s crotch when he’s behind you.

Suguru’s cock has never been this hard, he’s half worried it could snap in half. Hissing against your neck. Groaning behind your ear. So goddamn grateful for the music drowning out his desperation.

But his skin is on fire. He can feel every vessel pulsate.

You are not a want.

You are a need.

“Need you.” Suguru gruffs in your ear. Flickering up to Satoru, who is mirroring his hooded gaze.

Suguru watches your pretty hand trail down Satoru’s chest. Satoru rolls his bottom lip under his teeth. Apt nickname you chose for him, because there are lightening bolts in his eyes.

“Take me upstairs,” you whisper back, tilting up to capture Suguru in your web.

And he is so captured. So entangled.

The boys lead you to Suguru’s bedroom in the frat house. Even though the walk felt like miles, exactly no time passes when you three close the door behind you.

Suguru’s lips magnet to yours. Insatiable in the way he sucks and pulls on your lips. Tongue tasting every corner of your sweet mouth.

Satoru drops his head to the crook of your neck. Sucking bruises. Tracing his large grasp up and underneath your dress. No time or room for manners with how his cock is tenting against its weak restraints.

“So eager, boys.” You giggle in between their hungry kisses.

And you’re right.

It’s embarrassing, their display right now.

But neither one of them have the capacity to stop.

And hold it together.

And lead. Like they both are used to.

“Sorry,” Satoru grunts into the feminine slope of your neck. You let out an airy laugh when he starts to dry hump you. Tickling both of their incapable brains.

You know Satoru is so far gone.

And Suguru is trying to hold on to some semblance of dignity but his cock simply won’t let him. Not the way it’s drenching his sweats with need.

“Take these off.” Melodic instructions fill Satoru and Suguru’s ears the minute you pull away from Suguru’s kiss. Your index finger hooked on both hems.

As if your voice is a Pavlovian trigger, the boys step out of their pants and boxers.

Rock hard. Desperate. Leaking.

Your personal drones.

Suguru can’t swallow the whimper that collides with Satoru’s whine when your hands drop to stroke both of them at the same time. Flickering your eyes between your two toys. Proud of the way their cocks are twitching and pumping beads of precum into your hands.

“God, pretty girl.”

“Fuck, princess.”

Satoru and Suguru are dizzy with heat.

Just in time for you to drop to your knees. Dragging your closed, lipsticked lips along Suguru’s up curve.

“Please,” Suguru whispers.

You’re evil.

And you ignore him. Dragging your soft, warm hand up the length of his shaft. Interjecting butterfly kisses in between. Working Satoru’s length in your other hand. Drawing punched out moans from the boys. Chests heaving. Clipped breaths. Pitiful.

“On your knees, Lightning.” You beckon Satoru, while teasing his counterpart.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate for a second. He couldn’t if he wanted to. Propped on his knees, he stares into the side of your face. Awaiting further instruction.

“Kiss me,” you demand, circling your lips around Suguru’s sensitive tip for the first time. Evoking a loud hiss.

Satoru’s eyes widen. Your words startle the breath out of him.

The lights are dim but Suguru doesn’t miss the blossoming cherry red flush. Spreading along his toned shoulders.

Your wet lips dragging along his swollen cockhead pulls Suguru’s eyes away from his celestial best friend.

“Mmmgh f..fuck baby,” Suguru chokes out at your slow, mean ministrations.

“Don’t be shy, Lightening.” Your tongue tickles his lead pipe with every spoken word around his girth.

Suguru’s eyes fall to your hand. Now working its way up Satoru’s length. His core involuntarily curls into your sudden touch. Gossamer thin whine tumbling out of his lips. Suguru catches the way Satoru digs his fingernails into his milky skin.

And his cock twitches against your lips at the sight.

“Kiss me,” You beckon Satoru again, dragging your tongue up Suguru’s length.

“I—I…“ Satoru stammers. Hips stuttering against your fist. Static fills Suguru’s head.

He’s never seen him this docile. This pliant. It’s a mind fuck.

No, no.

The way Satoru pulls his eyes up to meet his gaze in that moment is a mind fuck.

Is he hallucinating?

It’s like Suguru is seeing Satoru for the first time.

Instead of being side by side, he’s across the street. Catching a glimpse of a God. Walking amongst men.

Satoru’s expression has earned permanence in his brain. Snowy halo of hair. Long, palatial lashes fanning the Aegean Sea in his eyes. A mosaic of lust, desire, a little shame.

Seeking permission.

Seeking approval.

He is otherworldly.

Vulnerable and soft. On his knees. Needy. It makes Suguru want to ram his cock past those pouty, swollen lips.

But..but that’s wrong. Right?

They’re best friends. Fucking soulmates. They don’t..they don’t do that.

But the way he’s pouting.

God.

Glassy eyed and helplessly turned on. Rutting his hips into your hand.

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Suguru mutters. A surge of his arousal landing on your tongue. Eliciting a breathy giggle in response.

Followed by an out of body experience for the next few minutes.

Suguru’s hand wires into Satoru’s cloud soft locks. Gentle grasp between the slender webspaces.

“So pretty.” He rasps through the nails in his throat.

Satoru’s pupils blow out at the praise. All but purring into his touch. Suguru barely applies any force and Satoru crashes his lips onto yours with Suguru’s thick head in between.

Filthy.

Nasty dirty vulgar sounds fill the room. Suguru’s constant stream of precum dripping onto your tongue, Satoru’s tongue. Raining down on your puffy, full tits.

You two exploring each other’s lips.

Satoru’s angry length, squelching against your hand.

It’s too much. It’s too fucking much.

“Such a good boy.”

Your dulcet voice is a tornado decimating Suguru’s brain. He has to blink a few times to realize that the praise wasn’t meant for him.

It was directed at Satoru.

Who is desperately — eagerly — throating Suguru’s dick. Nose flaring. Diamond tears rolling down his blushing cheeks. Unintelligible garbles dribbling out the corners of his mouth.

“Sa—Satoru, mmgh, god shit, shit.” Suguru’s hips take a cruel pace down his Person’s throat.

“Mmm, Satoru.” You murmur into his ear. Tasting your new discovery.

“Look how much Thunder likes fucking that mouth of yours.”

Satoru’s tears splash against Suguru’s sex. But he opens his throat anyway. Swallowing his rod. Filthy bulge in the column of his throat.

“Ahh, god..baby..” Suguru huffs when your devilish little hands tug at a palm full of his hair.

When did you get next to him?

Doesn’t matter.

Yet another natural disaster destroys Suguru’s brain when you push your tongue back into his mouth. While he violates Satoru’s mouth.

The wire in Suguru’s stomach coils. Lava surges through every vessel in his body. Groin welling with a deep, carnal pressure. Everything feels too fucking good.

“Fuck, oh god fuck. I’m I—g—“

“Cum for me, baby.”

You kiss your hushed command into Suguru’s mouth. His hips come to a screeching halt. Both hands down in Satoru’s hair, grazing along his undercut.

Suguru tilts his chin to the ceiling. Thick loose mane tickling his mid back. Vision completely dark. He has no idea if he’s still in Satoru’s mouth. Or where his cum is landing. All he knows is death by pleasure right now.

You press your moist lips into Suguru’s neck.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” Sweet words reverberate against Suguru’s skin.

His head slowly comes back to earth. And just as his eyes pull back open — a shudder and blinding light assaults his vision. Up close.

“Woah, what the hell?”

Suguru is met with a Polaroid camera. Printing evidence of his nirvana. His brows crawl together defensively.

“What do you—“

“Relax, thunder.” You coo with that smile that’s decadent, beautiful poison.

You step over a dazed Satoru. Still on his knees. Lazily stroking up his neglected hard cock.

Suguru’s eyes track you to his bed. You place the developing film on the nightstand.

“These are for your eyes only.”

“I don’t mind.” Satoru huffs. Rising to his feet. Deep within your trance. You could’ve asked him to cut off an arm and he’d offer you both.

Satoru would follow you into Hell if you demanded it.

Suguru would too.

“Boys, come.” You curl your finger at them. And pairs of feet move.

“Thunder, why don’t you put that tongue ring to good use. While I take care of pretty little Satoru.”

His name on your lips snaps something buried in his soul. Satoru steps to the head of the bed. Leaning against the wall. Cock heavy with his seed. A string of arousal hanging low from his tip.

You make a dramatic show to catch Satoru’s leaking string of cum before it wastes on Suguru’s sheets.

“You’re fucking filthy, princess.” Satoru hisses. He can’t remember the last time he’s blinked the whole night.

You smile around his bulbous tip, then pull him into your warm heat in one go.

And fuck, Satoru can feel you sucking through to his throat.

His whimpers sound so pathetic in his ears. But he is so lust-drunk he couldn’t care less.

One look down and he sees his best friend whining underneath your precious cunt. As you circle your hips around Suguru’s metal-clad tongue. Taking your pleasure directly from his mouth.

Suguru’s half hard sex pulsates against his perfectly toned abs. Satoru has to look away. His orgasm threatening to come too soon.

“Mmmnggh, so good with your tongue, Thunder.” You gurgle around Satoru’s length.

Arousal flavored saliva driveling down your chin. The sensation drives Satoru to piston his hips until his tip abuses the limit of your dainty throat.

You shouldn’t have any space to breathe, much less talk.

“Pl-please. Suguru. Name’s Suguru.”

“Say his name baby.” Satoru’s order is low. Raptorial. Hips bucking wildly into your mouth. Heat crashing into his groin.

He’s so close. He’s—

“S-Suguru.”

And Satoru dives off your cliff edge. Hearing his Person’s name tumble out of your mouth and around his cock snapped his self-control in half.

Ropes off thick, warm heat spill out the side of your mouth. Staining your bunched up dress, the sheets and everything in between.

“S-so close,” you huff, humping Suguru’s tongue more aggressively.

A familiar camera shudder and solar bright light fans your outstretched neck. Capturing your cum-stained ascension.

You flash Satoru a knowing smirk. Another beam of light aimed in his face before he tosses your camera off to the side.

Satoru crashes his lips into yours. Eager to taste himself off your mouth.

Your bodies move in perfect tandem. Satoru kisses your peak from your lips while Suguru coaxes your wet orgasm onto his tongue. Your high drenches Suguru and the sheets around him.

The three of you piece yourselves together. Completely plaited within each other’s warm, moist limbs. Basking in the serotonin showers misting you three in post-coital bliss.

No one remembers, but you wish each other sweet dreams before the fog settles. And the night re-claims you to sleep.

——

Sunlight is downright offensive.

Suguru forces his heavy lids open.

7: 43 AM

Fucking, hell.

A freight train is currently doing laps in Suguru’s mind. He flickers around the room. Haphazard clothes. Strewn socks. Satoru in Suguru’s 06 hockey jersey. Long limbs nearly dangling off the other side of his bed.

Suguru glances down, somehow dressed only in Satoru’s black sweats

There’s a tiny sliver of space between their sodden bodies. Where you must’ve slept.

Right.

You.

Heaven’s fallen angel.

You used to be God’s favorite. No way you still are.

Not with how fucking sinful you looked in that red dress.

Snapping polaroids.

Taking their souls for play.

Then having the audacity to leave them on the nightstand when you were through.

Suguru met The Devil last night.

And she was…exquisite.

“Fuck, my head.” Satoru groans, rolling over to face his dark-haired soulmate.

Suguru watches his eyes flutter open. And something within him catches.

How has he not noticed how beautiful this boy is before?

“Here,” A glass of ice water, still sweating from condensation is waiting on Suguru’s nightstand. He takes a long sip before passing the lifeblood to Satoru.

Satoru briefly meets Suguru’s gaze. Before averting, pretty mulberry blush flooding his face.

“Was last night…real?” Satoru asks after an extended sip.

Suguru meets his question with silence. Preoccupied with picture proof.

Three polaroids neatly arranged on the nightstand.

The first one is of Suguru. Hair moused, framing his intoxicated gaze. Remnants of his orgasm oozing from the still shot. Lips puffy and abused. Cheeks flushed. Suguru can barely recognize the man in the photo.

His eyes dance to the cursive label at the bottom:

Thunder

Alias: “Suguru”

A wry chuckle escapes his lips. He passes his photo to Satoru.

The next polaroid is of his Person. Post orgasm haze heavy in his eyes. He managed to get his 10,000-kilowatt smile perfectly in the selfie. Also flushed. Also completely debauched. The blue in his eyes reflected nearly translucent.

He’s a fucking masterpiece, that boy.

Suguru knows what to expect at the bottom of Satoru’s polaroid:

Lightening

Alias: “Satoru”

“Shit man, these are amazing.” Satoru murmurs, intently studying Suguru’s polaroid. Absentmindedly accepting his.

“They are.” Suguru agrees, unknowingly holding his breath while pulling your polaroid into view.

And of course.

It’s blurry.

The only thing in focus is your graceful, arched neck, specks of Satoru’s finish glistening on your skin. Merlot red dress, pulled far below your breasts. Only thing pictured is the apex of your cleavage. Leaving Suguru’s mind to spiral into lucid memory of the rest of your silhouette.

“Who…was that?” Satoru muses. Eyes now on the ceiling. Undoubtedly having the exact same swarm of flashbacks flood his mind.

Suguru rolls your Polaroid between his index and long finger. The bottom of the photo reading:

No Name

A lazy smile tugs on the corner of his lips.

You are something else.

Supernatural, almost.

“She’s a girl with no name.”

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whosjunglejim4322 · 6 months

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Reconcile- E.M (S)

Smut!, fluff because uhm how could I not, angst! cause you guys are pent up from stress and this is basically a make up sex fic teehee, mentions of weed, brief arguing, Y’all just desperate and gross, Eddie fucks you till you cry and talks you through it like the slut he is, he cums inside of you, makes sure to fuck all that attitude away, PUSSY EATING, very graphic descriptions of passionate n nasty intercourse

You hadn’t foreseen this happening.

Sure, you and Ed’s have gotten into little disputes before. Petty, insignificant quarrels about whether or not the other person actually took out the garbage or who would pay next date night. Two years is still short to some, for you and Eddie it felt like forever and yesterday all in the same universe. Heavenly, and mundane.

But this is a different beast all together. This morning makes day two that you two have had this weird, suffocating energy between both of you. The antagonist of this situation, is undoubtedly the conversation that was had at Steve’s weekend hangout.

A few hits from a joint, a shot or two of tequila and goofy sentences being passed around between two best friends. You and Robin being the spectators, content in your own little bubble, puffing on a spliff of your own. Heavy, fluffy blankets kept you warm, gave you weight to lean on when your head began to feel like it might float away.

The Christmas lights and the hum of the deep freezer in the corner of Steve’s basement almost distracted you completely in your haze, until it didn’t. Until Chrissy Cunningham came up. Until it was an innocent giggling fit about whether or not Chrissy ever had a crush on Eddie, the oxymoron in and of itself.

