living-dead-girl7 - Tumblr blog

living-dead-girl7 · 6 months

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Coming to a Realisation - p.m

a/n: thank you to the lovely anon that requested this because i got to use this yummy gif....... rooster might be a bit OOC in this BUT, i had a lot of fun writing it, especially from a third person perspective :3 i hope you like it anon, i tried :,( < 3

i made it so the reader was around 28 i believe, i hope that's okay!

also pls don’t repost or translate any of my work.. i don’t give you permission to do that.

pairings: maverick x reader, dagger squad x reader

warnings: disapproving rooster, throwback, age gap, mushy cute moments between you and mr pete 'dilf' mitchell

wc: 2,496

the request: 'What do you think about the dragger or dagger??? (idk which one it is) squad would think about Maverick young fiance (yes fiance because Maverick got over his “im too old for you” phase). Like canon Mav is 57-60ish and the reader is 21+.' read it in full here

the songs i listened to whilst writing this: yebba's heartbreak - drake, yebba, i'm kind of obsessed with this song and i'm not ashamed

The hustle and bustle of the crowds in The Hard Deck echoed in laughs, cheers and shouts as you shuffled through the sea of drunk people, packed so closely together like sardines in a tin. You knew what you were getting yourself into all that time ago when you first started dating the highly decorated captain, Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell. The pair of you had worked through many ups and downs in your relationship, and the hard work had certainly paid off. Your gleaming eyes bounced down to the stunning and sparkling diamond ring that sat happily on your finger. Working your way through the crowd, you finally reached the well-known dagger squad who had warmly welcomed you when Maverick had first introduced you to them. However, there was a certain moustached pilot who didn't match the happy cheers like his peers. Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw.

"Hey, Mav, finally found a woman your age yet?" Rooster taunted.

"Don't you think it's funny how you were twenty nine when she was born?" Rooster pestered.

Rooster wasn't very approving of your relationship with his God-father, and he certainly made it known. If you had a dollar for each time the pilot made a dig or insulting joke about you and Maverick, you would definitely be quite wealthy by now. "Hey, Y/N!" Phoenix grinned merrily as she caught your eyes, her arms opening to wrap you in a big hug. Your lips instantly curled up into a grin as you looked at her, happily accepting her advances. As she enveloped you with her warm arms, you squeezed her tight, resting your head upon her shoulder for a brief moment.

"Phoenix," You smiled, your voice catching the attention of the other aviators that sat around the pair of you. "You look great." You added with a widening smile. Her eyes fell from yours to the ring on your finger, her hands catching yours to bring it up to her face.

"Each time I see it, I swear it gets bigger," She laughed with a soft shake of her head. "Have you decided on a date yet?" Phoenix inquired, stepping back to grab her bottle of beer from the side of the pool table.

"Not yet, but we really want to have the wedding in the late spring time." You beamed, casting your gaze aside as you spotted Hangman, Coyote, Bob, Fanboy and Payback with big smiles on their faces, making their way over to greet you.

"There's the future Mrs Maverick!" Hangman cheered as he raised his arms in the air in a celebratory fashion, squeezing past Phoenix to wrap an arm around your waist to pull you against him in a hug. You slid your arm around his back and hugged him back, letting out a shy laugh. "How's it goin' with the old man?"

"It's really great, actually," You said, looking up at the blonde aviator as he released you, his other hand bringing the bottle of beer up to his lips to take a swig.

"Well, if he does anythin' stupid, you know where to find us, Y/N. We'll kick his antiquated ass for you." Hangman assured you with his signature shining grin. You rolled your eyes at the man and patted his chest playfully.

"He wouldn't dare, because he knows I'd kick his ass first!" You laughed, turning to receive a welcoming hug from Coyote and Fanboy as Hangman and Phoenix chuckled at your reply. The two naval aviators wandered towards you with big grins, their arms coming to engulf you in a hug. "Hey Coyote, Fanboy!"

You hugged them back with a squeeze, smiling at them as they released you. "Congratulations, by the way! Sorry we weren't able to make it to your surprise party." Coyote sheepishly looked away from you, a hand flying up to rub the back of his neck.

"Oh, guys, don't worry about it. As long as you make it to the wedding, we'll be happy." You fanned a hand at them with another smile, dismissing their apology. In truth, you were just glad they were here. You know how dangerous and taxing their job can be.

"We'll be there, we wouldn't want to miss the chance to see Maverick cry." Fanboy laughed, as did the whole group of you all.

"Cry about what?" Your beloved fiancé's voice sounded from behind you and you instantly turned around to face him, your hands flying to wrap around his middle. Peering up at him, you couldn't hide the megawatt grin that spread across your cheeks. "Hi, sweetheart," He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your nose. The comforting smell of his cologne filled your nose as he pulled you closely against his chest, pressing another sweet kiss to your lips this time. "Are they being nice to you?" He asked with a laugh.

"Yes, of course, honey," You jokily scoffed at his question, capturing the attention of a brooding Bradley. He sat behind you and the squad with Bob and Payback, rolling his eyes at your reply.

