#and don’t fucking get me started on the CONSTANT CONSTANT feelings of abandonment

[nightly-ruse]

I think I may be a little odd

#I’ve been thinking about like everything/neg/pos/breakdown inducing #and I think I’m mentally I’ll #like yeah no shit but also it’s very clear #I literally got out of breath the other day talking about wolves and Yellowstone bc I was talking so fast about them #also have very wild mood swings paired with abandonment issues constant shame for ppl caring about me and trauam over friendships bc #so many have gone wrong and I’ve been forever changed or abandoned (both in one case) #I mean I met this girl at a school meet and she just reminded me of a person who hurt me. they had the same same mannerisms looked similar #besides the hair and I had a full panic attack. I feel bad about that she probably was really nice #or how I feel sick just thinking about the local park bc it’s where I was forced to hang out with a ex friend that wrecked me #such a mixing bowl of bad traits #I can focus I can’t remember I’m either too lazy or too hyper to stay still I can’t regulate tone well and scare myself constantly just by #talking. relationships always end in a burning bridge even when they were so good bc I get so paranoid and scared they’ll leave that I leave #myself. jumping to crazy conclusions to the point I start hallucinating due to stress #I mean how do I even explain to my therapist that my only good friends ended with me skipping school the last days bc I thought one died. #she actually just left school early. #that one I kinda get even tho it’s fucking nuts bc tjat year has mentally burned me so goddamn much but still #and even tho I’ve kinda had a constant itch that something completely explains why I’m this way but am too scared to bring it up bc of #change and trauma related to bringing up my own mental health #I don’t even know what thsi is anymore sorry #should just shut up and sleep #I’ll be fine by morning anyways so what does it even fucking matter #ruse rambles #vent tag

[helluvapoison]

Nice To Eat You

[ii]

The Vees x Cannibal!Reader

warnings: drugs, suggestive, rosie slander, dark themes, violence, security shenanigans and, hello, cannibalism

heads up: if you didn’t know, the people of cannibal town are hellborn; born in hell, never lived on earth, never sinned! their life spans are unknown(?) but seem to age as a human would, unlike other demons

Cannibal town has been off limits to The Vees, courtesy of Vox, ever since the incident with you know who. Meeting you was a suspicious surprise for them. You were kicked out of said town by Rosie for giving cannibals a bad name. Can you fucking believe the irony!?

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Suspicious might be an understatement

• For the longest time, Vox is unnerved by you for every other reason than your appetite. Anyone associated with Rosie is an adversary by proxy. If you take Alastor out of the picture, Rosie is still an Overlord and all Overlords will inevitably crumble to The Vees– even if they don’t know it yet

• There’s an expression for that though, isn’t there? Keep your enemies close. That’s exactly how Vox went about dealing with you

• Gives you a job as his security guard. Hell knows he needs one, what with the price of fame and all, those dirty fucking sinners that try and touch him wherever he goes

• It’s a slow development because neither of you initiate conversation

• Vox is beyond used to the rotating door of demons in and out of his life. He abandons the names of anyone that isn’t you, Velvette or Valentino (Angel Dust and Alastor he can’t forget against his will)

• Becoming attached to you while simultaneously waiting for the other shoe to drop is fucking awful. It feels it like a bug in his system, annoys him to the point his screen starts glitching one day

“Just what the fuck are you up to!? I know you’re with Rosie–”

You knew, on some level, Vox didn’t trust you all the way but it didn’t bother you because he hardly seems to trust anyone. So you cut him off with a mix of a snort and a scoff,

“Rosie? Rosie’s a cunt. She gave me the boot years ago, haven't seen her since.”

Involuntarily, he begins to smile, “Years, huh?”

• Trust is another slow endeavor. Now that Vox doubts your motives slightly less than before, he can silently appreciate the fact you do a damn good job of keeping demons away from him. Bonus: if you happen to take a chunk out of them for shits and giggles, blood never touches his pristine self

• “I believe I owe you an apology,”

“Am I going to get one?”

• In a way, sure, but you’ll be sorely disappointed if you thought it was with words. He invites you to dinner. From that moment until you arrive at the restaurant, he’s reveling in the constant state of shock you seem to be in

• Your eyebrows jump when the waiter nervously lifts the lid from your plate and reveals ribs. Real, demon ribs

“Surprised?” Vox asks rather smugly

“Somewhat,” You return his sly smirk, “Most can’t stomach my… indulgences.”

“I don’t have a stomach. I think I’ll be just fine.”

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Vel doesn’t give two steaming shits about Rosie or her backwards, unflattering town so long as it doesn’t interfere with her enterprise. Vox’s grudges are his own. If The Vees got hellbent and demented over each other’s EOTD (Enemy Of The Day) nothing would get done!

• During a pathetic comment war on the her social, a few threats became too detailed for Vox’s liking

• A cannibal wasn’t his first choice– or second, or third– but you’d certainly scare off anyone trying to hurt his business partner!

• Velvette’s far from worried about being lunch when she meets you.

• “You’re my–? No. Absolutely not! I can’t be seen with this.” She gestures to all of you

“You’re not exactly making me drool either,” You mutter under your breath

• Judging by the looks of her partners’ faces, stunning Velvette to silence was impossible. Key word: was

• It didn’t last long and hasn’t stopped since

• She pulled out every trick in the book to get you to quit. She gave you a uniform to wear during your shifts, tossed fabrics at you until you turned into a living clothes rack, forced you to hold her phone during her live streams but criticized and berated the way you did

• For fucks sake, she even screamed at Vox to let her fire you!

• You didn’t need her to like you and that was as obvious as it was infuriating. She was Velvette! Everyone loved her! Having you around was like a black eye; literally bruising her ego and bad for business

• Or so she thought

• She made you stand in the shadows of her studio so you wouldn’t frighten anyone and ruin photoshoots with your “freaky face” she so eloquently put it.

• Velvette was mid fashion crisis, yelling at Joanne for the gazillionth time, when you approached from behind

“I’m taking my lunch.”

“Fucking fantastic! Here, have Joanne since she insists on being fucking useless!”

Playing along, you let a guttural growl rip from your throat, making Joanne jump high in the air.

She squeaked and shook her head vigorously, holding her hands in surrender, “I-I’ll be better, I swear!”

• Her candy cane eyes widened in delighted surprise. How had she been so blind to your potential usefulness!?

• Velvette could get high off the new game she created with you. It was like having a scary guard dog– only better dressed to aesthetics. Paparazzi didn’t dare touch her now, standing at a respectable distance that made her more unattainable and desirable than before

• Her attitude change makes her like-able to you too, she’s heaps more pleasant to be around now. You don’t mind doing the extra stuff that wasn’t in your contract like being a dress up doll, dealing with the pet names or escorting her to events. She knows and takes advantage of this instead of saying how she feels

• “You’re my arm candy now, dollface! You go where I go.”

“I hardly think I qualify as arm candy,” You mumble to her, overtly aware of how she holds you close to her

“If you’re fishing for compliments, fuck off to another pond. I don’t waste my free time with uggos,” She says seriously, abruptly smiling as a camera flashes in her direction, “Now get ready. Fans have been dying to get a picture with me lately and if anyone smudges this dress with their dirty fucking fingers, I want you to bite them off!”

“Anyone that touches you won’t have hands tomorrow,” You promise

• You swear she shivers upon hearing that

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• The easiest by far to get along with. In a mortifying way

• Val is fairly accepting of all Hell’s creatures. It’s typically followed up by something sexual but, hey, you’re not in a position to complain, not when no one else in Hell would willingly sign up to work with a cannibal. Especially one outside the confines of Rosie’s civil town

• Rosie’s loss is his gain

• You would be lying if you said you weren’t expecting him to turn horror-struck but he barely blinks when you explain what you did to get exiled. Your savage methods intrigue him, a plethora of potentials just waiting to be explored. In fact, he goes a step further to praise you for being different

• “Hell would be deathly boring if everyone thought the same way, darling. That’s what makes you so… alluring.” He rolled his tongue with the last word, dragging it out and making it ring in your ears

• You’d been called many things in your afterlife, but never that

• You feel rather useless at the moth’s side. You were supposed to be protecting him but he could take care of himself just fine. Val was about the tallest in every room (if not the tallest) with guns hidden under his coat that he never used

• Later you’d understand he only reached for them as a last resort, when his head was unclouded by blood lust

• If you ever voiced your complaints, he’d be quick to reassure you that you make him look good. What powerful Overlord doesn’t have bodyguards? (Do. Not. Answer.)

• However the day does come when you prove your services have merit. On set of all places! A coked up Hellhound didn’t take kindly to Val’s directions, sending a demon wielding a boom mic flying towards him

• Valentino dodged the demon with ease, whipping around and aiming his pistol to put the dog down. Instead he saw you pushing the mutt’s face into the ground, his arm pinned at an angle. Your sharp teeth were bared at his throat, drool dampening his fur

• But you made no moves without Valentino’s say-so

• There’s a lot he could say about the scenario you provided him and how it made him feel– but he only calls your name, beckoning you back to his side

• Where you belong

• “You’re lucky I don’t like hair in my food,” You growl in the Hellhound’s ear before following after Val

• Valentino may be a mastermind of porn and sex but he knows the real way to a demon’s heart, it’s is the universal love language

• Unbothered by blood, he’ll sit pretty and poised on his loveseat while you tear into the meal he provided you. A thanks for a job well done

• “You’ll never go hungry now that you’re with me, monstruo,” The pet name is dripping with adoration, “I won’t waste you like that bitch did. Look at you, you’re already so special.”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ i lost the request that went to this but i hope it reaches them. cannibal!reader got that rizz, huh?

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #vox headcanons #vox imagine #vox x reader #velvette headcanons #velvette imagine #velvette x reader #valentino headcanons #valentino x reader #valentino imagine #help i’m actually falling for val

[jazzsonly]

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ

pairing(s): tara carpenter x fem!reader

warning(s): angst. tara being a bad gf and overall MAJOR asshole. lowkey bloody description of heart break. barely proofread. ooc tara.

summary: oh the things you did just so you could call tara yours.

*inspo. song: favorite crime by olivia rodrigo

part two.

────────✬────────

when you first started dating tara (six months ago) you loved nothing more than how caring she was. she stood up for you when there was a chance to(no matter how silly,) she jumped at the chance to walk you to your car, she would constantly beg for you to stay over, and so on and so.

you also just adored her nerd obsession with horror movies, no matter your distaste for them, she somehow made you love them too in a weird.

in short, you just loved tara as a whole…back then.

now? you still love her but it was a bitter love.

feeling like you couldn’t even recognize your own girlfriend was a hurt of it’s own. after the ghostface attacks, it was like tara, well wasn’t even tara. she were constantly drunk, you feel like the only time you ever got a hold of her was when she called drunk out of her at some frat party needing a ride.

she no longer attended your dates, didn’t want you to stay over, oh and the constant arguing. mostly her accusing you of things and claims you to be clingy when you wanted to spend time together.

one night it got so bad, she were just yelling at you while you cried, feeling so small. sam had to step in and stop the girl before she yelled you to death.

despite all that, here you were settled on the couch and ready for movie night with the core four. as much as you loved them, no doubt that they were your second family. you couldn’t help but feel lonely in the moment.

nearing the end of jeeper’s kreepers and tara had neglected to sit next to you the whole night. in fact, she were seated with amber, her head leaning on the girl’s shoulder.

nothing but bitterness filled your mouth at the sight and the feeling.

sure you had chad and sam by your side but obviously you want your girlfriend by your side to cuddle with.

“that movie never gets old. a straight classic.” chad commenting while he stood as the credits rolled.

“facts.” amber then spoke, standing with the boy.

you stayed put while everyone piled to the kitchen for dinner, hoping tara would stay with you.

“tara.” you spoke meekly, almost afraid.

“what?” she was on her way to the kitchen as well.

“why didn’t you sit with me?” you watch as her hands coming to her hand, a big sigh, and an ‘oh my god’ under her breath.

“can you please not start tonight? i want to enjoy one night without you being a bitch.”

“tara, i’m not being a bitch. i just want to know why my girlfriend didn’t sit with me, but yet is cuddled with another girl.”

“okay, one i was not ‘cuddled’ with amber and two maybe i just didn’t feel like sitting with you, is it your abandonment issues? is that why you’re so fucking clingy?”

so much for opening up to her about your mom. you thought at the girl’s comment.

your leg bounced up and down, she were starting to raise her voice and the last thing you wanted to do was argue in front of your friends. it was embarrassing enough for it to happen in front of sam.

“nevermind.” you swallow a lump in your throat, trying to join the others but tara grabs to your wrist.

“no. you wanted to fucking complain so bad and ruin my life! you are such a fucking burden y/n. do you know that? you make me hate everyday with your shit and i’m sick of it.”

you intense chew on your lip, stopping the tears.