“Imagine that ever happening,” Steve chuckled, lightheartedly, taking a sip of his Diet Pepsi. “can’t say I can’t see it. She wanted you for sure, dude.”

Your ears twitched. Eyes thinning into inquisitive slits. Nothing about Steve’s tone was meant to be rude, or disrespectful, but the nature of the comment itself felt awkward and uncomfortable underneath your skin.

You almost turned your attention back to the Walkman blasting David Bowie. Almost.

“I saw her the other day, she came in for an oil change. Honestly, I never would’ve even thought she wanted me,” Eddie takes another rip of his bong. “But then she asked me if I do at home visits. Said she wanted to catch up with me.”

Maybe your reptilian brain overreacted. Or, maybe it didn’t. Honestly, you don’t blame yourself completely for the way you reacted after that statement. Nothing else he said after that mattered. All you could hear was your heartbeat in your own ears. Loud, thunderous

“I told her I wouldn’t do that, obviously.”

White noise.

And not only were you intoxicated, but you were already burnt out from work and school, touch starved from not having any time with your boyfriend as of late. A period of your current reality that you know will pass as all things do in life; but it was too much. This hangout was supposed to be somewhat intimate, something for you to both do together. A simplicity that normally wouldn’t even have to be mentioned. You and Eddie exist on the same axis.

The blanket became too heavy and the smoke in the room threatened to choke you further. You all but threw the fluffy cover off of you and stormed out. You heard Robin call after you, and Eddie. A pair of voices that meshed together like the drum line in a song that is so in sync with the guitar chorus that you can barely decipher it. The steps spin, but you manage to stay upright.

Cold November air chilled your face, your neck. You too a deep breath in while marching to the van parked just a few feet away on the newly slabbed pavement of Steve’s home. His parents are at their lake house so often that Steve claims their Hawkins residence as his own.

Predictably, a heavy thump of boots followed closely behind you. The scrape of worn soles and the squeak of an old leather jacket. A billow of smoke follows him, clings onto him like jasmine and rosemary to the freshly bathed. Your back felt like the warning signs at a crossroad. He felt helpless.

“Baby, hey,” he sounded breathless, desperate and confused. He’s never seen you so upset that you’d just walk out unprompted. “stop walking god dammit, please.”

You stopped reluctantly, the tears of frustration in your waterline blurring your vision of the violet, cloudless skyline. A wide, warm palm touched your shoulder and the heat seared you even through your hoodie. You flinched away instinctively, sore in your limbs from your own concoction of emotions. When you met his eyes, they were wide. Like a deer staring down the barrel of a gun in its own home.

Your face must have been something to see. A scowl, a mirror of sadness reflected in his umber eyes. Angry. He’d never seen you look at him that way. It felt like having his intestines twisted between two cold hands.

“You didn’t tell me that happened.”

You stated it plainly, but spitefully in nature. Your voice cracked and it made a brewing tear spill over your waterline and down the plump of your cheek. He had the overwhelming urge to comfort you, but knew he couldn’t. Knew you would likely flinch away like you did five seconds ago and he didn’t think he would physically be able to bear you trying to get away from him again.

He didn’t exactly know what was making you so upset. The conversation wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have said in front of you, which is why all of it was said in front of you. Perhaps his own intoxication made it hard to fully understand the velocity of his words, what they meant and how they could’ve been interpreted from your point of view.

“I didn’t think it was important.” His thick brows scrunched and deepened the wrinkle between them. You looked like your eyes might bulge out of your head.

You nearly choked on your own spit, the words to your reply getting caught square in the middle of your throat; and so you said nothing. You stepped forward, and then past him. And he realized too late that you were walking away from him.

“I’m gonna ask Steve to take me home.”

He was too stunned to speak. To react. To stop you, to plead for you to tell him what he did wrong. Or at least how to fix it. He felt himself crumble on the inside, like his bones were made of ash.

When he got back to the trailer that night, you weren’t there. And that’s when it all really set in. That he fucked up. For the past two weeks you’ve been here with him, playing house while Wayne caught a gig further up north. He thought, he thought that when you said home, maybe you meant here. With him.

He called that night, almost ten times. You answered on the eighth.

“I’m at my apartment Ed’s, I’m fine. I don’t want to argue, or talk. I just need to be by myself right now.”

He felt paralyzed by the pang in his chest. More so, he felt angry. Genuinely angry, and not just at himself, but selfishly, at you.

“Fine, glad you’re safe.”

He nearly broke the fucking landline.

Your eyes have to adjust to the brightness of your living room. Well, your bedroom, slash living room, slash kitchen. A studio in Hawkins is relatively affordable, but they aren’t lying when they say it’s a studio. The events from yesterday scream in your head instantly, along with the pounding of your pulse. Your bed is almost unfamiliar at this point, the blankets not worn enough, the sheets the scent of fresh dryer sheets instead of you and Eddie’s shared scent.

The beeping of your answering machine pulls you back down to reality, though not one you want to participate in currently. Unfortunately, you have no other choice.

They’re all from Eddie of course, and now that you’re not high you feel those wounds from the night before coming back, sticking you in the chest, ribs, liver. Along with the pain, you feel guilty. For your less than mature reaction. Though you know you can’t blame yourself, not having ever been in that situation. You’re human and reacted as so. But he’s your Eddie.

You listen to the last message, sent twenty five minutes ago.

“I’m coming over in thirty minutes, I don’t care if you don’t want to see me. We are going to talk this out. I love you.”

You huff in frustration, though you can’t say you aren’t relieved. Relieved that he’s coming, that he’s not giving up over some quarrel about Chrissy Cunningham. You have a tendency to think the entire world is caving in around you upon one minor inconvenience. This disruption in your daily routine feels like Armageddon.

You have time to brush your teeth and rinse the remaining paste off of your mouth before your front door opens. If you didn’t recognize his footsteps so well, it might be off putting to have someone just waltz into your home.

The bathroom door is open, so he spots you immediately, slipping off his worn in boots and placing them beside the door. He takes his leather jacket off and puts it over the stool that sits at your kitchen island. It makes your face hot, still. The ease in which you two have melded into each others lives. Even if you’re angry at him.

“I don’t know what to say, Ed’s.” It’s a lie. You walk past him to the kitchen and open the fridge, hiding from his gaze as you pretend to search for something. He clears his throat and you reluctantly close the refrigerator door, staring at the floor and backing yourself against the sink.

“I just - you’ve never left. Without telling me. Or talking to me. And, fuck I-“ he’s stammering already, taking steady breaths and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think I had to tell you about an insignificant interaction with Chrissy Cunningham.”

You scoff, although it’s more of a giggle. And he looks at you like you’ve just lost your mind. Rare, for Eddie Munson to think someone else has lost their mind.

“Well you and Steve sure seemed to enjoy talking about it. You both were pretty giddy discussing whether or not Chrissy wanted to, or, sorry -“ you’re being defensive. Rude. You can’t help it. “wants to fuck you. Why would I want to hear about that? Why would I want to hear you guys talk about whether or not you both can see you and Chrissy together? Does that not sound incredibly fucked up, Ed’s?”

So much for not talking. Now it’s spilling out like a cracked flower vase. Your chest is heaving rapidly, face and body hot with anger. Your arms are crossed across your chest, a protection against whatever it is he might say, despite the fact that you’re the one who’s being rhetorical.

He shoves his ringed fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp and pulling lightly at the roots as he closes his eyes, contemplating. Seeing things through your eyes, attempting to. He winces.

“That’s not what we were trying to say,” he bites his cheek. “I mean I know it doesn’t matter what we were trying to say, the conversation shouldn’t have happened, but I can’t take it back. For fucks sake.”

He’s murmuring to himself, rubbing his rough palms over his tired face. He’s wearing one of your favorite tee shirts of his to steal. Iron Maiden. The sleeves are short enough to reveal the splattering of ink that crawls up his biceps. When his muscles move underneath his skin, the ink moves with them. It’s captured your attention suddenly, and now you’re raking your eyes over his entire figure.

Familiar black sweats cling onto his lower half. They fit perfectly on his lithe waist, loose on the rest. Except for his ass. He has a really cute ass. And these sweats specifically accentuate the shape before billowing down his thighs.

“Baby? You with me?”

The low timbre of his voice shakes you from your reverie. You’ve simmered off, the anger replaced with a different heat. It’s been too long since the two of you have just been together, this fight might be the most communication you’ve had in the past week due to your jobs, and school. Or the worries of the world, the overwhelming need to sleep when you aren’t working, to work when you aren’t sleeping.

You’ve forgotten about each other. Briefly, but not inevitably. Never that. You feel like you may collapse.

“I’m- yeah I’m with you.”

You let out a sigh, uncrossing your arms. You look and sound as defeated as you feel. He can’t pretend to not have noticed your silky, thin sleeping gown, but he is just a man. And your nipples are hard underneath the garment and he has never not thought you’re one of the most beautiful creatures he’s ever seen. You haven’t worn it in a while, preferring his clothes to sleep in since you’ve been staying with him. He missed seeing you like this.

He steps closer. Tentatively, afraid you might run away from him. You sense his hesitancy and a piece of your heart breaks, the piece where he lives. You meet his eyes, silently inviting him, glancing from his mouth then back up to his softening gaze. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob in his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He says, earnestly. His hands threaten to tremble when you reach out and grab them, heavy in your own. He hovers above you the closer he gets, your limbs connecting in a symbiotic way. One you feel the others skin, you can’t get away from it. Not until you’re pressed together, belly to belly, your chin tilted upward.

“You - ugh.” You can’t get words out anymore. They dissolve in your larynx and your head falls, the need to cry or scream or kiss him an overwhelming choice.

“I know baby, I know. I’m sorry.” He pats down your hair, rough thumbs caressing the softness of your cheeks. He pulls your face upwards again, staring down at you with regret, adoration, hunger.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have just left.”

He leans closer, till you smell the coffee on his breath and the hazelnut creamer alike. Your noses bump and rub against the other, his thick eyelashes fanning across his own cheekbones - casting a fluttery shadow.

“It’s okay now. We’re okay now.” He says it softly, just between the little space left between you two. “Let me take care of it. Please.” He closes the gap.

Some people assume it’s not supposed to feel as good as it does, kissing someone who’s lips you’ve mapped out like an atlas. That couldn’t be further from the truth, because kissing Eddie feels like being consumed.

And not just metaphorically, because it’s evident in the nips to your bottom lip, the sucking of your tongue whenever he feels it lick his teeth; that your small period of separation, and longer period of not having indulged each other, has weighed heavily on him as well. He’s starving.

You’re overtaken within seconds by the veracity of his mouth, your fingers taking purchase in the curls at his crown. Smacks and kisses and wet noises fill the small space, and the center of your stomach swells with a simmering heat. A reminder of how neglectful you both have been. Your nipples harden against him, as his dick twitches between his legs.

You feel nervous. Tentative. Excited.

His hands implore you like a new discovery, grasping at your back, and then down the sensitive slopes of your sides and over the plushness of your hips. Through the silky nightgown the sensation is riveting, enough to drive a person insane. You arch against him, and a whimper escapes your mouth into his throat.

“Mmm, mhm.” He groans.

“Eddie,” it’s a cry, wanton sound that makes him rut himself against you instinctively. Anything to relieve you. Anything to relieve himself. “baby.”

He smiles against your mouth, pecking it a few times before departing only for a second to see your kiss bitten lips, his and your spit coating your mouth. Your blown out pupils. He mirrors your appearance, like a wild creature.

“Never again,” his index fingers knuckle strokes the inside of your thigh, and you shudder, holding onto his broad shoulders for an anchor. You separate your legs without thinking. “we will never go through this again. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

Three knuckles stroke your pubic mound, then down your covered slit where dampness threatens to leak. Your fingernails grip his shirt, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in anticipation. He’s so warm, so palpable. You want him to bury himself inside of you.

He’s in front of you, and then he’s not. You blink, and hair tickles your thighs like you’re frolicking through an overgrown field. Strong, rough hands lift the delicate silk of your nightie until it’s being bunched between ringed fingers above your navel. He’s on his knees, devout for you.

You gasp when his tongue broadens against your center. Your panties are just enough barrier to make you wanna cry out in desperation, while also offering enough sensation to not dare stop for even a moment to pull them off. You’re at his mercy. Or is he at yours? Neither of you know anymore, and it’s not important.

Not when he gets a taste of you. Not when he peers up at you between lust sodden lashes and sees you looking down at him like you’re about to crumble. Your knees shake and he bunches the nightie in one fist instead of two, placing his free hand on the back of your thighs to steady you while he soaks your underwear with the spit from his tongue.

The shape of your slit and the plump lips around it begins to show its phantom form through the material from the soaking. He sucks, prods with the tip of his wet muscle.

“Ed’s, fuck.” Your voice is so weak. His cock weeps in his sweats, dribbling with copious amounts of precum. It’s torturous to not touch himself but he’s too focused on watching you, pleasing you. You hums against your mound, mocking you.

He pulls the elastic to the side, not patient enough to take them off all the way. You get to see his face for a split second, cherry red cheeks and a messy halo of hair and stubble on his chin. And then, you feel it.

His nose keeps your lips separated, his tongue already splayed against the soft, sensitive flesh between them. You’re slick and sticky and coating the lower half of his face, though you have trouble grasping onto the helms of reality when he’s licking your pussy like this. He shakes his head from side to side, tongue still flat until he’s spreading your thighs farther, so that he can lick your honey from the source.

“Hold it.” He mumbles, struggling to hand the falling material of your night gown to your shaking hands, though you get the memo when it threatens to cover his head completely. You use one hand to hold it, and the other to tug at his hair.

You can barely hear anything another than the sloppy wetness of his mouth working on you, and the sound of your own heartbeat, but you’re sure you’re whining. You can feel the rawness of your throat as you let your head fall back and cry to the ceiling, feeling the need to tear up.

You grip the roots of his locks, rocking against his mouth like you’ve got no other choice. He hums, encouraged by every squeak and moan that comes out of you, by every drip of your cunt and tensing of your muscles.

He doesn’t care that your thighs are squeezing around his head, or that you can barely hold yourself together. You’re using his face like second nature and his cock weeps in his pants. He feels himself throbbing in tandem with the pulsing of your hole around his tongue.

Then he pulls your lips apart with his thumbs, revealing the pink bud that resides underneath your hood, suckling and coating it with enough spit to drip onto the floor.

“Oh god,” you pant “m’gonna cum. Please don’t stop please please please.”

You’re throttled, and not just by the pleasure but by how fast you’re descending into your own madness. You can’t hear much of anything, see anything but the back of your own eyelids - and your boyfriend is using half of his strength to keep your body upwards as you threaten to wilt.

He doesn’t stop, per your request but to your ultimate demise. You feel yourself leaking as your clit throbs from the aftershocks of a powerful - much needed and thoroughly missed, orgasm.