"C'mon, Rooster, let's go say hello," Payback said, nodding toward the circle of people just in front of them. He didn't reply, staring daggers into the back of your head. "Don't piss Mav off." He added, and that seemed to motivate Rooster a little more. Despite all the past events that happened, he learned to love Maverick like a father. In all honesty, he was protective of him now, and he only believed that you were here for a good time, not a long time. It was too... weird for him.

"I think she seems nice," Bob said, earning a glare from Rooster. He quickly made himself busy with scratching the label of the beer with his nails.

"Fine," Rooster groaned, standing up and brushing a hand down his middle to perfect his appearance. Bob and Payback stood up as well, sharing a worried look between each other. "Let's go." He said quietly, watching you sit in his God-father's arms.

A quiet 'ahem' came from behind you and Maverick, and your fiancé's arms fell down your arms slightly, his fingers tightening on your biceps as he saw Bradley. "Hey, Payback, Bob!" You grinned, having not seen Rooster yet. They both hugged you, and as the pair of them leaned forwards to envelope you, you saw Rooster. You knew how he felt about your relationship with Maverick, and you were praying he had come to say hello and not poke holes in it.

"Y/N," Rooster greeted you with a lack of emotion. He didn't smile at you like the others did, no, he stared at you, attempting to wear your guard down and find out who you really were.

"Hi, Rooster," You smiled, feeling a little uncomfortable under his hard gaze. Out of everyone, you wanted Rooster's approval the most. He was the closest thing Maverick had to family, and it mattered a lot to you that he liked you. You shuffled in Maverick's arms, your fingers anxiously beginning to fiddle with the sleeves of his leather jacket. Your fiancé noticed your nervous habit take hold, and he quickly spoke to break the awkward silence that had fallen upon the group of you all.

"Another round, guys?" Maverick questioned, raising his brows as he glanced at the aviators surrounding him. They all nodded and said a chorus of pleas and thanks. "Alright, Y/N, can you help me?" He looked down at you, his hand coming up to rub your arm in a soothing manner. Maverick's voice hauled you from the tense staring competition with Rooster and you suddenly felt at ease as you nodded at his question, his roughened hands slipping down to interlock with yours. "Let's go." Leaning down, he murmured against your ear.

Rooster watched you and Maverick walk away, a quiet scoff leaving his lips. Phoenix sighed at him, her eyes rolling. "Bradshaw, what is your problem?" She groaned, folding her arms tightly against her chest in an expression of irritation.

"I don't have a problem," He grumbled, shoving past her to plonk himself down on a barstool in the corner of the bar. The female aviator followed him in a hot pursuit to find out what was making him act like such a dick to you.

"Are we really gonna do it like this?" Phoenix huffed, a hand coming out to gesture at his poor behaviour. "Maverick is finally happy, why can't you see that and be happy for him too?" Her brows knitted together as her eyes searched his face for an answer, or at least a sign as to why he was acting like this.

"You're not seeing what I'm seeing, Phoenix," He said coldly, glaring up at her. "Y/N doesn't love him, she's just here for a good time, not a long time." Rooster finally said, shrugging limply as he looked up at Phoenix. She frowned at him, as Payback and Bob suddenly stood by her side. "Bob and Payback agree with me."

"What?" Phoenix scoffed, turning to look at the two aviators expectantly.

"That ain't true, Rooster, and you know it," Payback groaned. He rolled his eyes at the younger Bradshaw, a short frustrated puff of air escaping his lips. "We're happy for Mav, believe me, but the age gap is just a little too big, I mean what the hell do they have in common?"

"I don't know why you guys are so bothered by something so insignificant," Phoenix shook her head, her frustrated voice making Bob glance at her. "They truly love each other, and Rooster, you would see it if you actually made an effort to get to know Y/N. All you do is fuckin' sit in the corner and sulk, glaring daggers at them all night." She complained. Rooster averted his gaze to the table, avoiding Phoenix's intense stares. Deep down he knew his friend was right, he hadn't even got to know you and he's already made assumptions based on something so small. "You know what, sit here and grumble about Mav finally finding someone, I don't care." She finally huffed, turning around on her heel and storming off to find Hangman and you and Maverick. Payback and Bob stared at each other, not knowing their next move.

Rooster's fingers drummed against the wooden table as he debated whether to get up and make an effort, or continue his little pity party. "She's right, Rooster." Payback spoke quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Rooster's eyes shot up to look at Payback, his fingers slowing down to a gentle tap as he gave a single nod.

"C'mon," Bob mumbled, nudging Payback with his elbow as he edged away from the table, advancing towards the ruckus blaring from the squad behind them. Rooster was left alone to simmer in his thoughts, his eyes slowly lifting to search for your figure in the sea of beige uniforms. He spotted you with Maverick of course. Bradley couldn't help the roll of his eyes, grinding his teeth as you threw your head back in laughter at something Hangman said.

