kind of weird how parts of your soul are left in various locations without any warning… like yes i’m always at the top of that hill, sitting at the bus stop, in the cool light of the Japanese restaurant, standing at the pier etc etc
implied poly!141 x gn!reader | cw: mdni, daddy kink, fire play mention
141!reader who made the mistake of going drink for drink with johnny, even though kyle had begged the two of you to stop. by the time the three of you are stumbling home you're all pissed out of your minds, even kyle is listing dangerously to the side, the only thing holding him up is johnny's arm wrap firming around his waist.
you're still relatively new to the taskforce, a temporary contract ran long, but now that the mission is over you can't imagine working with any other team. the 141 is cohesive, competent and above all else, fucking drool worthy. you had had to correct yourself more than once when you realized you had been staring for far longer than was acceptable.
none of them ever said anything so maybe they never noticed?
it certainly didn't matter when you had johnny's other arm wrapped around your waist, thick fingers spread out across your stomach, a warm pressure to keep your grounded, to hold you up the same way he had in the field.
and if you had hoped to find yourself a similar situation to this when the night had start? no one had to know. no one had to know the way you had imagined johnny taking you in the dingy alley outside the pub. the way you had imagine kyle pulling you into his room and kissing you so sweet. imagined your lieutenant pressing you into the mats during, pushing your limits until he was rutting against you. most cliche was the way you had imagined price, taking you over his desk, fucking into you while continuing to debrief with his men, ash from his cigar stinging the soft exposed skin of your back. maybe he would even put it out on you, a delicious little souvenir to take with you when the brass inevitably sent you away.
"water," you croaked, pulling johnny towards the rec room.
"shhhh," johnny shushed you, louder than you had been.
"fuck johnny, shut your gob," kyle hissed back.
you would miss this the most, even if this moment was nothing more than a hazy dreamlike memory in the morning. these small moments of camaraderie, so natural, so ephemeral between the bloodshed and violence.
you yanked harder when you felt like johnny was not moving faster enough, causing him to stumble and then kyle. johnny's hand slipping from your waist as the two fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.
you had to clamp your hand over you mouth to stop yourself from laughing, watching the two drunks trying to untangle themselves.
you hadn't expected how hot it was to see the two men grappling to get free, their civvies far less modest than their uniforms, the peak of johnny's happy trail, the flex of kyle's back as the polo stretched over his muscles, johnny pulling the cotton to its limit as he tried to regain his balance.
when kyle yelped, johnny catching him in the groin with his elbow the lot of you were back to shushing each other, the two men finally gathering themselves enough to follow you into the rec room for water.
you stopped dead in your tracks when you found price, sprawled out on the couch, boonie hat resting over his head, a half drank glass of whiskey on the side table. the slow rise and fall of his chest was that of someone in a deep sleep.
"don't wake daddy," you whispered as a joke to the other two as you tiptoed to the cabinet for a glass, desperately hoping the water wasn't loud enough to wake price.
he was typically such a deep sleeper.
"oooo, dinnae wake daddy," johnny teased, easily reaching around you for a glass.
"don't want daddy to wake up and punish us," kyle added.
you snorted into your water at that, eyes wide as price shifted on the couch.
the three of your were perhaps not being as quiet as you thought.
go! you mouthed to the others, abandoning your glass on the counter and darting out of the rec room, in a maneuver that had all three of you thinking you were being very stealthy but you were not.
back in the hall you were doubled over with giggles, all three of you in stitches over it. hushing each other and taking turns accusing the others of almost waking daddy.
you maybe would have gotten away with it had the three of you not stopped outside of the rec room, if you had dragged each other away, piled into someone bed for the night. you certainly weren't the only one of the three interested in seeing where the night could go, starting to sober up enough after the water to consent to something, anything to stave of the low simmering arousal the team had experiences during that last never ending mission.
"daddy is gonna be so mad if you wake him."
"daddy's already awake, kid. looks like i have three troublemakers to punish."
you don't think you had ever sobered up faster, spine stick straight as you spun around to see your captain, deep frown, bags under his eyes, mustache and beard just a bit disheveled, hair tousled in that just woke up way.
you couldn't help the way you clenched your fists as prices words bounced around your head.
daddy. punishment. kid.
you were so fucked.
"my office, 0800. sleep it off, shower, hydrate and be ready for what ghost and i will have planned for you three."
the three of you nodded, you didn't trust yourself to speak.
you hang you head when he dismisses you, walking quickly to your room, ready to crawl under the covers and try to forget this happened. before you have a chance to retreat johnny is grabbing your hand, an absolutely feral grin on his face.
"where are ye goin'?" he asks, already dragging you towards his own door.
"to sleep? what are you doing?"
"you heard price, gotta be ready for our punishment," kyle says like that explains anything.
you've been in johnny's room, picking up gear, shooting the shit, but never at night, never like this. without fanfare he pushes you back on his bed.
something something werewolf price taking in some scared, pitiful thing that got bit while camping out in the woods. what's that? you didn't know werewolves are real? poor thing, he'll take you in and show you how to be a proper werewolf.
step one will be to move into his place- after all, he's got the appropriate countermeasures and cages built into his home to prevent nasty 'accidents' like yours. he'll teach you how to prepare for the full moon, how to recover after it, how to adjust to your heightened senses and instincts, and of course, how to deal with your first heat.
hm? you say you never saw who bit you? you're sure? oh, well, they're probably long gone by now, but you don't have to worry about them. he'll be your pack, sweetheart, and if you're good and follow his rules, he'll introduce you to the rest of his pack.
all you have to do is follow his lead and he'll make sure you're all right. after all, that's what alpha's do, isn't it? and that's what he is- your alpha. and he drills it into your head that that's exactly what he wants you to say when you meet other wolves, verbatim:
bad call // SUMMONED | simon riley x reader au | 1.4k words
part one of the SUMMONED series.
cw/tags: 18+. explicit sexual content. cis fem reader. supernatural content. dubcon (somnophilia/drunk) content.
The new house comes with a crawlspace.
You and your favourite cousin, PJ, decide to tackle it together because it freaks you out too much to do it alone. You haul out a few moldering boxes and over two bottles of wine, sit on the basement floor and rifle through them.
A few photo albums still wrapped in cellophane, a stack of Christmas cards bundled together with string, old baby toys, and a few board games make up your bumper crop.
"You don't wanna play this old trivia game from—" PJ squints at the manufacturing date on the box "—1963?"
You laugh at him, and push the others aside to check the titles. No games you really recognized, but clear as day: an Ouija board.
"Yes!" PJ crows. "Absolutely, we must."
"Dude, no. I'm not fucking around with that shit."
"You've literally said you don't believe in ghosts."
You shrug, pushing the game at his chest. "Every single movie in history, my guy. I'm not a fucking chump. I'm not taking that chance, because with my luck, that's when I'd get proven wrong."
—
Wine happens. More.
Spirits, we implore you to—dude, do you think this house's actually got ghosts?—
—
You see PJ off in his rideshare and slowly sway your way back up to your bedroom, your hands pressing carefully against the walls as you climb the stairs. You stop to laugh, hunched over, at absolutely nothing, just softly chuckling to yourself.
You're gonna be fucked in the morning.
Can't bear the harsh lights, you keep them off as you collapse into bed, phone on your pillow beside your nasty wine-breath mouth. Stay in that position for longer than you should, immediately asleep.
Rolling over at some point, your hand thudding against something hard. You and PJ must've moved your bed against the wall like you'd discussed…?
Out of the murky dark, the wall grows large pale arms that come down and around you, pulling you into a body that is materializing itself, ripping a shrill scream out of your sticky throat.
"Quiet," the new body in your bed — not the wall — says gruffly. The arms tighten around you, banding you until you can't squirm without nausea slithering out of your belly up your throat.
"—be sick," you croak, and pull away fast enough to puke over the side of the bed, hitting the mattress on your way. Hammered. Nightmare. Sleep paralysis. No different than being drunk in bed and continuously dreaming about someone in the doorway with a glass of cold water for you. "Fuck," you grunt. You lay your head flat on the cool bedsheet, trying to force your heavy eyes open. Should get up and clean it now, not wait til morning.
Sleep rips you away before you even feel ashamed.
—
You're moaning. That's what wakes you up.
Thick and gummy moans humming through your body, like you're a cat trying to heal itself with low vibrational purrs. But you're not moaning to heal your hangover; you're moaning because something hard is rocking hard and hot against your cunt, sliding against your slipperiness, between your plump lips. Staying in the shallow end.
"What'fu—" You lift your concrete block of a head with a loud, hot grunt, and twist slowly to not make your stomach roil.
Your sleep paralysis demon in the still-dark, a pale-bodied stack of muscles working in sync to fuck at your cunt without actually going in. It makes a disgustingly harsh noise of pleasure, and clamps a hand over your bare hip to keep you in the same position. Your face stays on its side, stretched flat where his rocking motions are pushing you forward and pulling you back.
He's a man, but not human. Not earthly. In an instant glance, some deep-primal part of you understands that without turning any cerebral senses on. This is when your tether to reality snaps altogether. The surreality blunts fear and panic and confusion into a dreamy film that casts itself to your skin, present, but part of you.
"Am I dreaming."
"If y'want to tell yerself that, be my guest."
"Am I dead."
"Nah."
You moan and it might be the start of tears but you don't actually know anymore.
"Are you real."
Something shifts behind you, and then his cock is stroking up inside you, hitting your walls and stretching tight against you. This is when the dream would break apart and you'd wake up, a sensation too vivid and too real — achingly hot flesh against yours — yanking you from the cloudy haze of unconsciousness. But instead, it only takes a couple strokes until you're crying out, your pillow wet under your face still turned away, your body pitching itself up and over the climax all on its own while the thing behind you grunts and groans heavy and dark, dragging you down with it. Its hand is bruising on your waist until it's fucking you so hard that all you can do is sob and take it, a receptacle for its tension and urgency until the voice is ragged and hollowed out, and you feel heat slipping out of you. Liquid and silky.
You cry yourself back to sleep, unwilling to turn around and pretending the hand on your hip isn't there.
When you come to, the room is light and still. You roll over to see an empty bed. The covers are all fucked up, but it's empty.
Your pillow's marked up with mascara and a small dried puddle. You lean over the bed blearily; a little bit of bile on the floor. Fuck.
Between your legs — the throb, the wet.
You pull on baggy shorts and a t-shirt and clean up the puke while trying not to gag. You scrub at your face in the bathroom and do not make eye contact with yourself.
The pale thing is sitting on your couch. It's naked, arms crossed over its chest and legs resting out on your coffee table. Cock slumbering fat against its hairy thigh. Its eyes open to see you standing there, shaking like a little dog.
"Y'wanna know what you did?"
You just stare.
"Yer little game. Shouldn't poke around with things you don't know, bird. Heard your sweet little voice. You never know who's gonna answer back."
You don't make it to the bathroom. You catch it with your hands.
The thing grunts in disgust. "God, yer a right mess. Can't handle yer liquor."
—
He makes the rules clear over time.
You called out; he answered. There's no returning him. When you try to flee to a hotel, he just chuckles low and dark in your ear in the big king bed.
House didn't summon me, lovie. You did.
The spectrality of his form depends on the day. The days you ignore him, he's amorphous and weak. Terrible housemate, not able to carry his own weight. When you argue with him, which is useless because he has no earthly concerns and derives joy from pissing you off, he looks as real as a human. Those nights are the most haunting; his cock is the hardest, stiffest, driving up inside you as you push against him and fight it the whole way. You can't let yourself actually accept your reality: that you hate him with your whole being and that he is the best sex you've ever had. He tells you later that fucking you makes him feel, for a bit, at least "put back together," although the sensation never lasts.
He doesn't remember how or when or where he died. Doesn't matter to him, so the matter's dropped eventually. Given that he loves your bed better than any place in the whole house and doesn't recognize any modern conveniences, you surmise he'd been milling around wherever, waiting to answer your call, for hundreds of years.
All he tells you is that he thinks he was probably a shit.
"You still are," you grouse as he grips your thick thighs and pries them apart.
"Exactly my point. Now be quiet," he grunts between your legs, his tongue lashing out at you. Never tiring. No ego between his sucks and laps of your cunt. No impatient tongue trying to roll you over the edge so it can be his turn. No sore back that means he has to change position constantly. A real thing eating your cunt until you yell at him to stop, uttering a low unbothered chuckle.
You tell yourself that at least you didn't summon something that's a bad fuck.
cw: this will eventually become sexually explicit, so mdni from the jump. this is not a dark fic, however, so major tags don't apply.reader gets an anonymous message at work.
this is an anonymous identity x cis-fem reader fic. tags + story blurbs will therefore reflect this. for future readers, please refrain from commenting any spoilers (i will delete + block if they come up).
have fun!
navigate to: part 1
part 2
"It's gotta be him. No?" Sasha sips at her coffee eagerly.
"Maybe?"
"But G could also be like, a version of bro or whatever, too," she admits. "He didn't say anything obvious? Make you feel like he's noticed you before?"
"Definitely not." You tap robotically on the lid of your coffee cup. "We didn't even exchange names."
"Yeah, 'cause he already knows yours. Also, how do you get locked inside an elevator with a single person for over two hours and not know each other's names by the end of it?"
You sigh heavily, throwing up a hand in defense. "Listen! I was stressed out and he made me fucking nervous. I don't know, dude. I really didn't get a vibe from him that he was like…messing with me."
Sasha rolls her eyes and her chair back to her desk. "You're on your own then. Call up maintenance and see if they send him. Be a damn detective."