You think you might pass out, but he feels the trembling in your body and despite his need to keep going until you’re completely done for, all but comatose- he stops.

Through your clouded and hazy senses, your hands tug at his face, his head, his neck. Lazily you attempt to pull him up from his knees, and it’s not your strength that does it, it’s his own. But he lets you believe you pulled him to your mouth, before he even has the chance to wipe your essence off. Not that he cares to.

Your tongues collide in a messy exploration, he’s rough and saccharine and sweet all at once. Your paw at him like you’ve never felt him before, like he didn’t just have his mouth on your most private of parts.

“I need you in me.” You slur the words between open mouthed kisses. He’s pressed so flush against you that you can feel his dick throbbing, and you’re not sure if the wetness is your own or his. Perhaps both.

You’re hungry for it. He’s still starving, and your fingers clumsily pull the waistband of his sweats down until they’re pooled at his ankles. You wrap your hand around the thick member, angrily red at the tip, veins bulging from either side. The thatch of curly hair at his base is covered by his shirt but you don’t have the energy to remove it- to do anything other than ogle at the blood rushing through him, the feel of his pulse through his manhood. He throws his head back for a split second, taking a deep breath.

You turn around, facing the sink and resting your cheek against the cool metal of the edge. You offer yourself to him like this, an invitation in the form of a leaking cunt and buckling knees. His hands, rough and wide pull this godforsaken nightgown up and over the swell of your ass, knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in the process.

You want to look at him but you’re far too flustered, ironically. It’s completely idiotic to still be embarrassed at your own need for your own boyfriend - but someone as beautiful as Eddie doesn’t come around very often. Getting to do this feels like retribution.

“You’re so pretty,” he groans, out of breath. He crudely spits on his cock, you can hear the slick sounds of his precum mixing with his saliva as he strokes himself a few times, one hand on your left hip while he guides his mauve tip to your slit.

“I’m gonna fuck all that attitude away baby.”

The stretch is jarring and unexpected, but the sounds you both make as he sticks himself passed your gummy entrance isn’t. You grip the counter, and he leans his weight over you so that he can mouth at your shoulders while he pushes himself in to the hilt- kissing your cervix before his cock moved around it.

“Yeah?” He taunts, hair tickling your back and lips smearing kisses against your nape. “You’re so goddamn wet, this is all you needed huh?”

He’s genuine within the ruggedness of his voice. Within seconds he’s pulling himself out and shoving himself back in with something fierce driving him. He’s unforgiving in his pace once he gets into a comfortable stance, kicking his sweats off of his ankles and planting his feet behind you.

It’s a symphony of sticky, wet sounds, and grunts with compositions of skin against skin in your small kitchen. It’s been so long since you’ve felt him, since he’s felt you. He’s not just fucking you from the back, he’s mounting you - panting lewdly in your ear while his hands snake themselves around your shoulders.

You cry out, nothing coherent leaving your mouth. Your poor cunt was still contracting from the orgasm he gave you with his mouth when shoved himself inside of you, and now that little spongey spot is being brutally massaged over and over again with each stroke.

“That’s - s-so - good.” Your words are staccato, followed by petulant whines. You’re thankful for his hit breath on your neck, the groans leaving him, the weight of his body behind you. He’s close while still delivering a delicious punishment - a fucking that’s meant to make you forget about anything that’s happened this past week.

“Awe baby, it feels good hmm? You - fucking hell-“

His balls tighten and he knows he’s gonna cum soon, he’s too caught up in how you’re squeezing around him, throbbing from the inside out with your admiration for him. You try to reach back and touch him, but he holds your arms in front of you, a sort of embrace and restraint all in one.

“need to cum baby, need to show you how much I love you. Need to fill you - oh baby - need to fill you all the way. That’s it - there you go there you go, I know.”

He kisses your cheek where a tear falls down, your knees beginning to tremble again in tandem with his own. He ruts and ruts and ruts, your cream coating his cock, your warmth swallowing him whole.

He pulls out, and you think you might start weeping, till he turns you around by your waist and licks the inside of your parted lips. He hiked your leg up around his lithe waist, bends his knees and maneuvers his hips forward so that he can slide back into you.

Now that he can see your face, and you can see his, you both feel cathartic.

You hang onto his shoulders, clawing at his curls and he holds your face, damp lips centimeters away from your own while your foreheads rest against each other. You look down to watch him disappear inside of you, and you marvel at it. Your juices and the sounds they make, how pretty his dick looks coated in your release and his own pre ejaculate.

“M’so fucking deep,” he’s shaking now, sweat beading down his neck. His bottom lip quivers and you begin to realize how this must feel for him as well. How badly you both needed the other. “it feels so fucking good, so good so good so good.”

He’s babbling and you pull his mouth to yours again, suckling on his tongue. With some foreign strength, you use your voice.

“Please cum, I love you Eddie. I want you to cum for me please please, I can’t take it. Cum for me cum for me cum for me I love you.”

He thinks he might cry, he’s so fucking deep when you wrap your arms around him, when your hips are connected so closely that you can’t tell where one of you begins and the other one ends - when the sweet lullaby that is your voice serenades him, begs him to let go.

“Oh god, oh fuck I’m - fuuuuck.”

He tightens, stuttering inside of you while small gasps of pleasure leave him like hiccups. You inhale the scent of his hair, feel the rise and fall of his breath from between his shoulder blades. You’re both twitching, barely standing. A mess, and certainly a sight to see.

He stays like that for a few moments, just enough for all of his cum to dribble out from the tip and into you. When he pulls out, the sound is audible and crude, and he swears to himself he will clean the mess on your kitchen floor.

You don’t know who kisses who first.

Both of you go for the others neck, cheeks, forehead. Gently, with enough love to fill an entire universe itself. It’s a juxtaposition to the way you just had each other. It’s love. Pure, unadulterated, sickeningly sweet to the melancholy.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he kisses your eyelids, then your nose, out of breath. “and I’m gonna make breakfast in the morning. We are never letting this happen again.”

You scratch his scalp.

“Which part? Cause-“ he rolls his eyes, smiling boyishly. Enough to show his dimples, flash his teeth.

“You know which part, I’ll give you whatever you want. But I’m never going this long without being around you. Not ever.”

He’s devout, sincere in a way that is irrevocable. You don’t argue, don’t wince, don’t make a face. You nod, suckling his bottom lip.

You listen.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #eddie munson x you #Eddie Munson au #joseph quinn x reader #Eddie Munson Drabble #Eddie Munson imagine

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roturo · 10 months

Text

BITE ME

summary: being a vampire hunter wasn't easy, and it became rougher when you encountered a cute tall white-haired vampire that would change up your opinions about them

warnings: smut, blood, vampire!gojo x vampire hunter!reader, sub!gojo, dacryphilia, gojo cries during sex lmao, kinda rushed, piv, unprotected sex, overstimulation, kinda fucked dumb tbh, blood lust, like it was love at first sight yass, no one is in their right mind, just horny tbh, loved this idea, maybe oc gojo idk, bc he's such a cutie pie here, aghdhsagbdy this is cute that im even surprised, never wrote for sub!gojo but idk, enjoy.

TUMBLR IS BASED ON A REBLOG SYSTEM. PLEASE REBLOG MY WORK.

Since little you were taught many things, but the most important one is to always hate vampires.

Living in a community divided by unnatural human beings and well, humans, made society enter into a conflict if both kinds of communities should mix.

Your family was a well known vampire hunter, you lived in a forest far away from the city where most of the vampires usually exist between humans. Being a medical student made you learn a lot about the species that killed your dad. So being a recognized ‘vampire hunter’ wasn’t such a good thing.

Maybe that’s why you couldn’t stand being near them, nor living with them. That’s why when you had a vampire as a patient (who are most of the time the ½ vampires) you made sure of learning all about them, learning how to defend yourself from them, and even might kill them.

You have a specific freezer for human blood and some samples of whatever type of blood vampires have. Spending most of the time examining the different types of cells and differences from the human blood.

And that’s the thing. Having human blood and being alone in the middle of nowhere is not the safest option to avoid vampires.

Gojo Satoru is a well respected young vampire, not by his ancestors though, since he decided to live more of a ‘pacific lifestyle.’ Humans had this thing where vampires couldn’t feed themselves with human blood. At this rate he doesn’t know if the new generations are good for everyone or just for humans, and do not even dare to talk about animal blood, that’s disgusting.

But when he has the chance of drinking human blood, I'm telling you, this man becomes insatiable. Maybe that’s why society invented other types of supplements for vampires. But coming from a lofty clan, he couldn’t live from those disgusting things human called ‘’food’’

And well... when he saw this cute lady coming out from the hospital with a case full of blood bags (thanks to his supernatural power to identify the delectable human blood on his own) he couldn’t resist himself from following you until you got home.

Please let it be possible that vampires can be knocked out, you thought. You couldn't believe a vampire was standing right infront of your freezer looking for something. With all of the strength you could muster up, you swung the pan down right on his head, no doubt strong enough to give anyone a major concussion. Immediately, he fell to the ground, as lifeless as he wouldn’t be if he wasn’t a vampire.

“Holy shit…” You breathed out, shoulders high and tense. Looking down at him, you noticed how young he looked, and in all honesty, he didn’t look threatening at all. You felt a tinge of worry, wondering if he wasn’t a vampire after all, and you might’ve just killed him.

So that’s how you find yourself here and how you might met the love of your life.

Edging closer to the man, you bent down to see if he was breathing. He was completely still. That didn’t tell you much, though, as he could be dead or…the undead.

Thank god you had a basement here, especially if anything like this happened. I guess following your dad's steps really helped you out. Which was why it was the best place to drag the vampire into. Maybe you could keep him in there and question him on how the hell he got into your house, and at the same time, you could keep him at a safe distance from yourself.

He was much heavier than you thought he was, but you guessed that came from his height. He was still unconscious but you guessed that it wouldn’t be for long. Suddenly, two large hands grabbed the rusted metal bars from inside of the room and you screamed as his face had come into view like a jump scare.

“Get me out.”

You backed up from the window as far as you could, going to the other side of the room. You didn’t know why you were so scared, mainly because he was behind a locked door. You guessed that despite whatever vampire strength he had, he couldn’t get himself out.

Maybe it’s the hit on his head still playing games? The metal bars your dad gave you for this?

“What are you doing? Let me out!” He frowned. “Why did you put me in here?”

“W-why are you in my house?” You asked him. He didn’t say anything for a second.

‘’Ah.. shit.’’ Right, the blood bags. “Bitch, I was hungry!” He yelled back, making you recoil. Did he just call you a bitch? “That’s why I’m here, because I was hungry and I thought that maybe I could steal some of the blood bags you have.’’

‘‘Have you been stalking me?!’’ How does this vampire know about the blood bags?!

‘‘Uh-... no?... Yes.’’

You sighed. “Do you have anywhere else to go?”

“No…not really.” He said as if he was embarrassed. “I decided to drop out of college when I turned, so I can’t go back on campus.”

“You can stay here if you want.” You didn’t exactly feel sure about him staying here, but he might help you with your research. He’s still a vampire after all… he’s a threat. But fuck it, that's how you learn new things. You asked for his name after you told yours.

‘‘Okay… Gojo Satoru. But you have to stay in there for a while, until I trust you.’’

“What about when I’m hungry?” He asked.

“I’ll figure that out’’

“What about when I’m lonely?”

“...’’

The faint sound of Gojo calling in your name woke you up.

“What the fuck…?” You frowned, squinted eyes getting used to the sunlight. “Oh my fucking gosh.” You quickly got up from your bed, putting on your slippers, and stumbling out of your room, barely able to walk in a straight line. You stomped your way down two flights of stairs until you were met with Gojo holding on to the bars again. “What?!”

“Hi.” He greeted you. “It’s tomorrow, right? I can’t really tell since I’ve been locked in a basement of a dungeon with no light. But if it’s tomorrow, can I have a blood bag? It’s been weeks since I’ve eaten.’’

‘‘And why haven’t you eaten? There’s literal stores for you, vampires!’’

‘‘Ah.. well… I don’t like those.’’

‘‘What?...’’ You looked at him in disbelief for a few seconds. “You woke me up at 7 in the morning for a blood bag?”

“In my defense, I didn’t know it was 7.” He shrugged. You opened up the door of the cell, walking up the stairs, still tired from waking up only ten minutes ago. You heard him follow you, steps surprisingly light for someone as tall as he was.

He started looking around your house, kinda creepy for a vampire if you keep looking at weapons for them.

‘‘Um.. Are you a vampire hunter?’’

‘‘Yes.’’

He chuckled at your answer and sat on top of the table. ‘Why? Weren’t they banned like years ago? Humans even live with vampires, that’s silly from you.’’

‘‘Maybe I wouldn’t be silly if your kind didn’t killed my dad.’’

.... Shit. Maybe you shouldn't have said that.

‘‘Oh... I’m sorry.’’

You sighed, he didn’t mean it in a bad way, he shouldn’t receive this type of behavior from you.

‘‘It 's… okay. I’m not a vampire hunter like it, i’m more like a vampire examinator?’’ Well, you didn’t even think about that one before, if you didn’t want to kill vampires why are you doing this?

You handed him a blood bag from the freezer, watching his eyes light up made you slightly smile, he’s kinda cute. You woke up from your trance and slightly shook your head away from those thoughts.

“Remember not to rip it open and spill it.” You said. “Especially not on these old floors, it’ll soak right in.”

“Oh…right.” He said, twisting open the nozzle and drinking from there. You watched him down it in less than thirty seconds, his brows furrowed in concentration. After he was done, he set it down on the counter.

‘‘Uh.. Can I stay again tonight?... I can sleep on the floor again!’’

....

One night turned into two nights, and two nights turned into a week, and a week, turned into a month.

You found yourself smiling at him, not noticing how used to him you’ve gotten. He was very peculiar in the least, but you guessed that was mainly because of him being a vampire. You found yourself wondering what he was like when he was a human. It was weird to know that the two of you were always in such close proximity without knowing it. Maybe it was fate. You snapped back into reality once he smiled at you, and you didn’t even think to return the smile. Instead, you looked down at your hands, picking at your nails as if you were busy. Honestly, you were embarrassed to get caught looking at the handsome vampire with boyish charm.

“Y'know…you’ve been holding out really well, so far.” You told him. “You have even helped me with my researches, nothing that I didn’t knew about, but still helped me confirm me”

He turned to look at you. “Really?” He asked, eyes brightening up a little.

“Really.” You nodded with a smile, and he lazily smiled back. “So, I’ve decided to give you a little present.”

“A present? What is it?” He asked curiously, words muffled by the fact that he was still entranced by the tv and some vampire supplement you bought for him

“Guess.” You told him, feeling a bit mischievous. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s almost like…Why did we meet in the first place.”