His eyes stopped on Maverick as he watched a natural smile spread across his tanned cheeks, his teeth poking out happily beneath his lips. As Phoenix and Hangman walked away from you two, you turned around to face Maverick, your hands coming up to snake around his neck, pulling yourself as close as you could into his arms. A soft giggle left your lips and Maverick grinned down at you, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. Rooster looked away at the sweet moment you shared with his God-father, the guilt ripping into him as his thoughts pulled him away to a long time ago.

a year ago

Rooster stood beside Maverick, his arms reaching up to twist a spanner against a bolt in the plane that his God-father was rebuilding. He had forgiven Maverick about Goose's death, finally letting go of the resentment he held so close to him. It made him miserable, and he just wanted to rid himself of it. Rooster had seen the light in Maverick's personality and it gave him hope for the future of their relationship.

"Alright, now you're gonna want to replace that old cylinder with this new one," Maverick grunted as he bent down to fetch the aforementioned part, his white tee dirtied with grease and mud. Bradley looked down and hummed in reply, his greased up fingers taking the cylinder in his hand. "So, just gently twist it, and it should just pop out." Bradley did so, and it popped out with a soft click. "Nice, good job." Maverick grinned, the overwhelming feeling of pride and proudness swept over his figure.

"Thanks, Mav, so what now?" Bradley chuckled, his moustache twitching upwards as he glanced between the new cylinder and Maverick's focused features.

"You click the new one back into place where the old one was," He replied, pointing at the empty space. "You know, you're much better at this than Y/N," Maverick laughed and Bradley felt his body go tense at the mention of your name. He tried to push aside the venom that bubbled at the back of his throat as he did as Maverick said, the satisfying click of the cylinder sliding into place echoing in the hanger. There was a moment of silence.

"You're still together then?" Bradley asked, his face hardening.

"Yeah, she's a really nice girl." Maverick smiled. His mind filled with memories of the two of you, the sound of your raucous laughter echoing in his head.

"Surprised she hasn't left you for the next old man," Bradley said through gritted teeth, and he instantly regretted it as he watched Maverick's smile falter.

"Well, I hope she isn't leaving any time soon." Maverick replied, trying to swallow back the lump in his throat.

Rooster looked back up to where you and Maverick were stood, his eyes welling up with regretful tears. Maybe he was wrong. You looked at Maverick like he was the last man on Earth, and Bradley noticed that as you gazed up at him, your mouth opening to let out a series of laughs as Maverick pressed ticklish kisses against your jawline. You did love him, and Bradley saw that now. It was the way you made Maverick grin, the way you made him hold you so close to his body that he was afraid you were going to crumble into nothingness, and the way he stared at you with nothing but pure love and adoration in his tired, blue eyes.

"Pete!" Bradley heard you giggle, your hands splayed across the back of his neck. A lop-sided smile picked at the corner of Bradley's lips as he observed the pair of you act like you were the only two people in the bar. He watched you melt into Maverick's kisses, his soft and tender touches, and the way you nuzzled your nose against his. He was a fool to think that you were only here for a fun time and not a long time. Maverick deserved someone as sweet and as loving as you, he'd been alone for long enough.

It warmed Bradley's cold heart as he continued to watch you two.

relationship mav is growing on me...

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living-dead-girl7 · 7 months

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montgomery scott (scotty, star trek can be tos or aos) x reader

not proofread, probably typos and errors

The Enterprise engine room buzzes around Scotty’s ears, a white noise to him that he's sure he could fall asleep to if he had the resolve to sleep for once. At the current time, he is idly tinkering away at some long put off project that holds no true significance, but he can’t give himself a moment of rest, fearing something will always happen. The doors adjacent to his office open with a light ‘swoosh,’ and Scotty can hear the light pattering of boots across the floor. He leans back in his chair expecting a red shirt to barge in saying they can't seem to figure out how to fix one of the replicators, and will inevitably find himself hunched over shoving wire back into the right position. He will never deny his love of the ship, but god can she be stubborn.

A gentle rap in the door frame breaks him from his trance. To his surprise, it's not a red shirt, but his favorite medical officer leaning casually against the frame with a soft smile full of affection, that he finds himself returning.

‘“Hey lass, what brings you ‘ere?”

The officer in blue pushes herself off from the door and rounds the corner to sit in front of him at his desk. Scotty finds himself, without thought, gently resting his hands on her sides as she is perched at his desk. “Just wanted to see my favorite engineer.”

The Scotsman lets out a heartfelt laugh, it's far from condescending, it's a gut laugh that radiates pure adoration and affection. His hands that rest at your sides soothing find their way to your arms, gently running them up and down the length of them. A tender moment that is hidden from the bustling energy of the ship. With a gentle squeeze and soft peck, Scotty reluctantly lets you go, knowing McCoy would be hollering about his top psychologist being gone for too long. Just before you part ways, Scotty feels a gentle tug at his sleeve, a well rehearsed dance that he finds himself smiling fondly at.