You stomp away dramatically to her light laughter. It's been over a week since the elevator incident.
A telltale blink on the screen when you return.
» Bored?
» Look, I don't want to be rude, but your messages aren't funny to me. I don't like this mystery or thing you're doing. If you want to talk to me, just approach me
» Ah, I'm sorry.
» I really don't mean to scare you.
» You're not scaring me. It's just weird.
» Do you want a hint? Maybe it'll make you feel better.
» Or you could just tell me who you are. Or I could just submit a ticket to IT.
» You could.
» Do we work on the same floor?
» No. But I see you around.
» Do I pass you or do you pass me?
» Both.
That narrows it down to approximately two floors and far too many departments and teams. Time to put the elevator theory to the test.
» Have we talked before?
» I'll say this: you have a very lovely smile.
» Gotta run. Talk soon.
You stand up and go refill your water bottle at the station so you don't shatter your work laptop out of frustration.
—
A grimy July day drips into evening. A few teams, yours included, all banding together to descend en masse to a restaurant with a huge outdoor patio and cold-ass after-work drinks. You tentatively decline until Sasha bullies you into accepting. "Cinq à sept! Cinq à sept!"
Should socialize more rattling around your heat-dumb brain.
Sasha texting you before you guys lock up your computer for the night:
» maybe G will be out there amongst us woooohhhhh
That idea almost makes you decline again until she's parked her ass in front of your cube, firmly entrenched and not budging. "Let's goooo. One drink."
You walk together and your nerves twist in nauseated bundles under your skin as she yaps amiably the whole way. It's your first social outing with anyone other than her, so you quickly order a drink and stand with her, being gradually introduced to a wide variety of folks from accounting, HR, marketing, comms, and so on. When the sept part of cinq à sept passes, you lean over to her. "Do people usually get this drunk at these?" She laughs breezily. "Well. Depends on the group, but I think it's just this fuckin' weather. Oh, I think those guys are from IT. Hey," she elbows you. "Let's ask about your message."
Some people left after a drink or two — like you should've — and more continue to drift in. The IT guys are two tall men that don't look like IT men in the first place. Not that there's a look, but…there can be a look. You let your eyes land on them, taking them in: white with blue eyes and some trendy haircut, and Black with sweet eyes and a dentist's dream of a smile. Sasha needles you. "Let's go say hi, I'll introduce you."
"Sasha," you plead, but she taps her glass to yours and pulls you over.
"Hey! John, right?" She says, easy as anything, to the one with shaggy hair. She introduces you to them both, and they both smile warmly at you. "And sorry, you fixed my workstation last week but I'm totally blanking on your name."
"Kyle," the other guy says with a grin, and you all laugh over the mix of handshakes between the four of you.
"Kyle! Oh my god, right." She throws her head back dramatically. "You saved my fucking ass."
He laughs, taking a slow sip of his drink. "No trouble at all."
Sasha perks up. "I have a fun question for you both then!"
Fuuuuuuck.
"Excuse me, I gotta—" you say just as Sasha tries to grab your arm, but you cut yourself off, slipping away to the washroom before she can make a scene. You are not interested in what the IT team thinks of your fucking messages, and you're annoyed that she's making it a joke. Obviously if you cared enough, you'd have submitted a ticket already and gotten something resolved, but it's a new job and you don't want to make waves. Why couldn't she just let it lie between you both?
If you could get away with it, you'd stay parked in the washroom until IT left. Or just dip and run, but neither of these are viable solutions. Instead, you swipe away the gathered sweat from your neck and hands, pat your face with cold water, and try to make with a facade of confidence back to the group. You spot Sasha still with John and Kyle, so you beeline for another member of your team. Sit down in the safety of numbers, and order another drink.
A little while later, there's a hand that hovers slightly at your elbow. You turn to see Kyle having sit to your far left, where your back had been turned.
"Oh, hi," you say weakly. Sasha's off somewhere else now.
"Hey, just wanted to check if you're alright?"
Your eyebrows pinch together and you sip from your drink nervously. "Yeah? Why?"
"Ah, good. You just seemed bit out of sorts back there with your friend. Summat we said, or?"
You laugh, relieved. "No, no. It's all good." You have no idea if Sasha explained your issue. And you don't feel comfortable revealing it if she did decide to keep her mouth shut. "Just getting used to a big company with lots of people to meet. I guess I'm not used to the big get-togethers. My first one."
He smiles brightly, a lazy laugh coming out of him. "Ah, that's nice then. Bit of a shy one, eh?" His eyes crinkle nicely in the corners when he smiles like that. He looks like a man you would've admired in the men's sleepwear pages of the Sears catalogue; handsome and sweet. Doe-like eyes.
Your cheeks heat under his soft gaze. "Well, I don't know about that. Just getting used to it, is all. How long have you been here?"
He sucks his teeth a little, hems and haws. "Little over two years, I reckon? John headhunted me personally."
"Oh, nice."
"You got any plans this summer? Goin' on holiday?" He props an arm loosely along the back of the booth you're sat on, the relaxed cream linen shirt he's wearing pulled a bit snug over his arm muscles. The sun close to setting now, he seems to glow and gleam in front of you, while you just wilt and sweat. Some are just chosen ones.
You laugh. "I just started. Not taking any time off yet. I might just take off a Monday over a long weekend, maybe."
"Lovely." He smiles. Those're fun," he says, reaching his hand out and tapping his fingertip against your manicure, a reptilian pattern you'd tried last night.
"Oh, thank you." Another self-conscious laugh, the desire to pull your hand back.
"—arrick!" A boisterously loud voice calling over the patio, stopping most people's conversations as heads turn to the source: John, waving at the exit gate. "C'mon, mate, ah dinnae want tae get another ticket!"
Kyle's face breaks down into a seriously, mate? expression, turning back to you to smile ruefully. "Next time? You'll be here."
"Maybe!"
"Nah, you gotta promise that."
You laugh again, his voice carrying as he stands up, grabbing your hand. A couple people looking at you both.
"Sure, maybe I promise."
A smile as bright as the sun and just as intoxicating.
On the walk home to your car, Sasha gripping your arm tightly. "Dude."
"What?"
"Kyle's last name."
You stare at her. "I didn't hear it."
"John yelled it, you didn't hear it?"
"I dunno, kinda? Eric or something."
She laughs at you openly. "Garrick, dummy. G-guh-guh-garrrrrrick."
"No. I think it was Eric or Carrick maybe. I didn't hear a G."
She shrugs, clearly not believing you at all, hands up. "Oookay."
You wait as she waits for her bus, then you head through the secondary parking lot to your car in the next lot. Dozens of moths are swarming each floodlight, forming strange dark clouds that dissipate and reshape themselves.
A truck's headlights turn on in front of you, making you gasp and grab your bag. You squint above into the cab. See a tall shadow. You scurry your feet and hear a door open.
"Just me."
Elevator guy, unfurling his big body from the truck, and stepping down in his uniform and boots. Looks tired in the fluorescent lighting.
"Oh," you twist back, breathless and embarrassed for it. "Hey." The lack of his name gives you pause. "Just getting off now?"
He nods. "Walk you."
You wait as he shuts the engine off and palms the keys as he walks beside you across the swaths of grass and improvised footpaths between the lots.
"Where you comin' from?"
"Oh, the cinq à sept, down the road?" The realization hits you that maintenance and security and warehouse and all those other folks may not get invitations extended their way, and you bite your tongue in shame. "My team invited me last minute." A mollifying shrug offered like you too are on the outskirts.
"Never been," he says simply. You're not sure if you want to get to your car quicker or slower, feeling out of sorts and pulled apart. "They treatin' you nice?"
"Who, my team?"
"Yeah." No inflection, nothing to riddle out.
"Yeah, they're really nice." Wait. "How'd you know I'm new?"
He laughs shortly, not rude but not really kind either. "You got a look to you. Big eyes. Spooked."
You frown down, staring at the hem of your dress and sandals, not realizing people could smell the rookie off you that obviously. "Me? Or new people in general?"
"Don't know anyone else that's new."
You get to your car. Your keys are still in your bag. Sasha's dumb boldness takes root in you for as long as you can harness it.
"Can you tell me your name?"
His brows raise a little. "Simon."
"Full name. Please."
"Riley."
When you look deeply confused and start fidgeting with your keys, he looks around like he's missing something. "Y'alrigh'?"
"Yeah. I just…why'd that guy call you G?"
He looks just as confused as you do. "Who?"
Just gotta admit that I noted every single second of our encounter to replay later and know what a random man called you in a two-plus hour span.
"Your…friend from maintenance? He called you G. Through the speaker."
His expression settles immediately. "Dumb nickname the lads gave me." Even with the dim evening light, washed in deep tangerine twilight, there's colour high on his cheekbones. You stare at it dumbfounded. He is not the type of person — you thought — that would ever blush or seem uncomfortable.
"For what? I mean. What's the G stand for?"
"Ghost." He clears his throat loudly, and kicks your tire with his boot.
"Hey," you say lightly, waving your hands out at him. "That's my…those are my tires you're kicking!"
"Tire's nearly flat." He says, eyes flicking to you briefly.
You spin around to look. Sure enough. Dumb ass fucking piece of shit car. Dumb ass fucking piece of shit you.
"Get in." You do, obedient. Then watch as he gestures to you to wait, and jogs long-legged and slightly stiff, to his truck across the way. You watch in silence as his truck headlights come on. Veer out, across his own lot, then looping around until he's by yours.
"'kay, y'can wait in there if you're not gonna boil. Or y'can help me."
Neither of you speak about anything while he loosens the lug nuts, jacks your car up — not surprised he's got his own jack in his truck — then hauls the spare out of your trunk for you. You do helpful tasks like popping the trunk open. Handing him the occasional item. Staring at him. As you lose the dying bits of sun, holding your phone's flashlight out to see better, which he snorts at.
It's done by the time your roadside assistance would even be dispatching someone.
"Take it for a spin." He gestures, and you climb in, aware of the scent he's left behind — an old but mostly clean sweat — and drive around the parking lot, feeling like an idiot learning how to drive.
"Feels good?"
"Yeah. Thanks." Do you get out of the car? Shake his hand? Hug him? "How—no—can I pay you back, please?"
A solemn shake of his head. "Nah, don't be daft. Glad I was here."
"Me too." Again.
"Can I buy you a drink?" What if he doesn't drink? What if he'll take it as flirting? Do you want him to take it as flirting? What if he's married, or g—
"Alrigh'."
You take his number and don't offer yours in return. You suddenly feel very possessive of that scrap of agency left. "Well, thanks again. Simon."
Head clearing as you hit the highway, realizing you have no better information than you started with.
Content warning: Serial killers, spiked drink, sexual threat (she gets away I prommy), lots of death-by-werewolf hehe :3c
Anyways if I was in charge of Hollywood there would be a movie that starts off with a sexy chubby woman (the chubbiness is IMPORTANT) living her best life out to the bar with her gal pals, and while there she is hit on by an unreasonably hot man* (*conVENTIONALLY hot. it's IMPORTANT). They start chatting about a huge current news story: dismembered women keep getting found in the WOODS holy shit and always the night after the full moon so the press are calling it "the werewolf murders" BECAUSE it looks like there's claw marks on the bodies I scream I cry I move on with the story-
So Hot Guy is charming he's witty he's respectful. He asks to buy her a drink and she's kinda into it BUT she tells him she doesn't accept any drink that's handed to her by a stranger and he's like "Say less babe, what if we went up to the bartender together, you order your drink, I pay for it, my hands are never on the drink :)" and she's like hmm okay I can trust like that so they spend the night having flirty banter and eventually she looks around and realises her gal pals have left with their own little romances and she's like oh shit I better go, and he's like awh okay if you insist, at least let me buy you a shot for the road.
So he buys her a shot, and same deal again she gets it straight from the bartender bc our girl is SAVVY even though she is having fun with this guy. Anyway she goes to leave and within a few mins of stepping out into the cold wet air the world begins to spin, her legs give out, she's like wtf, no no no how the fuck is this happening, this can't be happening. And of course Hot Guy appears and he's like awh no babe you don't look so good here let me help you into a CAR GIRL HELP DO NOT GET IN THE CAR but she's confused and disoriented and there's a degree of trust built up between them and it's only when the car door closes that she realises it's already too late and passes out SCREAM
anyway she comes to in the middle of the woods and relax she hasn't been touched YET because there's suddenly 4 men around her (henceforth known as: The Pack) and they're all laughing about how big girls are SO desperate they're so easy to trick BLARGH they're spouting a bunch of general misogynist BULLSHIT about "high value males" and "the female brain" and they call themselves "the Pack" because YOU KNOW these fuckers live their whole life by that fallacious Alpha Male ideology ANYWAY obviously they are led by Hot Guy AND the Bartender is ONE OF THEM that's how her drink got spiked, she was watching the wrong man's hands!!