“well if that’s how you feel…”

“that is how i feel.” she threw your wrist down, walking by you as if she didn’t just shatter your soul.

you walk past the kitchen, uttering on about how you were heading to the bathroom.

somehow, with any strength you had left in you, you didn’t cry. you took a few deep breaths, repeating:

don’t cry.

don’t cry.

don’t cry.

before stepping out, to finally join the others.

as much as you wanted to laugh and be in conversation with everyone, you couldn’t. your mind wouldn’t allow you. all you could think about was tara.

why? why was she doing this me? why? when she claimed to love me much and to be in love?

how could she be doing this me?

who even was she?

it was like a shotgun to the heart, your blood and your heart, in pieces all over the wall and you couldn’t do anything but watch it splatter.

“y/n?”

you look to chad, “huh?”

“you okay? you’ve barely said anything?”

“yeah,” you clear your throat. “i’m good. i just don’t thinking i’m feeling too well, i should head home.”

despite sam offering you to stay, you declined and bid your goodbyes to everyone, well, besides chad who offered to walk you to your car.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, be good.” you joke, pulling the jock into a hug.

“yeah uh…listen, i heard all tara said to you and—

“it’s nothing…it’s fine, she’s just going through stuff.”

he paused, looking at you for a second. “that’s no excuse for what she said to you, y/n. she talked to you like she didn’t even know you. you shouldn’t let someone treat you like that…no matter how much you love them.”

“we’re all going through it, including you. trying to watch our backs for ghostface, even if things have died down a little, it’s still scary knowing he’s out there. so please take care of yourself, i love you. you’re my best friend…i don’t want to see you hurt…especially not from tara.”

you weren’t really sure want to say to the boy, of course you meekly told him you loved him too, pulling him into yet another hug. this time tighter and longer.

for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt loved. it may not have been from who you wanted it to be but still you felt loved.

you settled in your car, locking your door. you couldn’t help but break down, you felt so many intense emotions at once, you thought you could hold them in but chad’s speech brought them out.

✬

needles to say, you clung to chad every movie night for the past couple of weeks. it turned from best friend to a big brother to you.

he even took you out to breakfast, listening to you rant about tara and her ruthless nonsense. though he was a bit of an airhead, he gave you advice to the best of his knowledge on relationships. you didn’t take it, knowing it were no good.

the last time he actually dated a girl not just fucked one was in second grade. you still appreciated the attempt though.

tonight was yet again another movie night and you happily took the seat next to chad, who mindlessly put his arm around you.

“uhm, i was kind of hoping to sit with y/n?”

you had to make sure you weren’t dream.

tara wanted to sit next to you? you guys have barely spoken in two weeks. all it’s been is good morning text tara didn’t respond to until mid noon.

chad looked at you for approved and you gave him a timid nod. that’s all it took for him to give his seat up.

tara proudly put her arm over you, like chad had, taking you by surprise again. as much as you wanted to ask, you didn’t. you couldn’t risk ruining this sudden surge of affection.

the sudden surge of affection that lasted half way through the movie, until tara whispered in your ear.

“you think you’re so slick? fucking my best friend behind my back.” and there it was. you could smell a hint of alcohol on her breath.

thanks amber, for getting the parton. you sarcastically thought.

as best as you tried to ignore her, once again not wanting to argue in front of everyone. you couldn’t ignore tara repeatedly calling you a whore in your ear.

“slutting yourself out all because i don’t wanna go on a date with you.” and that’s when you broke.

you abruptly stood up, “enough tara.”

everyone’s eyes on you but you didn’t care. you had the courage chad had handed you and you couldn’t waste it.

“you hate me so much? you think i’m a whore? fine. i’ll be that and nothing to you at all. i’m done and so are we.”

— part two?

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter #mindy meeks martin #amber freeman #ethan landry #chad meeks x reader #chad meeks martin #scream six #ghostface #jenna ortega

[danikamariewrites]

Take Them All Down (part 1)

Rhysand x reader

A/n: with all things I write I don’t really know what part of my brain this came from. I’ve had this story idea for a while I just never had characters to use it with. Maybe one day I’ll use it with my own but until then enjoy Rhys with a depression beard. Idk why but I mated Az and Feyre plz don’t be mad.

Warnings: death, angst, poison, blood, reader buried alive

You came to with a sharp inhale. The first thing you see is Beron Vanserra smirking down at you. You try to sit up but quickly find the male is kneeling on your chest. As you struggle against him he clicks his tongue at you. “Now, now y/n. None of that.”

You gave up. Tired from the brutal hours you spent fighting Hybern’s army. Before you could scream Beron gripped your jaw so tight he forced your mouth open. He dumped a small vial of clear liquid down your throat, quickly forcing your jaw shut so you’d swallow.

Once he let go up you started coughing, gasping for air. “What the fuck did you do to me?” You croaked out. Drowsiness started to take over your body. Your limbs feeling weak and tired. You fight the urge to close your eyes, attempting to flip your body so you could crawl to Rhys.

As your eyes closed you saw Beron’s mouth move but you couldn’t hear his threatening words. You just drifted off into an endless darkness.

——

It felt like you heard years pass as you stayed in the darkness. You heard Rhys cry out in anguish. A priestess and a somber organ and then nothing.

——

It’s been one month. One month without you and Rhys had become a ghost. He rarely leaves the Town House. Amren and Mor have been running the court. Cassian, Azriel, and Feyre are out of ways to help him.

The High Lord has barley said a word since you died. He just spends his days draped in an armchair, a glass of never ending whiskey clutched in his hand. Rhys had stopped shaving. A dark scruffy beard now covering his sharp jawline. And the bags under his eyes deepened as the days pass.

Rhys knows his family means well but it didn’t make him feel any better as he overheard their constant muttering. “What do we do?” “Has he ever been this bad before?” “He wasn’t like this after under the mountain.” “I’m worried he’s going to do something…drastic.”

If Rhys had the energy to move he would’ve left the Town House weeks ago. But this was your favorite place. He couldn’t just abandon it to collect dust. Rhys scratched at his beard and cleared his throat. The conversation in the hall paused for a moment as the family listened for a moment and went back to their whispers.

—

The five of them held their breath for a beat, then let go as the sound of ice clinking against glass breaks the silence. Cassian scrubs at his face with both hands. Amren shakes her head. Azriel speaks up first, “I’m out of answers.” Mor hugs herself and Feyre holds Azriel’s hand.

“What about other friends?” Mor asks. Azriel shakes his head. “I have intel that Helion and Kallias have been dealing with their own issues.” He lowers his voice more, “Day and Winter are in trouble. They may collapse in months, weeks even.” Amren’s eyes widen in shock. “Why?” She spits out. Azriel shrugs. It’s killing him to not have the answer.

Amren let’s out a huff as she voices what everyone fears. “We might be headed for the same fate if something doesn’t change.” They all look to the sitting room, sending up a prayer to the Mother.

——

It was hard opening your eyes. You still felt groggy from the battle. And then you remember Beron kneeling on you. The clear liquid burning down your throat. You jolted up but hit your head on something hard, forcing you down again.

Your eyes fly open. Your breathing fast and hard. It’s pitch black. You feel around the dark enclosed space. It’s getting harder to breathe.

Cushioned siding and smooth wood meet your fingertips. Your mind is racing. Then it clicks. Beron put you in a suspended state. The bastard fooled everyone into thinking you were dead.

Oh Mother, Rhys! Your mate was tricked into burying you.

You felt anger surge through you. Resting your palms against the smooth cold wood. Taking one more deep breath you pull back your fist, throwing all the strength you have into splintering the wood. It didn’t budge.

You switched fists. Willing the wood to break under your knuckles. You kept alternating fists. Punching again, and again, and again, and again.

A scream ripped from your lips and heavy tears started flowing from your eyes in waves. You didn’t yield. Continuing your assault on the coffin holding you back from the world.

Dirt finally fell through a crack onto your stomach. You jerked and felt something metal against your leg. They buried you with your sword. Strapping it to the belt of your dress you went back to breaking open the coffin. Your knuckles were gushing blood, stinging from the loose wood and dirt.

Another wave of strength and anger came over you and started kicking at the lid. The lid splintered in half allowing dirt to spill in. You sputtered as it fell into your mouth and eyes. Willing your arms to move you push the dirt away from you.

You begin to dig upwards. Crawling all six feet to the surface of the earth.

That was the tough part. Punching through the tightly packed ground was harder than the coffin. As your fist broke the ground you spread your fingers, feeling the cool night air.

Punching over and over again you got both arms out. You push the ground apart with what little strength you have left, pulling yourself from the grave. Gasping down air lighting cracked above. You rest for a moment, curling up on the ground.

Rolling on to your back a wail comes up from your chest. More tears run down your face, leaving tracks on the dirt coating your face.

A blood curdling scream of anger comes next.

Rain begins to pelt your face. You breathe a sigh of relief. You feel alive again.

You want to see Rhys but the need for revenge is overpowering. The anger rattles your bones as you begin to shake.

Flipping over you push yourself up on tired and bloody hands. Fingers seeping in to muddy ground. You focus on breathing and your ability to winnow.

As your power flows through you, you focus on getting as close to the Forest House as possible. Wards be damned. Let him know you’re in his court. In his home. Death is coming for Beron Vanserra and you will be the last person he ever sees.

—

Rapid and hard knocks shake the door of the Town House. Cassian rips it open so hard it almost comes off its hinges. A city guard is standing in the rain looking worried and disheveled. Tilting his head at the guard Cassian noticed the male seemed pale.

“What is it?” “I am sorry to disturb at this hour but there is something the High Lord must know.” Cassian’s brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing. “The High Lady’s grave it’s…been disturbed.” Cassian almost fell to his knees. “How?”

The guard looked like he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. “Speak!” The General commanded. “It’s been dug up, sir.”

Cassian left the door open as he rushed to the sitting room. The Inner circle looked to him with curious faces. “Rhys,” he strode over to kneel before his brother. “Y/n’s grave, it’s…”

Rhys showed his first sign of emotion in weeks. It was unreadable. He shot up from his seat and pushed past the group to the front door. Rhys broke out into a sprint in the pouring rain. They followed and didn’t stop until your grave came into sight.

He halted inches away from the ripped up ground. Dropping to his knees Rhys’s lip trembled as tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t scent another person. Just you. Only one thing was on his mind as he broke out into hysteric laughter.

There had been something off about your death- Rhys just couldn’t verbalize it until now. The mating bond wasn’t gone it was just…dull. Like it was waiting to wake up again. Azriel and Cassian wrapped Rhys in their arms tightly.

“She’s alive,” he forced out through laughter and tears. The group looked at each other concerned. Azriel’s shadows were swirling around like crazy. Covering your tombstone, the hole in the ground, and the ripped up grass around them.

They finally came back to rest by his shoulders. One circling his rounded ear. As the shadow whispered Azriel’s eyes widened at their report.

He looked to Cassian, bewildered. It was true. You are alive. And the shadows haven’t a clue where you went. They needed a plan. And there are too many questions.

—

You ended up at the bottom of the main stairs of the Forest House. The guards didn’t notice you until it was too late. You beheaded them, kicking the doors in.

Stomping down the hall you sliced through each guard you came across. Leaving a trail of blood to the throne room. One of Beron’s sons, you don’t know which one, didn’t care, tried to fight. You brought him down to his knees keeping a death grip around his throat with your arm.

Entering the throne room you climbed up the dais throwing the male down hard, your sword poised at his throat. Guards and other court members rushed in.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t drop your scowl or lower your sword. You wouldn’t back down from Beron. “Bring me Beron Vanserra or he loses another son!” For emphasis you pushed your blade against the trembling males throat.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #rhysand angst #rhysand x reader #rhysand imagine #rhysand acotar #rhysand #rhysand x reader imagine #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

Would love to be abducted and used as a breeding toy by monsters with ovipositors. Being fucked so full of eggs I can’t move, as intended. Every time one of them approaches I beg “no no no no I’m too full I’m too full.” They flip me over onto my stomach and raise up my hips so that my belly is touching the mattress. They slot their massive cock/ovipositor against my hole already slicked from constant use to hear me moan, popping the tip in and out until they shove in roughly all at once and start fucking me with abandon.

I wail in pleasure as their cock literally rearranges my insides, the perfectly round bead-like eggs massaging against the most pleasurable spots in my body with every thrust. They pull my hips back to meet their thrusts and enjoy the sight of their massive cock making my gratuitous belly jiggle, the little moans I can’t help but let spill out. Pleasure is coursing through my body and knocking all coherent thoughts from my head, and when their cock starts rhythmically spurting thick fluid to make room for more eggs I get a little stupid. Perhaps it’s something in their cum but my no no no no’s turn into pleading yes yes yes yes please fill me!

The monster and his buddies standing in the doorway laugh at how quickly I turned so subby for them, begging for harder and faster and deeper and more. They tease me for saying I was too full earlier, asking if I was sure I could take it. The monster inside me slows to a tortuous pace. I’m fully gone now, pushing back against the monster as much as I can to get more friction, begging and pleading for them to fill me, how much I want it, I’ll be so good for them and take all of their eggs, please please just don’t stop—

They begin thrusting into me again at a punishing speed, determined to fuck their eggs and cum into me as far as they can. I’m only capable of saying “uh uh uh uh” with every thrust as they well and truly play my body like an instrument. I feel a couple final spurts until finally, they thrust in as far as they can go and begin cumming hard, laying their eggs in the process. My belly expands impossibly more, my eyes roll back into my head and my mouth opens in a choked wail as my first orgasm wracks my body.