“Hmm?” Murmurs the Scotsman

“Remember, you are off at 5 today, and so I am…I am expecting my favorite engineer to be cuddled up with me tonight…” The idea makes Scotty smile fondly,

“Aye.”

With that, the woman in blue parts with him, but not without one last peck to his cheek and and soft goodbye full of what can only be described as a deep set of adoration

Hours pass in a blur and amazingly, at 5:15 Scotty finds himself kicking his boots off in his quarters as his favorite blue shirt waltz’s in, gazing happily at her Scotsman. Uniforms now discarded into the nearest hamper, the two officers are curled up under the covers. Scotty in some sweatpants and an old t-shirt he can’t remember where he got it from, and his medical officer in his old academy shirt and probably some long forgotten pair of shorts he didn't even realize he owned. Scotty sighs contently as her head slots between his shoulder and neck, his arms snaking tightly around her middle to pull her as close as possible, and their legs tangled together, desperately searching for each other's warmth. A soft mumble comes from her mouth,

“How was your day?”

The scotsman sighs, and with a grumble in his accent you are so fond of, “It was alright, some new engineers, that I don’t even know how graduated from the academy, can't figure our how to properly wire the replicator and-”

Scotty stops mid sentence as he realizes his girl is softly sleeping. Her eyelashes resting against her cheek so softly he can't help but smile. The way her lips part slightly as she breathes makes his heart skip a beat. He feels like a teenager again, despite his complaints about his back and knees, feeling like a lovesick puppy at the mere thought of you. He finds solace in you, a breath of fresh air in the stale and artificial atmosphere of the ship. His thoughts wander to why you, a breathtaking, young, smart, and enchanting girl choose him, a grumpy and old redshirt who likes to drink and fiddle with the ship. An odd pair in his opinion, but you will never hear any complaints from him. Jim says that you two are the sun and moon, rain and shine, night and day, two people destined for each other no matter what, without one, the other can’t exist.

As you sleep soundly for once, a velvet box is tucked away into the nightstand on Scotty's side of the bed. He smiles at the thought of you walking down the aisle on your wedding day, glowing as you smile up at him. One day it will happen, he knows, he loves you too much to not see it through.

#star trek #scotty #montgomery scott #Simon pegg #Star Trek tos #Star Trek aos #scotty x reader #Star Trek x reader #Star Trek scotty x reader #montgomery scott x reader

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living-dead-girl7 · 7 months

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Mark Hoffman x Reader

a/n: this is my first fic ever. i tried my best!! i hope whoever reads enjoys and I would appreciate feedback! thanks so much, let me know what you guys want to see

You opened your eyes to see you were laying down on a dirty, cement floor. You feel fuzzy, lightheaded. Like someone had banged on your head so hard you could feel your brain moving.

What happened? Where am i? You go to grab the wall to pick yourself up but the chains shackled to your wrists prevent you from doing so. “ What the fuck?” You pull chains and focus your eyes on the connecting pole. Sick. Chained up like a dog. Suddenly the old television in the corner turned on, sounds of static filled the room. The static subsides and your glossy eyes spilt as you saw what was on the screen.

Eric Matthews.

Your missing, presumed to be dead brother.

A plethora of emotions consumed you. Happiness, sadness, shock. The main one. Fear.

Your brother may have been alive but he looked like a corpse. Eric was chained just like you, only his was around his neck. Below him was a block of ice. His hair had grown out so much, and his face was covered in so much blood and grime you could hardly make out his normally stern face.

Next to your brother on the contraption sat another man. You recognized him as a coworker of your brothers, who you had only met a few times. Mark Hoffman, the harsh, handsome, hardworking Detective Hoffman. Hoffman was sat and bound to a chair by his thick neck and wrists. He also had a red cloth gagging him. As terrifying as the circumstances were, seeing Hoffman like that made your mind wander. You shook your head.

“ What’s wrong with me?”

You looked around the room and began to grow confused. There was no machine nor weapon in the room with you, you were just chained up. Did Jigsaw just want you to see your brother and his colleague torture themselves to survive? What were you supposed to do? You didn’t even know how long you’d been knocked out. How long had the game been going on? What were the rules?

You turn your attention back to the T.V. when you hear a man’s voice. A man dressed all in black approached your brother with a gun. The man was seemingly talking to Eric but you couldn’t make out the words through the static. The man had given Eric his gun?

From outside of the room you were in you could hear the footsteps of a person running. “ Help!” “Help please” “Help me!” You press your face against the wall sobbing. Whoever it was either had not heard your pleas or they ignored them. You scramble back towards the T.V. as you heard all the men yelling.

From where you couldn’t see on the camera, the man who had given your brother the gun yelled telling this new person to wait. Before you could blink Eric had shot the man just as he had opened the door. And then, your brother was gone again.

“Eric!” ”No god please no” “No!”

You throat was raw. Your brother was gone. Now he’s just a body without a head. You hold your head continuing to cry, failing to catch your breath in between sobs, you slowly close your eyes as you let sleep over come you.