“Hm?” He tilted his head to the side. “I’ve never hit you with a pan though? Or have I?” He furrowed his eyebrows in thought.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t think too hard, you even called me bitch for it’’

“But I really can’t think of anything?” He said. “Can you just give me it? I’m not good at this guessing game…”

“Satoru…” You sighed, something was happening to you, on him... leaned towards him, softly caressing his cheek and giving him a small peck. That wasn’t the surprise, and you were as surprised as him when you did that. It’s just that his eyes looked so beautiful, his messy hair covering his forehead, and his cheeky smile while watching some shitty show on the tv... He froze in surprise, enough to not be able to kiss you back.

“Oh…” He chuckled nervously, and you swore something on him changed the moment he looked right into your eyes again. “Can you maybe do it again?” He asked.

You responded with another kiss, one that he had returned this time, except for more fervor. It was like he was waiting to kiss you, dreaming about your lips on his. Did this mean…that you felt the same? Were you as infatuated with him as he was to you? He doubted that it was possible. All without you knowing, he might’ve fallen in love. Falling in love with a vampire, what they trained you hate most... It only had to be fate that brought you two together.

“I really like you.” Gojo blurted out once you two parted.

“Do you mean that?” You asked him, slight insecurity peeking out from your otherwise hard shell. “I doubt you’ve met very many people in your life.”

‘‘Oh I have, but no one could compare to you sugar.’’ His lips attached to yours again, it’s like he was waiting for this moment his whole life.

¨S-satoru, wait!¨ He immediately stopped his actions, looking worried and for any kind of threat in you.

‘‘That wasn’t the surprise, you can try human blood again.’’

‘‘You got new blood bags? That’s amazing!’’ He was about to stand up from the couch when you stopped him sitting down on his lap, which made him froze.

‘‘I mean it's like… human, human. You can try my blood.’’

‘‘What?'' Silence passed.

''Are you sure? You’re not going to kill me or something right? I’ve seen those knifes you have in the basement and that could sure even kill Dracula.’’ You nodded and laughed at what he said.

He gulped, dark red eyes honing into the beating vein on the left side of your neck. He hesitantly bent down, nose to your neck as he took a big whiff of your sweet blood. He shut his eyes, fighting off the instinct to groan at just how good you smelled.

You chuckled at his reaction, ‘‘I mean it Satoru, this is me saying I like you too. I trust you.’’ With one more second of hesitation, he bit into your neck with his sharp fangs, and you felt a sharp pain. Your grip on his shoulders got tighter as you tried to distract yourself from the pain.

He couldn’t stop the moans of satisfaction at the magnificent taste of your blood, and you gradually noticed that something felt weird. You still felt the pain on the bite, but Gojo’s demeanor changed. It was almost as if he was enjoying it too much. His hands were grabby, not only on your hips, but in your waist and your bottom, and you gasped in surprise.

You started to notice what was going on when you felt how hard he was, his bulge pushing into your stomach.

¨’Toru…?’’ You breathed out, feeling light headed. He moaned, suddenly grinding his lower half into you. He then retracted his fangs, looking at you with wide, lust blown eyes, your blood dribbling down his chin.

“I’m s-sorry-“ He whined, placing you on the counter and rutting himself into you. “I’m so sorry, I-I don’t mean, to, I can’t help it-“ He broke out into an erotic moan, and despite how lightheaded and out of it you were, it aroused you to no end.

You assured him it was okay, looking into his eyes, you could find lust, but mostly embarrassment from it. You didn’t know that he could get this worked up from his own bloodlust, but you weren’t complaining. The only thing you had a problem with was the fact that there were too many clothes separating the both of you, but you didn’t think neither of you were in the right minds to seperate and take each article off.

“Can I be inside of you?” Gojo asked in between harsh breaths. “Please, please, please, I want to so bad-“ It was almost as if he was in pain, rutting into you so hard that you bounced on top of his lap each time. You nodded your head aggressively, opening your legs so you were caging his. You were wearing black leggings, and you thought that they’d be quick and easy to take off, but Gojo instead decided to rip them down the middle, doing so with ease.

“Satoru…!”

“Sorry! It’s just… I can’t take it any more baby..” He apologized over and over again, even as he released his cock from its confines, holding the thick base in between a shaky fist. He moved your panties to the side and slid in with one thrust. The both of you whined loudly at that, and he couldn’t wait any further before he started pounding into you with fervor. You heard the sound of your wet heat, but you didn’t care, mouth agape in a silent scream as he pounded into you with no remorse.

Well…some remorse. He couldn’t stop apologizing as he fucked into you, begging for you to forgive him for being so dirty and succumbing uncontrollable urges.

You yelped as he picked you up from the back of the couch, holding you in his arms as he dropped you on his cock over and over.

“Fuck!” You cursed. “M-more, more-“ You chanted, feeling his cock deep inside of you. You saw tears start to slide down his cheeks and he cried with pleasure. You clenched around him, wanting to see him unravel even more, which made him fuck you on his cock even faster, using you like a rag doll. His vampire strength had kicked in once he drank your sweet blood, something that he was afraid he’d get addicted on since he tasted you for the first time.

He was addicted to your warmth, your lips, your blood, and especially the way your pussy just sucked him in, holding tight and never letting go

“F-fuck, ‘toru, I’m cumming!” You moaned, your pussy convulsing around his cock and making him go crazy. You came around him, eyes rolling to the back of your head. He nearly slammed you into a wall, fucking you roughly, the slick from your cum making it easier to slide in and out of you.

You were extremely overstimulated, your abused pussy needing a break, but Gojo couldn’t stop. He let out nearly pornographic moans as he fucked you through yet another orgasm, not even noticing exactly what you were going through.

You just had to sit there, his cock inside of you, moaning his name again and again., taking just what he needed to give you.

“Oh fuck, (Y/N)-“ He whined, more tears spilling out of his eyes. You were out of it, dazed and cock drunk. “I’m gonna cum— ah!” He mewled out as he finally came, stilling inside of you as he filled you up. His legs shook as he shut his eyes tightly in pleasure.

After he finally calmed down, it was as if he returned to his senses. He quickly pulled out, immediately apologizing as you winced. He gently put you down, but your knees buckled, almost dropping to the floor, yet he caught you.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry-“ He said, putting his softening member back in his pants. “I can’t believe I just did that to you, I really didn’t mean to, are you okay?“

“‘Toru, I’m fine.” You said to him, holding onto him tightly so you wouldn’t fall. You were still a bit lightheaded, but you were able to reassure him. “I didn’t expect it, but I’m really okay.”

“You shouldn’t have let me drink from you.” He said, tears still falling. “I’ve ruined everything, how could I get so out of-“

You interrupted him with a kiss to shut him up.

“Listen, ‘toru…” You said softly, the nickname making him calm down a bit. “You did nothing wrong. At all. I am more than fine. In fact…I really liked it.”

You watched as his ears got red. “Y-you liked…that? Did I not hurt you?”

You shook your head with a chuckle. “No. In fact…you made me feel really…really good.” You smiled, making him get even more flustered. “I’m just kind of tired. As good as you made me feel, you wore me the hell out.”

“I can carry you to your bed.” Gojo said, quick to pick you up. she then noticed your ripped leggings and destroyed panties. He gulped, feeling even more sorry. “And I can help you change into clothes that aren’t ripped…”

¨What if I tell you I want another round?¨

#gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru smut #gojo imagine #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutus kaisen #jujustu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk #request #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x reader smut

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

Text

Same as it ever was 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: hello again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You change out of your work clothes into a pair of old jeans and a fraying sweatshirt. You can smell the smoke from the basement as you huff at the ceiling. Great. You thought maybe having Pete home could at least spare you a few minutes to lay down. As usual, you have to save the day he's spoiled. Not that it was any good before that.

You go upstairs as the fire alarms wails and you hear Simone asking if everything's okay. You come up behind your daughter and gently touch her shoulder, "go read, everything's fine."

Pete pokes the button on the detector with the end of the broom as you hurry in to move the pan from the burner into the sink. The pan is ruined as the breasts stick, burnt to the finish entirely. You shake your head as you face your husband. He looks like a beaten dog as he holds the broom and pouts.

"I'll put some of the frozen nuggets in the oven," you resign, "why don't you set the table or something?"

He mopes and puts the broom back in the closet. He doesn't leave though. He approaches as you open the freezer and take out the breaded processed chicken. You put the bag on the counter and tear it open.

"I'm sorry, babe. I'm really... I'm trying."

"I don't want you to try, Pete, get it through your head," you whisper sharply, "I don't want you. At all."

He sputters as you refuse to look at him. You pull out a baking sheet and spread out the nuggets. He watches, helpless and stunned.

"You can't mean that," he mewls.

"What am I supposed to want with you?" You ask, "You blew it. We both did. It's done. We just... get through for the kids. For the company, until you can pay me alimony."

"Huh?" He chokes on the noise.

"Mom," Simone jolts you as she chimes from the doorway. You and Pete turn in unison. "That idiot with the lip fur is outside."

You frown as Pete gives another confused utter. "Who-- he is?"

"He knocked but I told him to go away," she shrugs, "don't think he got the message."

"Simone," you look at Pete as he furrows his brow. "My boss..."

"What the hell is your boss doing here?" Pete asks.

"I wouldn't know," you answer dryly.

You march out of the kitchen, past Simone as you go to the front window and peer out. You see Hansen inspecting your mailbox before he jams the doorbell. Great.

You go to the door with your daughter and husband trailing you. This is the last thing you need. How dare he come there and disturb your family. He gets eight hours a day to torture you. And you haven't eaten, you're about to fall over.

You swing the door open, ready to eviscerate him but stopping short. You can't do that. Not least of all because Simone is right there.

"Mr. Hansen," you greet airily, "what can I do for you?"

"Ah, nice to see you too," he eyes Pete over your shoulder as Simone stands beside you.

"Wish she could say the same," Simone sneers, "I told you to go away."

"Sim," you reproach, you're starting to think she gets that from you. "Mr. Hansen..."

"You're the boss? What're you doing here?" Pete asks, gripping the door frame as he' stands almost right against your back.

"You must be the old man," Hansen smirks, "didn't the wife tell you? She got a promotion."

"Huh, old man-- promotion?" Pete reels aloud. "No."

You swallow and suck in air. Just go along with it. One wrong step and he might just tell the truth for once.

"I haven't had the chance, we've been making dinner," you simper sourly.

"Well, I wish I could say I'm just here to say congrats but business calls," Hansen checks his watch.

"It's six-thirty," Pete scoffs.

"Oh, you know, the big boys, it's a business dinners and useless small talk but gotta put on a good face." He looks at you and a line forms between his brows, "so better go doll yourself up."

"Wha-- right now?"

"I called you. Several times. You didn't pick up. Your problem, not mine. Let's go," he snaps your fingers.

"Mommy," Malik's voice startles you as he squeezes between you and Simone, "oh! Mommy!"

He whimpers and clings to your leg as he gapes up at Hansen, hiding behind you like he did when he was younger.

"I told you he's evil," Simone grumbles.

"Alright, everybody, inside," you declare as you raise your hands, "Mr. Hansen, please, just, give me a couple minutes."

"I've given you a few already but suppose I can't take you to dinner with grease on your shirt."

You look down at the new stain on your sweatshirt. Of course. You back up and close the door, turning to face your family, crowded in the entryway, bearing down on you.

"Okay, here's what's going to happen. Pete, put the chicken in, twenty minutes, make sure you flip them so they don't stick. Simone, keep an eye on Malik, please, help him with his homework, honey. Mal," you pause and untangle your son from you, "be good, please."

"Are you leaving?" He pouts.

"I have to."

"What the he--ck," Pete corrects himself before he can swear, "you're just going with him?"

"He's my boss, Pete," you snip, "I don't have much of a choice. I need the money. We both do. I doubt it'll be all night. A dinner, easy."

You know it's probably not what Hansen says it is but you're not going to unveil that deception. It's better to go along. You hate to lie to your family but you'd feel worse to let them down.

"Great, so you get to go out and have a fancy dinner and I have to stay here?"

"Pete," you sniff, "you're a father, start acting like it." You stop yourself, "Simone, Malik, please, go watch some TV."

Simone frowns as she peeks between you and your husband. You see the suspicion and anxiety sparking in her. She takes Malik's hand and takes him into the living room.

"I'll bring leftovers, happy?"

"That guy looks like a real scuzz bucket," he growls.

"Oh, please, you've spent how long staying late to go to dinners and be with Miss Panties or No Panties," you snarl, "don't start because I have to miss one night."

"Honey," he changes his tone, "I can't-- what do I do?"

"What do you do? Figure it out," you shoulder past him, done with the argument. You haven't won, you have to go put up with Hansen.

"Babe," Pete calls after you.

"I'm sure you could ask Simone, even a twelve year old can figure it out," you toss over your shoulder as you stomp upstairs.

🗄️

You pull on a plain black skirt that ends at your knees, of the few you have among your wardrobe. You match it with a lamb gray blouse and a blazer you can’t button. You try your best to refresh your hair and face but at this point, there’s not much you can do about it.

You come downstairs and slip into a pair of round-toed flats as Pete watches silently. You know he wants to argue. You don’t want to go either but you’re sure as shit not telling him that. Let him suffer while you do the same.

“I’ll try not to be too late,” you shrug on your coat and hook your purse over your shoulder, “Malik, don’t give your father a hard time at bathtime and Simone, do your math. You can’t read all night.”

You reach for your phone and spin back for the door. Pete catches you, holding you at arm’s length. His blue eyes cling to yours with a glimmer of desperation.

“Love ya, honey,” he says, “I really do.”

You gulp and put your chin up. The kids are there. You try not to let your loathing tighten in your cheeks, “love you too…” you eke out and clear your through. “Love you all.” You pull away from him and smile at Simone and Malik, “have a good night.”

You quickly turn away and scurry to the door. Something about the moment leaves you breathless. The realisation that your family is hanging by a fraying thread. You pull the door shut as you come out to find Hansen leaning on the hood of his sports care. Is that douche bag red?

You come up the walk as he watches you with a smirk, “adorable, got the whole clan home.”

“Please,” you grumble, “let’s just get out of here. Far away.”

He stands up straight, “already jonesing for more, huh?”

“No, I just don’t want you near my family,” you retort.

He cackles and the car chirps as it unlocks. He goes around the driver side as you approach the passenger’s. You open the door and get into the low seat. You don’t like the incline of the seat or the smell of the air freshener. Everything about him is unbearable.

He jams his index into the ignition, hitting the button to turn the engine. He sits back and rests a hand lazing on the bottom of the steering wheel as he pulls out slowly. You buckle the seat belt and stare ahead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer the phone–”

“Good start, toots, but a better one would be your hand in my pants,” he snickers.

You cringe and put your purse between your feet. You strain against the seat belt and lean over the stick shift. As you reach for him, he swats you away and growls. You retract, annoyed.