And they're like "haha don't worry we didn't do anything to you while you were out because it's only worth doing when you KNOW what we're doing to you >:)" PUKE they are basically a bunch of sick fuck serial killers who abduct women every full moon and then hunt them down in the woods THEY ARE THE WEREWOLF MURDERERS AAAAH anyway they're like "haha babe we'll give you a 10 minute headstart. You'll know we're coming after you when you hear us HOWL" 🤢 but these sad wimp shit heads are using high end hunting equipment including an infrared camera and night vision goggles they have NO respect for the art of the hunt I DIGRESS-
obviously our sexy chubby heroine runs for it but oh no she can't see in the dark, she's still wearing her cute but impractical heeled boots, she's still dizzy from the drugs and more importantly feeling like a worthless, pathetic FOOL for falling for Hot Guy and now she's going to get killed for it. Her heart is breaking with every step and then she hears them howling behind her and oh god, she's not gonna make it is she-
WHUMBLE TUMBLE she trips and tumbles down a ridge!! Our angel just can't catch a break and to make everything worse she lands in what is clearly some predator's den, full of old deer carcasses - and one FRESH carcass oh god something is growling at her from the darkness. With only the light of the full moon to see, she watches in horror as a dark shape advances on her. It must be a bear, she thinks, but then it rises on it's hind legs, and rises, and rises, and holy shit, what the fuck is that thing it's not a bear it's a FUCKING WEREWOLF
and then one member of The Pack catches up to her, and he's giddy with anticipation for what he wants to do to her, and he's the one with the night vision goggles and he stops laughing when he sees that... That THING next to her in the gorge, and he's like. What the fuck that can't be real. And in my movie we'd be cutting this between dark moonlit scenes and his night vision goggles of course, through which we'd get to see the werewolf's huge sexy teeth and eerie (sexy) glowing eyes and that the wolf is looking at HIM and this guy freaks the fuck out and tries to run but GUESS WHAT YOU SHOULDN'T DO BITCH. YOU SHOULDN'T RUN FROM A WEREWOLF because it launches at him and rips his fucking head off!!
And our heroine is like FUCK as if this night could get any worse now werewolves exist?!?! So she flees while the Wolf is busy with Pack Guy #1. Cut to: the other men in The Pack are regrouping, irate that Guy#1 got so far ahead of them because "He never shares 🙄" but ahead the guy with the infrared sensor is like "I see a big splatter of heat on the ground, he's finished her off without us that bastard!!" But lo and behold they get there and IT IS HE WHO IS SPLATTERED ACROSS THE GROUND!! The Pack are at first like wtf did this but they're all pieces of shit so they don't mourn their dead friend so much as lament the inconvenience of his death and assume a bear did it. Hot Guy is actually a little excited because he's never hunted a bear before and they have guns so, in his word, "we can mount a bitch and a bear in our trophy room tonight" and they leave Guy#1's body BUT they do take his night vision goggles.
Meanwhile the sexy beautiful apple of our eyes (Protagonist) has made it to a RIVER and she's like fuck it's cold but maybe I can follow the river downstream, there will be a town eventually right??? BUT who is right on her tail?? The werewolf of course! He's snarling and advancing in a mixture of animal curiosity and hostile territoriality and our darling beloved Protag is like FUCK I can't run I can only back away slowly oh god I'm going to die but JUST as the Wolf reaches her-
Howling! Those stupid shitfuck Alpha Bros are howling as a way to terrorize her so she knows they're closing in. But you know what that does to werewolf?? Immediately tells him who the REAL territorial threat is. The Pack burst through the trees to the river and Wolf wastes no time latching his teeth into one of them and ripping his throat open ( 🥵 ) and the Pack are like WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING and bang bang they SHOOT werewolf in the torso AAAH! He's not dead because the bullets aren't silver teehee but it HURTS and he's knocked into the river. Protag tries to run but they shoot at her too so with nowhere else to go she also jumps into the river SWIM BITCH SWIM
She and the Wolf are swept downriver in the rapid current, both gasping for breath between being dunked underwater. Protag manages to grab a hold of some logs to save herself. The Wolf tries to grab them too but oh NO he's too big and heavy and the water-rotted wood SNAPS and he continues swirling down the rapids. He manages to cling to a boulder in the center of the river and claw his way up for air, fast water frothing white around him, filling his mouth, trying to drag him under again.
Protag drags herself to the shore and breathlessly looks back, ready to run again as she hears the Pack howling in the distance. She sees the Wolf clawing desperately to life, and turns to leave him - but stops. She can't help herself. She looks back at him. The whites of his eyes are showing with their wide, confused panic. One hand is held tight to the boulder, the other flails desperately for some purchase. A high pitched, frightened whine pierces the air. He looks as afraid as she feels. He looks so HUMAN, so honest, so earnestly in need of someone's kindness. God, she HATES herself for being weak (*cough cough* NOT WEAK SHE'S FUCKING KIND!! but anyway *cough cough*)
She DRAGS a thick, sturdy branch to the riverside and feeds it into the water. She has to anchor herself in the deep, squelching mud to keep the branch (and herself!) from being yanked back into the current. The Wolf reaches with that helpless, human desperation. Monstrous hands close around the branch. She heaves, roaring with the effort to support his weight as he claws his way to shore. The howling is getting real close, now.
Once the werewolf can sink his paws into the mud, she abandons the branch and runs for the treeline. The two remaining Pack members are upon them now - but trapped on the wrong side of the river. They fire their gun at her. The Wolf launches a huge rock in their direction, which misses, but forces them to back off.
Protag runs for her life in the woods. She can hear the weight of the huge, loping animal behind her. She feels the shift in the air the moment before it makes impact. The Wolf tackles her from behind, bundling her into his arms while she kicks and shrieks in raw, animal defense. The Wolf, unable to contain the flurry of protesting limbs, throws her into the wet, sloppy mud and slams one of his heavy hand-paws down on her chest, pinning her down forcefully. He roars directly into her face, sharp teeth inches from soft skin, breath hot and rancid with the stench of dead deer. His message is very easy, even with the animal-language barrier: "SHUT THE FUCK UP."
Defeated, exhausted, and resigned to her fate, Protag goes limp. The Wolf half drags, half carries her across the forest floor. She accepts that she's just a slab of meat now - to both the Wolf, and the Pack. The drugs and the despair and the post-adrenaline crash all surge upon her in a wave of sudden sleepiness. She closes her bloodshot eyes.
She opens them to the muted daylight of an overcast morning, seeping through the mouth of a cave. Soft sounds alert her to the fact she is not alone: a nude man is hunched over in a corner beside her. Blood drips down his side. She shrieks and he jumps in surprise. She scrambles for the entrance to the cave - he grabs her and pulls her back. Shut up! He tells her, They're still out there! They're still looking for us!
She stops. Brain starts working. Realises where she is, what's happening, who THIS is. She shoves him away and accuses him of being the werewolf. He's like "uh. Ya. Who else were you expecting."
He's not thrilled about how he spent his full moon, either. He was shot several times in the arm and abdomen, and his accelerated healing means he's healed with one bullet still inside him. He's trying to dig it out. Horrified, but feeling obligated, Protag forces herself to help him. (It's an "EWW" moment, but also... A lil bit of an "awwh" moment ;3c )
In the quiet cave, reluctantly working together, they start to talk. She tells him who she is, who those guys are, what happened. He tells her he's a software engineer from the city. But yeah, also a werewolf. He's been using these woods for his full moons for his entire adult life. Recently, the so-called "werewolf murders" made him worry another wolf had moved into his territory - but now he realises it was these shithead men all along.
He tells her he'll help her get to the road, where she can flag down a car and get help, but she has to swear not to tell the world about his kind. She's like "Say less my guy, 1. I don't want a werewolf coming after me in vengeance, 2. who the fuck would believe me, they're probably not gonna believe me about these evil men either". He's like Well, don't freak out or anything, but I am 100% going to kill those guys. They've defiled my woods. They've perverted the air they breathe. And if I don't kill them, they're just gonna keep coming back here with more victims. She's like (*the following dialogue is expressed through facial expressions ONLY, no words) "Okay why is it so unbelievably sexy to hear this weird naked wolfman say he's going to kill those guys. I think he's actually quite fuckable suddenly."
Oh how they bond over extracting that bullet and the dire circumstances they find themselves in! His clothes are safely stashed on the other side of the woods, oh bother. The audience will just have to enjoy hairy burly naked man as Wolf and Protag trek to the road 😇
They walk, they talk, they have real romantic chemistry - but they are principally focused on the task at hand (not dying). They almost make it to the road, when they hear men's voices nearby. They duck into the hollow made by a fallen tree's roots.
It's Hot Guy and Pack Guy#3, the two surviving bad guys. They are using the infrared camera to track our heroes!! Those shitheads!! There's latent heat on the leaf litter and a few trees that were touched. Fuck!
By a small miracle, Wolf notices a doe grazing about two hundred meters away. He throws a pebble to startle her, and she takes off into the brush. The infrared camera only sees a flash of heat sprinting into the trees and the Pack take off after it. Wolf and Protag run the opposite direction, forced to abandon their way to the road as they would be too exposed in the thinning trees.
Instead, they make it to a disused ranger station that Wolf knows about. He manages to change into some shorts there (tragic) and they use the rain water tanks to wash the blood and mud off themselves. Forced to wait inside until nightfall, the pair finally begin to open up to one another (they both have trust issues for OBVIOUS reasons).
Protag asks if Wolf will recognise her when he transforms that night. He's like "Um, ya. The hollywood stereotypes that we're all these deranged, rapacious monsters is really hurtful actually. It's true I don't have my human decorum when I change, but I'm no more a monster than any real wolf. I hunt to eat, I kill if threatened. I'm not some unstoppable bloodlust predator, I'm just a fucking wolf."
She jokes that she could teach him some commands. Sit, stay, roll over, Good Boy. He BLUSHES (teehee). Their conversation turns a little flirtatious, in a "we both might die tonight" kind of way. He jests that he'd kill anyone who tried to put a collar on him, but... He MIGHT just make an exception, for a beautiful, resilient, ferocious woman. You know where this is going. THEY FUCK NASTY. Use your imagination and make it whatever you want :) In my mind she rides him hard until he's brainless and begging, and then animal instinct takes over and he rolls them over and fucks her into the bed until it breaks. But you can make it whatever you want :)
ANYWAY. In the quiet, cuddling aftermath, they both agree that it's Us or Them. There's one way out of these woods, and that's killing the Pack.
Night comes. The moon rises. Painful Wolf transformation. Awh he's a big scawy pubby :) Dressed in Wolf's improvised shorts and her dress from the night before, Protag leaves the cabin with Werewolf by her side.
They start a firepit to lure the Pack in, hoping to use the infrared camera against them. It works. While Wolf is monitoring their make-shift perimeter, Guy#3 sneaks up and manages to get to Protag. A bloody, violent fight ensues. She's armed only with a burning torch she made out of a branch, tree sap and leaf litter. He's got a gun - but he's too arrogant to use it. He wants to have FUN with her, first. He describes what he's done to all the other women they brought the woods. He laughs at how gullible she was, how desperate for a "high value man" to want her that she didn't see the OBVIOUS trap. Despite a commendable struggle, Protag is overpowered. Guy#3 gets her on the ground and takes out a large knife, taunting her over just HOW he plans to use it on her, when-
CRUNCH. Wolf arrives and rips his fucking head off, babay!! In a literal way. His clawed hands sink into Guy#3's throat, and with a violent jerk upwards, he tears the head from its shoulders. Poor Protag is showered with blood (but in a sexy movie way).
But alas!! T'was an OBVIOUS trap all along! The King Shithead, Hot Guy, knowingly sent his friend in first to lure Wolf out into the open. He shoots Wolf in the back, again and again and again and again, until poor Wolf collapses in a wheezing lump on the floor. Protag screams in horror, but there's nothing she can do.
She lunges at Hot Guy, and the final scrap for survival begins. He's out of bullets, but he has physical strength on his side; he's bigger and stronger than she is. He beats her to the ground, but - Protag grabs Guy#3's knife and stabs Hot Guy through the knee!! A total wuss for pain, he backs off immediately - but Protag isn't done, she isn't about to let this snake slink away into the shadows. She charges him, stabbing him in the groin, the stomach, the chest. She's more wolf than woman, now. She looks him in the eyes, and tells him "It's only worth doing when you KNOW what I'm doing to you," and stabs him straight in the heart. He is dead.
Exhausted and wounded, she crawls to where Wolf lies motionless by the fire. She strokes his fur and tells him everything is going to be okay. Over the trees, she watches the sky turning orange with dawn.
ONE MONTH LATER. Protag, still sporting some bandages from her ordeal, gets ready in her apartment for another night out, just as she did at the beginning. She texts her gal pals to say she'll meet them at the bar. All appears to be as it was before.
She leaves her bathroom, freshly made up, and stops in at her kitchen, asking "Are you all ready for the night, love?"
Wolf is in the kitchen, packing himself water, snacks, and a change of shorts. He wraps her in a huge hug, lifting her off the ground and peppering her face with kisses. He'll miss her for the full moon, he says, but he's glad she's going out with her girls. When he gets back in the morning, they'll have a lazy day together. She kisses him back fondly and calls him a good boy ;3 As they part ways, the news broadcast on the TV mentions the discovery of some remains - four men who were reported missing last month, now suspect to be the victims of a freak animal attack. The Reporter jokes about how maybe, they should take the "werewolf killer" a little more seriously. Protag turns the tv OFF.
I will never understand why people upload cropped, low-res, uncredited art. Here's the full piece, originally created for a collaboration with watchmaker Ulysse Nardin:
Milo Manara, 2019, Ulysse Nardin, 2, mixed technique on paper
genuinely cannot get the wording right on this but
john price on the run after killing shepherd ends up in some nowhere swamp town that's barely staying above the income line and falls in love in between the aisles of the smallest grocery store he's ever been in.
the man can't help it, the soft rounded vowels and lilt of consonants as you ask him, "darlin', you even know how to cook those?" he shouldn't, you picked him out too quickly as an outsider, it's a liability if anyone else came through asking about him, but you tip your head and your brows draw together and your teeth worry your lip and he can't reach for the gun. especially not when you lean down and give him a look down your shirt as you sort through his shopping basket.
harder still when you invite him back to your place for dinner, no questions asked about where he's from or how he got here, nothing about where he's going after this, just a hot meal that sticks to his bones and a cold drink that tastes closer to piss than beer, but makes his head swim as almost pleasantly as watching you press the can to the sweat on your neck.
sure, this may have started as a quick pit stop to refill his rations, but the longer he looks around your little house the more he thinks it looks like home.