But I know we’re far from done. The monster gives several hard thrusts to push all the eggs as deep into my cavity as they will go before stepping aside. My spread legs and gaping hole leaking cum with eggs trying to escape an open invitation to the next monster, who quickly peels away from the edge of the room. They grip my thighs hard and spread my legs even more, eagerly lining up their cock to graze against my hole. In autopilot I move my hips back to take the tip and in response they thrust in all the way to the hilt. Their balls slap against my ass as they set a brutal pace to fuck my mind away.

For the next several hours I am just a wet leaking moaning hole to be fucked and filled by these creatures’ thick viscous cum and perfectly round eggs massaging my insides as they move. Just a toy with no thoughts that spreads my legs wider for them to abuse my hole much as possible—Not that I could find it in me to complain anymore with how good it feels.

As my hole gets thoroughly abused and cum leaks down my thighs, having lost count of how many times I’ve orgasmed, I half wonder if it would feel just as good for the eggs to come out as they did going in, and if they would fuck me then too…I couldn’t wait to find out

.

#monsterfucker confessions

[proverbsss]

reading you right (father paul hill/john pruitt x reader) -nsfw

Father Paul Hill, Midnight Mass

prompt(s): "Me. You. Bed. Now." [from this post]

[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]

anon: I had a normal amount of fun writing this, hope you enjoy :) i wanna do a pt. 2 because ofc i do,, honestly I got a lil hot n bothered lmao

notifs: paul hill is a tease!! ; shoe-grinding ; fluffy smut ; hierophilia ; you're father paul's dirty little secret ; denial ; reader begging ; reader's down HORRENDOUS ; terms used: good girl, slutty thing, pet

"You've been lying there moaning for ten minutes." Father Paul chuckles, trying to focus on his reading.

You feel your leg twitch as you lay on your stomach, looking a bit dazed across the room. A giggle escapes you. In your mind's eye a constant stream of images plays- every dirty thing you’ve done with Father Paul in the last 48 hours, a rare weekend’s reprieve from prying Beverly Keane, sitting bedside with her sister or aunt or who-the-hell cares on the mainland. It was too easy to sneak into the house behind St. Patrick’s, and too goddamn pleasurable to leave after the first night. A delightful ease of domesticity has settled over the two of you. And you’re even more whipped for the Father than you were when this whole messy arrangement began.

"I can't help it-"

"It's understandable to whine like a whore while I'm still inside you, but cooing like that when I'm not even touching you is a little ridiculous." Smug, he licks his finger and turns a page. "A man's ego can only grow so big."

“What are you reading?” you ask, completely uninterested, and your voice betrays it. You might enjoy a good book now and again, but something worlds more tempting is sitting before you. In his jeans and tee shirt, only his glossy ankle boots remaining, Paul is a rare sight out of uniform, like something sent from heaven. Or Hell. Both, somehow.

“You asked me that fifteen minutes ago. Or did you forget already?” He shoots you a disapproving, but playful look. He can hardly resist you more than you can him. Hardly. There is that last smidgeon of reserve that Paul prides himself on. He can’t be bothered to think of you as a sin, because life’s become far, far more complicated in the last few months than any one man can hold in his head, and because it feels like paradise to touch you.

Caught in your inattention, you abandon the ruse of asking about his book. "You fucked me too good...." You whine.

"You're going to complain about it?" He laughs at you.

"You're laughing at me." 

"Of course I'm laughing at you," he admonishes. Not to be taken in by your wiles, Paul's eyes trace the paragraph he's started unsuccessfully three times.

"You whine before I fuck you, you whine while I fuck you, and you whine after I've fucked you. You're silly."

The vision renews itself in your mind of last night creeping around in here, your excitement waiting in the antechamber of St. Patrick’s late at night, Paul sneaking up on you in the dark and taking you in that muggy little den where they keep the wine and spare things. You want him to grunt against your ear like that again, to fuck you like he needs you in order to breathe.

"I'm not silly!" You gasp out. He hears the difference in your voice and scans your body with his eyes. Grinning. He licks his bottom lip and pretends the fool. “I want it, please, I want it, I don’t caaaare…” Your caterwauling would be annoying if it wasn’t so bone-deep genuine. Paul could probably keep you here forever as a pet, a secret from innocuous parishioners, visitors from all walks of life, and you’d be satisfied as long as he used you from time to time. Fed you.

“Oh, that’s undignified.” He smiles, turns the page and hopes he can pick up without the aid of the passage his mind simply refused to retain.

You get on all fours and start to crawl over to him. You tug on the leg of his jeans, utterly debased.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” his tongue flicks and flutters around the word in a musical way that you know you could find better uses for. You nod. His voice. He could guide you anywhere with it. To make things worse, he imitates you. The facsimile of your lust in his voice is enough to make you jump him. “‘Father, I can't focus on my book....Father, please fuck me with your fingers, I can't without it, I need it...I told you pack things to stay because I imagined I’d be enjoying some downtime other than between my sheets.'"

You bite your lip, the adoring way you look up at him unfairly reminiscent of Biblical portraiture, the Madonna (too ineffably ironic), Saint Lucia, devout, suppliant little succubi. Paul’s heart breaks a little, and his cock twitches with interest, which he endeavors to suppress. 

“What’s that look for, child?” He plays up the religious bent of your dynamic, something that presses inexpressibly sinful and delicious buttons in your dirty mind. 

"I do need you."

You pout. Your words with Paul repeating them was enough to rev your proverbial engine. You shift just the littlest bit, yet the friction of the floor underneath you is enough to tease out a whimper. Not totally on purpose, but not totally by accident. John chuckles again. 

“Present tense?” He pretends to turn a page, but he’s not reading a damn thing now.

"I need you all the time you're not in me.” It’s filthy, but it feels true in these moments when all the thoughts are leaving your head empty. 

He smiles one of his private smiles. His eyelids crinkle as he reaches up to scratch his cheek. "Let's not be pornographic, huh?"

"I wanna fuck again..."

"What else is new?"

"You've ruined me." He looks at you then like you’re something to eat. The book is shut and put down. You have your beloved hot priest’s attention. His eyes ask, smoldering, what will you do now you have it?

“You have my boot. Or aren’t you smart enough to get yourself off.” His tone shifts and a shadowy, serious dominance settles in his countenance. Every behavior, every quirk of his expression, curve of his smile, owns and owns you. He may plead and beg to bury his head between your thighs from time to time, on one occasion he may have shown up at your door, his satchel a deceptive front for rope and ribbon, which you were to restrain and blindfold him with. Life’s too short for dynamics that don’t shift and change like the tides. But in this moment, this energy, you are his. And he intends to impress that upon you.

You gape at him just a moment, heady lust clouding your already addled brain. Then slowly, carefully, you adjust your position, grab the upper part of Paul’s calf, and hoist your lower body up onto his shoe, your pelvic bone bumping his shin. Any hesitations or embarrassment that linger in you drown in the deeper, sweeter excitement of feeling some real friction as you roll your hips. Oh. God.

This might be the senseless, reckless need talking, but fuck. Just the sensation of the toe of his shoe right between your thighs, exactly where you need it, makes you feel a little bit crazy. You look up at him in awe, and thank God he’s not picked up his book again but instead is sitting comfortably, his gaze dropped low to watch you, his groin thrusting the tiniest bit forward at nothing, too much nothing. He groans, and you chase your pleasure like a thing possessed.

Words slip out of your mouth without a shred of logic behind them, and Paul tells you to repeat yourself. He bites his bottom lip as he watches you. “Hello? Still a brain in there?"

“I said you make me so sensitive,” you mumble, finding a new groove in the contour of his shoe, where it meets his ankle, and leaning on his knee, shaking, groping for his thighs, all involuntarily. Your dripping, dripping on his shoe, and the thought of how uncivilized that is makes Paul bite his fist.

"Uh huh, so it's all my fault, then."

"Yes..."

"Yes, 'what'?"

"Yes it's all your fault, Father."

“It’s my fault you’re going to cum on my shoe?”

You whine again. Your soul’s leaving your body, want spreads through every inch of your body, intense and blinding, high, so high.

“C’n I cum, please, can I cum?” You pant, feeling his hands wrap around yours, warm and loving. 

“Look at me, pet.” He orders. You obey. His irises envelop you. You steady yours on them, trying to get a grip, breath filling your belly and leaving your parted lips in rapid gasps. “No.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise. Disappointment isn’t the word for it, desire lets itself out as a sound. You slow down, somewhere in a high place you hear him say:

“Stop grinding, slutty thing. Your Father told you ‘no.’”

You sink against him, laying your head on one of his thighs. He kisses the top of your head, and murmurs, “Good girl. Good girl, good.”

Fireworks are setting off under your skin, your thighs are trembling, every bit of you is sticky. “That wasn’t easy, I bet.” He says, voice condescending and sweet, but every bit as needy as you are. You make another noise in response. 

“I’m not done with you, you know,” he takes your chin into one of his hands, lifts your head. He kisses you again, with a fierceness that just sharpens your feeling. “I’m not even close to done with you.” He rests his in your neck, kisses you once, twice, up your jaw, on your cheeks, the ear he can reach. He bites your earlobe and almost hisses, “Me. You. Bed. Now.”

[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]

#midnight mass #john pruitt #father paul hill #thirsting hours #monsignor pruitt #monsignor john pruitt #father paul #fic tag #midnight mass fic #father paul x reader #hamfam smut #my blabber #tfw you can't even write your smut drabble well bc you're feral for the man you're writing about

[tsumtsumrry]

(based on an ask i got on my old acc)

warnings: mentions of cheating, language, angst (obviously)

AN: i can’t decide if this is too long or too short just please enjoy lol (i‘m a slut for feedback and reblogs btw)

“Ha-harry. Need to you pick me up.” Your voice was choppy, with the sobs you’re trying your best to suppress.

“Love? Wha’s happened?” his voice slurs a bit, and it sounds gravely from misuse, letting you know you woke him from his sleep. You feel a pang of guilt hit you and you just feel so miserable, like everything is your fault. You were hoping Harry could make it better, but being a burden to him just makes you feel worse.

“Just, just need you to pick me up. I swear I’ll explain e-everything, just please.” A sob finally breaks its way through and you hear rustling on the other line.

Harry’s heart is breaking listening to yours break like this, he asks for directions, speeding his way to you, breaking way too many traffic laws in the process. He just needs you to be okay, always needs you to be okay.

As soon as you see his car pull up and him running out of it you practically sprint him, collapsing into his arms.

“Precious, what’s—“ he’s distraught, panicked because what could have you acting like this. Sobbing in him arms on an abandoned street at nearly three A.M. in the morning.

“Please, please just take me home. Please, Harry.” you croak, your throat stinging with every word you have to force out.

For the most of the car ride you were in shock, not saying anything until you got to Harry’s house. You’re glad he took the hint that by home you meant home.

He his your home. Your best friend of at least ten years. You don’t remember a time where he wasn’t a constant. He’s everything to you.

It’s takes you a couple days of staying at Harry’s house in comfortable/uncomfortable silence for you to break down and tell him everything.

The look on his face, when he figured it out, before you even said anything, you’d never seen such pain, anguish, and fury. And the fact that you were causing all of it only made you feel worse.

Your fiancé of two years, with another woman. You’ve never been so fucking crushed. You felt like you were worth nothing, what had you done wrong? How could you be so unlovable?

He knew you like the back his hand though, and he could tell exactly the dark places your mind was going.

“Precious, none of this is your fault, I need you to look me in my eyes and tell me you believe that.”

You just blinked at him, with your lower lip wobbling and eyebrows crinkling in pain.

He never fucking liked him, knew he was a piece of shit. He wants to put him fucking six feet under for what he did to you, but right now, you’re the priority.

“Precious…” he breathes out and his voice sounds so full of pain and heartbreak, he pulls you into his arms and holds you until you fall asleep, kissing your head and rocking you back and forth softly.

“Didn’t deserve this. Didn’t fuckin’ deserve this.” he whispers under his breath once he knows you’re asleep.

It took you a while to heal, but you’re still taking one day at a time. Harry has helped you through it, letting you cry with him, always coming to you the second you needed it. And with all this growth, you felt you were ready, ready to get back out there. Start dating again. You’ve decided you can’t let what he did to you ruin your self esteem for the rest of your life.

“So what do you think?” you ask Harry, holding your chopsticks in your hand. He’s typing on his computer, barely paying attention to you.

“Harry.”

“Hmm, precious?”

“What do you think about Shawn?” you say for the second (or maybe third) time today.

All at once the annoying clicking sound of the keyboard stops and Harry’s intense jade eyes are boring into yours, “Shawn? Shawn Rivers?”

“Yeah.” you smile, getting a little bashful, “met him at that coffee shop we always go too. He’s cute and he asked me out so I think I’m gonna go…what do you think?” you say that last part cautiously, your eyes assessing his reaction as best as you can while most of his face is hidden behind a large computer.

He’s gotten a little more protective of you since last year, which is understandable, but if you can move on you figure he can too. Right?