“I thought–”

“You know, I was thinking of just driving you to the Wendy’s parking lot and sticking it in,” he cruises well past the speed limit as he remains casually reclined, “but that seems too easy.”

You grit your teeth. He’s mocking you. He slaps his hand on your knee and drags it up your thigh, rumbling your skirt.

“I didn’t know you owned one of these,” he pinches the hem, “you really got yourself prettied up, huh?”

You don’t say anything.

“Can I make a suggestion? Doesn’t matter, I’m gonna. Try something shorter. You got the tight part but this is something my fourth grade librarian would wear. Oh, and lace. Or silk.”

You want to scream at him. Does he really think you can afford all that? That you want your ass or tits hanging out in front of your daughter? He knows all that, he’s once again making a joke of you.

“Aw, tootsie roll, am I upsetting you? Well, that’s real fucking shit,” his voice goes rigid, “I was pretty upset listening to your voicemail on fucking repeat.”

“Sorry, I told you–”

“I don’t care. Busy? Not in my world. Let’s get this straight, the only thing you’ll be busy with is me. Or… I think Petey Boy may just love to hear all about your workplace antics. I mean really, he should be proud, you’re fucking skilled. That man, I see why he put a ring on it. Wherever it is… Shit…” he skids to a stop at a sign and looks at you, “you didn’t have to pawn it off? That’s goddamn sad, honey buns.”

You inhale and lift your chin. That would be a better story than the truth. Besides, you have a feeling he doesn’t genuinely care.

“I’ll buy you a new diamond. Two of them, one for each titty,” he chortles as he steps on the gas again, “what’s your birthstone? I’ll get that for your ass.”

“Mr. Hansen, I understand you’re upset. I didn’t listen. I didn’t answer the phone, but I can’t just leave my family–”

“You will do whatever I tell you,” he interjects, “first, you’re going to stop. No more excuses, you figure it out. Second,” he veers into a lot, just behind an unmarked office building, “you’re going to loosen the fuck up.”

He steers around to the back of the lot, parking slightly crooked and across the lines. There aren’t too many other cars this time of evening. He turns off the engine and rolls his shoulders. Well, it’s not a Wendy’s at least.

“Get in the back,” he orders.

You want to ask what or why but you know better. You get out and open the back door. You sit on the end of the seat.

“Lay down,” he says, still facing forward.

You glance at him, slightly confused. You slide up the seat and recline. His seat belt snaps back against the interior and his door opens. Gravel crunches under his soles and his shadow passes between the car and the streetlights. He darkens the open back door.

“Pull your fucking skirt up,” he orders in exasperation, as if you should’ve done so already.

You lift your shoulders and reach down to tug at your skirt. It’s hard to get it up, it’s tight and uncomfortable, you should’ve thrown it out. You feel the zipper about to burst. Impatiently, he shoves the hem up as he bends over the seat.

You’re suddenly very self-conscious as you realise what he’s going to do. He holds himself between your thighs as his hand crawls up to your panties. High-rise cotton underwear that balloon a bit too much around your pelvis.

“Sir, I’ll just take care of you,” you insist as you try to sit up.

“Fuck off,” he snarls, “lay down.”

You blink as your lip twitches. You can’t remember the last time Pete did that. You’re not okay. You don’t want Hansen down there. You really don’t want anyone at this point.

“Really, Mr.--”

“Lay the fuck back and shut up while I eat your pussy,” he grabs your panties and yanks, jolting you.

You fall back as he forces the fabric down. He growls and rips along the seam. You close your eyes and tense. As he exposes you, your thighs quiver.

He presses his face against your leg, his mustache tickling you as his breath dampens your skin. You swallow a shiver. You’re oversensitive and strung out. You squeeze your eyes tight and focus on your breath as he nuzzles and nips up towards your cunt.

You clench as he gets closer. Without thinking, you push your hand to his head as you try to stop him. Your heart is racing. Why is this harder than what you’ve already done?

He snatches your hand and throws your arm over the edge of the seat. You wince as he bites into your tender thigh. You squeak and he growls, his nose grazing up to your lips. You hold your breath as he closes in.

His tongue flicks up and you gasp. He glides between your folds, delving into you, humming so it rumbles through you. You raise your hand to grip the back of the seat. You forgot how nice this felt.

He takes it slow. A patience you’ve never seen in him as he dotes on your clit, swirling back and forth, suckling, dipping his tongue up and down your lips, lapping up your flowing delight. You quiver as you sink into the sensation, almost forgetting the man who’s inspired it.

His hand creeps up to your blouse, beneath your open jacket, and he squeezes your chest through the fabric. You wiggles his head back and forth as his tending grows more intense. He spreads his tongue wide and groans, his mouth slurping and sucking noisily.

The heat spreads into your thighs and tingles up your back. You arch your spine and dig your nails into the seat. You puff as you feel a climax rising. Hansen stretches his other hand over your stomach, pinning you down as he devours you ravenously.

You’re tipped over the edge, letting out a series of squeaks and squawks as you give into the orgasm. You’re dizzy from the sheer ecstasy of the moment, of his still lapping tongue, not stopping even as you cry out. He keeps on, urged on by your helpless moans. As in everything, it’s never enough for him.

#lloyd hansen #pete brenner #dark lloyd hansen #dark pete brenner #dark!lloyd hansen #dark!pete brenner #lloyd hansen x reader #pete brenner x reader #same as it ever was #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #the gray man #pain hustlers

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vetitiscripta · 7 months

Text

Puppet

Summary: You didn't want to kill Lawrence. You didn't want to kill anyone! You didn't even want to be in this situation in this stupid house! When Ren hands you the knife and tells you to kill Lawrence, you intend to do nothing, to beg him to not make you do it. But Strade has other plans. (AU where MC/reader can see Strade as a ghost (even though it's not talked about in this)).

A/N: based off an AU i want to write where ren still kidnaps MC/reader and forces them to be with him but MC/reader can see strade's ghost after finding his body in the basement. enjoy! ٩꒰ ˘ ³˘꒱۶~♡

“I want us to share something really special.”

Ren’s voice faded out as you stared at the knife that he handed you. It was silent in the room, only the sounds of breathing could be heard. You don’t know whose you heard the most; Ren’s slightly fast breath from what you would assume was excitement, Lawrence’s muffled breathing that was full of panic, or your own breathing. Despite it being so quiet, your ears started ringing. The silence was deafening.

You glanced at Lawrence, his eyes watching you as tears gathered in his eyes. It’s crazy to think that this was the same guy you met in the pub a week ago. Yeah, he might have chased you down the street after you left but you never thought that either of you would end up in this situation. Had you known, you would have stayed home to relax instead of going out to that stupid pub.

Ren’s tail caught your eye, pulling your gaze from Lawrence’s horrified one. It moved slowly, moving from side to side before placing itself on Lawrence’s hip. As if it was waiting in anticipation like its owner.

You looked at the knife once more, your reflection staring back at you. Despite sleeping well since you’ve been with Ren, you looked tired. What was standing behind you in the reflection should have made you gasp and drop the knife in shock. Or rather, who was standing behind you. Especially considering you had just seen his body in the basement’s freezer last week.

Strade, as you unfortunately learned his name is (was?), stood mere inches from you. The hair on your arms stood as you felt his breathing on your neck (do ghosts even need to breathe?), making him feel as real as the other people in the room.

“Do it.” Strade’s voice sounded as if it came from inside your own head. There was a look in his eyes that was different from the one in Ren’s. This one was more intense. Hungrier.

“You… want me to hurt him?” You don’t know if you were speaking to Ren or Strade.

Ren flashed you a fanged smile again, “Hurt him.”

Strade stepped closer to you, his chest almost flush with your back, “Cut him.” His voice was rougher, almost as if he was growling.

“Make him bleed... cry…” Ren glanced at Lawrence before looking back at you.

Strade’s hands ran down your arms, “Cut deep enough to…”

“Kill him.”

Their voices mixed together into one, their hunger and anticipation for what was to come causing you to shake. You held Ren’s gaze for a few seconds before looking at your hands as Strade’s own engulfed them. You noticed how rough his hands were. Probably had something to do with what he did in the basement. He’s told you some stories as he began following you around the house. You hated being the only one that could see him and he knew it.

“Go ahead, Liebling,” You shuddered as he spoke right by your ear. His hands tightened around yours as he continued to whisper persuading words to you. If his hands weren’t holding yours, you would be shaking worse than before.

You didn’t realize that Strade was making you walk forward until you stood in front of Lawrence. His eyes- so blue now that you actually had a chance to look at them, to focus on them to distract yourself from the terrible situation you were in- stared up at you, tears threatening to fall as he attempted to form words behind his gag to plead with you. Your breathing quickened as Strade maneuvered the knife into one of your hands and, still holding yours in his, moved your hand with the knife to your side.

“Please don’t make me…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, tears you didn’t know you were holding back falling down your cheeks. You heard and felt the chuckle that Strade gave you.

“Oh, you don’t have a choice.” His grip on your hand tightened, making you wince.

You turned your attention to Ren, “Ren… I’ll do anything else… Just please don’t make me hurt anyone…” Voice wavering, you hoped that he would change his mind before you did something that you regret, whether the actions were your own or not.

His gaze softened, “Just don’t have the stomach for it, do you?”

Before you could finish shaking your head in response, Strade had moved you closer to Lawrence, the knife aiming for his arm as he intended to make this drag out as slowly as possible. Wanting this all to end, you focused all your strength in your arm and swiped it to the side forcefully, surprising Strade and causing him to lose the control he had over you. You were relieved to no longer be his puppet, but your relief was short-lived when you noticed blood spreading down Lawrence’s chest. You gasped and found the blood pouring from the cut on across his neck. In your attempt to regain control, you were too close to Lawrence.

More tears streamed down your face as Strade began laughing, at you or the display in front of you, you were unsure.

You dropped the knife and fell to your knees as you watched Lawrence stop moving. His blood dripped on the floor beneath him, the steady sound of it flooding your ears as Strade’s laughing calmed down.

You killed someone. You killed Lawrence.

You looked at your hands, blood splattered on the hand you held the knife in. You were shaking again.

Ren’s arms snaking around your waist pulled you from your thoughts. You didn’t even realize he had moved from Lawrence’s side. “You sure surprised me! I thought you weren’t going to do it.” He pulled you closer to him, his breath fanning your neck like Strade’s had, “I knew we’d get along.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“We are going to get along just fine,” You felt Strade’s hand on your head, stroking your hair in either an attempt to comfort you or to antagonize you. You don’t know which one you preferred at this point. “Just fine.”

You sobbed harder at his words, hands coming up to cover your face. You should have stayed home instead of going out to that stupid pub.

#boyfriend to death #btd #btd x reader #ghost strade au #btd strade #btd ren #ren hana #ren hana x reader #strade x reader #(kind of implied kind of not can be read either way tbh)

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georgiapeach30513 · 6 months

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A Snowflake Melts, Part 1

Summary: Your ex Jack O'Malley is an unscrupulous man. An excellent bounty hunter that comes alive in winter. He is winter. He terrifies you. Running away from him and your family, because even they couldn't keep you safe from the winter chill itself, you find yourself in a remote area. Living alone for almost a year when your new neighbor Steve Rogers arrives. He was curious instantly, and you were smitten just as quickly. Can you and Steve deny each other all winter long? And what will the other seasons bring? Will it bring you real true love?

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: fluffy

Warnings: none, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.7K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“And once the snow gets thicker, you’re not going to be able to get out easily. So make sure you’re fully stocked. Your neighbor is a bit of a recluse, but maybe if she’s feeling sorry for you, you know,” Steve Rogers’ eyes look down the road where his real estate agent was pointing. A giant silver and white cat stares at him with her piercing green eyes.

He’d almost think it was a statue if it wasn’t for her mane bellowing in the wind. “Sir?” The old real estate agent tries to get his attention. Waving a hand in front of his face. “Mr. Rogers? Do you understand, you could get stuck out here with no food?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Steve shakes his head, trying to get the cat’s piercing eyes out of his mind. “If the snow gets thick, I’m stuck, and I will starve without provisions. Got it. So who lives down the road?”

“Ehh, you should leave her alone. She’s self sufficient. Never leaves. Will get things delivered there. She shouldn’t be a problem,” Steve looks back towards the cat, and she tilts her head to the side before turning and walking down the road and to the neighbor. “That’s her cat. She looks more ferocious than she actually is.”

“Who is she?”

“Someone who wants to remain private and live off grid. Leave her be. You’ll have a nice time being all isolated out here. You didn’t come here for friends, and that’s good, she won’t be. There’s deep freezers in the basement. Make sure your generator is full of gas and that you have plenty of firewood. Might I suggest a pet? It gets lonely out here once you get trapped. And whatever you do,” the man pauses to glare at Steve as his attention is back on the winding road.

“Yeah, leave my neighbor alone. Got it. She’s just got a cat that stands and stares at me.”

“Mistletoe is harmless,” Steve curls his nose up as he looks at the old man. “Mistletoe, it’s the cat’s name,” he shrugs, starting to walk towards the edge of the porch, “She’s nice. Very protective of her owner. Have a nice day, Mr. Rogers, stock up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve waves a hand, waiting until the man leaves before his curiosity is back towards that road. He didn’t know why, but he felt drawn to that road. Drawn towards the cat. “A pet, huh?” He sighs, looking at his secluded cabin. It’s what he needed. He didn’t want to be around people anymore. But winter is coming. Isolation sounds both amazing and terrifying.

With a final glance down the road, he stretches before grabbing up an ax. Firewood will be the best way to start the preparation. And who knows, maybe eventually see what the house down the road had to offer. It would get lonely. Surely there was a reason he was drawn to that crooked little road.

You peek out your door, giving a deep inhale before fully stepping out onto the porch. Your eyes dart around your settings as you waft the air around you. Pine. That was it. It offered up pleasant memories since you are out here all alone. Your precious little cat jumps up on the railing of the porch, and you curl your nose at her.

“You’ve been nosy, Missy. What’s up there?” Her eyes slowly blink before she mews at you. “A new neighbor, huh? A man?” Another mew, and you hear the loud bang of firewood. “A strong one. It’s not him, is it?”

Mistletoe lazily blinks her eyes before jumping down. Her furry feet carry her to the door, and you open it up to allow her into the house before you look up the road. You had hoped to spend another winter alone. Secluded and utterly alone. If you had people around you, you wouldn’t be as vigilant, and he would find you.

Even your father couldn’t stop Jack. And if he couldn’t, you don’t know who could. Jack could find anyone, and in winter he was in his element. Living somewhere tropical all year round just wasn’t an option, you needed a taste of home. Need to hear the crackle of a fireplace, and the foggy windows. You couldn’t fully give up a winter wonderland.

You need to smell the pines, and the fresh scent of snow. You need to feel the warmth of a fireplace, and you couldn’t leave Mistletoe behind. She needs the winter as well.