Hi Bo! I was wondering what fandoms are you involved in that would make for a great crossover or AU. I am multifandom and I feel like none of them would blend really well but I'm always curious abt this kind of thing
my cross to bear is being annoyingly bad at crossovers. im mostly like.... cod in a tlou au is just a zombie apocalypse au, right? but that's about all i've got. fake fan
also my fandoms tend to fall into two categories: deeply toxic romantic relationships (iwtv, cod, tlou) or familial relationships (batfam, asoiaf) and bc of that i can never really see a crossover in my head, if that makes sense??
description: Eddie Munson has been a regular at your coffee shop for four months before either of you finally exchange names. After that, it's easy conversations and the sort of harmless crush you swear you'll eventually get over. Meanwhile, your sorority house becomes the target of increasingly disturbing phone calls. You just never think any of it has anything to do with the sweet guy who calls you 'sweetheart' every morning at seven.
pairing: ghostface!eddie x reader (fem!reader)
tags: ghostface!eddie munson, stockholm syndrome ish! reader, obsessive!eddie, stalker!eddie, dark romance, predator/prey dynamics, possessive!eddie, yandere vibes, knifeplay, fear and attraction, the mask STAYS ON, dead dove, if crazy why boyfriend shaped
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do NOT interact!! (like fr). stalking, home invasion, coercive behavior, CNC themes, power imbalance, murder, mentions of rape, alcohol use, dead dove
WC: 8.4k
A/N: well well well...the longggg awaited part two is here. i had this and 'i pine, i perish' in my drafts for WEEKS but i had zero time to edit/finalize them etc...BUT i just got an IUD so i am bed-ridden, meaning lots of writing >:).
****disclaimer****: hi <3 friendly reminder that this is a Scream-inspired work of fiction. i am certainly not endorsing any of the behaviors depicted here in real life (w/o consent, ofc). if you're here because you enjoy horror and fictional men who desperately need to be institutionalized, you're in the right place.
reblogs are always appreciated <33
xoxoxoxoxo enjoy, my loves :)
You sat there panting, the haze of sensations slowly fading as Eddie’s head rested in the crook of your neck, catching his breath.
For a moment, everything felt oddly normal. Just you, sitting at your desk, post-sex with a guy you’ve had a crush on for what felt like forever.
Then the cruel realization began to hit when you analyzed your surroundings: Eddie’s cloaked body and masked face pressed against your bare body, knife still gripped tightly at your side, and the looming fact that your former sorority sisters and friends were all dead.
Every single one of them. Besides you.
The reality of it settled heavily into your chest as your gaze slowly drifted to the white mask still obscuring his face. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, neither of you moved.
Then, slowly, your hand reached up. Eddie stiffened; you felt that immediately. But he didn't stop you.
Your fingers found the edge of the mask and peeled it away.
Eddie stared back at you. Not a stranger, not some faceless monster, just Eddie. The same dark curls. The same amber eyes. The same face that had smiled at you every morning across a coffee counter. The same face that had called you sweetheart. The same face you'd spent months developing a crush on.
For a second, neither of you seemed capable of processing it. You already knew. Some part of you had known long before he started talking. Long before he'd mentioned the coffee shop. Long before he'd started listing all the tiny details he'd memorized about you.
Still.
Actually seeing him felt devastating. Eddie's expression shifted through a dozen emotions at once. Relief. Fear. Regret. Something dangerously close to panic.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said quietly.
Your throat tightened. "It was you."
Eddie looked away. For the first time all night, he looked genuinely exhausted. He leaned forward, grabbing a discarded shirt from the floor beside your desk before handing it to you.
"Put this on."
You stared at him. For one brief second, he almost looked embarrassed, like the situation had suddenly become too real for him too. Slowly, you pulled the shirt over your head.
Then the bedroom door opened, and both of you looked up.
A second Ghostface stood in the doorway. His gaze bounced between you and Eddie, then to the discarded mask sitting beside him.
"...Oh." The voice was familiar.
Gareth. The freshman. The one they'd all laughed about. The one Madison had humiliated. The one who'd ended up in the hospital.
Gareth slowly reached up and removed his own mask. "Well."
He blinked. "I guess we're past secret identities."
You stared, your brain struggling to keep up.
Gareth looked at Eddie, then at you, then back at Eddie. "What are you gonna do with her?"
The question hung in the room. Eddie's jaw tightened as he turned to you.
"What do you want?"
You almost laughed. The question felt absurd.
"What do I—" Your voice cracked. "I want to be alive."
Silence. Eddie nodded slowly, like he'd expected that answer. "Okay."
Gareth frowned. "Okay?"
Eddie ignored him. Instead, he stood and began pulling the mask back on. The motion made your stomach drop.
"Eddie..."
He paused, then looked at you. The black eyes of the mask stared back.
"If you're the only survivor who walks out of this house untouched, they're going to arrest you."
The realization hit almost immediately, and your blood ran cold. Eddie continued.
"They'll think you did it."
"They'll think you helped."
"They'll think something."
Gareth shifted awkwardly. "He's got a point."
You looked between them, horrified.
"What are you saying?"
Eddie's shoulders rose and fell. "I'm saying I need them to believe you survived."
The room suddenly felt like it was impossible to breathe in.
"Eddie—"
"I'm sorry." Again, always with the sorry.
Before you could move, his gloved hand caught your shoulder. The next few moments blurred together. A shove, the edge of your desk catching your back hard. The cold tang of a knife slicing your arm. Then a straight plunge into the side of your hip. Pain began to explode behind your eyes.
Next, the floor rushing up to meet you. Voices becoming distant, muffled. Somewhere far away, you thought you heard Gareth arguing. Thought you heard Eddie snap back at him. Then darkness swallowed everything whole.
The next thing you became aware of was noise, so much noise. Radios. Voices. Footsteps. Someone saying your name. Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
When they finally opened, bright lights immediately stabbed through your skull, and you winced. A police officer was kneeling beside you. Another stood near the doorway.
The room was packed with people. Crime scene tape. Paramedics. Flashlights.
Questions. Questions. Questions.
"What happened?"
"Can you hear me?"
"Do you know your name?"
You swallowed, and your throat felt raw. The last thing you remembered was Eddie. The mask. His eyes. The apology. Then nothing.
As the room spun around you, a paramedic gently guided you back against the wall.
"You were very lucky," she said softly.
Lucky. The word echoed strangely in your head.
The hospital room smelt like antiseptic and soap, and the buzzing of the overhead lights did nothing to soothe the pounding in what felt like your entire head.
It’d been a long day of answering questions between doctors, police officers, FBI agents, and worst of all, your mom. Every time somebody new walked into the room, it felt like the same conversation all over again.
What did you see? What do you remember? Did either of the attackers say anything? Did you recognize them?
You'd become very good at answering without actually answering.
"No."
"I don't know."
"It happened really fast."
"I'm not sure."
The lies got easier every time, which somehow made you feel worse. By the time the sun started setting outside the hospital windows, a detective was sitting across from your bed with a legal pad balanced on his knee.
"We're almost done," he promised.
He glanced down at his notes. "The nurses said you mentioned seeing two individuals upstairs."
You nodded. "I think so."
"You think so?"
Your fingers tightened around the hospital blanket. "I don't know."
He studied you carefully. "Do you remember anything else?"
The mask. The voice changer. Eddie's face. The flowers Gareth had brought Madison. Coffee cups. Blueberry muffins. Mornin', sweetheart.
You swallowed. "No."
The detective held your gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. "Okay."
It should've felt like a relief. Instead, guilt settled heavier in your chest.
Because you knew things; not everything, not enough, but more than you were telling them. More than anybody else in that building knew.
You'd spent hours trying to understand why. Why you were protecting him. Why every opportunity to tell the truth died before it reached your lips. It wasn't because he deserved it, you knew that much.
People were dead. Girls you'd lived with. Girls you'd laughed with. Girls whose names would be plastered all over the news for weeks. What Eddie did wasn't excusable. There wasn't a version of the story where it became okay.
And yet...
Every time you imagined saying his name aloud, something inside you recoiled.
Maybe because the version of Eddie sitting in your memories didn't match the version everyone was hunting.
Maybe because you couldn't reconcile the guy who fed stray cats and complained about hot dogs with the person standing behind the mask.
Maybe because part of you still couldn't believe they were the same person.
Or maybe because you were a coward. You honestly weren't sure anymore.
The detective eventually left while your mother stayed, unfortunately. The second the door clicked shut, she crossed her arms.
"There's something you're not saying."
You nearly choked. "What?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I know that face."
"There is no face."
"There absolutely is."
You groaned. "Mom."
"I'm serious." She sat down beside the bed. "You look guilty."
"I survived a massacre."
"I know."
The teasing disappeared immediately, and her expression softened. "I know."
After a moment, she reached over and squeezed your hand.
"The police said you can't go back."
You nodded; you already knew that much.
The sorority house was still an active crime scene. Forensics. Evidence collection. Photographs. Investigations. The place wouldn't be reopened for months, maybe longer.
The thought felt strange. Your entire college life had taken place inside those walls, and now they were covered in yellow tape.
Your mother sighed. "I found you an apartment."
You looked up. "What?"
"Off campus."
"When?"
"Today."
"Mom."
"What?" She shrugged. "I was stressed."
"It's in a good neighborhood."
"According to who?"
"According to me."
"That's not reassuring."
"It has security."
"Mom."
"It has locks."
You rolled your eyes.
She pointed at you. "I'm being serious."
A few hours later, after discharge papers and prescriptions and a dozen final instructions from nurses, you found yourself standing in front of a small apartment building on the edge of town.
It wasn't fancy. Just brick, three floors, quiet. The kind of place students rented when they wanted to avoid roommates and campus drama. Normally you'd have hated it. But tonight, it felt like a fortress.
Your mother helped carry in your things. A few bags of clothes. Textbooks. Your laptop. The essentials.
Neither of you acknowledged how little there was. Most of your belongings were still sitting inside a house nobody was allowed to enter.
Eventually she hugged you goodbye, a little too tightly, then she left. And for the first time since last night, you were completely alone.
You brushed your teeth, changed into sweatpants, and locked the front door twice. Checked the windows, and then checked them again.
By the time you crawled into bed, exhaustion had settled deep into your bones.
The mattress wasn't comfortable. The room didn't feel like yours. The ceiling looked wrong. Hell, everything looked wrong.
You rolled onto your side and pulled the blankets higher.
A week passed. At least, you thought it had been a week. Time felt strange now.
Days blurred together in a cycle of police interviews, missed classes, awkward condolences from people you'd barely spoken to before, and the constant feeling that everyone was looking at you differently.
The Survivor. The Final Girl. The Poor Thing. You hated all of it. The apartment helped a little.
You'd settled into a routine of locking every door twice before bed and checking the windows every night before sleeping.
The bruises across your body had faded from deep purple to sickly yellow, and the stitches in your scalp had finally stopped pulling every time you brushed your hair.
On the surface, things were beginning to resemble normal again. At least as normal as they could. Work had helped more than anything. The coffee shop was familiar, predictable.
Most mornings, you could almost convince yourself your life hadn't exploded. The problem was that every morning at seven, your eyes still drifted toward the front door.
The bell would jingle, A customer would walk in, and for one stupid second, your heart would jump. Only to sink again.
Because it wasn't him, never him. No dark curls. No leather jacket. No crooked smile. No "Mornin', sweetheart."
At first, you'd told yourself it was because he was hiding. Then because he was smart. Then because he was gone. The truth was probably all three. By the end of the week, you'd stopped expecting him altogether.
Which was exactly why you nearly dropped your keys when you walked into your apartment Thursday night.
The place was dark. You'd spent the entire day on campus meeting with professors and trying to convince everyone that no, you didn't need special treatment.
You were exhausted, and all you wanted was a shower and eight consecutive hours of sleep. You pushed open the door, stepped inside, and locked it behind you.
Then, you reached for the light switch, but the lamp in the corner flickered on instead. You froze.
Somebody was sitting on your couch. For one horrifying second, every muscle in your body locked. Then the figure leaned forward.
Dark curls. Black jeans. Familiar tattoos.
"Eddie."
He was sitting there like he'd been waiting for you, one arm draped over the back of the couch, and an open bag of pretzels resting in his lap.
Like, this was completely normal. Like he hadn't been the subject of a statewide manhunt seven days ago.
Eddie looked different. The dark circles beneath his eyes were deeper than you'd ever seen. His jaw was covered in several days' worth of stubble. But it was him. No mask. No voice changer. Just Eddie.
For a long moment, he simply stared at you, like he was making sure you were actually there. Then he glanced toward the locked door, back at you.
And said the first thing that came to mind. "You didn't rat me out."
You blinked. Of all the things he could've said, of all the possible openings, that was what he landed on.
"You broke into my apartment."
A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "That wasn't a denial."
"Eddie."
"It wasn't."
You stared at him, and he stared right back. The familiar smile slowly faded, until there was nothing left except something that looked suspiciously like disbelief.
"You didn't tell them."
"No."
"Why?"
You looked away first. "I don't know."
"That's a lie."