The typing starts back up, only slower and you frown.

“Harry?”

“Hmm.”

“What do you think?” You swear if you have the repeat that sentence again you’re gonna explode.

He just shrugs, his typing becoming faster and more forceful, your eyes flick down to how his arms and from what you can see, there’s a faint vein.

“Harry c’mon I really need your opinion on this.” You whine, truly not understanding why he’s being this way.

“Don’t think you want my opinion, love.” his tone has a bite to it that you aren’t fond of, your frown deepens.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you say cautiously, you’re choosing your words carefully. You’ve never been a big fan of confrontation, especially with those that you care so deeply about.

“I know Shawn, he used to work with me, just don’t think he’s right for you.” he says with a tone of finality.

Your face wears bewilderment, and you look up to see his face, still hard and still concentrated on the computer. He looks absolutely emotionless.

“Not right for me?” you scoff, “and how exactly would you know?”

He looks up from his computer screen, pausing his typing, “I know you and I know him. Simple.”

To you Harry looks emotionless, but under all that he’s seething, but not with anger, with panic and heartache. He had just figured out that he loved you, literally just yesterday. He was working up to courage to say something and then you come in here and tell him you’re ready to start dating other people? No way.

“Well maybe you’re wrong about him.” you say defensively, though your defense is hardly strong with the way your voice wavers.

“Well fuck, I was right about the last one wasn’t I?”

You freeze. What?

Harry’s heart drops as soon as the words leave his lips and as soon as he sees the look on your face.

The shock, the pain, he never wanted to be the one to make you feel this way, never wanted to be on the list of people who’s hurt you.

“Precious…precious I didn’t mean—“

“Leave.” you croak out. Your heart is shattered. Never in your life could you ever think that Harry would say anything like this to you.

“No please, let me—“

“I want you to leave Harry. Please.” your lifeline. The one person you depended on, and you can’t even look him in the eye.

He knows how much what happened affected you, and just to throw back in your face like that? For what?

He takes a step towards you, extending his arm but his heart breaks when you take a step back. You hate that you know him so well, that you can read his eyes, because you can see when the pain flashes in them.

“Precious, please we can sit and talk, you know I would neve—I-I didn’t mean it.”

“Leave, leave, leave.” you mutter, losing your patience.

“Okay, okay. I’m gonna leave, alright? But I’m gonna call you. Is that okay?” you just stare blankly at the floor. “Precious?”

You wish he’d stop calling you that.

When he realizes you’re not gonna give him an answer he slowly picks up his stuff, you here a sniffle but don’t dare to look up, not wanting to see the tears in his eyes.

“I love you, alright? Love you so much. Please, please answer my call.” and with that he leaves.

You immediately burst into tears, your hands shaking and your breath shortening.

How could he say that to you?

Harry calls you a total of eight times before he finally gets the hint that you aren’t gonna answer. You sat by your phone and watched every time his face popped up on your screen with tears streaming down your face.

Maybe you’re overreacting? Surely he didn’t mean it.

H : Precious, you have no idea how sorry I am. You know I would never purposely use your pain against you. Please answer. H

You note that there’s no “xx” after the message.

“Preci-“ He cuts himself and yells your name. You chose the perfect day to go to your favorite coffee shop, there he was, in all his glory.

“Hi.” you mumble, looking shaken.

“Hey.” he breathes out, just in awe that you’re actually in front of him. His pretty girl, god he missed you so much.

“Can we…um talk?” you surprise him by asking. You can see the relief in his eyes, the way they practically well up with tears.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d…like that. Thank you.”

“Why’d you say it?” you immediately blurt out the second you guys are sat down not-so-comfortable on your couch.

How does he even begin to explain that to you?

“I d-dunno to be honest. I was obviously being a dick. I didn’t know what I was saying, a-and that’s not an excuse but I—“

“Did you mean it?”

“No—No of course not. Could never mean—“

“Okay.”

“Okay?

“Okay. I um—just need some time. Sorry.” you mumble.

“Don’ have to apologize fo’ that, love.” his accent is so thick with all the emotion in his voice and it brings on a new wave of tears to your eyes.

“Can I hug you?” he croaks out, “I know I don’ deserve it but I missed you so much and—and I didn’ know if you were okay. Was worried sick I just—I”

You cut him off by pulling him into your arms. Feeling him try to hold back his sobs against your chest your heart breaks, you just wanna keep him in your arms forever but you can’t deny that what he said really hurt you.

“Sorry” he wipes his nose and detaches from you “I’ll see you. I love you.” he rushes out his words, sounding like he’s about to break down and before you can even blink he’s out of the house.

The pain in his voice wrecks you, and you’d honestly do anything to make it go away, but you need to work through your pain first.

It’s a week before you call him. You wanted to do it earlier, but you had your phone in your hand hovering over his contact, chickening out every time you got close.

You processed your emotions, talked it out with him, and you think you actually got somewhere.

Harry told you why he said what he said, and that conversation ending in tears. You not believing he was actually in love with you and him not believing he actually got it off his chest.

What he said still hurt you, but you understand how his pain turned into irrationality.

You can’t believe it but it feels like everything’s fallen into place.

“Hi, Precious.” he smiles softly at you, reaching over to hold your hand across the table, “missed you.”

#harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry writing #old

[bella-goths-wife]

Slashers with a femme fatale S/O

Michael Myers

You two had met one night when you had lured a much older man to the Myers residence thinking it would be abandoned, little did you know that Michael was watching you from the corner of the dark home

He watched as you whispered dirty things in the man’s ear and rubbed his arms

Michael thought you would be like his usual victims, young and horny, but he definitely did not expect your next move

Just as Michael was about to make a move to kill you both, you slashed the old pervert with a delighted smirk on your face

As you went to grab the mans wallet, Michael appeared and grabbed your shoulder

He was so curious about you and he wanted to know if you were like him

You, obviously shocked, tried to think of ways out of the situation thinking that he was going to Kill you

So you seduced him and, because you were covered in blood and he was still technically a virgin, Michael accepted and let’s just say you couldn’t walk in the morning

After that night you snuck out and left Michael to deal with the body of your victim

After that Michael started showing up at your kills, watch you kill your victim and then the two of you would hookup while being covered in blood

After a few times of this happening you two started a kinda relationship

Surprisingly Michael is not jealous over your victims, he understands that your only doing what you have to do and your not attracted to them

He will mark you up more in sex though so he always has a reminder that you belong to him

Possibly one of the healthiest relationships you could have with Michael, possibly because if your ever frustrated with each other you both just kill and fuck your problems out your system

He will use you as bait sometimes so that you two could share a kill

Or if he needed to lure someone back to the house or if he needed someone innocent looking to get close to one of his potential victims

Bo Sinclair

You two met when you car had broken down while passing through Ambrose and the first thing he had noticed about you was how dolled up you were just to be going on a drive and the second thing was how expensive your car was

Little did he know was that you were actually just looking for your next victim and little did you know he was thinking the same thing, he also thought about how pretty you’d make the house of wax

He takes a look at your car, with constant flirting between you two as you both acted out your usual acts

As he goes to look under you hood, you grab a near by wrench

But before you could do anything, Bo noticed there was nothing wrong with your car and quickly realises you were faking

He swings his head just as you miss it with the wrench

There’s a moment of silent realisation for a solid minute before you go to attack him again

He holds you off and you both get into a fight which eventually turns into a heavy make out session

Before things go any further, you lure Bo closer to a table full of tools which you grab one of to whack him over the head with which knocks him out cold

Bo wakes up to his wallet gone, his register raided, your car gone along with some spare parts and a not stuck to his forehead saying “better luck next time ;)” with a kiss on the bottom of the page

Bo doesn’t give up on you and searches seedy bars for months before he finds you again, you were flirting with an older, rich looking man and Bo was overcome with pure jealousy

He follows you into the bathroom and when you recognise him you smirk followed by the two of you getting hot and heavy in the bathroom stall

After that you are in a established relationship with each other and Bo puts down some ground rules to your “career choice” which is basically him saying don’t have sex with your victims

You agree but that doesn’t stop Bo from feeling jealous so whenever your about to kill your victim, he comes over and kisses you hard on the mouth while groping your chest

Pretty good arrangement if you ask me 😩😩

Vincent Sinclair

Actually meets you through Bo

You and Bo were friends from accidentally trying to kill each other

Sounds like you should hate each other but it actually just became a funny story for the both of you

Bo introduced you to Vincent in an attempt for you to be a distraction for him so he would stop bothering him

Vincent doesn’t actually understand what you do but when you sit down and explain it to him, he actually finds it quite cool

You both become partners after Vincent became jealous of one of your victims forcing him to admit his feelings to you

Is actually okay with your style of killing as long as he doesn’t see it and he will get jealous from time to time but is quickly reassured by you that your only flirting with them to kill them or steal from them

You help him build his collection

You both swipe through tinder and Vincent tells you if he wants to add someone to the wax collection

It’s like ordering art

He adore you and worships the ground you walk on because he doesn’t want you to think he’s like the others who are using you for your looks

Thomas Hewitt

You both meet after he finds you in town, you were flirting with an old man

The man looked at him in disgust and when Thomas had passed you both the man had made a comment on his appearance and called him a freak

Just as Thomas was about to kill him he turns around to see you use your clearly sharpened hair clip to slash the man’s throat

When he looked you with blood in your hair and the most innocent smile on your face he swore he saw an angel

You apologised for the man’s behaviour before trying to walk to your car

Thomas catches up to you and awkwardly invites you over to his house to eat

You wanted to refuse but something told you that doing that would escalate the situation so you accepted

You met the family that night and most of them liked you mostly because of your good looks and how nice you were to Tommy

When you and Thomas decide to become partners, you tell the family what you do to make money

You are judged harshly but the complaints suddenly stop when your bringing fresh meat to the home every week

Thomas doesn’t get jealous and actually finds it attractive that he has something that so many other people wanted but couldn’t have

Acts like your personal body guard if you bring a victim back to the house to kill

If a victim hurts you somehow Tommy will instantly protect you

Your career actually fits in perfectly with the Hewitt residences way of life

Tiffany valentine

You had both met at a club when Tiffany spotted you from across the room as you were dancing with a man

You made eye contact with her and shot her a lustful look and Tiffany was instantly attracted to you

So is it surprising that when she catches you killing the man you were dancing with a few minutes ago that her first reaction is to kiss you passionately?

You both start a relationship pretty quickly because of how intense you both are

She would never get jealous but she will pretend to get you to “prove” that you belong to her in the bedroom

Will actually help you rob and kill victims

You would lure men to the trailer park with the promise of a threesome with two hot goths

Then you would murder them with multiple stab wounds before kissing and having VERY intense sex for a few hours afterwards

Asa Emory

You two meet because you enrolled into his class

You thought a simple single professor would be easy to seduce so you stay late after class and work your magic

But unfortunately for you Asa Emory is way more then a simple professor

Your put into his games but you quickly become his favourite pet with how eager to are to please him

That mixed in with the fact your a psychopath who is always looking for the next opportunity

After you develop Stockholm syndrome you two become official

After that you are practically partners in crime as well with you luring his victims to a place with no cameras

#asa emory x reader #bo sinclair x reader #michael myers x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #femme fatale reader #tiffany valentine #Tiffany valentine x reader #bo sinclair #asa emory #michael myers #thomas hewitt #vincent sinclair #female reader #fem reader

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

North To The Future [Chapter 5: Sabotage]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

A/N: With the completion of Chapter 5, we are officially 1/3 of the way done with this fic series! In my opinion, things start to get really interesting in Chapter 6 so I am sooooo excited to have reached this little milestone. Thank you so so so much for reading and for your enthusiasm, questions, rants, analyses, theories, memes, and general emotional investment in NTTF. I go back to re-read your comments/tags ALL the time and they help keep me motivated to get new chapters out asap. 🥰💜

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, veterinary medicine, discussions of sex, questionable decisions, Kimmie-related chaos, Trent flexing his athletic skills.

Word count: 5.6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario​ @meadowofsinfulthoughts​ @ladylannisterxo​ @doingfondue​ @tclegane​ @quartzs-posts​ @liathelioness​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @thelittleswanao3​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @b1gb3anz​ @hinata7346​ @poohxlove​ @borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @travelingmypassion​ @graykageyama​ @skythighs​ @lauraneedstochill​ @darlingimafangirl​ @charenlie​ @thewew​ @eddies-bat-tattoos​ @minttea07​​​

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It’s November 29th, the Monday after Thanksgiving. It’s also your lunch hour.

You yank open the glass front door of Caribou Crossings, the souvenir shop where Heather works. It’s mostly abandoned now that tourist season has ended, and the unloved relics stare at you with cold, oddly sentient eyes: the owls carved out of cedar wood, bears carved out of jade, Russian dolls, miniature totem poles, plushie salmons. You climb over the counter and sit on the floor behind the cash register, your back pressed to the wall and your arms linked around your knees. Heather is breaking open rolls of coins to restock the register, probably unnecessarily; you are the only two people in the store.

She asks, wrestling to get quarters out of a particularly stubborn wrapper: “How’s it going?”