A neighbor. It was an odd concept. You didn’t think anyone would want to live out here, much less that shitty little cabin. Looking over at your animals, you know it’s time to stop playing around. Winter is coming, and you need to make sure that everything is settled. And everything was ready. You look forward to being holed up in your cabin with no one but Mistletoe, and the small little homestead you have created. Just the way you like it. Simple. Alone. And away from him.

Steve wipes the sweat off his brow, watching the light snowflakes start to lay on the cold ground. Winter was here. He was still oddly intrigued by the house at the end of the road. You never left. A few deliveries were made, but never you. He didn’t even know how old you were. What you looked like. Just knew that you had a curious cat named Mistletoe.

“No!” He scolds the fluffy cat who swats at Steve’s newest friend. “What did she do to you?” Mistletoe looks up at Steve, her eyes narrowing at him. “She’s just a puppy. Look at her,” she looks at the fast growing malamute puppy who just wags her tail at the cat.

“You came here to see us. She just wants to play,” the puppy leans forward, her haunches in the air, giving the cat a little bark. “You don’t play? You just came up here to spy?”

If cat’s could roll their eyes, this one did. Turning around and starting to walk back home. “Maybe I should follow you?” She spins around, hissing at Steve. “You do understand. Who is down there?”

Mistletoe’s body hunches up as she gets defensive. Spitting out her frustration at Steve, “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just need to make sure she can make it through the winter. I’m talking to a cat. This is going to be a long year,” the fluffy cat starts to walk back down her road, but keeps her eyes focused on Steve. She didn’t trust easily. She learned her mistake.

“Eventually the snow will be too thick to walk in! What is she going to do with her animals?” He growls at himself. Feeling stupid for carrying on with a cat, and then he turns to his furry friend, “You don’t show as much human-like qualities as she does, Sugar Cookie. Come on, let’s get inside. I will make it down there one day. I need to see for myself.”

One day, Steve knew he was going to see it. It was like a beacon of light calling his name, and he needed to go down there. He needs to figure out who lives down there. And why he felt like he was being pulled down there. Maybe once the snow came.

Jack steps onto a frozen pond, and takes a deep breath. Finally it was his favorite time of year. The time of year when the wind nips at your nose, and snowflakes crystallize on the ground. A winter wonderland indeed.

He knows you wouldn’t travel too far from home. You would need winter just as much as he does. It’s why you belong together. One — or two fights and you just run away. Cut yourself off from your parents, and all that you had ever known. You wouldn’t ever do that.

You were the sweetest Holly Berry. Someone must have gotten into your head. You wouldn’t leave him. Of all people to leave behind, it would never be him! Your usual instagram account was still silent. You had made some likes, but no posts, and that pissed him off. He needs to see your face. He needs you. And you need him.

He could feel you growing weaker. The two of you were made for one another, and needed to revel in flurries. He just had to make you understand that. Your father did. He understood that there wasn’t a more perfect couple than you and him. The two of you had been born of the ice and snow.

And now he has to find you, all the while doing his job. You would run during winter, and just to annoy him. He was busy, and you wanted to be a little brat.

“Sir!” Some woman behind Jack screams, and he gives her a glance back. “Sir, the ice isn’t thick enough. It won’t hold you.”

Ugh. Mortals. Jack rolls his eyes as he squats down, placing a hand on the ice, he watches it thicken beneath him. Smiling at his reflection as frozen fractals bloom out from his fingers. Never giving another look back as he struts across the pond. He had a limited time to find you. Winter was never long enough for his liking.

Taking a long sniff into the air, he envisions your scent; melted marshmallows over hot chocolate, a dash of cinnamon, and just the tiniest hint of something he’s never quite placed. And nothing. He smells nothing. He’d find you and that meddlesome cat. She never did like him. He had plans for your little spy.

The smoke coming from your cabin looked a bit bare. Steve kept a watch on it, and it bothered him that your nosy little cat came up here less. But what bothers him most is he feels that you are rationing firewood. He looks at his woodpile, and has more than enough. Sugar Cookie was proving to be a great source of heat herself.

It would be cold, but he can handle it. Strapping on his winter clothes, he taps a leg, and the almost fully grown puppy bounces over to him, “You want to see your hissy friend?” Sugar Cookie gives him a quick lick to his face, bouncing around excitedly. “Alright, let's go. I’m going to guess we won’t be asked in, but we can’t let the old lady freeze to death.”

Gathering up some wood in a wheelbarrow he begins the short walk down the road, and to your cabin. You had made it a homestead so you didn’t have to leave. That either meant you were hiding, or you hated people. But out here all alone. Day after day. Steve is already going stir crazy.

You yawn, looking over at Mistletoe who sits right in front of the wood heater. “We’re conserving heat, Missy,” she lets out a groan, rolling over to her back. “Oh, hush. It’s not that cold in here. It’s,” looking up at the cabin before yours, you sigh. You had prepared plenty of food, and you could ask him. Bargain with some fruit preserves.

But then you’d have to speak to someone new. And who knew who he knew. Or who he would talk to. It was just better for you to stay hidden from everyone. Jack always got to people. It was part of his charm. It’s how you fell for him.

Mistletoe stiffens up, and jumps towards the window. Sitting on the edge as she watches a figure with firewood. Your body starts to shiver from more than the cold. Scared that now someone was coming into your space. Your chest heaves with anticipation, and your body freezes in fear.

Mistletoe’s paw taps on the window at Steve, and she hisses, hating him being here just as much. “Oh stop it,” he crows, walking up the steps to lay out the firewood. “I don’t need you two getting cold down here. Just bringing firewood. I got bored, and have plenty. Look, you little heathen, the puppy is massive now.”

His dog was huge. More fluff than anything, and you find yourself shuffling more into the shadows. He shouldn’t see you. “I don’t want to see your smoke looking pitiful anymore, Mistletoe. I need you and your mom to be fully heated. Okay?” You answer him, by nodding your head, knowing he couldn’t see you.

“Uhh…that should last a while,” he smiles at the cat. His curious eyes look around through the window with nothing to see. “Well, stay warm, you two. Let your mom know it was me that brought this, you mean ole thing. Come on Sugar, we’ll leave you two alone. Don’t…I mean no harm,” his sentence finishes in a whisper as he backs off your porch.

You dare to lean over a bit to catch a glimpse of him, and almost smile at what you see. No. You can’t trust people. Jack has sources everywhere. He’s handsome. Ruggishly so. And his dog’s name was Sugar Cookie, and she was the fluffiest angel. He is the first kind face you have seen since you came out here.

Biting at your lip, you look behind you. You had plenty of food in stockpile. Even more in the basement. He was kind. He brought you firewood. The stranger gets far enough away, and Missy paws at the door. She really was a sassy little thing.

“Oh, stop it,” you grouse, looking up the road to see his figure completely gone. “We have to thank him.”

Hiss.

“You can’t just take people’s generosity for granted. You’re the one that’s been watching him. Does he smell like Jack?” Cracking open the door, you let your nose stick out first, taking a big inhale. No peppermint. Pine. Just the snow covered pines. Definitely not Jack.

Feeling comfortable enough to open the door, you start to carry in the firewood, and add some to the fireplace. Winter won’t be as icy cold this year. But you still had to thank the man. He was kind, and you need to extend the favor. As long as the scent of peppermint never floated up your nostrils.

Mistletoe circles in between your legs as you smile at her. You didn’t know when the man would be back, but you had a feeling he would. He deserves a thank you for last time. And the return. Putting together a basket of food, you look down at your princess. “He seems nice. He did something nice, I repay him. That’s what I do.”

You sigh as you look over at your phone. You only turned it on to make the one call a week to your parents. Your social media has been completely abandoned. And here you are spending another Christmas alone. You should be able to celebrate somehow. And what is Christmas without giving?

“Stop it, Missy. This is how we show our thanks and kindness. Maybe he feels just as lonely as we do,” her fluffy body perks up, and she scrambles to the window. Giving the glass a few scratches before she looks at you. “Oh! I gotta get this out there. He doesn’t have to see me for me to be kind.”

Forgetting your precautions, you open the door quickly as the blistering cold rages into the cabin. You look out into the distant snow, and can see his figure approaching. His even bigger dog in front of him. She runs out in front, just to turn to look at him. She is adorable. You linger in the doorway, trying to get a good look at him without a window blocking your view.

Being up here was doing him good. Somehow he looked better than before. Even with his giant coat, you could tell he was a towering. He was a man. Down to the way he walks. Struts. Beautiful. A man.

You see his mouth turn up into a smile as he catches sight of you, and you close the door quickly locking it. Backing away as he approaches your porch with more firewood. “Didn’t know I was dealing with a little mouse,” there is humor in his tone.

“What’s this?” He huffs, walking onto the porch.

“A gift for you kindness,” your voice is hardly a whisper, but he nods, hearing it.

“I didn’t expect anything. Can’t have you freeze down here.”

“I’m used to the cold. He didn’t know who your parents were, or who your ex was. Cold was practically your middle name.

“So you’ve got chickens and cows?” Steve rummages through your basket, making note of all that was in there. “What if I brought you daily firewood?”

“It’s too cold for you to come daily, Mr?”

“Rogers. But call me Steve, and you are?”

Missy’s paw gives your leg a little tap. She’s no longer scared of him. There’s almost trust in her, “You can call me Holly.”

“Like a Holly berry, huh?” Just like a Holly berry. Your parents had a weird sense of naming you. And you carried it on with Mistletoe. “Why are you out here alone, Holly?”

“It’s safer his way. Steve, you should go home,” he lays his hand on your window, feeling the warmth from inside your cabin. “I’ll make sure you have plenty of food. Whatever you like. But it is cold.”

“I don’t think it’s as cold in there as it is out here. Do your animals need feeding?” You had fashioned a way to get to them without having to fully be outside. Jack would know if your feet were out in winter for too long. “I can help. There’s not much to do up top. I just don’t want you to be alone.”

“You don’t want me to be alone, or you don’t want yourself to be alone?”

“Does it really matter at this point?” It might not matter to him, but it did to you. Bringing him in during winter was far more dangerous for him than you. Jack always was a jealous type. “Surely you need someone to talk to besides your cat. I know I do.”

“I shouldn’t when there’s snow on the ground,” he hears the hesitance in your voice. Looking around your porch, he finds what he’s looking for, and grabs it up. Taking the shovel he carves a trail in front of your porch, making sure that there is no snow on the ground before he walks back to the door.

His forehead presses against your door, and Steve’s panting breaths make butterflies circle your stomach. “There’s a clear area with no snow.”

“Do you like hot chocolate, Steve?”

“I do,” Missy gives you a pitiful meow as she looks up at you. Padding over to the door, she paws it a moment.

“You’re crazy,” you whisper to her, and look at the door. “Don’t have any snow on your clothes. You can’t stay long. I’ll get a towel for the puppy,” you hand a large towel out the door. Opening it up just enough for your hand to stick out before you close the door again. Letting him get her clean before starting some fresh milk to steam.

He timidly knocks on your door, and you still a moment. You’ve never let anyone in since Jack. Looking at Missy, you wish she would give you a sign of no, but her green eyes look towards the door in anticipated excitement. Slowly you open the door, and let the most beautiful person you ever laid your eyes on walk through the door. His coat and boots are on the porch, and he lets the giant dog sneak through first.

Missy doesn’t even seem annoyed with her until she spots her bet with Sugar Cookie covering the entire bed with her body. “You can sit on the couch, Missy. You act like you even use that. Like you don’t lay in the bed with me.”

“Sugar’s a good companion at night. It’s colder in the bedroom, and she’s always hot,” he has a crooked smile, causing your cheeks to heat up. You feel like a little schoolgirl with the way you couldn’t stop smiling. “Should I lock the door?”

“Always lock the door,” Jack was a powerful man, but he couldn’t just walk in without being invited. “Why are you here?”

“I was tired of constantly fighting. I wanted some quiet, and the only way to get it was to move far away from everyone. Why are you here?”

“Reminds me of home, and I don’t smell peppermint here. Just pines. Makes things a bit more bearable. I hate peppermint,” his icy blue eyes follow you as you go back to the stove, preparing the perfect mug of hot chocolate. “You mean us no harm, right?”

“No. I mean no harm to you or your little tyrant. Why are you alone? Mistletoe doesn’t count.”

“I like being alone. If I’m found, he can’t hurt the people I love,” Steve’s eyebrow cocks up, and you shake your head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Whipped cream or marshmallows?”

“Can I have both?” With a giggle, you swirl on some whipped cream, and dot on a few marshmallows. “So can we be friends this winter?”

“How long do you plan on staying?”

“Oh, I’ll head back before it gets dark.”

“No, are you staying just through the winter?”

“I could stay longer now,” he gives you a smile as he sips on his mug. “I can’t stay places for too long when I’m alone. Even if I like it. I could stay longer with company here and there,” his eyes dart down to your kitty cat that hops up into his lap. “You finally like me, huh?”

She’s not making things easy. Missy was supposed to be your alarm, and yet she’s hugging up on Steve. Trusting him. “Traitor,” you whisper, and if cats could smile, Missy just did.

“I can take a hint. If you really want me to go I will. But I do think she likes me.”

“Only come down here when it’s not snowing, Steve. Snow is beautiful and dangerous,” he didn’t quite understand, but nods anyway. “And soon spring will be here, and the first snowflake will melt,” one day you wished to go back in the snow. Enjoy the quiet and peacefulness it brought.

Snow is a lot of things. Cold. Fun. Dangerous. Snow is Jack. And it was only a matter of time until he found you. So for now, you’re going to stay locked in, and enjoy the company of a handsome man, a fluffy cat, and an even fluffier dog.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @floral-recs @pandaxnienke

#a snowflake melts #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fics #jack o'malley #chris evans #chris evans character #marvel #red one

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home-of-renn · 1 year

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There needs to be more content about Jazz - specifically about how she handles her brother's death.

I want to see more of Jazz's grief. The fact that she wakes up every morning and faces her little brother whom she raised when her parents didn't. The fact that she watches him eat and drink and put on his shoes and walk out the house every morning, while Jazz takes a single moment to sit at the now empty dinner table and process the fact that her brother died while the clock hanging on the wall ticks behind her and reminds her she can't be late.

I want more of Jazz knowing that grief is a part of life and mourning can be a healthy way to deal with loss, while struggling to come to terms with the fact that her brother died in the basement of the house that she currently sleeps in every night - all while her parents miss breakfast yet again in favour of tinker away in their lab.

I want to see Jazz fumbling her way through keeping up appearances while struggling to find some form of peace in between all the responsibilities she's juggling.

Sometimes it's when the glass in front of her mists up completely while she's in the shower and the water's so hot she can't see her reflection in the mirror and the steam stifles her breathing.