“y/n?” You feel a hand on your shoulder and you instantly open your eyes to see Mark Hoffman. He was very red and seemed a lot less shaken up then you. “i’m going to get you out of here” “but i don’t know where the key-“ Hoffman pulled out a folded white envelope from his pants. The envelope had Mark’s name written on it. He looked me in my eyes, “ this was on my lap the whole time,” he opened the package and out fell a tiny silver key. The key to your chains. Hoffman helped unravel the metal from around your arms after freeing you from your restraints. Instantly your arms are swinging every which way, moving your stiff muscles.

As Mark is helping you up, you recall everything that happened before you passed out and you can’t help the tears that shed. Mark, seeing your distress, yearns to reach out and hold you. He wants to tell you everything is going to be okay, but you hardly know him. He knew he had to get you out of that building. Who knew when the cops would find them, and Mark didn’t want to be asked more questions then he was expecting. Looking at your shaking form, he knew you were in no state to walk. It was perfect, he could scoop you up and you’d look at him and see him as the man who saved you. Your protector. Your man.

Without another thought, Mark swept you off your feet and carried you until the flashing lights of cop cars and reporters cameras came into view. Lifting your head from where it had rested on Marks shoulders, you look at the man who was holding you. He looked in your eyes and your heart began to flutter, as your face grew hot. Not looking away from those sky blue eyes, you whisper, “thank you Detective”. His face cracks into a smirk as he places you down in the back of an ambulance. “ Don’t mention it sweetheart.” oh. Oh. He had just called you sweetheart. You felt your stomach tingle, you couldn’t tell if it was from the pet name or the fact that you hadn’t eaten in hours. “ I need to get back to the other guys but take it easy, I’ll get ahold of you if we need anything” “ have a good night detective.” “ goodnight y/n”

And with that he walked away.

If somebody asked Mark how long he had been in love with you, he’d tell them it was from the moment he laid eyes on you. Not only being the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen, he could read you like a book. You were this sweet little he could shape, take control of, care for, and oh, you would just be the perfect mother to his future children. He knew he had to have you.

It had been 2 days since death of your brother. After Mark had left that night the ambulance took you took the hospital, you weren’t hurt aside from a few bumps a bruises, but the doctors insisted they wanted to monitor you just for the night. And now you’re home. And you haven’t left it, not once. The shell shock of what had happened hasn’t set in until now. And it’s eating you alive. You could’ve save Eric instead of sitting on your ass! You could’ve done something. But you set those feelings aside for now. You wanted to check on Mark, after all, he was traumatized too. The least you could do is stop by the station and say thanks again.

You grabbed your purse and headed for the door. It was only and hour passed noon, so you thought you may be able to catch the detective. As the door swung open you met the eyes of just the man you wanted to see. “ detective Hoffman?! hello!” “ hello y/n, sorry for showing up unannounced i just wanted to come check and see how your holding up” “oh please don’t be sorry it’s alright, i was actually just getting ready to come check on you funnily enough” he chuckled quietly “ what a coincidence” “ would you like to come in detective?” you stepped aside to let him in.

“ would like a cup of coffee? some water?” “ a cup of coffee would be nice” “ and y/n..” “yes?” “ just call me Mark” your face flushes “ okay Mark” You handed Mark his black coffee and sat down on the chair next to him. “ so how have you been doing y/n?” you look at him “honestly” your eyes start to prick with tears, “ not very good. but i’ll be okay.” “ if you need anyone to talk to call me. I know what it’s like to lose a sibling” oh. that was right. a year or so ago Marks sister had been murdered, it was all over the news. Your reached your hand out to grip marks on the table, “ i’m so sorry mark” mark knew. your eyes said it all. such a sweet girl. mark ran his thumb across the back of your hand. “ it’s not your fault. the scum as who did it got what he deserved.” “ now i got to leave sweetheart but,” he grabbed a napkin and pen, “ here’s my number. you call or text me if you need anything. at all.” you picked the napkin, “ okay mark” mark kissed the top of your head and then he was gone. you were so red. had he really just kissed you? on your head, but still! Your mind was clouded with thoughts of Mark Hoffman as you drifted off into a nap in your bed. No thoughts of work which you would have to return to next week, no thoughts of jigsaw, no thoughts of eric. Just mark.

A couple hours later you awoke from your nap feeling refreshed. It was a dreamless slumber, but a welcome one. You walked out to your kitchen to get a drink, you saw your phone and the napkin mark wrote his number on. Why not. Just one text couldn’t hurt. You dialed his number and started typing your message.

hey it’s y/n. is this mark?

You placed your phone down, anxiously awaiting his reply. A mere five minutes later you got it.

this is mark. how are you?

all good here! how are you?

good, good. im working pretty late tonight. got a new case. its extremely messy

how not fun:/ make sure you give yourself a nice rest when you get home

oh don’t worry about me y/n. late nights are nothing new. but i got to go. i’ll text you later?

sounds good detective:)

You face was extremely red. He wanted to text you?! Talk to you?! This handsome, successful man wanted to spend time on you?