“Not great.”

“Have you fucked British Kurt Cobain yet?”

“We’re not speaking.”

She puts down the roll of quarters and looks at you. “What happened?”

You shrug, trying to act casual, trying to not let your voice crack. You don’t think there’s any threat of tears; you’ve cried so much in the past four days that you seem to be out of them. Your eyes are perpetually pinkish, puffy, exhausted. Despite your herculean efforts to remain hydrated, you have a constant low-grade tension headache that throbs like a bruise, misery trapped beneath the skin like blue-violet blood. “It’s a long story. He came over for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Okay.” Heather is perplexed. “And then he, what, drunkenly dropped the turkey on the floor? Tried to hook up with your mom? Offered to show you his collection of murder supplies?”

You smile wearily. “No. I told him that he had to get sober. And he freaked out, he was yelling, he was saying I don’t have any right to try to control him because he’s not mine and never will be. He said I was trying to use him to bail myself out of my spineless, unfulfilling life.”

She scoffs. “Well that’s not true.” Then she observes your face. “Is it…?”

You shrug again, feeling like you’re back in high school, petulant and powerless. “There are a lot of things I want to experience, a lot of places I want to go. But I haven’t done anything yet. Because I can’t tell my parents that I don’t want to stay in Juneau forever and run the vet clinic.”

This must shock Heather, but she doesn’t show it. “I can’t imagine that they would want you to stay if it made you unhappy.”

“No, they wouldn’t try to stop me. But it would break their hearts.”

There is a long, uneasy silence. At last, Heather says: “I think you should come to Ursa Minor tonight.”

“I don’t want to see Aegon.”

“I mean, Dale would probably kick him out if we asked.”

“No!” you shout, too quickly. If he doesn’t have his preferred place to drink his demons away, he might leave Juneau long before the six month deadline.

Heather raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to see him or do you not want to see him?”

You glower at the wall strewn with large, framed photographs of the Northern Lights. “I want him to apologize.”

“I have many talents, but I can’t make that happen for you,” she says. “Look, is it possible that Aegon will be at Ursa Minor? Yeah, totally. But other people are going to be there too. Me, and Joyce, and Kimmie, and Trent and all his dimwitted muscley friends…there are going to be people who care about you. There are going to be people who can help you through this. We can comfort you. We can distract you. We can curb stomp that Greek boy in the parking lot if he doesn’t behave himself. There are a lot of options.”

Lyrics from The Distance, unexpected and unwelcome, spin around in your mind like a vinyl record: She’s hoping in time that her memories will fade. “I’ll think about it.”

“Can I interest you in a complementary Juneau-themed trinket? Glacial mud mask? Moose nuggets? Birch syrup? A slightly sinister-looking stuffed salmon?”

“No. I’m good.”

Heather asks with a straight face: “Do you want me to kill him?”

You laugh, your first real laugh since Thanksgiving. “No, thank you very much, but no.”

“Seriously. I could make it look like the Ice Fisher did it. No one would ever know.”

You gaze up at her from where you sit on the floor. “I love you.”

“I know, bitch.” Heather grins. “Wear something slutty this time.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve spent a lot of time in your bedroom since Thanksgiving; you don’t want your parents to see you upset. They know something, of course, but they don’t interrogate you. They don’t intrude. They probably assume that you’ve broken up with Aegon—not that we were ever dating to begin with, you think sullenly—and, furthermore, that this is a painful yet indisputably wise course of action. It is a productive sort of pain, a necessary pain; it is like the deep maroon ache of a healing bone. It hurts less now than it would if you had stayed with him, married him, had children with him, attempted to build a life with him like a sandcastle razed again and again at high tide. It hurts less than if you had let yourself fall in love with him.

Oh, but didn’t I?

Alaska was purchased from Russia in 1867, just two years after the American Civil War ended, and was soon widely regarded by the still-recovering nation as a hopelessly remote and burdensome error. This impression was reversed only by the discovery of gold and the subsequent mass migration of miners to the territory beginning in the 1890s. After the booming gold industry came fishing and logging and oil and military bases, but gold was Alaska’s first saving grace. This is what you are thinking as you pencil on your black eyeliner, dust your eyelids with sheer gold glitter, paint your lips a vivid, glossy crimson. You stare at your reflection in the bedroom mirror, surrounded by photographs of your family and your friends, high school and college and vet school. There’s one image that doesn’t quite belong. It’s a cutout from one of those infinite travel magazines, a Ford Mustang convertible soaring down the Pacific Coast Highway in Southern California. The man behind the wheel—tan, beaming, carefree—is wearing sunglasses and a neon green tank top. The convertible is bright red; it is nearly the same shade as your lips.

You slip into a dress you haven’t worn in years: black, short, off-the-shoulder sleeves. Ever-practical, you opt for black boots instead of heels. When you arrive at Ursa Minor, Heather is wearing a sequined hot pink tube top and white leather pants. Joyce is wearing—to Heather’s abject horror—overalls, a rainbow striped T-shirt, and a massive mustard yellow scarf that nearly swallows her into oblivion. By a pure and unfortunate coincidence, you and Aegon match. He is sitting at the bar in all black: black turtleneck sweater, black jeans, black combat boots, black sleepless shadows under both of his eyes, a black mood that sweats out of his pores like a fever. Randomly, you remember the gold chain necklace he was wearing on Thanksgiving. It didn’t look fake, and it didn’t look cheap. To your knowledge, it is the only thing of significant value that he owns. It is a peculiar luxury for him to possess.

So what? Maybe he stole it. Maybe he traded drugs for it. Maybe he got it off a corpse that he strangled and then sank into cold, silent darkness beneath an ice-covered lake.

But no, you don’t believe that. You never did, and you still don’t.

Heather slurps down her Sex On The Beach. “Is this your revenge dress? Are you invoking the spirit of Princess Diana in this fine establishment tonight?”

You gaze miserably at Aegon. He is peering down into the caramel-colored bubbles of his rum and Coke. The stereo is playing Shania Twain’s Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under? “He told me he’s an awful person. That’s the worst part. Like he told me over and over again exactly what to expect and I didn’t believe him, because I was just…just…I don’t know.” Infatuated. In love. Blind. Naïve. Hopeful. “Stupid, I guess.”

“I hate men.” Heather glances to the bar. “Except Dale, he’s okay.”

“The fictional ones aren’t all bad,” Joyce says, flipping a page in her newest fantasy novel. This one has a pirate on the front, his billowing white shirt mostly unbuttoned and his long hair flowing in the wind like a hero’s cape.

“I’ve had a horrendous fucking day,” you moan. “There’s the Aegon thing, there’s the I’m never going to get out of Alaska thing, there’s the I’m going to die alone thing, and then on top of all that, I had to euthanize Ms. Ruland’s cat right before we closed.”

“Sylvester Stallone?!” Heather cries. “Sylvester died? That black and white homicidal little maniac? With the super long whiskers? Jesus, that’s tragic. I’m sorry.”

“In all fairness, he was like a gazillion years old. He probably remembered when dinosaurs roamed America. But it was still awful. Ms. Ruland was a mess. I felt totally unprepared, totally useless. I’d practiced in vet school, of course, but I’d never euthanized an animal I knew before. It was horrible trying to comfort Ms. Ruland. It was horrible seeing someone walk into the clinic with someone they loved and then walk out alone.”

Heather and Joyce nod with sad, sympathetic eyes, wanting to help but not knowing what else to say. You gulp down your pineapple-flavored Bacardi Breezer. Aegon must have complained about the Shania Twain music; Dale switches out the CD and the opening notes of Sabotage by the Beastie Boys rockets out of the stereo.

Kimmie throws open the front door and blusters into Ursa Minor, shaking the snowflakes out of her hair and wearing a sleek, skin-tight, metallic silver dress and matching platform heels. She looks like a disco ball; she looks like a mirror. She canters to the bar like a racehorse and orders herself a Miller Lite. She says something to Aegon. He mumbles back, still peering into his rum and Coke. She tries again. He shrugs and downs the rest of his drink. He glances at you—almost glaring, almost sad—and then orders another rum and Coke.

“Oh no,” Heather mutters. “Oh no, oh no, Kimmie, no.”

The front door opens again, and Trent and his friends spill inside in a loud, riotous swarm. They order beers at the bar—Trent fist-bumping Aegon, several of the other guys descending upon Kimmie to make bungling attempts at seduction—and then they migrate over to the pool table like a honking, brainless flock of geese. Trent breaks off to make a pit stop at your booth.

“Hi,” he says, smiling as he sips his Heineken.

“Hi,” you reply. Heather and Joyce’s eyes dart between you and Trent.

He points to the spot beside you, which is presently vacant. “Do you mind if I hang out for a while?”

“I think you’ll regret it. I am currently extremely depressed and boring.”

To your surprise, Trent doesn’t act like a dumbass. His voice goes gentle. His face collapses into soft, attentive pity. “What’s there to be depressed about?”

Well, you see, I accidentally fell in love with your maybe-murderer alcoholic homeless friend and in a completely unforeseeable turn of events he ruined my life. “I had to euthanize a cat today.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Trent says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my job. I should get over it.”

“No, seriously, I’m sorry.” Trent tosses his hair off his forehead in his patented horse-like maneuver, and then his gaze comes back to you. “Your job is to help animals, so I get that not being able to fix one would be really tough. But I know you’re still great at your job. I know you did everything you could.”

You stare up at Trent. Heather stares up at Trent. Joyce, having completely forgotten about her fantasy novel (a rare occurrence), stares up at Trent. Trent swallows a mouthful of Heineken; stray beads of it drip down his full lips and stubbled chin.

I couldn’t fix the cat. I couldn’t fix Aegon. I can’t fix myself.

“You can hang out if you want to,” you tell Trent, scooting over to give him space. He grins and slides into the booth, tall and broad-shouldered and tossing his hair around again, looking like goddamn Seabiscuit. You steal a glimpse of the bar. Aegon’s jaw has fallen open; he’s gaping at you with scandalized disbelief, with something like horror. You move a little closer to Trent. And Aegon, at last, turns his attention to the dramatic, irritating, captivating Kimberly Barbieri.

“So, Trent,” Heather begins slowly, apprehensively, then picks up steam. Beside her, Joyce picks up her book. “How is the salmon genocide business going?”

As you half-listen to Trent talk about fishing, which somehow—as all topics seem to do with him—leads back to football and his high school glory days, you drink your Bacardi Breezer and watch Aegon with sharp, narrowed eyes. He has relocated to the barstool next to Kimmie. He appears to be asking her questions—tentative, stilted questions—and she replies with animated laughter and calculated little touches: her fingertips grazing his wrist, her palm briefly pressed to his shoulder. You hate the way Aegon talks with his hands, those gestures which had been becoming so familiar to you. They put an ache in your chest like a nest of barbed wire.

“Bro!” one of Trent’s friends is calling from the pool table. Others are waving encouragingly. “Bro, come play! Come play! Broooooo!”

“Looks like you’re being summoned,” Heather says.

“Oh, wow, I guess so.” Trent turns to you, nervous. “Do you…uh…would you…maybe…like to join me?”

“What, playing pool?”

“Yeah.”

You try to consider this in earnest; your mind is so tangled up in Kimmie and Aegon and everything that’s transpired over the past week that the words barely sound like English. Playing. Pool. With Trent. “I don’t think I know how.”

“I’ll teach you,” he offers, quite willingly.

“Okay, maybe. Give me a few minutes, I need another drink first.”

“Want me to grab a Bacardi Breezer for you?”

“Thanks, but I’ll do it. I haven’t decided which flavor I want next yet.”

“Cool,” Trent says. He slips out of the booth and gives you one final, mock-stern, smiling warning. “Remember, I’m going to teach you how to play. Meet me at the pool table. Don’t forget. Don’t disappear.”

“I’ll be there,” you promise. He departs. You say to Heather: “I probably won’t be there.”

“Why not?” Heather asks. “You’re hot. You’ll be even hotter when you’re bent over a pool table lining up your shots. The Greek boy is already sad, but I want to see him devastated.”

“I don’t think I have that power.”

Heather smirks and wiggles her slender eyebrows. “I disagree.”

Across Ursa Minor, Kimmie leaps off her barstool and leaves Aegon to guzzle his rum and Coke in peace. She approaches your booth sheepishly, like a dog that knows he’s chewed a considerable hole in his owner’s favorite La-Z-Boy recliner. “So,” Kimmie says to you, nervously kneading her glass bottle of Miller Lite. She’s so fucking cool, you think mournfully. Cool girls drink beer, cool girls are lighthearted and fun, cool girls don’t take guys too seriously, cool girls never ask about the future. “You and Aegon.”

You drink the last of your Bacardi Breezer moodily. “What about us?”

“You aren’t…like…together, are you?”

“No. No way. I’d rather date O.J. Simpson.”

“Well…” Heather begins, and you kick her under the table. Bitch! she mouths, rubbing her shin.

“Okay,” Kimmie sighs in relief, a smile breaking across her face. The Christmas lights reflect off her silver dress; she glows, she radiates. “Good. I was hoping he wasn’t off-limits, but I wanted to check with you first. You know, in accordance with Girl Code.”