When she's alone in the freezer aisle staring at the packaging of Danny's favourite ice cream with only the sound of the refrigeration humming in her ears.

When she brushes her hair in the mirror and catches sight of the split ends that need to be trimmed.

When she's wading through the piles of dirty laundry in Danny's bedroom and sorting out which ones are most in need of a wash, only to look up and catch sight of the faded glow in the dark stars still stuck to his ceiling.

When she lays out her notes on the kitchen table while waiting for Dash to arrive for his tutoring lessons. The sound of footsteps walking up the driveway doesn't stop her from staring at the cracked tile above the sink, but the shrill sound of their doorbell has her stumbling from her seat, tripping over her feet while the glass of water in her hand goes rolling across the countertop.

I want Jazz to seek sanctuary in the fleeting moments of silence in her everyday life. She's still a teenager with no one to talk to. For all that she pesters Danny on speaking his mind and not keeping his worries to himself, she's an absolute hypocrite. But there isn't anything she can do about it. She's always been pitied as the most "normal" Fenton, and as long as she keeps it together and keeps herself moving then no one will notice how her parents never seem to leave the house anymore, or how she's the only one making dinner every night. No one will see the bags under her eyes, hidden beneath all the concealer and powder. People will look at her and see that they're doing okay - regardless of how many late assignments her brother hands in and the number of detention slips he's managed to accumulate.

I want to see her counting down the days till her 18th birthday while she chokes on the fact that her parents had a hand in killing her brother - that they still haven't noticed what's right in front of them, even though they should’ve. Love isn't enough to raise a child and it's something that Jazz has always been acutely aware of - something she's never had the courage to face - but now she feels goosebumps every time she hugs her dad and she's turning blue every time she meets her mother's eyes.

I want to see Jazz desperately trying to stop herself from falling apart at the seams. She's smart and far too self aware and struggling to keep her head above water. I want to see her dealing with her grief in the only way that she can with all the limited time and resources she has - all while swallowing down the guilt that she's fine and that she's okay and that she isn't even the one that died so how can she be the one feeling like she can't get enough air into her lungs when most days her brother doesn't even have a heartbeat.

#danny phantom #home of renn #dp #danny fenton #jazz fenton #drabble #angst #the fenton's a+ parenting #the fentons #amity park #dash baxter #dp prompt #prompt #jack fenton #maddie fenton #character study #character analysis #dribble drabble

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bit-odd-innit · 1 year

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Fic: Somewhere That’s Green

[based on a post I made about Eddie’s future]

It’s a hole in the wall just off the main drag, the kind of place you can’t find unless you know to look. In a previous life it had been a pizzeria, which explained the bright green vinyl awning Eddie had no intention of replacing. He’d kept the pick-up window, too, used it to host “office hours.” (“Office hours” was supposed to mean “deliver personalized music recommendations to interested passers-by.” Now it means “help harried, double-parked parents reschedule music lessons.”)

He’d also kept the apartment upstairs. They have a house now—a nice one, with a wrap-around porch and a big backyard and a cluster of hedges Steve always insists are “a mess”—but when Eddie trips into an inventory hole and loses track of time, it’s nice to have a place to crash. If it’s not a school night sometimes Steve joins him, and they’ll relive the halcyon days of their early twenties, buoyed by cheap beer, diner curly fries, and giddy infatuation. (The infatuation has only grown and flourished even as his tolerance for salty food has withered. Acid reflux is a bitch.)

He’s happy they kept the apartment. He happy knowing that if someone needs it—someone scared, broke, desperate for a lifeline and a scrap of no-strings-attached kindness—it’s something he can provide.

Initial plans had been to focus on music, just music. It was supposed to be the utopic all-metal record store of Eddie’s nightmares. But as he started to build stock, he remembered how hard it had been to find merch for the things he liked. How a pin or a patch or poster he’d dug up at a garage sale four towns over made him feel more seen than anything on offer at the local mini-mall. How he wanted to be a hub for the weird shit not everyone liked, but the people who did loved. His horrible little magpie brain fluttered from shiny thing to shiny thing, and by the time opening day rolled around the store was a one-stop shop for all things music, merch and whatever wacky knick-knacks tickled Eddie’s fancy. Or horrified Steve. Or both. Both was best.

The Corroded Coffin guys slotted in easily. Francis always liked doing promo for their gigs, was good at it, too. But by the early 2000s, his methods were apparently so outdated his daughter begged to let her take over. (“He’s stapling fliers to telephone poles, Uncle Eddie. You don’t even have a website.”

“What is a telephone pole covered in fliers if not the working man’s web-ed site?”

“Oh my God give me your credit card I’m buying you a domain name.”

“A what?”)

Jeff got his CPA and took over the financials, reeling Eddie in whenever he was struck by the urge to make a impulsive, outlandish purchase. (“I genuinely don’t understand how you make money.”

“It’s cause I don’t do my taxes.”

“I do your taxes. At a great personal expense.”)

Gareth was instrumental (heh…) in building up the music program—soundproofing the basement and hiring instructors and coordinating concerts and organizing payment plans, all the nitty-gritty non-music stuff that made Eddie’s head spin. At some point it just made the most sense for Eddie to cede control, let him operate it however he saw fit. (“This is your baby, dude. It’s a baby that took form within my own, much larger baby. But it’s yours.”

“I’m touched by your words and appalled by your phrasing.”

“That’s the only way I could have said it.”)

(Gareth also once described the store as an “Elevated Hot Topic.” Eddie still hasn’t decided when he’s going to kick his ass.)

 Momentum grew. Ideas compounded ideas. A kid asked how to sew a patch to his backpack and it snowballed into the Build Your Own Battlevest Workshop. Wayne suggested knocking out the connecting wall between the walk-in freezer and the pantry, and now thrice weekly Eddie runs table-top games for varying age-sets and skill-levels. (At Steve’s request, the elementary school group is called H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS FIRE CLUB. Not because he thinks it needs to be censored. He just thinks it’s funny.) (He’s right.)

It was supposed to be a record store but now it’s so much more. Now there are listening parties and movie screenings and little league teams with his store’s name on the back of their jerseys and and and—

Eddie used to think, if he got lucky, he’d last a year. Now he’s closing in on 30. He was profiled by the local newspaper. They called him “a pillar of the community.”

Wild.

It’s a warm, sunny April morning. He’s sitting at the takeout window, sipping coffee from the bottom half of a teapot-teacup combo that reads, in a menacing blood-red font, THIS FREAK DRINKS TEA. His hair is gathered in a loose braid, the ends still damp from his post-run shower. (Sometime in their mid-thirties Steve tricked him into maintaining a consistent cardio routine, and now he’s the type of person who gets out of bed at the crack of dawn to knock out an “easy three.” He’s a monster, a husk of his former self. A husk with a much-improved lung capacity and thighs that can juice a watermelon but nonetheless HUSK.) The middle school is about a half mile from the shop; he pulls faces at all the students filtering past. (Steve’s kids, current and former, refer to Eddie exclusively as Mr. Munson’s Husband. It never fails to thrill him.)

He’s leaning back to flip the record piping through the store’s speakers (“Dustin I don’t care if it’s ‘easier’ to ‘create a Spotify account,’ whatever that means. We play vinyl only! Let me be pretentious about this one thing!”) when he hears a meek, polite cough coming from just beneath the window. He peers out and on the sidewalk stands a girl. She’s small, too little to be one of Steve’s. She clutches the strap of her backpack, blue eyes huge with nerves and determination.

“Hail and well met, weary traveler!” He’s speaking in what Steve calls his Dork Voice, the slightly tuned-down version he uses to put shy kids at ease. “How might I be of assistance?” The girl purses her lips, sets her shoulders, shakes her shaggy bangs out of her face. Eddie thinks suddenly of Nancy and Robin and his heart clenches.

“Do you like games?” She asks.

He smiles softly. Drops the act. “Yeah.” He rests his scarred cheek in the cradle of his palm. “I like games. Do you like games?”

The dam breaks.

“Yes!” She replies at once, breathless with enthusiasm. “My family plays a lot of board games, like Game of Life and Monopoly, and they’re okay but kind of boring, but my brother taught me how to play Settlers of Catan and I really liked that, and my friends and I played Werewolf at a sleepover but we made up a bunch of extra rules to make it harder, and my cousin showed me this video game where the ending changes based on what choices you make and that’s so cool—”

“Alright, slugger.” Eddie can’t help but laugh. “What game are you looking to play?”

The girl collects herself. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, so. So I like it in games where there are rules, but also you can make stuff up? And you can do something weird that might ruin everything but also might pay off? And sometimes you have to work with other people to accomplish your goal, but alliances can break?” Eddie nods. “So there’s this one game. It sounds like so much fun, but nobody I know plays it. They play it on this show I like, well, okay, it’s not really a show, it’s, uh, okay do you know what a podcast is?” Eddie beams.

Steve swapped study hall coverage so he could pop in for lunch. Tonight is parent-teacher conferences, which means Steve’ll be home late, which means Eddie will get absorbed in a project and either crash upstairs or stumble home well after Steve’s gone to bed, which means they’ve got to snatch the time together they can get. They split a sandwich, a salmon burger from Costco Eddie threw in the air fryer and smashed up with avocado and grilled poblano pepper. (”It’s heart healthy!” “You’re heart healthy.” “Aw.” “I meant that as an insult.” “I’m not taking it as one, mwah mwah mwah.”) Eddie eats too fast, as he often does, and drags his nails over the veins of Steve’s forearm to distract himself from his gastrointestinal tract turning inside out.

“🎶Myyyy babyyyy myyyyyy babyyyyyy,” he hums against the shell of Steve’s ear. “You’reeee my babyyyyy sayyyy it to meeeeee🎶.” “Alright,” he huffs, tapping his fingers to the knobby bone of Eddie’s wrist. He presses a kiss to the underside of Eddie’s jaw and rises. “I gotta get back.” He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder, gathers the papers he’d promised he’d grade but didn’t. Eddie watches him readjust, watches him smooth down the salt-and-pepper hairs dusting his temples, watches him push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He catches Eddie watching and asks, slyly, “What?”

Eddie wants to say, I love you. He wants to say, you’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be. He wants to say, I’m so grateful I built this life with you.

But he’s still himself, so what he says is, “Those khakis make your ass look great.”

Steve scoffs, and with a bitchy eye roll he sinks his weight onto his back foot and says, “I KNOW,” and there he is. There’s the man he married. He looks over his shoulder before he leaves, his honey-warm eyes liquifying Eddie’s spine.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “I love you too.” Eddie kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. Pretty good life.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #my fanfic

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fangirl-saya · 9 months

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Source: this article in Variety I picked out the best trivia bits here:

Hammond: “Can we take something that gives you the great height of the ceiling and cathedral-like space and do it out of messed-up materials? But keep the idea that the space was fitting for him?” That meant having pipes sticking out of the wall instead of polished woodwork, and having reflective tile instead of stained glass. Hammond adds, “There may still be tile on the floor, but it’s broken up where it’s used to hold the blood of his victims. I wanted there to be a penetration of natural light so it feels like we are in the basement. He’s flipped his existence.” “We had the blood fountain and furniture from France, the drapes from the octagonal room when he’s caught in the power circle,” he says. Dracula’s actual lair being in the old blood bank room, in the basement, was not explicitly laid out in the script. Hammond says, “Renfield is trying to make it easy for himself. He’s trying to kill fewer people. He doesn’t want to bring anyone to Dracula any more. So, the idea was that he picked the old blood bank area, maybe there was old blood in the freezer.” “I designed it again, we did it straightforward where the bloodbaths radiate from his head – Louis XIV combined with ‘Game of Thrones.’" “Translucent blood bags surrounding Dracula’s throne was great because we built a lot of lights in behind so you get red light cascading through the space, but you also get backlight where Nic was going to be. It was also useful because we could play hide and seek with him in the space before he’s fully revealed.” “To the left of his chair, there’s a pile of 75 semi-fresh bodies. There’s a room at the back with at least 150 fully decomposed bodies, and there’s a blood smear where Renfield had to drag them across the floor.” On another side of the room is the blood fountain, with a lion’s head and a cascade of blood coming out of it. and in a far corner was where Renfield lives. “We had to lay out what he would do on this day-to-day basis in taking care of Dracula.”

#renfield #bts #extras #screenshots #deep dive

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3dgy-vamp1re · 2 months

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Close the box and move on- (btd fanfic, no NSFW, no shipping)

𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭: 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐧.. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭.

You decided to stay with Ren after the incident happened. You've gotten pretty comfortable around the beast-kin. He would be kind, but yet still have those Tendencies to do stuff to you.

You lay awake in bed, Ren was next door in his room. You let out a long sigh before swinging your legs over the side of your bed and laying your head in your palms. You rubbed your already smeared makeup and got up to a drawer, opening it slowly and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. You took one out of the box and put it behind your ear as you walked towards your door.

You walked down to the kitchen to grab a lighter. You always told yourself that you would never lay one of these between your lips but in the situation you're in they became helpful.

You didn't feel anything but sympathy towards the beast-kin. You still saw him as a friend. Nothing more and nothing less.

You walked towards your room before hearing sniffles coming from his room. A rush of sadness hit you. It wasn't his fault he was like this, he didn't know how else to handle anything.

You sigh and shove the lighter in your pocket and walk to the room, knocking and slightly opening it.

There in the nest was Ren; curled up in a ball and holding that stupid green button up. Ren's ears were struck down and his tail was curled around him.

“Y'n?.. “ he murmured, sitting up and wiping his tears. Ren sniffled and looked up at you.

“Hey,, what's wrong?” You sit on the floor next to his quote on quote “bed” and lay a hand on his head, rubbing it in a comforting manner.

“It's my fault, all my fault.. I'm sorry.. Y'n”

Here he goes on another one of these rants.

“No it's not, you know deep you know it's not. You need to move on. For crying out loud you still have that corpse in the basement “

You Pat your lap and He laid on you, you place your hand on his head and cup his cheeks, making him look up at you

Ren sniffled.

“But.. It's not that easy,, he cried for me, and I stood there, then I kidnapped you.. And did all this.. Y'n.. Why did you stay?”

His sentences were broken up by sniffles and whines as he laid on you. You look down at him sullenly. “Let's move on. Come on”

You stand up and hold his hand slightly and walk out of the room.

“Wh-what do you mean?.. “ he murmured.

“Trust me” you say.

You manage to drag him to the basement; which reeks of rotting flesh, motor oil, grease, and just must. You gag at the smell but Ren is handling it fine.

You approach the freezer and open it, still oddly being shocked by the sight; you know that corpse was in there. You gag once more and look at Ren.

“Tell him goodbye Ren, it's time to close the box and move on” You manage to smile at the fox.

Ren gulped and looked at the corpse as tears formed in his eyes. He placed his hands on the edge and sobbed. Which soon turns into anger. He slammed the freezer door shut.

“.. Get him out.”