You decided you were gonna treat yourself to a nice long bath. Once you entered the bathroom you turned on your radio to play the latest hits, and filled the tub with bubbles and water. You engulfed your body in the water, and all the tension in your body slowly melted away.

An hour or so later you dried yourself off and changed into a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. You walked into your living, deciding you were gonna watch some of the golden girl reruns before calling it a night. You got comfy in your couch, but just when the theme song ended, chills ran down your spine. It felt like a set of eyes were monitoring you. Swiftly, you moved your head to look around. Nothing seemed unusual, you were probably just paranoid. Ignoring your gut, you adjust yourself trying to get comfortable and finish the episode.

The feeling wasn’t going away no matter what.!You got up to look around your one-story house, and see if anything was off. You knew the living room was fine so you decided you’d check the kitchen first. Nothing seemed out of the normal. The bathroom, the laundry room, the closets, everything was just the way you left it. Finally, you reached the last room, your bedroom.

At first glance everything seemed fine, but an unfamiliar photo on your vanity caught your attention. You inched your way closer to get a better look at the photo, it was you. You were sleeping, clothed in only a pair of panties and a tank top. Who ever had taken the photo must have been crouching right next you as you were sleeping from the angle the photo was taken. You were terrified. How long had this picture been in your room? It wasn’t there earlier.

You grabbed your phone and instantly dialed Mark’s number. Tears were falling down your face, you just wanted be left alone, be able to mourn your brother in peace.

“ hello?”

“mark?! mark please can you come here?!”

“ are you in danger? what wrong? i’m on my way!”

“ i think somebody’s watching me..”

mark didn’t say anything. if you could see mark through the phone you’d see his wife smirk. he got you just where he needed you. crawling to him for help, begging him to protect you.

“ i’ll be there soon.” and he hung up

you had spent your time pacing around your living room, glancing back at your bedroom from time to time. finally you heard the sweet knock that indicated your savior was near. You opened the door and instantly swung your arms around mark, sobs shaking your body. “ i’m so scared..” mark’s rough hand met your head as he cradled it into his chest. mark was so happy, you were so perfect. he had complete power over you. “shhh, it’s okay, i’m here now”

and mark wasn’t going to leave you, ever.

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living-dead-girl7 · 8 months

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Notes: I am so deranged for this man right now... anyway probably occ, typos because I am a busy gal who doesn't proofread, mention of blood, softness, and probably some canon divergence . Also I am not even going to try and use Russian words for this so just imagine any terms of endearment that are italicized are in Russian lmao

Moonlight filters into the room and casts a soft hazy glow across Nikolai's bruised face as a cigarette dangles from his lips. His hands find themselves tangled in your hair, as you gently rest your head on his chest. The delicate manner in which your fingertips trace the ink that decorates his skin makes him shudder. It's foreign to him, after so long you forget what it is like to be loved. His life is not his own, yet it feels all too real. His scars and tattoos are palpable, but the lies they tell deceive him.

Your soft voice interrupts his thoughts, "What's wrong?"

Nikolai looks down to be greeted by your half lidded eyes and a sleepy smile. He sets his cigarette down on the ashtray sitting on the nightstand with a small smile, "Nothing. Go to sleep dear." His gruff voice is like a lullaby to your ears, familiar, warm, and feels like home.

Your head lifts from his chest and your full body sits in front of him. "Nikolai-" you gently coo.

Before you can finish the question he shifts his body and opens his arms in a silent question. You happily indulge him, wriggling your way into his arms to gently rest your forehead against his. It's pointless to push him even more, so you resign to indulge him.

He wanted to answer you, but he couldn't find the words. In the back of his mind, he wonders what you truly think of him. You know of his work, what it entails, and the fictional nature of his whole facade. But truth and lies often fade into each other and form a murky pool that's easy to drown in. He wonders if you truly believe his words as he bares his scared and tattoo skin that screams the opposite. A constant reminder that tomorrow is not promised, it's a wish that crosses his mind every time he sees a star. He wonders if the blood on his knuckles make any difference.

There are times he knows you believe him, late nights when your limbs are tangled together and the only sounds are your soft snores. Or when you gently trace his scars and tattoos asking what they mean. Or like last month when you shoved your face into his chest after you shyly told him I love you in his native tongue. To him, it's tangible evidence you believe his word. If you didn't trust him, you wouldn't love him.

He knows that if he asked if you truly loved him, it would break your heart into a million pieces. Hot tears would run down your cheeks and he would look away because he can’t bear to see your cry. The first time you cried in front of him it felt like he was having a heart attack. His chest was tight and constricted, it ached to see you smile again, it ached to hold you in his arms and cage you in so nothing could hurt you. He yearns to protect you, he knows he has too.

Your devotion can be heard in every word uttered in his ear, every hug, kiss, and night spent awake waiting for him to walk through the door bleeding out. He knows that everytime he walks through that door, there is someone worth living for.