“How courteous,” you note.

Kimmie marvels dreamily: “He looked so freaking good strumming that guitar.”

“Um, Kimmie…” Heather begins again. You glare at her ferociously. Heather pivots. “He’s probably the Ice Fisher, so you should keep your distance.”

Kimmie laughs. “Aegon? The Ice Fisher?! I don’t think so. You have to be sober to meticulously kidnap and murder people. Besides, from what I’ve heard he’s slept his way through like half the souvenir shop cashiers, and none of them ended up dead.”

You stare down at the table despondently. Heather, floundering, puts her fist through the figurative In Case Of Emergency Break Glass box. “He has syphilis.”

Kimmie gasps. “Really?!”

Heather deflates. “No. Well, actually, I don’t know. Maybe. It’s certainly possible. We should assume the worst.”

Kimmie, for once fully in on the joke, winks. “I’ll let you know once I’ve investigated.” She strolls back to the bar in her short mirrorball dress, shimmering and lithe like a snake’s skin.

“To be clear,” Heather tells you. “I was not in the half of the souvenir shop cashiers that Aegon boned.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?! Why didn’t you tell her that…that…?!”

“That what?” you snap. “She asked if we’re together. We’re not. We never were. He made that crystal clear. And if he’s not going to get sober, I’m not going to get involved with someone like that.” Someone like Jesse. Someone like the man my mom still carries scars and bruises from, not in the flesh but in the soul.

“But…but…” Heather frowns at you with pained, condoling eyes. “You…you love him. Don’t you? You look like you love him. You look…and I mean this in the most compassionate way possible…you look fucking terrible. You look like someone died, and I’m not talking about Sylvester Stallone the geriatric cat. Joyce?”

Joyce gives you an evaluative glance. “Yeah, you look terrible.”

At the bar, Kimmie is leaning all over Aegon and giggling about a story he’s telling. His hands move in dramatic, expressive gestures. He is, for the first time tonight, smiling. There’s a jolt like knuckles jabbed beneath your ribs. There’s a profound, inky despair. Kimmie grabs Aegon’s hand—he has callouses on his fingertips, you think randomly—and leads him over to the pool table. As soon as they have vacated the area, Heather drags you to the bar.

“Dale?” she says. “My good bitch needs a Bacardi Breezer. Maybe two Bacardi Breezers. Maybe three. I think I’ll be driving her home tonight.” She turns to you. “What flavors do you want?”

“Apple,” you reply morosely.

“Okay, one apple, what about the rest?”

“All apple.”

“Goddamn, you really are fucked up about this. Dale, three apple Bacardi Breezers, please.”

He lines them up on the counter. Heather sits with you as you drink them one after the other, gradually feeling warm again, feeling a little lighter. When you peek back at the booth, Rob has appeared there and is discussing—politely this time—the plot of Joyce’s fantasy novel with her. She looks almost vaguely interested in his existence.

“Hey Dale,” Heather prompts. “What’s the secret to everlasting love?”

Dale chuckles huskily and runs a hand over his thick, wiry beard. “You’re asking the wrong person. My wife ran off with a cruise ship singer, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Heather says apologetically. That was around six months ago, at the start of tourist season; the guy was an Elvis impersonator. “My bad.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m better off, I think. Now I don’t have to pretend to like her soap operas anymore. Or her tuna casserole.” He guffaws and ambles away to serve a pair of middle-aged locals seated at the other end of the bar.

When you’ve finished your last Bacardi Breezer, Heather slaps your shoulder encouragingly. “Alright, you ready?”

“Yup,” you say, swaying a little as you hop off the barstool. You stumble and bump into Heather, laughing. She steadies you with a massive grin. She’s delighted; she’s relieved.

“Good. Now get your ass over to the pool table and do your best impression of Demi Moore in Striptease.”

You have no intention of doing that. But you do—with Heather’s stabilizing grip on your waist—make your way to the pool table. There is a crowd pulsing around it: Trent, Trent’s assorted jock friends, Aegon, Kimmie. Aegon is standing in the background and nursing his—fourth? fifth? tenth?—rum and Coke. His face is vague and his eyes groggy. Still, he is beautiful. He’s so beautiful you almost blurt it out before stopping yourself. Kimmie is lining up a shot to break the balls out of their triangular configuration. Her silver hoop earrings glint under the Christmas lights. She is covered in male gazes like the sheen of ice on a lake. The white cue ball collides with the pyramid-shaped conglomeration; the balls go flying in every direction. The solid green ball—number 6—disappears into a pocket.

“Booyah!” Kimmie cheers. There are claps and whistles. Aegon just stares blankly, gnawing on his lower lip, that chronically disobedient lock of hair resting on his cheek.

“You’re majorly talented,” Trent’s friend Gary swoons. Kimmie bats her eyelashes at him and then checks to see if Aegon noticed. He didn’t. Kimmie, flustered but trying to hide it, takes another turn but doesn’t manage to sink a single ball.

“Hey!” Trent welcomes you warmly. He slings an arm across your shoulders, which ordinarily you would shy away from. Now, you lean into him, your body melding with his, your muscles loose and sinuous. Aegon does notice this. His eyes are a dark, dangerous blue: riptides, maelstroms, trenches miles deep. Good, you think. Maybe I can get him jealous enough to reconsider. Maybe I can make him want to change. “Want to shoot for me? I’ll show you how.”

You smile up at Trent. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

He passes you a cue stick with large, rugged hands. “So you’ll need one of these…and then you have to chalk it…” He presses a tiny blue cube into your palm. You rub chalk onto the tip of the cue stick, feeling ridiculous.

“And what’s the purpose of this part? Superstition? To give me false confidence?”

Trent chuckles. “To help the stick get better contact with the cue ball.”

“So you’re an expert, huh?”

“I am athletically gifted.”

“Does pool count as a sport? I’m skeptical.”

“Pay attention,” he teases, flipping his hair out of his face. Seabiscuit strikes again. “Now Kimmie sunk a solid ball, so the solids are all hers. Ours are the striped ones. If we can sink all the striped ones before Kimmie sinks all the solid ones, we win. And you don’t want to sink the black 8 ball until all our balls are already gone. That’s the very last step.”

“Sink striped balls. Don’t sink solid balls or the 8 ball. Okay. Got it.” You take aim, your sights set on the striped blue ball, number 10. This is somewhat difficult; thanks to your plentiful Bacardi Breezers, the pool table feels like it’s listing like a ship. The tapered shaft of the stick is balanced awkwardly on the back of your hand. “Am I doing this right…?”

“Here,” Trent says, and then he gets to work repositioning you. He touches you without asking, which you don’t object to under the circumstances; Aegon’s face is flushing a gory, wrathful red. Trent spreads your fingers farther apart, adjusts the angle of your elbow, pushes you between the shoulder blades to lean a bit lower over the pool table. The hem of your black dress creeps up your bare thighs, fluttering like a whisper. Aegon aggressively chugs the rest of his rum and Coke, the ice cubes clanging in the glass.

You take your shot, and the white cue ball whizzes across the pool table. It ploughs into the number 10 ball and sends it down into the abyss-like pocket closest to where Aegon stands.

“Yes!” Trent roars. He swoops in, picks you up with startling ease, whirls you around once before setting your unsteady feet back down on the floor and accepting thunderous back-slapping from his hoard of friends.

“Wow,” Heather murmurs, mostly to herself.

“Ugh, you whore!” Kimmie jeers, but she’s clapping and giggling too. She’s still the main character tonight, and she always will be, and she knows this like she knows the lines in her own palms. She’s just that kind of girl.

“Another round, another round!” Trent’s friends are chanting, and then they stampede together off to the bar to procure more beer. Kimmie, tottering in her silvery platform heels, moves to join them.

Abruptly, Aegon catches Kimmie’s forearm and pulls her to him. He whispers in her ear; her eyes go wide, her breath hitches, her glossy lips split into an exhilarated smile. And then they dash out of Ursa Minor together, stopping just long enough to grab their parkas off the coatrack by the door. They’re gone. They’re both gone.

You sputter to Heather: “What…? How…? No, they can’t! They can’t—!”

“What do you want me to do?!” she hisses back. “Tackle them before they can make it off the premises? Tie Kimmie to a chair? Force her to take a vow of celibacy? You didn’t tell her that he was off-limits when you had the chance. This is the consequence that we all have to live with.”

“Oh my god.” The room is spiraling around you. You feel nauseous; you feel ice cold. He wasn’t supposed to leave with her. He wasn’t supposed to…

“Uh, are you okay?” Heather asks.

“No,” you choke out. Aegon and Kimmie! Aegon and Kimmie!!! “I have to get out of here.”

“Well you can’t drive home like this—”

“I know. I’ll be back.” You push by her, snatch your parka off the coatrack, dive out into the starless, frigid night.

There’s no one in the parking lot, no one on the street. You make a hard left and walk with no particular plan down towards the harbor, your shaking hands jammed into your parka pockets, tears streaming down your face. The wind whips at you, howling and old, older than the creaking wooden planks of the dock beneath your boots, older than all of humanity. You pass bobbing sailboats and fishing vessels until you come to the end of the pier, sit there cross-legged and sobbing, gaze out through blurred vision over the Gastineau Channel. It separates mainland Juneau from Douglas Island, which began—like so much of Alaska did—as a gold mining settlement. You remember the sparkling gold eyeshadow that you applied in your bedroom just a few hours ago. You don’t feel very valuable at the moment. You feel unworthy. You feel alone.

It is silent except for the waves and the wind. It is very dark; the sky is clouded, and the illuminations of Ursa Minor and the streetlights are faraway. When you hear the footsteps behind you on the pier, your stomach drops; they’re too heavy to be Heather’s or Joyce’s. But when you twist around, it is Trent that you see in the dim, shadowy light.

“Hi,” he says, raising a hand. “Heather told me that you ran away.”

“Hi. I guess I did.”

He hesitates, flips his hair, drops down beside you at the edge of the pier. “You okay?”

You sigh heavily and swipe the tears from your cheeks. “Yeah. I’m just having a really bad day.” Like an absurdly, phenomenally, exponentially bad day.

“I know what that’s like.”

I doubt it, Trent. I really do.

You sit there together in the quiet, watching the sparce light flick off the crests of waves, staring at the bright dots of houses and shops across the channel on Douglas Island. Trent puts his arm around you. You let him, and—partially for the warmth, partially for the healing sensation of being desired, being cared for—lean your head against his chest.

After a very long time, you ask dully: “What do you like about working on a salmon boat?” It’s almost enough to make you wince. It’s the kind of pedestrian, unimaginative question that Aegon would make fun of. But Trent seems to consider it carefully.

“I like being outside,” he says. “I like the fresh air, I like the scenery. And I like how working with my hands helps me get all my frustrations out. I’m a better person when I stay busy. Commercial fishing can be intense sometimes, don’t get me wrong, that’s why I’m trying to get into the Forest Service. But I like it enough.”

“What do you like about me?”

You can hear the awe in his voice. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. There was a time when I didn’t care so much about things like that. But now that I’m older and I’ve started to think about settling down…I feel like you’re the right kind of girl to do that with.”

You look up at him. He beams down at you like a full moon. And then he kisses you. He’s warm and strong and handsome in that obvious sort of way, but he’s something else, too: a little forceful, a little rough. Rough isn’t always a bad thing. But it’s like you can glimpse the silhouette of someone else beneath the surface, stars veiled by clouds, the shadows of fish under ice. He doesn’t feel anything like Aegon. He doesn’t patch the wound that Aegon left in you at all.

I wonder where Aegon is right now. I wonder what he’s doing to Kimmie.

When Trent breaks the kiss, you tell him that you have to go. He walks you back to Ursa Minor, his mighty palm on the small of your back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Heather drives you home, shellshocked. She asks, in reference to your confession about the kiss on the pier: “So…uh…do you want to talk about it, or…?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“Are you and Trent…like…a thing…?!”

“I don’t know. He seems to think we are.”

“Oh god, oh god, oh my god.” She rubs her forehead with one hand, her astonished eyes on the indigo-black horizon.

When you get home, your dad is already asleep. Your mom is straightening up the kitchen, wiping off countertops and scrubbing dishes in the bubble-filled sink. When you ask if she needs any help, she bursts out laughing.

“You’re the one who looks like she needs help,” she says. “What happened at the bar?”

You grimace down at the floor. “A lot of things. A lot of things.”

“Nothing you feel the desire to share?”

“No. Not quite yet. Can you drive me back to pick up my Jeep tomorrow?”

“Sure. Why don’t you take a nice bubble bath and then go to bed?” she suggests. “You’ll feel better in the morning. Do you need a snack? I could make pancakes. Or a grilled cheese.”

“That’s really kind of you, but no thanks, Mom.” I’ve completely lost my appetite.

You sulk in a bubble bath for a while, drag yourself out, brush your teeth and hair, try to rub the night off every part of you like smoothing rough edges off a gemstone. When you wander out into the hallway, your eyes catch on the door to the attic, a rectangular outline in the white ceiling. You are mostly sober by now, and yet still the idea that strikes you seems ludicrous at first. It’s a muddled, disjointed thought. It might be a dangerous one.