"Probably."
Eddie exhaled quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor, then back to you. "I kept waiting."
"For what?"
"For the cops to kick my door down."
You swallowed. "Do they know where you live?"
"No." The answer was immediate.
"I haven't exactly been staying there."
Of course he hadn't.
You suddenly realized you'd never actually asked yourself where he'd been.
Eddie glanced around. "You got a nice place."
You looked at him incredulously. "That's your contribution?"
"What?"
"You vanish for a week."
"Mhm."
"I find you sitting in my apartment."
"Technically your living room."
"And your first real observation is that the place is nice?"
He considered that. "Second observation."
You folded your arms. "And the first?"
For the first time since you'd turned on the light, something softened in his expression. The concern you'd seen in your bedroom that night. The concern he'd spent the last week trying and failing to hide.
"You look okay."
You swallowed hard. "I mean, I'm not okay."
The words came out quieter than you'd intended. "How can anyone be okay considering what happened?"
The moment the sentence left your mouth, something changed in Eddie's expression. The concern disappeared; his jaw tightened and his eyes hardened.
He looked away and laughed once, a short, bitter sound. "Right."
"Eddie—"
"No."
He stood abruptly, pacing a few steps away from the couch before dragging a hand through his hair. "No, you're right."
His voice was growing sharper now. "I should've just killed you."
The words hit like a slap, and your stomach dropped. "Eddie."
"I'm serious." He spun back toward you. "This is exactly why I shouldn't have come here."
"Eddie—"
"I knew this would happen."
His hands were shaking, not with fear, but with frustration. "I should've left you alone."
You stared at him, trying desperately to reconcile the guy standing in your living room with the one who'd spent months making you coffee-shop playlists and complaining about professors.
Finally, you found your voice. "Why?"
The question stopped him.
His expression flickered. "What?"
"Why did you do it?"
Silence.
"Eddie."
He looked away immediately. The first genuine hesitation you'd seen from him all night. "Don't."
"Why?"
His jaw tightened. "Because."
"Because what?"
"Eddie."
His refusal somehow scared you more than his anger. Slowly, you reached for your phone resting beside you on the couch. The movement was instinctive; you barely realized you were doing it.
Eddie did. His eyes snapped downward; then he was moving. His hand wrapped around your wrist hard before your fingers ever reached the phone.
You flinched, the reaction hitting him just as hard as it hit you. Eddie froze, staring at you while you gave him a look with scared eyes. Then his grip loosened immediately.
"I'm sorry."
His voice dropped, the anger disappearing almost as quickly as it'd arrived.
"I'm sorry."
He slowly released your wrist. You pulled it back against your chest, both of you breathing harder than before.
"I wasn't gonna call anybody." The lie sounded weak even to your own ears.
Eddie looked unconvinced. Finally, he sat back down and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
"The plan wasn't supposed to be this. We were angry."
His eyes remained fixed on the floor.
"After Gareth."
You thought about the stories. The hospital. The rose. The humiliation.
"Originally, it was only supposed to be Donovin."
“The pledgemaster?”
Eddie nodded.
"Just him. We spent weeks planning it."
His laugh was humorless.
"Actually planning it. The mask. The voice changer. The calls. The whole thing."
He shook his head.
"Then Madison happened."
You closed your eyes briefly. The name still hurt.
"She wasn't the only one."
Eddie's voice had grown colder now.
"They all knew. They all laughed, all helped."
You thought back to the common room. The stories. The laughter. The way nobody had seemed bothered. Still.
"They didn't deserve—"
"No." His head snapped up. "They deserved worse."
The intensity in his voice made you recoil. Immediately, he saw it, and immediately, he hated himself for it.
"Eddie..."
He looked away. "You know what the funny part is?"
You didn't answer.
"I didn't even know you were one of them."
That surprised you. "What?"
"The sorority." His eyes found yours. "The day I asked your name."
Your stomach dropped. "My sweatshirt."
"Kappa Delta."
You remembered. "Oh."
Eddie laughed quietly. "I went home, and I was pissed."
The admission caught you off guard. "Why?"
"Because I liked you." Its honesty made your chest ache.
"And suddenly I find out you're one of them."
His gaze drifted toward the window.
"I thought I'd been wrong about you. So I started watching."
The words should've terrified you; they did. But they also sounded deeply pathetic and deeply human.
"I kept waiting for proof."
"Proof of what?"
"That you were like them. You never were."
He looked down.
"I watched you leave parties early. You spent Friday nights reading. You worked extra shifts. You brought leftovers home for the girls who couldn't afford takeout."
Your eyes burned.
"I watched you defend Gareth."
The room fell silent.
"And then I realized you weren't one of them."
A tear slipped down your cheek. "Eddie."
"No." He shook his head. "I know what you're gonna say."
"Do you?"
"They were your friends."
The words shattered something inside you immediately. Because they were. You started crying before you could stop yourself.
"They were." Your voice cracked. "They were my friends."
The apartment blurred.
"I lived with them. I knew them. They had families. They had—"
"I did you a favor."
The words cut through your sentence. You stared at him, horrified.
Eddie looked almost offended by your reaction. "They were awful to you."
"What?"
"They talked about you constantly."
The anger was back. Not directed at you, but at them.
"You think they liked you?"
"Eddie—"
"They made fun of you."
His voice rose. "They called you weird. They called you desperate. They thought you were embarrassing."
You shook your head. "No."
"Yes. They did." The certainty in his voice made your stomach twist.
Eddie leaned forward. "They had plans for you."
The apartment suddenly felt very quiet. "What plans?"
His jaw tightened. For the first time all night, he looked genuinely furious.
"The end-of-year retreat."
You frowned. "What about it?"
"They were going to frame you."
The words hit like ice water. You stared. "What?"
"They wanted to dump all the chapter finances on you."
His eyes darkened. "They were planning to accuse you of stealing."
Your breathing stopped.
"They thought it'd be funny."
"No."
"They did."
"Eddie."
"I heard them."
The conviction in his voice left no room for doubt. "They thought because you were quiet and not that involved, nobody would defend you."
He laughed bitterly. "Madison called you expendable."
The tears kept coming. You didn't know what hurt more. The possibility that he was lying, or the possibility that he wasn't.
Across from you, Eddie sat silently while the tears kept coming. You hated it, hated crying in front of him.
Hated that he was seeing you like this. Hated that some sick part of your brain still found comfort in the fact that he was here at all.
Your vision blurred as you wiped angrily at your face.
"Eddie, they were my friends." The words came out broken.
"They were awful friends." His response was immediate, like he'd been waiting to argue.
You laughed bitterly through your tears. "You don't get to decide that."
"No?"
"No." You shook your head. "You don't get to decide who lives and dies because they were mean."
For a second, you thought he was going to get angry again. Instead, his shoulders slumped.
The fight seemed to leave him all at once. Slowly, he moved closer. You should've moved away; you really should have. But you didn't.
"Eddie—"
"I'm not saying what I did was right."
You looked at him skeptically. "Really?"
"No." The honesty caught you off guard. "I'm saying I'm glad you're alive."
His voice had gone quiet, almost tired. "If that makes me selfish, fine."
You simply stared at him, and he simply stared back. Not like Ghostface, not like the guy the police were hunting, just Eddie.
The same guy who used to lean against the coffee counter every morning and give you butterflies with a simple grin. The same guy who remembered your favorite pastry. The same guy who somehow existed inside the same person who had destroyed your life.
"You deserve more than that place." His voice softened. "You deserve more than people who treat you like an afterthought."
You looked down. "They weren't all bad."
"No." His expression softened too. "I know."
The admission surprised you.
"I know they weren't."
Then Eddie carefully reached over and wiped away a tear you hadn't realized had escaped. The gesture felt strangely intimate.
"I was terrified you died."
Your eyes lifted to his. "What?"
"The night at the house." His jaw tightened. "When you got knocked out."
“Got knocked out.” Not, “After I knocked you out.”
The memory flashed through your mind. The bedroom. The mask. The darkness.
Eddie looked away. "I kept checking the news."
A humorless laugh. "Turns out every news station in the country was talking about you."
The corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. "That's creepy."
"I know."
The fact that he agreed immediately made you laugh weakly. For the first time all night, the tension eased. Enough for you to finally ask the question that had been lingering in the back of your mind.
"So where have you been?"
Eddie leaned back into the couch. His expression immediately became more guarded. "What do you mean?"
"You and Gareth."
You shrugged. "It's been a week. No arrests. No suspects. No police showing up at your door. So, where have you been?"
For a moment, he seemed to debate whether he should answer. "Moving around."
"Moving around?"
"We stayed at a motel for two nights."
Your eyebrows rose. "A motel?"
"It was disgusting."
"I can imagine."
"The shower looked like it had diseases."
You snorted.
"I knew you'd find that funny."
The brief smile faded, then Eddie shrugged. "After that we split up for a little bit."
Your stomach twisted. "You split up?"
"Temporarily."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "We figured if they started looking at one of us, they'd find both of us."
Its practicality made your skin crawl, as they'd planned for this. Maybe they had.
"They haven't questioned you?"
Eddie shook his head. "Not once."
"What about Gareth?"
"Nope."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
His expression darkened. "They've been focusing on people connected to the sorority."
Your stomach sank. Of course they had.
"Campus security. Ex-boyfriends. Former pledges." Eddie laughed quietly. "One detective apparently thinks it was a drug deal gone wrong."
"What?"
"I know." He shook his head. "It's ridiculous."
The fact that he found the investigation amusing made you feel sick all over again.
A week ago, that would've been the biggest red flag in human history. Now it barely cracked the top ten.
"So you're just..." You gestured vaguely. "...hiding?"
"Pretty much." His eyes met yours. "We're trying to stay quiet. In case somebody finally starts asking the right questions."
You nodded, looking down at the floor.
You don’t know why you felt the need to tell him this next part. It felt almost as though you owed it to him. Why? You don’t know.
“You know…the uh, hospital had asked me some questions.”
He tilted his head. “What kinds of questions?”
You nervously bit your lip, a nasty habit you picked up somewhere after the events of this week.
“When they were giving me a full-body exam, you know…checking me out and whatnot. The nurses, they—” you paused, searching for the correct way to put it.
“They said that my vaginal tissue looked damaged. They assumed that you, that whoever it was—”
“No.”
You looked at him then, his eyes shifting to a combination of fear and sincerity.
“I would never do that to you. Do you think—did I?”
The question hung between you.
For the first time since he'd shown up in your apartment, he looked genuinely afraid of the answer. Not scared of prison. Not scared of getting caught.
Scared of you. Scared of what you might say.
Slowly, you shook your head. “No.”
The tension in his shoulders immediately eased.
“No,” you repeated. “I don't think that.”
Eddie let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for days. “Okay.”
You looked down at your hands. “The nurses kept asking. They asked if I remembered everything.”
Your throat tightened. “They asked if somebody had forced me.”
Eddie's jaw clenched. You could practically see him replaying that night in his head. Every moment. Every choice. Every mistake.
“And?”
You swallowed. “I told them no. I told them I wasn't assaulted.”
Eddie stared at you, the realization slowly settling across his face.
You laughed bitterly. “Which was apparently not the answer they expected.”
“Sweetheart—”
“They wanted to do a rape kit.”
His expression immediately darkened.
You continued before he could interrupt. “And I refused.”
Eddie didn't move, didn't blink, didn’t breathe. He simply couldn’t.
You looked away. “The only DNA they would've found would've been yours.”
The words sounded strange spoken aloud, like you were talking about somebody else's life.
“They would've found evidence you were there.”
His eyes never left you.
You forced yourself to continue. “So I said no.”
Eddie looked stunned. “Why?” The question came out almost immediately.
You laughed once. “That's kind of what everybody keeps asking me. What I keep asking me.”
“No.” His voice was softer now. “Why?”
You rubbed your forehead. “I don't know.”
It wasn't entirely true; you did know, you just hated the answer.
Because somewhere between the coffee shop and the apartment and the hospital room...You'd made a choice.
A terrible one. A great one. One you still couldn't explain.
You looked up at him. “I knew what would happen.”
His brow furrowed.
“If they found your DNA, they'd start asking questions.”
“You covered for me.”
You nodded.
“You covered for me.”
Neither of you spoke for several seconds, then Eddie leaned back against the couch, looking completely bewildered. Like this outcome somehow even surprised him.
“You should hate me.”
The statement caught you off guard. “What?”
“You should.”
His eyes found yours. “Everybody else does.”
The sincerity behind it made your chest ache.
You shook your head. “I do hate you. Part of me does.”
Eddie nodded once, accepting it. “That's fair.”
Tears burned behind your eyes again. “Eddie, I don't understand anything anymore.”
His gaze softened immediately. “I know.”
“I hate what you did.”
“I know.”
“I hate that I lied.”
“I know.”
Your voice cracked. “And I hate that you're sitting on my couch right now and all I can think about is whether you've eaten anything this week.”
The confession slipped out before you could stop it.
Eddie froze.
Eventually, he looked down at the floor, a faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
“I had a gas station hot dog yesterday.”
You stared at him, then groaned. “Eddie.”
“What?”
“A gas station hot dog?”
“It was surprisingly good.”
“You are unbelievable.”
The laughter faded quickly. Not because anything was funny, but because reality was still sitting between you on the couch.
"So what now?" He asked.
You stared down at your hands. You'd spent the entire week avoiding that exact thought. Now here it was, sitting beside you, looking at you, waiting for an answer.
"I don't know."
Eddie nodded once, as he'd expected it.
You swallowed. "I don't know what this is."