You nod and he walks upstairs. You pushed the freezer to the basement door; which led to the dumpster.

After about 40 minutes of struggling it's over. You go upstairs and Ren is holding the green button up near the fireplace.

“Whatcha thinking?” You say with a smile “wanna burn it?”

Ren gave a nod and placed it in the fireplace, tears slightly forming in his eyes; but he knew it was the best thing to do.

You pull out the lighter in your pocket and light the fire place; which slowly starts to devour the button up. As the flames go up and down, you take the cigarette that you placed behind your ear and light it with the flames. You place it between your lips.

You thought to yourself… .

“What the actual fuck did I agree to? “

#boyfriend to death 2 #boyfriendtodeath #ren hana #ren hana btd #boyfriend to death #btd 2 #btd ren #ren btd #a03 fanfic #fanfic #btd fanfic #mwahha #yayyyyy

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melonba11s · 6 months

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Frozen Pork (Tate Frost/FTM Strade)

Been stewing on this one for a while and finally finished it!

Strade belongs to Gatobob, Tate Frost belongs to Bileshroom, as always.

PLEASE mind the warnings for what this fic contains!

Contains: FTM Strade, Non-Con, Vaginal (performed on a trans man), Life or Death, Near Death Experience, Threat of Frostbite, forced orgasm, Belittling/slight humiliation.

Strade wasn’t a picky man when it came to his victims. Everyone had at least something small that set them apart from others, made them unique. But there was a type he tried to avoid.

The butcher at this tiny grocery store was the type he tried to avoid. Larger than him, obviously stronger than him. Sure if he got a chance, such as him being extremely intoxicated, he’d dive for a chance to take him home, make him cry and beg. But as he was, standing tall, staring, a confident smirk on his face? No. Strade would try and grab him and end up with a mouth full of pavement.

However… The cashier was another story. Disinterested, flipping through his magazine, giving Strade flippant answers to his questions, even managing a crass joke. He’d look real cute tied up in the basement, that glare wiped off his face and replaced by something far more wide eyed, stuttering about how he was sorry for his rudeness.

The store would close soon. Strade could just wait outside for the cashier to leave, catching him by his car. Strade paid for his few items and left, whistling to himself as he went to his car. Opening the trunk, he threw in his bag of items, thinking of how fun the next few days were going to be. He’d just been getting the itch for a new victim too, give Ren a break.

The only thing Strade remembered after that was the feeling of a large hand on the back of his head though, the hood of his trunk coming up to meet his gaze very fast. Whoever snuck up on him was definitely a lot bigger than him, but had somehow moved extremely quietly.

The world was quickly fading as the ground came up to meet him next, Strade was still in too much of a shock to process any kind of emotion. Just a voice, grumbling.

“Don’t think I don’t recognize the look you had on your face…” A pair of heavy boots came into his quickly fading view. “Vic up front, that’s my toy. Not yours.”

And then everything faded, and it felt like only a few seconds later Strade was waking back up.

The weather outside had been warm, it was a summer evening. It shouldn’t be this cold. His breath was fogging, his face pressed into a frigid floor that caused his hot breath to condensate on his face. He tried to push himself off the ground, but found his wrists tied together tight. Instant panic flooded Strade, as he arched his back, trying to sit up.

Hog-tied, arching his back allowed him to get a look at his surroundings, at least for a moment. Carcasses hung from the ceiling of a walk-in freezer. Then his body rocked back forwards and Strade could only view the icy tile floor again. He tried to control his breathing, stretching his hands back to try and untie the ropes holding him.

It was no use. They were too tight. A rage filled yell built in Strades throat as he kicked as hard as his bondage would allow, rolling onto his side. It was only now that Strade realized he’d been stripped down to his underwear. Thanks to the ice cold floor, his nipples were hard as rocks, his unkempt body hair doing nothing to keep him warm.

In the cold atmosphere, there was a sudden, slight bit of salvation as the door to the freezer opened, letting in a bit of the outside warmth in. Strade jerked his head to look over, growling in frustration at his situation.

The grocery store butcher stood there, grinning down at him as he came in, closing the door, and sealing Strades' bit of hope, behind him.

Anger was the only thing on Strades mind, as he let fly a string of insults in German, unable to control himself enough to put them into a language this man may understand.

It just earned him a sharp kick in the side, pushing him back onto his stomach.

“You seem to have a mouth on you, ‘Sha. But I can’t understand German. Why not put it in words I understand, let me really get hurt by what you’re saying?” The butcher knelt down, grabbing a fistful of Strades hair and pulling his head up, craning his neck.

Strade grunted in pain, collecting his thoughts for only a few seconds… before spitting into the man's face. Sure, his actions probably weren’t doing him any favors in surviving or escaping unharmed but his mind was racing too much for him to think of long term.

Rather than earning him a broken nose or another kick though, the larger man slowly wiped the spittle from his face before he began to laugh.

“Aah, I like my pigs full of fight. Just makes ‘em squeal louder when I finally stick ‘em.” The man let go of Strades hair, standing up.

“Now. You were telling practically everyone who stood still long enough yer name… “Strade”, right? Well. You can call me Tate. Or whatever insult leaves your mouth first, I’ve heard ‘em all.” Tate walked in front of Strade, getting down onto his knees.

“Now… I don’t know how you do things in your world. But this is mine. So you’re gonna follow my rules, or I’ll make this a lot more painful for you. Got it?”

“The moment I get up out of here things will get a lot more painful for-” Strade’s first full sentence since waking up was cut off by the invasion of two fat fingers in his mouth. He bit down, but they didn’t yank back. Tate instead grinned, using his free hand to pull out a small stack of cards.

“Bite while you can, piggy. Get my fingers good and slobbery too, maybe that will help them go in the other end.” Despite the cold air of the freezer, this was the sentence that sent Strades insides going cold.

“Y-You wouldn’t.” Shock was evident in his tone, as Tate pulled his bloody and saliva-covered fingers from Strades mouth. Tate looked at them, then began licking the fluids off.

“Would and will. Just seeing you rolling around and squealing like a caught pig has my dick hard as diamonds.” Strade glanced down, seeing the proof of Tate’s statement. He shrunk away as best he could now, still shaking in rage. But also fear.

“Now.” Tate picked up a few cards, glancing at them, then holding out three. “Pick my favorite.” Strade paused, looking at the well worn cards.

“... What do I get if I do?” Tate grunted, raising an eyebrow.

“We’ll figure that out when we get there, Sha.” he grinned, eyes narrowing. Strade glanced back at the cards. He could refuse to play along. He wanted to refuse. But his hands were quite literally tied.

The minutes ticked on, with Tate staring evenly at him. He did nothing to betray what card Strade should pick.

“.... Middle.” Strade finally grunted, sweat breaking out across his forehead as Tate glanced at the deck. Then a smile lit up his face.

“Two ‘a Spades. Heh. Even rhymes with your name, funny. But it ain’t my favorite-” Tate could barely finish the sentence before Strade was fighting with everything he had again.

The rope was cutting into his wrists, he could feel blood trickling down them, warm at first but quickly cooling and beginning to freeze in the frigid freezer. He was screaming again, hoping for someone, anyone to show up.

“Vic’s gone home.” Tate said, standing up. “And now that ass is mine for the claiming.” It was like he was picking up a bit too heavy of a grocery bag rather than a fully grown man. Tate easily hefted Strade up by the bonds holding his wrists and feet together.

“Right, this position would be a bit too awkward to fuck you in. So I’m gonna have to free your legs. Is that gonna be a problem?” Before Strade could even spit out a response, he felt something sharp slide through the rope connecting his legs together. They fell to the floor and first, he tried to find some balance, his bare feet slipping against the cold metal tile.

Then he began to kick at Tate, shouting out more threats in german. However, Tate still had his wrists bound, and held in one of his giant hands. Before he could land a good kick on him, wind was whistling through his ears.

The wall of the freezer came to meet his forehead, and there was a sickening thud that rang through Strades ears. He thought he could feel his brain rattling around inside his skull as he was dropped to the floor, his legs kicked apart.

“Nein…” His words came out too quiet as Tate got down on his knees. He tried to lift a leg to kick again but they were too heavy. A warm finger snuck into the waistband of his underwear.

“No.” He tried again, trying to inch back, but the wall was behind him.

“Don’t move too much ‘Sha, pretty sure I gave you a nice concussion there.” Tate grinned at him. From this position, Strade could really feel just how much bigger than him Tate was. His thigh was easily double the size of his own, his wide frame hiding the rest of the freezer from view as he pulled down Strades boxers.

Tate paused for a moment, then gave a low whistle.

“My, now that's a pretty sight to see, ain’t it?” Tate reached forward, pressing the meat of his palm against Strades pussy.

“F-Fuck off.” The cold was starting to get to Strade, along with how dizzy he was feeling, his words coming out slurred and stuttered.

“Nah Nah, I won’t be doing that. I said your ass was mine for the taking but I don’t mind making a last minute switch on what hole I get to use.” Tate reached down, beginning to unbutton his own pants as he pressed two fingers into Strades hole.

It was enough of an intrusion that even in his state, it got a groan of discomfort from Strade.

“Ah, you’re still nice and tight… Never been fucked before? Nah, you’re too handsome for that… I just bet all the other guys were fuckin’ small.” Strade grit his teeth, beginning to weakly lift his left leg for another kick.

Tate’s spare hand landed on it, forcing it back down. A frown across his face, leaning in.

“None of that, I won our little game, so you better just sit tight and take it…. And the more you fight, the longer we’ll be in here though. And I’m starting to get curious on how long you’ll last before you get hypothermia.” Strade swallowed now, groaning as Tate continued to force his fingers inside him.

He was fucking freezing. His head hurt like a bitch. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself forward and tear into this man's chest like a feral boar.

But he wanted to live too. And living meant… He swallowed apprehensively as Tate finally pulled his cock out.

“Fuck no.” Strade managed to gasp out, his entire body stiffening so much that it actually made his head throb.

“Admire it while you can, darlin’.” Tate laughed, pulling his fingers out of Strades barely stretched hole. “Soon enough it’ll be buried in that cunt of yours and you’ll be feeling it instead of seeing it.”

Adrenaline was coursing through Strades veins as Tate began to line himself up. Any verbal protests died in his throat as Tate began to push himself forward.

It was pushing all the air out of him. It felt like all of his organs were being shoved into his throat. No room for breath, no room for screams, no room for anything but Tate’s massive fucking cock.

A tongue ran across his cheek, shaking him out of whatever stupor he had put himself in.

“You look good crying, Sha. Tastes good too. Always liked extra salt on my meat.” Strade could only let out a strangled protest. He’d never felt so fucking full in his life, and it hurt. It stretched him so far he swore he could feel every ring of muscle in his crotch splitting under the force.

Tate just sighed, leaning back with an almost drunk smile on his face.

“Aah, ya took it like a champ, Sha. Love it when I can feel a guy's cervix rubbing against the tip of my cock.” Strade grit his teeth, glaring up at his captor. Any ideas of shutting up and letting him finish as fast as he could were gone, as his arms began to strain against the bindings once again.

“Gonna, fucking-Ah!” He was cut off as Tate pulled out only to slam back into him, picking up a brutal pace. The rest of his insults only came out as pain filled groans as Tate began to laugh.

“You’re gonna what? Cum on my huge cock like a desperate slut?” Strade blanched.

“I’m gonna fucking KILL you!” He retorted, hating having words shoved into his unwilling mouth.

“I don’t think you are, Sha. I think you’re gonna realize how great my cock feels.” He wouldn’t. Strade growled trying to drown out the rest of Tate’s words as he felt those fat balls slap against his ass.

“And you’re gonna begin to beg for more.” Tate began to yell, making sure Strade couldn’t possibly ignore him. The entire time Tate had his fingers digging into Strades thighs, belly swollen and pressing against Strades clit as he leaned forward, keeping up his fast pace.

And the cold. The fucking cold. Strade could feel his skin beginning to freeze against the freezer surfaces. Frostbite was going to set in quickly. His own tears were freezing against his cheeks, turning into shards of ice along his 5 o'Clock shadow. Every surface that Tate wasn’t touching was in stiff frozen agony.

And he moaned. Despite everything, despite his anger, he let out a moan that he quickly bit down on, cutting off. Tate’s grin grew wider, running his tongue over Strades cheek again to lap up those frozen tears.

“Don’t be shy, Sha. Go on, let it out.” he chuckled. Strade shook his head, trying to fight off that persistent tongue. His breath was fogging against him, condensation from it clinging to his and Tate’s chest and quickly freezing. He needed to keep moving in order to stay awake. He could feel his brain beginning to shut down from a mixture of the cold and his concussion.

His hips jerked forward to meet Tate’s thrusts, mouth hung open as he gulped in as much air as he could. He needed to stay awake. He needed to fight back. He needed too…

Another moan passed his lips. He needed to cum. His core was quickly heating up from the friction and feeling of sex, squirming under a man much bigger than him. He needed warmth, something Tate was providing.

He pushed himself up against Tate as best he could. He’d been pushed to such an absolute edge he couldn’t even drum up any proper rational thoughts anymore. He needed warmth, he needed to cum, he needed to live.

It was like he was being held underwater, the only thing he could do was struggle and gasp for air he couldn’t reach. He was aware of a large hand moving over his thigh, his hips, then back down to his crotch.

Two fingers sliding over his clit then stroking it in tandem with the thrusts. Yes… Yes… Just a bit…

Strade’s frozen voice cracked as he came, just as Tate began pumping him full of hot cum. Then his head fell back, his teeth grit together.

“Sha?” a voice from far away rang in his ears. He couldn’t…. He couldn’t die… He couldn’t move. He just wanted to sleep. But if he slept he’d die. His mind was racing with half formed thoughts as the world continued to close in around him, frosting the edge of his vision.

And then there was a rush of warm air, and he lifted his head again, just in time to see the pavement come back up to meet him for the second time that night. He threw his hands out, yowling in pain as the reddened skin, still sensitive from its time in the freezer, scraped against asphalt.

He had been haphazardly dressed again in his own clothes. He looked around, panicking, before glancing back at Tate in the doorway. Tate just grinned down at him.

“You’re a little killer, so I figure you’ll know better than to go to the cops. Just don’t come back here again, ya hear? This is my hunting grounds.” Tate turned around, letting the back door swing close behind him. Before it shut, he waved and gave Strade one last bit of advice.

“Get your head checked out soon, Sha.”

Strade sat on the pavement, bruised and bleeding, in more pain than he’d ever been in his life, and paranoid. He swallowed roughly, before beginning to gulp down breath after breath of warm air, each pass serving to defrost a part of him.

His head was pounding, he would need to get to a hospital soon… And he’d need them to also check him for frostbite.

#boyfriend to death #strade #btd fanfic #boyfriend to death fanfic #strade btd #tate frost fanfic #tate frostbite #tate frost

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