The sound of your soft snores break him from his thoughts. Gentle inhales and exhales grace his ears and he swears that you said his name. Before he can fight himself even more, he lays back down with you cradled in his arms, for now, its heaven and always will be.

#eastern promises #nikolai luzhin #viggo mortensen

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living-dead-girl7 · 8 months

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im working on a couple of bo pieces rn and I am obsessed with eastern promises at the moment so there will defiantly be some Nikolai pieces soon...

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax #eastern promises #Nikolai eastern promises #nikolai luzhin

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living-dead-girl7 · 8 months

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to those who have sent requests, I am working on them! I have just been busy :)

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living-dead-girl7 · 8 months

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Brian Van Holt as Bo Sinclair in House of Wax (2005) 09/??

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living-dead-girl7 · 8 months

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Bo with a crybaby s/o ig

(as the emotional youngest child.. say thing nothing to me rn) (ALSO I did not proofread this AT ALL. Say NOTHING.)

Bo thinks crying is weak, it’s for babies and young children. It’s only for them because they don’t know better, they have no grip on reality. It’s excusable but nevertheless he hates the shrill and piercing screams of babies. He hates to see them squirming, a reminder and image of his younger self.

But when he saw you cry for the first time, it was different. It was soft, almost nonexistent. The only sound being soft sniffles. The sight of salty tears rolling down your cheeks and your eyelashes clumping together made him feel a twinge in his heart.

He didn’t know what to do. Every time he cried as child he was punished. As he thrashed and screamed, hot tears rolled down his cheeks—he didn’t notice. But his father noticed, and berated him for it.

You are different, you are his baby. His.

He was unsure of what to do. He didn’t know if he should hold you or give you space. He only stood there in the doorway looming over you and casting a shadow.

The light from the hallway illuminated his back and made him look like a guardian Angel, or perhaps a fallen angel. He stared you down with his brow furrowed, thinking of every scenario that could have led here.

He thinks it’s his fault, because that’s how he was raised. Everything is his fault, every broken window, every disaster, was his fault. But with you, it no longer was his fault, it was the worlds. It failed him and you here to teach him, shape him, mend him.

He can’t stand the way you look. He wants his smiling baby back. The one that laughs uncontrollably at the tiniest joke, the one that snorts from laughing so hard when tickled.

After awhile you glance up at him, mistaking his gaze for one of anger rather than confusion and care.

His ears are met with a soft, “I’m sorry.” This causes his brow to furrow even more. In return, he gives you an equally uncharacteristically soft, “for what?”

The tears threatening to spill over well up in your eyes.

Bo kneels down, fixing his hand under your chin to inspect your face. He gingerly moves you head to see if you are injured , “Are you hurt?”

He feels you shake your head no.

“What’s wrong?”

Those words tip you over the edge, spilling the tears you were holding in.Bo curses at him self, feeling like it was his fault. It makes him feel like a teenager again, when his parents would get mad at him for simply existing. It hurts. It all does. It hurts him to feel like this, it hurts him to see you feel like this.

Bo is now hunched over and mulling over what to do. Should he hug you? Leave you? Pick you up?

He stares at you before gingerly scooping you up in his arms and making his way to your shared bed. The bed dips from the weight as he sits down with you in his arms.

The sound of his boots meeting the ground break you away from your thoughts. The softness of Bo’s undershirt calms you down. The mix of grease, sweat, and tobacco lingers on the shirt, but you don’t mind, it’s home.

His hand is aimlessly rubbing small circles on your back trying to provide any sort of comfort, trying to give you all he can.

For a few minutes the two of you only sit there, your tears staining his shirt but he can’t seem to care.

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax #brian van holt #slasher

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living-dead-girl7 · 10 months

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A violent man calling me a good girl would fix me

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living-dead-girl7 · 10 months

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Hi!! I hope you are doing well! But I was just wondering if I may request head-cannons for Bo Sinclair with an s/o who dresses in vintage fashion? (Vintage clothes, hair, jewelry, makeup, etc…) If not, that’s cool! Thank you and have a wonderful day!

Bo Sinclair with vintage style (fem) S/O

Masterlist

First things first, Bo is a pretty traditional guy so he loves your vintage style!

Buuuuuut… it takes him a while to realise how much he likes it.

Bo is used to seeing pretty victims girls stroll through his little town, but those girls are a different kind of pretty y’know.

Bo knows very well that he finds tight jeans and skintight tops attractive.

So seeing you in a much more traditional style with your beautiful bright flowing dresses and perfectly curled hair-

He has to do a double take.

It doesn’t take him long to realise he finds you gorgeous.

Not just the look, but the cute little accessories like your handbags or hair clips just make it all the sweeter for him.

When you’re in an established relationship Bo’s always on the lookout for jewellery that fits your style.

(It’s a pretty sweet gesture, but you may want to question its origins if he gives you jewellery)

Also will not let you come keep him company in the garage while you’re ‘all dolled up’ - his words.