His gaze stayed fixed on you.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
Then you laughed bitterly. "Part of me still likes you."
The admission hurt more than you'd expected. Because it felt wrong, terribly wrong.
"But every time I look at you..." Your eyes stung. "I see what happened."
Eddie's expression faltered. "I know."
"I see the house."
His jaw tightened. "I know."
"I see Madison. I see all of them."
Eddie looked away first. "I can't change that."
The honesty caught you off guard.
"I know."
"I wish I could."
"What if… I tried?"
You frowned. "Tried what?"
"To make it up to you."
A short laugh escaped you. "How exactly do you plan on doing that?"
"I don't know. But I'd figure something out."
You stared at him. There was something absurd about the conversation.
As if the two of you were discussing a bad breakup instead of mass murder. And yet...a part of you wanted him to prove you wrong, to fix his mistake.
"Okay." The word slipped out before you could stop it.
Eddie blinked. "Okay?"
You nodded slowly. "Okay."
You weren't sure what you were agreeing to. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. But for now, it was all you had.
Then Eddie's eyes drifted toward the dark circles beneath yours. The bruises still fading along your jaw. The way your eyelids kept drooping.
"You look tired."
You let out a laugh. "Observant."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
He stood slowly and almost reluctantly. Something in your chest dropped: the realization that he was about to leave, that you'd be alone again.
Eddie shoved his hands into his pockets. "I should go."
You nodded. Then, something took over you.
"Eddie."
He stopped immediately, turning back. "What?"
The question sat in your throat for several seconds. Long enough that you nearly changed your mind. "Stay."
Your face burned. "I just..."
You looked away. "I don't really want to be alone tonight."
The confession hung awkwardly in the air.
Eddie stared at you, for once looking genuinely surprised.
If anything, he thought you’d want to be alone, at least away from him. He’s the reason you’re afraid of the dark in the first place. But who was he to complain?
His expression softened then, the same way it used to in the coffee shop when you'd hand him a free pastry at the end of your shift.
"Okay."
Your chest tightened. "Okay?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
The answer was simple, like there had never been another option. You watched him settle back onto the couch. Then he patted his lap once, and you scootched over, resting your head on his thigh.
Within seconds, his fingers began raking through your hair. And within minutes, you drifted off without a second thought.
When you woke up the next morning, you were in your bed. Blankets wrapped around you just the way you liked, somehow in your pajamas, hair brushed, makeup off.
And Eddie was nowhere to be seen.
You looked around for a moment, scanning the room. Then the front door clicked open, causing you to jump upright.
“Who’s there—”
Eddie peeked his head in the doorway with a carry-out tray of coffee in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other, kicking the front door closed with his foot.
“Just me, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “Have you ever seen horror movies? You should never ask ‘who’s there?’ You’re basically asking to get mu—” He paused, reading your expression.
“Anyway, I got your favorites.”
Your chest fluttered despite the comment. You turn to hop out of bed but pause at your keys still on the nightstand, raising your eyebrow while looking at Eddie.
“How did you…”
“Oh, I uh…made a second set.”
You nodded once, like that made sense. It shouldn’t have made sense.
But, in the series of events from the past week, this was one of the most normal ones.
"Anyways..." Eddie slid the coffee toward you before taking the seat across from you. "Got any big plans today?"
You pulled out one of the barstools at the small kitchen island. "Class at noon and then another at five."
He nodded.
"After that, I've got some staff and TAs mixer at one of my professors' houses."
"Sounds riveting."
"It'll probably be painfully awkward."
"You're definitely getting cornered by somebody who wants to talk about their dissertation."
"I wouldn’t even know what their dissertation is on."
"Doesn't matter." He shrugged, "They'll find a way."
A laugh escaped you as you unwrapped your breakfast sandwich.
For the next half hour, the conversation drifted effortlessly between complaints about professors, the coffee shop, Gareth's inability to cook anything that wasn't boxed macaroni, and Eddie's insistence that gas station coffee "wasn't that bad."
"It is."
"It builds character."
"It builds stomach ulcers."
"Semantics."
By the time the coffee cups were empty and the paper bag sat crumpled between the two of you, it almost felt normal.
Like you weren't sitting across from a murderer, and like he hadn't shattered your life barely a week ago.
Eventually, Eddie stood, gathering the trash before tossing it into the kitchen garbage.
"I should probably disappear again."
You nodded. "Probably."
He lingered for another second. "You'll lock the door?"
A small smile tugged at your lips. "I'll lock the door."
"And the windows."
"Yes, Mom."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm serious. There are some weirdos out there after all."
"I know."
Satisfied enough, he gave you one last look before slipping quietly out the front door.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Your classes came and went without you retaining much of anything, your notebook filling with half-finished sentences and absent-minded doodles instead of lecture notes.
Every so often, you'd catch yourself staring out the classroom window, wondering whether Eddie was somewhere out there doing the same.
By the evening, the faculty mixer felt like the last place on earth you wanted to be. You almost skipped it.
Instead, you showed up fifteen minutes late with a bottle of cheap wine and every intention of making a polite appearance before slipping out after twenty minutes.
That plan lasted exactly twenty minutes. Someone handed you a drink, then another. Your professor insisted you stay for dinner. Another TA challenged everyone to a ridiculous card game. Before you knew it, hours had disappeared.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the relief of pretending, just for one evening, that your life hadn't become the lead story on every local news station.
Or maybe trauma had a funny way of convincing you to stay wherever your thoughts couldn't catch up to you.
Whatever the reason, by the time you finally stumbled back toward your apartment, the streetlights had already flickered on.
Your head buzzed pleasantly. You fumbled your keys into the lock and pushed the door open.
"...Huh."
The apartment was completely dark. No lamp by the couch. No light over the stove. You reached instinctively for the switch beside the door.
Click. Nothing. A power outage, perfect. You sighed to yourself, kicking your shoes off by the entryway.
“Fuck it,” You slurred. "I guess I'm going to bed."
Using the light from your phone, you carefully navigated the familiar apartment, shadows stretching strangely across the walls as you made your way toward the bedroom.
You sighed, already reaching for the bedside lamp out of habit, when a gloved hand clamped over your mouth from behind.
Your scream died against warm leather. The phone clattered to the floor, screen cracked but still glowing faintly.
"Shhh, sweetheart," his voice danced right against your ear. "It's just me. Missed you."
Your heart slammed against your ribs, half terror, half something far more dangerous. The alcohol still buzzed warmly in your veins, loosening the edges of your fear into something slick and needy.
You felt the hard press of his body against your back, the robe, the familiar weight of him.
He slowly removed his hand, but the knife's cold, flat side traced lightly down the side of your neck instead.
"You've been drinking," he observed, voice low.
"Did you miss me, too?"
You swallowed hard. "Eddie..."
He spun you around and shoved you back onto the bed. The mask loomed above you in the near-darkness, white and expressionless, knife glinting as he climbed over you.
Straddling your hips, he pinned one wrist above your head.
"I hope you don’t mind, but I read your diary, pretty girl."
The words hit like ice water. Your eyes widened. "You—"
"While you were out playing normal at that mixer." He tilted his head, the mask's black voids staring down at you. "Couldn't help myself. You left it right there on your nightstand like an invitation."
His free hand roamed down your body, squeezing your breast through your top, thumb dragging over your nipple until it peaked.
"All those late-night entries about the mask. About the knife. About wanting to be chased. Caught. Used." He chuckled lowly.
"My sweet, filthy girl. You get wet thinking about the man who slaughtered your friends, pinning you down and ruining you."
Heat flooded your face. Shame. Arousal. The conflicting storm that had lived in you since that night.
You squirmed beneath him, but his weight kept you trapped.
"Eddie, I—"
“Uh, uh,” he tsked. “I know what you really want, princess. We can have fun, but I don’t want to hurt you."
He tilted his head in thought, slowly sliding the knife down the side of your face.
"How about we make a safe word. You know what that is, sweetness?"
You nodded once, “Mhm.”
“Good girl. If anything gets to be too much, just say ‘red’, okay, sweetheart? I’ll stop the second you say it. No questions."
You nodded pathetically and quickly.
"Good girl." The knife slid lower, slipping under the hem of your shirt and slicing upward in one clean rip.
Fabric parted like paper, baring your breasts to the cool air.
He groaned. "Fuck, look at you. Been hard for days thinking about this."
He rocked his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he already was under the robe.
The knife traced circles around one nipple, the sharp point never quite breaking skin, just enough pressure to make you gasp and arch.
"You like this, don’t you?" He leaned down, mask brushing your cheek. "The monster in your room while you’re drunk and helpless, begging to be caught."
You whimpered, hips rolling up to meet him. He laughed darkly and shoved your skirt up, yanking your panties aside.
Two fingers pushed into you without warning, curling deep.
"So fucking wet already. Greedy little thing." He pumped them slowly, scissoring, stretching you while the knife stayed pressed to your sternum like a threat and a promise.
You moaned, clenching around his fingers. He added a third finger, fucking you harder, thumb grinding against your clit.
"Eddie—please—"
"Please, what?" He pulled his fingers out and flipped you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up so you were ass-up, face pressed into the mattress.
The knife traced down your spine, then lower, teasing between your cheeks. "Please fuck you? Please hurt you? Please remind you exactly who you belong to now?"
You heard the rustle of fabric as he shoved the robe open. Then his cock, hot and bare, nudged against your entrance. He rubbed it through your slick folds, teasing.
"Say it."
"I want it," you gasped, pushing back against him. "Want you. Want all of it. Please."
He slammed into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. You cried out, the stretch burning so good.
He didn’t give you time to adjust. He fucked you hard, one hand fisted in your hair, the other pressing the flat of the knife to your throat from behind.
"Such good little girl," he growled through the changer, hips snapping relentlessly.
He perfectly dragged inside you with every stroke, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
"Taking my cock so well. You tremble under me, and yet, you’re still creaming all over the monster who owns you."
You were babbling, moaning, pushing back to meet every thrust.
The knife stayed at your throat, a constant cold edge that made your pussy flutter tighter around him. He reached around and rubbed your clit in tight, merciless circles.
"Cum for me, sweetheart. It’s all yours."
The orgasm crashed over you violently, your whole body shaking as you clenched and pulsed around him. He fucked you through it, snarling praise and filth, until your legs gave out.
He pulled out, flipped you onto your back again, and straddled your chest. The mask hovered above you as he stroked himself fast and rough.
"Open."
You obeyed, tongue out, eyes locked on the white mask. He came with a guttural groan, painting your tongue, your lips, your tits in thick ropes. You swallowed what you could, dazed and trembling.
Eddie dropped the knife to the side and finally tugged the mask off, tossing it aside. His real face, flushed, curls wild, eyes dark with obsession and something softer, stared down at you.
He leaned down and kissed you messily, tasting himself on your tongue.
"Still with me?" he murmured against your lips.
You nodded, boneless and floating. "Yes..."
He huffed a quiet laugh and collapsed beside you, pulling you into his chest. His fingers stroked through your hair, gentle now, the chaos temporarily sated.
“That wasn’t too much?”
You shook your head against his chest, humming something incoherent. Your body still buzzed, boneless and warm, the ache between your thighs a pleasant reminder of how thoroughly he’d wrecked you.
Eddie pressed a kiss to the top of your head, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back while the other tilted your chin up for a lazy, lingering kiss. “C’mere. Let me take care of you.”
He slipped out of bed after a minute, disappearing into the hallway. You heard him fumbling around, then a few distant clicks.
The lights in the apartment hummed back to life, the lamp on your nightstand flickering on and bathing the room in a soft glow.
Eddie reappeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but his boxers and that crooked, satisfied smile.
“Breaker box in the hall closet,” he explained with a shrug, like breaking into your apartment and knowing its secrets was the most normal thing in the world.
“Figured you’d want to see my pretty face afterwards.”
He returned with a warm, damp washcloth from the bathroom, a glass of water, and one of your oversized t-shirts.
Settling back into bed, he gently cleaned you up; careful between your legs, wiping away the mess with tender strokes and soft murmurs of praise.
Once you were clean, he helped you into the shirt, then tugged you back against his chest under the blankets.
His arms wrapped around you securely, one leg tangled with yours as he pressed lazy kisses along your shoulder and the side of your neck.
“You okay, baby?” he whispered, voice low and sweet. “Need anything else?”
You smiled and shook your head sleepily, curling tighter into him. It was strange, really, the stark contrast from how he had acted ten minutes before to now.
The switch was so effortless it made your head spin, as though the tenderness and the terror had always belonged to the same person.
description: a cutie lil fic where eddie is just completely obsessed with you. who knew all he needed to bring you two together was jason carver beating his ass?
pairing: yearning!eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: yearning!eddie, protective!reader, eddie x reader, no y/n, reader insert, slow (ish) burn, first kiss, happy ending, fluff the house down boots, high school romance, so much fucking yearning, eddie's head over heels
WC: 4.5k
TW: bullying, violence, some smoochies
A/N: requested by @midgardian-rogue hope you enjoy!! sorry for the wait! life is kicking my behind. i haven't forgotten about you all.
reblogs are always appreciated my loves<33
hope you all enjoy an ounce of some innocent fluff before final girl pt.2 bc......
People talked about love like it happened all at once. Like it was lightning. Like one look across a crowded room, and suddenly the rest of your life made sense.
Eddie Munson thought that was complete and utter bullshit.
Love wasn't lightning; it was erosion. The kind that wore you down one unnoticed glance at a time until one day you looked up and realized you'd built an entire religion around someone who didn't even know your favorite color.