If I can learn more about Jesse, maybe I can understand Aegon too.

The box of journals is up there, you know, dusty and untouched and waiting. The rope hangs invitingly. You pull the door open and unfold the ladder. You climb up into the attic, turn on the single naked lightbulb, and push aside bins of holiday decorations and family heirlooms until you find a small, unlabeled cardboard box that’s sealed shut with duct table. You peel back the tape and peek inside the flaps. The box is filled with thin leather journals in a variety of colors: olive green, navy blue, rust red, earthen brown. You gather the cardboard box into your arms and carry it down to your bedroom, slipping it discretely beneath your bed to live beside childhood stuffed animals and mounds of old yearbooks. You close up the attic and then venture downstairs to get yourself some water to stave off a blossoming hangover.

Your mom is at the kitchen sink, washing a plate with a green Scotch-Brite sponge. “Did I hear you up in the attic, ladybug? Do you need help finding something?”

“No, I got it.”

“Okay.” But she studies you, puzzled. She’s going to worry unless you explain.

“I don’t want to make you talk about it,” you say. “And I don’t want to upset you. I’ll never mention it again. But just so you know, I want to read the journals. For my own reasons. That’s why I was up in the attic. I was bringing the box down to my bedroom.”

“Oh.” She freezes, stares out the window over the sink, goes vacant. “That makes sense. That’s fine.”

“Mom, are you alright?”

“Of course, ladybug.” There is nothing outside but night. You can see her reflection in the glass like a mirror. Long, slow seconds tick by. “It seemed like he was getting better,” your mom says, her voice faint and weightless, an untethered balloon, a feather on waves. “That’s the strange part. At the very end, it seemed like he was getting better.”

Then she lets the plate sink beneath the pearlescent bubbles, wipes her hands dry on a dishtowel, and goes to bed without another word.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii #hotd fanfic #aegon x y/n #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you

[herofics]

Old habits die hard

I actually have another Gojo WIP I need to finish, but I’ve written myself into a corner with that one if that makes sense, so I just sort of decided to abandon that for now. This is basically me rambling about my current issues with selfharm urges, so if that triggers you, don’t read

The urge was pretty much always there, every day. Even though you had been clean for a long time now, the urge was still there. Every time something went wrong, the first solution your brain offered you was: “Hurt yourself”. Every fucking time.

You hadn’t done it, you didn’t want to, but the urge never seemed to really go away. It wasn’t like it was an active thing, but every time you encountered disappointment or hardships, which seemed to be all the time nowadays, there was a momentary thought of how harming yourself would resolve all your problems. You knew it wouldn’t but your brain kept falling into old patterns.

Fighting the constant urge was exhausting, it took so much energy everyday and you were getting tired of resisting. Sometimes you started to wonder if it was even worth it, but then, everytime he came home safe, every time you saw him light up when he saw you, it felt a bit easier to keep going. Your Satoru, your light in the darkness.

You were having a particularly bad evening, waiting for Gojo to get home while making dinner. The knife you were cutting vegetables with flashed in the light of the evening sun, and you had to stop to stare at it. It wasn’t particularly sharp, you hadn’t sharpened it in some time for exactly this reason. You didn’t want to make it easier for yourself to give in.

You weren’t sure how long you had stood by the counter when you heard the front door open. You were lucky you hadn’t put anything on the stove yet, since it would have surely burned while you stood there in a daze.

“I’m home!” Gojo greeted you excitedly as he closed the front door.

“Hey” you greeted as you heard his footsteps coming closer behind you.

Gojo placed his hands on your waist and leaned down to whisper in your ear: “And how is my beautiful partner doing today?”

“Honestly?” you sighed, turning to face him.

“Yeah of course” you could hear the worry in his voice already.

You looked up at him, noticing he was basically scanning you with his eyes. Looking for signs of what could be weighing on your mind. Gojo lifted you up so you were sitting on the counter with him in front of you.

Gojo had had a feeling something was going on for a while now, but he hadn’t been able to put it together. 

You didn’t blame him for not knowing what was going on with you. He was a busy man, constantly going on missions and having to be away from you and your home, and being a teacher too. You knew he cared, but how could he know what was wrong with you when you were hiding it from him?

“What’s wrong doll?” Gojo asked, looking at you intently.

“I’m not having a good day to be honest. It’s just… I really want to hurt myself again, and I’m having a hard time resisting that urge” you sighed, not being able to look him in the eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay” Gojo said gently, lifting your chin so you would look at him. “Talk to me about it, please?”

“Every time something goes wrong or I feel upset, my first thought is to hurt myself. I don’t know how to get rid of that thought pattern and it fucking sucks. The only thing that helps even a little bit is distracting myself by doing something else” you chuckled wryly.

“How can I help?”

“Just… I wish you were here more, so I could talk to you. I get that you’re busy, and I don’t mean that you should neglect your other duties because of me, or that this is in any way your fault, but I do miss you… a lot” you explained.

“Oh doll, I wish you’d told me sooner” Gojo shook his head with a sad smile, before pressing a kiss on your forehead. “But I’m glad you told me now”

“Yeah, me too”

“I can’t really promise I’m gonna be able to be around more, but I’ll try to make more time for us. I miss you too. I’m also gonna start calling you like five times a day to make sure you’re doing okay” Gojo smirked.

“And I’m gonna start to not pick up half your calls” you stuck your tongue out at him jokingly.

“Hey, that’s mean” Gojo frowned.

“Aaaw, I’m just teasing you, you big baby” you giggled and booped his nose with your finger. “But seriously, I appreciate it. Just promise me you won’t freak out if I don’t answer the first time. I might be at the school or on a mission, and I’m not able to answer my phone in the middle of a fight unlike you”

“Good point, good point. I’m gonna keep calling you until you pick up though, but not like spam calling. I wouldn’t do that…”

“Oh yeah, of course you wouldn’t” you rolled your eyes and draped your arms over his shoulders, looking into his crystal blue eyes.

Gojo moved as close to you as he possibly could while you sat on the counter. He leaned his forehead against yours and both of you closed your eyes, your arms still draped over his shoulders. You were just relaxing against one another finding comfort in each other’s arms.

“Hey Satoru?” you asked.

“Hhhmm?” he mumbled.

“Thank you for loving me, even when I’m a pain in the ass” you opened your eyes and leaned back a little.

“Of course, but could you promise me not to hide yourself when you're in pain? It's unfair that we laughed together but you cried alone. We’re supposed to share our hardships, remember?” he answered, placing his hand on your cheek.

You leaned your head against his hand and looked at him adoringly, making Gojo’s heart flutter. He worried for you every day, he couldn’t help it, he loved you after all.

You placed your hand over his and kissed his palm before nodding in agreement. He always took such good care of you.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jjk scenarios #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk angst #jjk comfort #jujutsu kaisen comfort #selfharm tw

[even-disco-baby]

DOLORES DEI — “I don’t *understand* you, Harry. You aren’t dying, you’re just sad. Why is everything an apocalypse to you? People don’t die of sadness! I’m… I’m not trying to kill you, Harry…” Her holy gaze falls to her feet. “I never wanted to hurt you at all.”

DRAMA — She speaks the truth, sire. All she ever did was love you.

RHETORIC — No. Don’t let her control the narrative. She’s *wrong.* People die of sadness every day. Sadness the likes of which she has never and will never know. Tell her about the body on the boardwalk, his mouth full of chewing gum to mask the smell of disappointment. Tell her about René’s angry little heart full of barbs and spines that repelled all but one man. Tell her about Cuno’s father, wasting away and leaving nothing but a specter that will dog his son’s footsteps forever. Tell her about Ruby. Tell her about the Bad Day.

“I never wanted to hurt you, either. I just wanted you to understand *my* hurt.”

“Just because you can’t imagine something doesn’t mean that it isn’t real.”

DOLORES DEI — “But that’s not true, is it?” Her beautiful eyes are full of pain. “You *did* want to hurt me. You wanted me to be sad, too. And then you wanted me to leave you and prove that you were right about everything. About me, about life…”

She sighs, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Well, you got what you wanted. I’m gone and I’m never coming back. Are you happy? Does it feel *good* to be right?”

INLAND EMPIRE — Nothing will ever feel good or right again. You have made certain of that.

RHETORIC — It feels better than the constant dread of being abandoned. It feels like vindication.

“I never wanted to hurt you, either. I just wanted you to understand *my* hurt.”

“Just because you can’t imagine something doesn’t mean that it isn’t real.”

DOLORES DEI — “This again!” She pinches the bridge of her nose, and the gesture makes her look strangely more human. “What do you want me to say? ‘I’m sorry for not being born poor?’ ‘I’m sorry for not being an alcoholic?’ ‘I’m sorry I don’t want to die?’ I’m not going to ruin my life just to understand where you’re coming from, Harry!”

And then, her expression softens. Like light passing through stained glass. “You’re not well, Harry. You don’t need to die. You just need help.”

EMPATHY — She genuinely wants you to be better. And she believes that you can be.

RHETORIC — But she fails to understand the difference between you two. Poverty, addiction, the pain wracking your bodymind… She can leave these realities behind. Go back home to her parents, start a new life on another isola and be a new person. And so she did, and so she is. But you? It’s too late for you. It was too late from the moment you were born, in the death throes of the revolution. It was her people that killed it.

VOLITION — Is any of that her fault? Is it wrong for her to save herself from you, just because you can’t? You can be sad and angry at this wedge the world drove between you, but why did you have to misplace that anger? You took it out on her just because you could. You made it impossible for her to stand by you without getting stabbed in the back. You even became a cop so you could take it out on other people, too. Stop this, Harry. No more cruelty.

“There is no helping me. The world isn’t built to help people like me. I realized that in Martinaise. None of us can just *leave.*”

“Fuck you. You don’t know what I need.”

“I want to get better. Would you love me again if I got better?”

DOLORES DEI — She smiles, and it’s tinged with pity. “Oh, Harry… You are what you are. I’ve already forgiven you for that. And you may not forgive me, but I am what I am.” She closes her eyes, head bowing just slightly, almost like a prayer. “But we cannot *be* together anymore. Don’t you see that? There is nothing good left that can come of it. It would just be… more of this.”

Her Innocence Dolores Dei opens her eyes and looks around her— at this strange set you have constructed to act out a million different conversations that all end the same way. “I can’t live in your nightmares, Harry. And neither can you.”

VOLITION — You don’t have to anymore. Let her go, Harry.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Dora.”

DOLORES DEI — She smiles that pitying smile again. It’s not going to be that simple. “See you around, Harry.”

INLAND EMPIRE — You can try to rid yourself of this place, this feeling… But it will come back to you eventually. What you build at low tide will be swallowed up again someday.

VOLITION — And then you’ll build it again. As long as you live. You can do it.

#disco elysium #harry du bois #dora ingerlund #dolores dei #suicide tw #dora is. so juicy to me. #tfw you come from wealth and so you are the only person in the narrative capable of leaving the realities of life behind #but the leaving is exactly what deprives you of a voice in this story #except from the pov of your shitty unreliable narrator ex #who can only remember you as a vague concept to project both his own self loathing and his directionless anger onto #but there’s also kernels of truth to certain things he remembers about you #which is that class drove a wedge between you that prevented you from being able to even imagine what was going on w him internally and why #but he only drove that wedge farther and made it impossible for you to bridge that gap #are you the villain in this story? are you a martyr? #you’re neither. you’re just a human with no power over the circumstances of her birth #but more power over what course your life takes than other characters in this story #and so you get to live in one new world at the cost of another

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

fucking like. i think realising that the children are all like, actively victims of child grooming is vital to understanding their character. what nerv is doing to them is grooming, even if it’s not sexual. they’re not only in insane danger, but actively being abused and manipulated in soul destroying ways. and i don’t think it’s an accident that they also display behaviour that’s also consistent with sexual grooming either.

shinji loses his sense of boundaries. he explicitly ties his worth to the actions he is forced to perform and engages in them out of fear of abandonment, believing he is worthless without them, and while this is most prominent in piloting he also struggles with sexual boundaries, nearly assaulting asuka in her sleep because he's been taught that he and the other children do not have any say over their bodies and choices, not really, and therefore he doesn’t even understand why asuka was upset over him admitting it. i haven’t gotten to it yet, but i do know about that scene, so COCSA is also explicitly explored in the show through him, which is very common for children and teenagers who are sexually abused- they recreate their trauma onto others.

asuka behaves in an overly sexual manner around people she finds safe, like kaji and shinji. she sees love as something sexual, and expresses herself in a hypersexual manner to gain that love from people she feels are safe and kind, and doesn’t understand why they don’t immediately like her- after all, she’s always been told that putting herself into inappropriate situations to please the adults around her makes her cool and special. when they don’t conform, she gets mad at them, because it’s easier than examining that what’s happening to her is also wrong. she lashes out and acts aggressive to hide the fact she’s not as perfect and happy with this as she thinks she aught to be.

rei is disconnected from her own body and mind. she’s in a near constant state of disassociation, and sees herself as merely a thing to be used. she's developed a traumabond with her abuser- which, y’know, forcing kids into dangerous and deadly situations is abuse- to the point she’s even aggressive and angry at the insinuation that he is anything but perfect, because she’s been isolated and groomed for what must be years at this point. she has no regard for her body, and has zero reaction to being touched inappropriately, acting if it was normal, and she also seems to have no idea that being nude around others is something abnormal. she's quiet and obedient, because she knows nothing but. she's just a disposable body, in her own mind.

like, this might be me having read way too much about child abuse, but this was something that i have been noticing and thinking about since the start and i really don’t think the parallels are unintentional, at least not entirely. since, y’know. they are like. canonically grooming victims just into violence and not sex. idk. this is just like what i've got as far as symbolism as of episode 20 I guess.