Far too afraid of getting your dresses ruined.

But will absolutely give you some coveralls to wear if you really want to stay with him.

(He secretly loves seeing you in them cos you tie a cute coloured bandana round your waist like a belt because the coveralls are too big, and he thinks you look like those fifties posters of working women* which is really cute!)

Kind of expects you to take on the house wife role a bit in the home.

Cooking, cleaning, etc.

(Aka all the jobs Bo, Vincent, and Lester typically neglect)

It’s part of the reason he let you stay in Ambrose in the first place, only to end up falling in love with you.

If you have no problem taking on these roles, great! Happy family!

If it’s not how you’d ideally spend your day, don’t be afraid to stand up to him.

Bo’s really the only one who bosses anyone around, Vincent and Lester wouldn’t dream of telling you what to do.

So if you stand up to Bo and tell him you won’t be taking on all the domestic tasks yourself, you’ll probably shock him enough into agreeing with you.

You typically have such a sweet demeanour that telling Bo off would probably catch him off guard.

If you use the power sparingly enough, he’ll come to realise that you only ever call him out on his bullshit if he’s being genuinely unfair and is very quick to make it up to you.

Tried to make you a pie once to make it up to you after being an ass, but it went horribly, so you spent the day with him baking a pie properly.

He’ll never admit it but he had so much fun and absolutely loved spending time with you in such a domestic task.

(Next time you bake something ask if he can help out and make it sound like he’d being doing you a favour (he wouldn’t) and he’ll jump at the chance to bake with you without having to admit he likes baking)

A/N: hope these are ok! Lmk if you have any other ideas or requests!

*for reference, these are the fifties posters I’m talking about:

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living-dead-girl7 · 10 months

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Bo musings

warnings: mentions of violence, bos parents, and just Bo. If I missed anything let me know

The blood under his nails would have never bothered him years ago, so used to being unruly and unkempt.

(You say he cleans up nice, but he knows his soul is far from clean, not nearly as polished as yours. His needs to be scoured.)

His veins are grimy and flow with poison. Fortunately, the only anecdote to poison that runs freely in him is you.

He never wanted it to be that way, he wanted to infect anyone he could and make them suffer.

He never wanted the cure to appear, to caught up in destruction and unwilling to see what it was doing to him

Now he craves your tender touch. When he lays under the truck just as he did before you came he find his mind wander to you. The way you walk, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. Oh that smile, that honey sweet smile that makes him sweat. He truly feels like a sinner in church, but refuses to acknowledge that he has sinned because he doesn’t want forgiveness, he only wants you.

The blood under his nails are now excruciatingly prevalent to him, they burn through his skin and he wants to hiss.

Not because it hurts but because it will hurt you.

Every time he walks thought the door he can feel your eyes burn into his skin. Scanning for injuries and blood. Always worrying if it’s his. You only care if it’s his. You have never shed a tear for the tourists, only did you sob into his chest when he bled in front of you.

He doesn’t even know if the blood under his nails is his. He feels a dull ache somewhere in his body, to drained to even care. He only wants to come home to you. To lay on the couch and watch the television illuminate your form as you snuggle into him.

Sometimes, he questions if your real. He says, with a teasing tone, “You are to sweet for this town honey.” But underneath his words lie a truth, in his mind.

He truly believes you are too good for Ambrose, for him.

At times like that, he needs his hands to grip the material of your shirt to make sure you truly are real, and not a figment of his imagination.

You can feel the tension in his muscles as he presses you close to him, his grip never loosens, only tightens

The cotton if his t shirt is soft against your cheek, as his hands ball up the extra fabric of your shirt.

He can feel you turn and look up at him, your chin pressing softly into his chest.

He can’t bring himself to glance down because he knows what you are going to say, what meaning your eyes hold.

Oh those eyes. The eyes that stare so loving at the broken pieces he presents to you. So eager to glue them back together, and make them fit.

Your gaze is the only one that has truly been solicitous. His mothers wasn’t, nor his fathers… nor the victims who stared at his wrists burning to ask what happened, without care for what it has done to him. But you, your gaze held no malice no matter how hard he tried to make you mad at him. No matter how hard he tried to get you to hate him so he didn’t have to feel weak, soft, and loved. He never wanted love, or that’s what he told himself, or maybe it was because his mother and father told him he was unlovable, a monster, a burden. Either way he despised the way his chest tightened when he saw you. He hates how you worked you way into his life, how easily you fit it, how good you make life seem.

He wishes he found you earlier, before he became who he is. He wishes he could have thrown rocks at your window as a teenager to coax you into sneaking out to the outskirts of Ambrose. To sit under the stars with the future ahead of you and ever so gently cradle your face in his hands that haven’t been tainted with blood just yet.

But he will gladly settle for the present if he means you are there in the future. He only asks that you promise him that you will be there.

He promises that he will be there for you, no matter what.

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax #brian van holt #Slasher

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