Everyone knew you.
Not in the way they knew Jason Carver, Jason demanded attention. You never asked for it…it simply just followed you.
Teachers smiled a little wider when you answered questions. Freshmen gravitated toward you on the first day of school like frightened birds, somehow knowing you were safe.
It was infuriating. Not because Eddie disliked you. God, that would've made things so much easier, no. You were kind.
Genuinely, painfully, kind.
The kind of person who remembered birthdays without writing them down. The kind of beauty that had nothing to do with your face. Though...that certainly wasn't hurting anything.
You smiled with your whole body. Your shoulders, your eyes, even your laugh looked warm. Sometimes Eddie wondered if the sun waited for your permission before coming up. Which—
Jesus Christ.
See? This was exactly the problem. He couldn't even think about you without sounding like he'd swallowed a Hallmark card. He'd never even spoken to you. Well, not really.
Sure, there'd been little moments. A borrowed pencil sophomore year. A quiet "thank you" when he'd held a door open. Passing each other in the hallway enough times that nodding became an unspoken ritual.
But conversations? Actual conversations? Those belonged to people who lived on the same planet. You lived somewhere else entirely.
Some place made of honor roll certificates, volunteer hours, and Sunday mornings that probably smelled of pancakes instead of cigarette smoke.
Eddie had long since accepted that there were invisible lines running through Hawkins High. Athletes. Nerds. Burnouts. Band kids. Freaks. You somehow belonged to all of them, while he belonged to exactly one.
Hellfire. The trailer park. The people adults warned their children about.
Wayne always said Eddie had expensive taste. Not in clothes or cars, but people.
"You always go lookin' at things that ain't yours to carry," Wayne had muttered once while Eddie admired an old cherry-red Gibson through a pawn shop window.
At the time, Eddie thought he meant guitars. Now he wasn't so sure. Because every morning, without meaning to, he'd find himself searching the parking lot before first bell. Just to see if your car was there.
And every afternoon, he'd linger exactly thirty seconds too long outside English because he knew your classroom was across the hall. Not enough to be obvious, just enough to catch one glimpse.
Then he'd spend the rest of the day pretending that was somehow enough, though it never was.
The thing about memories was that they lied. Or maybe they just... polished themselves over time.
Eddie couldn't remember what he'd eaten yesterday. Couldn't remember what movie he'd watched with Wayne the week before. But he remembered that afternoon, every stupid, humiliating second of it.
It had been almost exactly a year ago.
The last bell had rung, sending Hawkins High spilling into the hallways in a tidal wave of backpacks and locker doors slamming shut. Eddie had lingered by his locker, stuffing loose campaign notes into a folder while Gareth argued with Jeff about whether dragons were technically reptiles.
He never heard Jason coming. The locker door slammed shut before Eddie could grab it, the metal rattling loud enough to make nearby students jump.
"Well, if it isn't the freak."
Eddie sighed. "Christ, Carver. Don't you ever get tired?"
Jason leaned against the neighboring locker with that smug grin Eddie had grown to hate. Andy and Chance flanked him like loyal guard dogs, each wearing the same self-satisfied expression.
"Nah."
Jason reached out, flicking Eddie's shoulder with unnecessary force.
"I actually look forward to these little chats."
"I don't."
"Funny."
Another shove. Not enough to knock him down, but just enough to remind him who had thirty pounds and varsity sports behind him.
"You know," Jason continued loudly, making sure the people walking by could hear, "I heard you recruited another freshman into your little Satan club."
Eddie rolled his eyes. "You guys are really obsessed with us."
"Just looking out for the town."
Same script, different day. Eddie had learned years ago that fighting back only made it worse.
So he leaned against the lockers and waited for them to get bored. He almost missed the footsteps approaching.
"What are you doing?" Your voice wasn't loud.
Jason turned first. "So, this doesn't concern—"
"It concerns me now."
You stepped between passing students without the slightest hesitation, your backpack still hanging off one shoulder.
"Move."
Jason laughed. "Excuse me?"
"I said move."
Andy scoffed. "You serious?"
Without another word, you planted a hand square against Andy's chest and shoved him back just enough to force him away from Eddie. Not hard, but just enough to make it clear whose space he'd invaded.
Jason stared at you, his jaw tightening. "What the hell is your problem?"
"My problem?" you echoed. "Three against one seems pretty pathetic to me."
"We're talking."
"No." You folded your arms. "You were cornering him."
Jason took one step closer. "I'd be careful if I were you."
Eddie's stomach dropped.
But you didn't move. Hell, you didn't even blink.
Instead, one eyebrow lifted. "What?"
Your voice stayed infuriatingly calm. "You gonna hit a girl?"
Jason's expression hardened. "I didn't say—"
"No?" You tilted your head. "I mean... you've already got one thing in common with your father."
You paused, eyeing him up and down.
"It'd be a shame if you decided to copy the rest of his behavior too."
Jason's face went red. Not from embarrassment, but pure fury. The kind of fury that made his nostrils flare.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"No?" You shrugged. "Then prove me wrong."
For a moment...Eddie genuinely thought Jason might do it. Might shove you. Might yell. Might finally snap.
Instead, Jason looked around. He couldn't touch you, not here. Not with everyone looking.
Jason just clicked his tongue. "Whatever."
He shot Eddie one last glare. "You're not worth it."
Then to you, "Careful who you stick up for."
You smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."
Jason scoffed before turning on his heel. "C'mon."
Andy and Chance followed without another word.
Eddie realized he'd been holding his breath. "...Thanks."
You turned toward him. For a second, he thought you might say something profound. Something unforgettable.
Instead, you smiled; that warm, easy smile he'd only ever seen from across classrooms.
"Don't mention it." You adjusted your backpack. "See you around, Eddie."
Eddie? Not ‘Munson’? He thought.
Then you just…walked away. Like standing up to Jason Carver was no bigger a deal than holding the door open for someone. Eddie watched until you disappeared around the corner.
He didn't realize Gareth had come back until someone elbowed his ribs. "Dude."
"Hm?"
"You okay?"
Eddie kept staring at the empty hallway. "...yeah."
A year later...Eddie could still tell you exactly where you'd been standing. Exactly what you were wearing. Exactly how your hand had looked when you shoved Andy away from him.
He'd spent three hundred and sixty-five days trying to convince himself it hadn't meant anything. That you would've done it for anybody. It was probably true. But God knows that didn’t help slow his crush on you down in the slightest.
There was a reason Eddie loved the Hawkins Fall Flea Market. Sure, half the vendors were selling ceramic geese in tiny bonnets or dusty kitchenware that should've been thrown out sometime during the Nixon administration.
But every now and then...Someone's grandfather died, and suddenly there'd be a box full of first-edition fantasy novels.
Or vintage dice. Or a stack of Dragon magazines someone didn't realize were worth something. Treasure hunting. That's what Wayne always called it.
"You never know what you're gonna find."
Eddie had been elbow-deep in a cardboard box labeled COMIC BOOKS - 25¢ for nearly twenty minutes before giving up his search for anything remotely Dungeons & Dragons related.
No dice…literally.
With a dramatic sigh, he wandered farther down the rows of tents, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he smiled to himself. It wasn't exactly exciting, but it was comfortable.
He almost walked right past the record stand.
It was tucked between a vendor selling antique fishing lures and another covered in old comic strips and movie posters. Milk crates overflowed with vinyl records while wire racks displayed cassettes in crooked little rows.
Naturally...Eddie wandered over. His fingers skimmed over faded album covers. Thin Lizzy. Rush. Van Halen. Not bad. Then—
"...No way."
He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there you were. Standing on the opposite side of the rack, your brows pinched together in concentration as you thumbed through a crate marked HEAVY METAL.
You wore an oversized forest-green sweater with the sleeves pushed over your hands, faded jeans, and beat-up Converse he'd never seen you wear to school. Your hair was tucked behind one ear as you carefully flipped through albums like you actually knew what you were looking at.
There was no universe in which this made sense. You belonged in the classical section. Or maybe folk, something acoustic. Not Iron Maiden. Motörhead. Judas Priest.
He blinked hard, almost thinking he was staring at a mirage. Nope, still there.
You looked up and caught him staring again. A smile spread across your face almost instantly.
You smiled victoriously before turning back to the rack. After another moment of searching, your face brightened. "There it is."
You pulled out your own cassette. The Cure: Disintegration.
"See?" You held it up proudly. "I have range."
Eddie laughed. "I'll allow it."
"I appreciate your approval."
The older vendor wandered over. "You kids find everything?"
You nodded. "I think so."
As the man rang up your cassette, Eddie was still standing there holding the Mercyful Fate tape in both hands like you'd just gifted him the Holy Grail.
You paid, tucked the cassette into your canvas tote bag, and looked back at him. "I'll see you Monday?"
He swallowed. "...Yeah."
"Don't wait too long to listen to that." You pointed toward the cassette still in his hands. "I'd like to know what you think."
Before he could ask exactly how you planned to do that...you were already walking away.
You lifted a hand over your shoulder. "Bye, Eddie."
He watched until the crowd swallowed you whole. Only then did he glance back down at the cassette.
"You gonna buy it?"
The vendor's voice startled him. "Huh?"
"You've been holding it for five minutes."
"Oh."
Eddie looked down at the cracked plastic case, then toward the direction you'd disappeared. "...Yeah."
He smiled to himself. "I think I have to."
The cassette wasn't rare. He'd seen three copies of the same album over the last month. It wasn't even his favorite Mercyful Fate record. But this one? This one had your fingerprints on it.
By Wednesday, Eddie had listened to the Mercyful Fate cassette four times. Not because it had suddenly become his favorite album, it hadn't.
But every time King Diamond's voice crackled through the speakers of the van's cassette player, Eddie could picture your smile across that flea market record stand.
"I think you'd like this."
Wayne noticed by Tuesday night. "Ain't this the same tape you played yesterday?"
"...Maybe."
"You finally wear out your Sabbath tapes?"
"...No."
Wayne glanced over the rim of his newspaper. "...Girl?"
Eddie nearly combusted on the spot from how red his face was.
The cafeteria buzzed louder than usual as homecoming week had officially taken hold at Hawkins High. Construction paper streamers hung lopsided from the ceiling.
The student council had somehow convinced the administration to decorate every available surface in orange and green, making the cafeteria look like it had exploded.
Eddie hated it. He hated pep rallies, football, and he especially hated homecoming. And he especially especially hated listening to Jason Carver talk about the "spirit of Hawkins."
"So," Gareth said through a mouthful of fries, "we skipping the pep rally?"
"We're legally obligated to."
Jeff nodded solemnly. "It's in the Hellfire constitution."
Mike frowned. "We have a constitution?"
"We do now."
Laughter bounced around the table. Then Dustin elbowed Eddie. "Dude."
"What?"
"Twelve o'clock."
Eddie looked up. You moved from table to table carrying a thick envelope and a clipboard tucked against your chest. Homecoming tickets, of course.
You stopped at the basketball table first. Jason smiled, and you smiled back politely. Professional and nothing more. Then the band kids. Then the theater kids. Then—
Hellfire...and Eddie's heart immediately forgot how to function.
"Hi, guys."
You smiled at the whole table before your eyes landed on him.
"Hi, Eddie."
God. You always said his name like it belonged in your mouth.
"Uh... hey."
"So," you said, setting the envelope on the table. "I'm making my rounds."
You held up two small orange tickets. "Homecoming tickets. Five dollars."
Jeff snorted, Mike looked horrified, while Gareth dramatically searched his empty pockets.
"We're allergic."
"I figured."
Then you looked back at Eddie. "Oh."
Your smile softened. "Did you ever listen to the cassette?"
His brain completely abandoned him. "...Yeah."
"And?"
"It was..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...Really good."
"'Really good?'" You looked mock offended. "I thought it'd at least earn a 'life-changing.'"
"I was trying not to sound insane."
"So you liked it?"
"I—" He smiled before he could stop himself. "...Yeah. A lot, actually."
"I knew you would."
Something warm settled in his chest. You knew. Not hoped, not guessed, knew.
Which is why, when he said, without thinking, "I'll take two."
Silence, which even made Eddie freeze. What?
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. "...Two?"
He stared at the tickets. Abort mission. Abort mission. FUCK! Too late.
"Uh..." His hand was already digging into his pocket. "Yeah."
He slapped a crumpled ten-dollar bill onto the table before his brain had the chance to intervene. "I'll take two."
You looked at him for a second longer than necessary, then the smallest smile tugged at your lips. Then, you handed him the two orange tickets.
"Our music committee isn't nearly as good as Mercyful Fate."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"I'll see you around?"
"...Yeah."
You gave the table one last smile. "Have a good lunch, guys."
Then, you disappeared toward the next group of students, and the second you were out of earshot...
Five heads slowly turned toward Eddie.
"...What the hell was that?" Dustin snaps.
"What?"
"You hate homecoming."
"I don't hate—"
"You called it," Gareth interrupted, "'capitalist propaganda with crepe paper.'"
"I stand by that."
Jeff leaned across the table. "So why," he asked carefully, "did you just buy..."
He held up two fingers. "...two tickets?"
Eddie blinked. "...Did I?"
"You were there." Mike snorted. "I'm pretty sure you even paid for them."
Eddie looked down at the tickets in his hand as though they'd magically appeared there.
"...Huh."
Gareth burst into laughter. "'Huh?'"
"'Huh?!'"
"You bought two!"
"I know!"
"Do you?!"
Dustin reached across the table and plucked one from Eddie's fingers.
"'Homecoming Admission.'"
He looked around dramatically. "Guys. I think Eddie the Banished has suffered a traumatic brain injury."
Jeff nodded. "Only explanation."
"You've spent three years talking about how dances are government mind control."
"They are."
"So, who are you taking?"
Eddie opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Because...he hadn't thought that far. He hadn't thought at all. He'd just wanted another excuse or another thirty seconds of hearing your voice.
"...Nobody."
Five skeptical expressions. "Nnnoooobody?" Gareth echoed.
"Nope."
"So you just bought two tickets..."
"Yep."
"...For fun?"
"...Sure."
Mike deadpanned, "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."
Dustin slowly smiled. "Oh."
"Oh no," Eddie muttered.
"Oh, no."
Dustin pointed across the cafeteria, where you were still making your rounds. "You bought two tickets because you're gonna ask her."
Eddie nearly choked on his Coke. "I am absolutely not."
"You absolutely are."
"I absolutely am not."
Jeff grinned. "Dude."
"You've been listening to that cassette all week."
"You don't know that."
"Wayne told my mom."
Eddie's head whipped toward him. "...Wayne, what?"
"My mom was at the trailer dropping off your uncle's casserole dish."
Jeff shrugged innocently. "He said—and I quote—'Boy's been playing the same damn tape for three days. Must be love.'"
The entire table erupted while Dustin pointed triumphantly. "Called it."
Eddie dropped his forehead onto the cafeteria table with a groan.
By the time Hellfire finished packing up their campaign books in the theater room, basketball practice had just let out. Which meant letterman jackets, inflated egos, and Jason Carver. Perfect.
Eddie spotted them before they spotted him, or so he thought.
"You boys have another séance today?"
Gareth groaned.
"Just keep walking."
That had been the plan. Until Tommy H stuck his foot out, and Gareth caught it too late.
His books were scattered across the pavement, dice bouncing in every direction. One tiny d20 rolled nearly twenty feet before coming to rest beneath a parked truck.
"Oh, my bad," Tommy said without sounding sorry in the slightest.
Gareth muttered a curse beneath his breath as he knelt to gather his things.
Eddie was already moving. "The hell's your problem?"
Jason shrugged. "Gravity."
"You tripped him," Eddie says, pointing between Jason and Tommy.
"I don't know, Munson." Tommy grinned. "Looked pretty clumsy to me."
Jeff and Dustin immediately stepped toward Gareth, helping gather his books. Eddie stood between them and Jason.
"C’mon, man. At least pick on someone with a fighting chance."
Jason smiled as he chimed in. "I am."
The shove came so fast that Eddie barely had time to react, his shoulder slamming into the side of a parked car. The metal echoed.
"Jesus, fuck—" Eddie shoved him back, causing Jason's smile to disappear.
"Oh. There he is."
The first punch caught Eddie across the jaw, causing white to explode across his vision. He stumbled back, so Andy grabbed his jacket from behind. Then, Tommy landed one on his ribs. Someone else kicked the back of his knee.
Three against one, again. He heard Dustin yelling, Jeff trying to pull somebody off, and Gareth shouting Eddie's name.
"...Enough!"
Everything stopped as a familiar voice cut through the chaos like a knife.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Eddie blinked through blurry vision and saw you.
You were marching across the parking lot faster than he'd ever seen anyone move as your backpack swung wildly against your side.
Jason scoffed. "Stay out of it."
"No."
You shoved Andy away from Eddie so hard that he stumbled backward. "I said that’s enough."
Tommy laughed. "Oh, here comes Wonder Woman."
You ignored him completely. Instead, you crouched beside Eddie. "Are you okay?"
He tried to answer, but instead, blood dripped onto his shirt. Your face tightened as you looked back up to analyze the scene: three basketball players, one bleeding boy, and his friend's reactions somewhere between horror and panic.
"You should be proud of yourselves."
Jason rolled his eyes. "He was acting insane. He pushed me for Christ's sake."
"That's bullshit."
Jason took a step closer. "What do you care?"
"I care because you three are acting like a bunch of fucking neanderthals. And for what? What the hell did he ever do to you?"
He laughed. "You really gonna defend this freak?"
You stood slowly until you were eye level with him. "I'm defending someone who can't fight three people at once."
Jason clicked his tongue. "You're wasting your time."
"No." You shook your head.
"You know..." You looked Jason up and down. "For someone who talks so much about honor..."
Your eyes drifted toward the gym. "...you sure need a lot of teammates when you throw a punch."
Jason's jaw clenched. "You should go."
"You first."
You kept your gaze fixed on Jason, putting on the best ‘don’t fuck with me today’ face you could muster.
His eyes dart between you and Eddie, a small and almost sinister grin forming. Then, he scoffed.
"C'mon. This freak show isn’t worth our spots in Friday's game.”
The last of the basketball team disappeared across the parking lot. Jason threw one final glare over his shoulder before climbing into Tommy's truck.
"...Jesus Christ." Your voice was barely above a whisper. Eddie looked up just in time to see you drop to your knees again beside him.
Your eyes darted over his face: the split lip, the scrape across his cheek, the beginnings of a bruise blooming beneath his eye.
"Dustin!" you called over your shoulder. "Go to the nurse's office!"
Dustin looked between you and Eddie before immediately taking off toward the school. "I'll get an ice pack!"
You nodded once before turning your attention back to Eddie. "Can you sit up?"
He managed a small nod even though every rib protested. You slipped an arm beneath his shoulder, helping him lean back against the brick wall of the school.
"So much for keeping your pretty face."
Eddie let out a weak laugh. "...Didn't know I had one."
You rolled your eyes. "Shut up."
Your backpack slid into your lap, frowning as you rifled through its contents. "No..." You dug deeper. "No..."
"Ah! There."
You pulled out an old black T-shirt, faded nearly gray with age. Eddie recognized the logo immediately: Iron Maiden, The Number of the Beast tour.
He blinked. "You just carry band shirts around for fun?"
"My dad leaves them in my car." You shrugged, "Guess they make good makeshift paper towels."
You hesitated. "Can I?"
He nodded before he even knew what you were asking. You folded the shirt into a small square before gently dabbing at the blood on the corner of his mouth; your touch was impossibly careful.
With your face inches from his, he’s embarrassed about how many times he imagined being this close more times than he cares to admit.
"You know..." You sighed, "...That was really stupid."
"Hm?"
"What were you thinking?" You wiped another streak of blood from his cheek. "There were three of them."
"They were picking on Gareth."
"I know."
"So..."
"So you decided to get yourself killed?"
"I wasn't gonna let them jump him."
"I know." You say with an exaggerated sigh.
You make another careful swipe of the shirt across his lip, "You don't always have to be the one who saves everybody."
He watched you instead of answering. Your brows were pulled together, bottom lip tucked between your teeth in concentration.
"Eddie?"
He hadn't realized he'd been staring. "What?"
"You okay? You keep looking at me and, like, zoning out. Do you feel dizzy?"
"Oh." His voice came out embarrassingly quiet, "Uh, no. Sorry."
"Oh." You reply, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.
“Huh?” He swallowed.
His brain screamed at him to say literally anything else. Comment on the weather. Ask about homework.
"I think I really like you."
You froze mid-wipe of his cheek, eyes quickly meeting his.
Eddie groaned and closed his eyes. "Fuck—Forget I said that."
"Oh."
Fantastic. She sounds uncomfortable. Wonderful.
"I didn't mean—"
"No." Your hand gently caught his wrist before he could keep spiraling, "I just..."
He opened his eyes, and to his delight, you were smiling.
"I've been wondering how long that was going to take."
His eyebrows knit together. "...What?"
"I was starting to think you were never going to say it."
"...Say what?"
"That."
You laughed quietly. "I've liked you for over a year, Eddie."
His brain stopped. "No, you don't."
"I do."
"You can't."
"I can."
"You..." He searched your face for the joke, "You've liked me?"
"Since you helped that freshman find the theater room on the first day of school last year."
"...That's why?"
"You spent fifteen minutes walking him around the building."
"He looked lost."
"I know." You smiled, "That's kind of my point."
He stared, then laughed, a disbelieving and breathless laugh.
"I've spent an entire year convincing myself you were completely out of my league."
"I've spent an entire year waiting for you to realize I wasn't.”
His heart nearly flew out of his chest just then.
"But then..." You shrugged, looking almost sheepish. "You bought the second homecoming ticket, so I just assumed you found someone else to ask."
"...WHAT?"
The word exploded out of him so loudly that a flock of birds scattered from the nearby trees.
You blinked. "What?"
"No!" He sat up a little too fast before immediately grabbing his ribs. "Ow—Jesus Christ."
"Eddie! Jesus, would you calm d—"
"No, no, listen." He pointed emphatically toward the school. "I bought the second ticket because you were standing there."
"...I know."
"No, I mean—" He groaned. "I wasn't thinking."
"I've noticed."
"I just wanted an excuse to keep talking to you."
You stared.
"So my brain went..." He mimed throwing something across the parking lot. "'Buy two tickets.' But uh, I didn't have a plan after that."
A laugh bubbled out of you. "So..."
He continued, growing increasingly animated. "...then Gareth asks, 'Who're you taking?'"
"And?"
"And I realized..." He buried his face in his hands. "...I had absolutely no idea what I was doing."
Your shoulders started shaking. "Oh my God..."
"I panicked."
"I can tell."
"I said I bought them for fun."
"You told them..." you managed between laughs, "'for fun?'"
"I know!"
"That's the worst lie I've ever heard."
"I KNOW."
"They believed you?"
"They absolutely did not."
You laughed even harder, and he found himself laughing, too.
"I have spent," he said through a grin, "the last four days wondering who the hell I was supposed to ask because apparently I'd already committed."
Your laughter slowly faded into something softer.
"So..." You looked at him carefully. "...Who were you planning on asking?"
He gave you the most incredulous look. "You."
"Really?"
"You literally just admitted you thought I found somebody else."
"I know, but..." You smiled. "I wanted to hear you say it."
Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "You're evil."
"A little."
"You've been letting me suffer this whole time?"
"I thought it was kind of cute."
"Oh, that's cruel."
"It was a little cruel." You say, shrugging.
He smiles the biggest smile he can muster, considering the pain shooting through what feels like every inch of his body, and releases a deep sigh.
"So..."
"So?"
He reached into the pocket of his denim vest, wincing as his bruised ribs protested.
After a second of fumbling, he pulled out the slightly crumpled orange homecoming ticket, holding it out between two fingers.
"I know this isn't exactly the most romantic timing."
You looked down at the ticket, then back up at him.
"But..." His smile turned nervous, "...would you maybe wanna go to homecoming with me?"
You could’ve just verbally said yes, but fuck that.
You broke the final inches of distance between you, your lips meeting his. He kissed you back instinctively, one hand finding your waist, smiling into the kiss. You smiled too.
"Hss—" Eddie jerked back with a sharp wince, immediately bringing a hand to his mouth.
"Oh, my God!" Your eyes went wide. "Shit! I'm so sorry!"
"No, no—" He laughed despite himself, carefully pressing two fingers against his split lip. "I just forgot I got punched."
"You idiot."
"Yeah..." A grin spread across his face, "...Worth it."
You rolled your eyes, but he caught the smile tugging at your lips.
"This time," you murmured, leaning closer again, "try not to throw yourself into it like you're storming a castle."
"I make no promises."
"I know." You cupped his cheek, much gentler now. "So let me."
This kiss was much slower; you barely brushed your lips against his at first. He practically pulled you into his airspace, completely ignoring any stinging sensation because, hell, he’d thought about this at least a thousand times.
Afterward, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.
"I've wanted to do that," he admitted softly, "for... probably an embarrassing amount of time."
You laughed. "Me too."
He looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. "So..."
"So?"
"Does this mean you'll go to homecoming with me?"
You pretended to think about it. "Hmm..."
"Don't do this to me."
"I suppose."
He let out the most dramatic sigh of relief. "Thank God."
Before you could tease him for it, he was kissing you again. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your jaw as he smiled into it, and you smiled back.
Then you felt the subtle tension in his hand. The way his fingers tightened ever so slightly against your skin. The sharp inhale he tried, and failed, to hide.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. "You're hurting."
"I'm surviving."
"Eddie."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
He grinned, lopsided because of his split lip. "I've imagined kissing you about a thousand times."
You laughed softly.
"And not once did Jason Carver punch me beforehand."
You rolled your eyes, your thumb carefully brushing beneath the bruise blooming under his eye.
"You are unbelievable."
"I've been called worse."
"I'm sure you have."
His forehead rested against yours, his smile refusing to leave. "I don't think anything could ruin today."
"...Ahem."
The two of you froze and slowly turned your heads.
Dustin stood a few yards away, an ice pack dangling from one hand. He looked from Eddie to you, then to the fact that you were still sitting impossibly close together, practically entangled.
A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.
"...I guess you don't need that ice pack then?"
missed u guys sm:,) more coming soon, pinky promise <3
i want food truck simon slinging some hot, shit food that tastes crazy good when you're hammered. smokes cigarettes and wears his big ass boots. sweating and grunting; terrible customer service.
fucks the cute health inspector when she rolls up with a disgusted face and bad attitude. makes fun of her cute clothes after he's rolled down the service window, got her propped up against a wedge of a wall, his nasty mouth up against her neck and his hard prick fat in her fancy cunt.
he fails the inspection, but gets her number. fucks her stupid and cooks in her kitchen instead. still smokes.
Big Ole Nerd @hexqueensupreme - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
andulkaphoto
areudirty
gracieabrams
amandla
2087
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind
gummygunk