#neon genesis evangelion #grooming tw #csa tw #abuse tw

[autisticlancemcclain]

They all sort of… paired off, after the war. Not, like, exact pairs — maybe more like groups. Shiro reunited with Adam. The two of them bought a house far the fuck away from the Garrison and everything associated with it. Hunk and Pidge paired off, both pursuing their doctorates like the smartypants they were and are. Allura, Coran, and Romelle stayed on Earth for a bit, but all three of them ached for the comfort of home, and returned to New Altea eventually.

That left Lance and Keith.

Well, not really. Originally Lance assumed it meant he was left alone to try and reconnect with the family he’d grown away from — a family he loved and still loves with every fibre of his being, but the family that he couldn’t quite… click with, anymore. He’s changed, they’d changed, and he wasn’t sure where he fit. He’d been scared, although he wouldn’t admit it.

Keith had been the one to approach him, actually. Asked Lance if he’d want to move in with him.

“You’re not moving in with Shiro and Adam?”

Keith snorted. “Absolutely not. They have retired into a little home on the prairies, or whatever. I have some respect for my ears and so I will not be moving in to the constant background noise of my brother having regular honeymoon sex, or whatever.”

It was a joke. He’d meant for Lance to laugh. But the shock was still ringing through his head; laughter was the furthest thing from his mind.

“With the Alteans, then, to New Altea?”

“Nope.”

“The Blades, with your mother?”

“I’ve had enough of the Blade of Marmora, I think. I liked it there, but I don’t really want to do it for the rest of my life. Besides, I actually missed Earth. I didn’t realise how pretty it was here ‘til I left.”

“…Oh.”

And it has been fine, for the first few days. Awkward, but fine. It had been like having a roommate, really — not that Lance knew what that was like, but he could wager a guess. They made schedules, divvied up chores, occasionally hung out on the couch.

It came out of nowhere, Lance’s hurt. Well, not really nowhere. It had to come out sometime. But it had seemed so random, then. Lance had pushed the hurt down so far for so long it was almost unrecognisable, but then there it was: for the first time in as long as he could remember, Lance wanted everyone else to ache as badly as he did. To writhe, to suffer. He wanted Pidge to feel stupid. He wanted Hunk to feel abandoned. He wanted Shiro to feel small, for Allura to feel dismissed and second-rate. He wanted them to hurt for every pain they’d made him feel. He’d wanted Keith, especially, to feel hated. He’d wanted Keith to feel like he was lesser and a burden and unloved and forgotten.

Lance wanted to be cruel. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words, so he went silent.

Keith noticed, because of course he did. They didn’t talk to many other people, the two of them. He’d left it, at first. Lance didn’t know what Keith assumed was going on, but he’d smiled at Lance more and left it at that. After a week of Lance’s silence, though, he’d started to get a little pushy.

“Hey, you okay? We haven’t talked in a while.”

Lance kept his eyes on the task in front of him, scrubbing the plate a little harder.

“Which is weird,” Keith continued, “because we literally live together. Super weird, actually. Unlikely, even.”

The plate cracked in Lance’s hand, porcelain shatters embedding themselves into his palm. The water turned pink.

“Jesus, Lance, what happened?” Keith rushed forward, grabbing a clean dishtowel and reaching for Lance’s arm.

Lance flinched.

Keith froze.

“…Lance?”

Lance swallowed. He drained the soiled water, carefully scooping out the broken pieces to discard, but a pale hand reached over again, slowly this time. Hesitantly. Lance forced himself to stay still, even as he felt bile rising up his throat. Forced himself to keep his fists from clenching, so the shards didn’t get any deeper. Forced himself to breath.

“Let me get it,” Keith said softly.

He didn’t want to. He didn’t want Keith’s help, Keith’s gentleness. He didn’t need it anymore. He had needed it, then, needed Keith’s gentleness and care and love and smile and embrace but he didn’t fucking get it, then, not when he needed it, not when he was gasping and drowning for it, so why the fuck would he take it now? Why would he take Keith’s offered hand, now, when his heart had moved on?

His jaw ached, strained with the need to yell the words. To spit them in Keith’s face.

Where were you? He wanted to yell. Where were you when I was suffering? When I was dying? When I was begging the sun to shine and it rained on me as I lay drowning? Where was your hand, then? Your saving grace?

But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. So he dried his hands, swallowed the lump in his throat, and walked away.

———

It would have been one thing if he was declining calls. But it really ached that his phone was drier than the desert. Now that he wasn’t calling, wasn’t reaching out to the people that were supposed to be one with him, they’d dropped him. Were they even thinking of him? Was he even on their radar? Did they talk to each other, and was Lance the odd one out?

He hoped they still thought about him, even occasionally. It was too painful to think otherwise. It was stupid to feel the pain, anyway, to wish they called even though Lance knows damn well he wouldn’t answer. He’s still furious with each and every one of them, although the hurt is starting to overcome to anger.

Part of the ache is that he doesn’t really… do much. They’re not allowed to accept jobs, not for another four months. They had psych evals, after that final battle, all of ‘em. Apparently they each had PTSD, and until they were ‘appropriately settled into a civilian life’, it was ‘unfair to both them and their employer to expect regular labour’. Why they weren’t allowed to do some freelance stuff or whatever, Lance didn’t know, but it meant a lot of time wasting away in his room. He’d tried helping the relief effort, and he’d done that for a while, but he’d had a couple… episodes. Maybe he was a little affected by the war, the Omega Shield in particular. Whatever. What he does know is that he’d become very well-acquainted with the insides of his eyelids. He can’t remember the last time he was awake for longer than six consecutive hours.

There’s a knock at the door. Lance doesn’t even bother taking the pillow off his head.

“Lance?” Keith calls.

Lance doesn’t acknowledge him. Even if he had the energy, he hasn’t talked to Keith in five months. He hasn’t talked to anyone in five months, not even his mamá. He doubts his voice even works, anymore.

Keith sighs heavily. “I’m going to see your mother,” he says. “She invited us both for dinner again. She’s worried about you. So am I. You coming? She’s making garlic knots.” The last sentence is coaxing, singsong. Lance wonders when Keith’s patience is going to give out. He’s surprised he’s even lasted this long. He wonders what he’s gonna do when Keith finally quits. Breaks the lease, packs his bags. Leaves Lance again.

Maybe it’s not fair for Lance to be angry at Keith for something he’s not even done, yet. But Lance is tired. Too tired for nuance.

Keith leaves without him.

———

The most action Lance gets, any day of the week, is timing when Keith is out of the house, because then he can go eat. (Does he eat every day? Probably. Maybe. Honestly, he’s not sure. Time kind of blurs. He eats when he’s so hungry he can’t sleep, and showers when he convinces himself he should.) He’s gotten pretty good at it, actually. He’s so tuned in to Keith’s footsteps that they actually wake him up, because his body knows that it’s the only time it’s moving.

(Lance does know, objectively, that he’s killing himself. He knows it. He feels it in the frailty of his bones, the bags under his eyes even though he does nothing but sleep. In the way his mouth always feels gross because he rarely makes himself brush his teeth. In the way he’s running out of things he cares about, reasons to stay alive.)

That’s probably why he perks up now, hearing the footsteps approach his door. He’s a little angry at himself for the perking up in question, but whatever. Who cares. Keith is going to talk to him vaguely through the door and give up, and then Lance can go back to sleep, and then Lance can stop thinking about it.

Keith’s not talking to him through the door. He’s also not leaving. In fact, the only sound Lance hears is the jiggling of the handle.

Lance blinks. He sits up. Every joint cracks, because he hasn’t moved in a very long time.

Oh no.

The door swings open, revealing Keith in all his glory, holding a pillow and a blanket and looking very, very determined. He walks over to Lance’s bed and shoves him a little, albeit gently. Lance bites back an incredulous ‘what the fuck do you think you’re doing’. Keith either does not notice or care, throwing his pillow beside Lance’s and crawling on the bed. He fluffs the blanket over both of them, and Lance tells himself that he does not care.

“We’re watching a movie,” Keith says firmly, “like we did when we first moved in. And we are perhaps going to even chat, but no pressure. Mostly you’re going to do something that isn’t being unconscious, and we’re going to do it together.”

Lance takes a moment to process that. Mostly he feels nothing. Whatever. Keith can do what he wants. Lance will just wait until Keith gets bored and then go back to sleep.

But another part of him reminds him of the pain Keith caused. The hurt he felt.

Not now, Lance.

I just don’t want to spend eternity with Lance.

The rage lights the fire back into his heart. The molten lava of his pain spreads throughout his veins, and he tenses. The words crawl up his throat. He shoves them down.

“We’re watching Barbie Pegasus, because you love that movie.”

Lance shoves the words down.

“And then you’re going to call your mother.”

He shoves them down.

“And then we’re going to do a face mask.”

Down.

“I was gonna bring snacks, but we don’t have any of that pink-coated popcorn you like and I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while, actually, so the fridge is kind of barren.”

Down.

“Uh, that’s it for plans. I’ll be honest, I kind of stormed in here with very little forethought.”

“Why do you care now?”

The words burst out of him. He can do nothing to stop them, nor can he stop the tears.

Keith startles. “You talked,” he breathes. He sounds awed. “Like, really. With your mouth and vocal chords.”

Lance ignores him. “You said you didn’t want me,” he says. He tastes salt and acid. “You said you wanted to be away from me eternity. You think I am annoying. You only want to live with me because you have no other options. You don’t love me. The rest of the team stopped loving me months ago. My family mourned me, they don’t need me anymore. I don’t — I don’t know why you’re here. Why are you still here? Why — I don’t know. I don’t understand! I want to hate you! You hurt me, you hurt every part of me! You broke my fucking heart, Keith, and you don’t seem sorry and I don’t know what to do with the pieces, now.”

Lance doesn’t look at Keith. He can’t. He clenches the blanket Keith brought in his fists, watching the grey of the fabric get blurrier and blurrier as the tears build and drop from his eyes.

“Lance.”

Lance swallows.

“Lance, look at me.”

Keith sounds like he’s begging. Lance sobs.

“I’m so lost, Keith. I’m so — lost.”

“Oh, Lance.” Keith reaches out for him. Lance doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t reach back. He sits there. Keith doesn’t seem to mind. He wraps a solid arm around Lance’s waist, dragging him closer. He turns Lance around once he’s close enough, pressing his face into his neck. This time, Lance goes willingly.

He’s still mad. He’s still hurt. His heart still aches and he doesn’t know how to feel.

But it’s been so long since he’s been held. Weeks. Months. (Years, really. It stopped in space, the affection. Everyone got busy, and then got tired. He doesn’t even remember if he hugged his sisters, when they got back, or if there was too much to worry about.)

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Keith whispers. His hands run gently through Lance’s probably gross hair. “I didn’t realize. I didn’t think about how much I was hurting you, how much you were already hurt. I was scared. Everything was changing for me, I was stressed, I was supposed to lead people I didn’t know had to lead.” He sighs. He presses a kiss to Lance’s head. “I failed you, Lance. I’m sorry.”

Lance sobs again. It’s been… so long, since someone apologized. Since someone cared about his pain. It’s — soothing. Cold water running over his skin, cooling the burns. He clutches Keith tighter.

Maybe things will be okay.

#yes this ends abruptly sorry #i wasn’t sure where to go next so (maybe i’ll write a ch 2??) #voltron #vld #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #klance #langst #lance angst #post s8 divergence #post canon #depression #ptsd #loneliness #lance has a Hard Time #pining keith #my writing #fic #longpost

[coff33notforme]

Dating hcs for your fave ego, Actor Mark, and Murdock? :0

A/n: This took so long my hands are dead. Sorry this is so long, this legitimately took four whole pages to write lmao

Genre: Headcannons, Fluff

Actor

When he first met you through Damien, he was a total ass

He would take every chance he got to make some sort of prude comment pertaining to you in some way 

So of course your first impression of him was that he was just some rich asshole, and of course during that whole ordeal Damien was defending you but that didn’t stop Mark 

Anytime there would be some sort of event Damien would go to he would invite you to tag along and Actor would go to seek you out 

At first Actor felt a sort of entitlement towards you that all the harsh comments were justified by your status, but over time Actor started to…question his feelings towards you

Every time he saw you he felt his chest tighten and a fluttering feeling in his stomach made it hard to articulate the words he wanted to say to you

You noticed that his comments towards you slowly became less brash and sometimes he would even offer you a small smile here and there

Which was incredibly rare to see a genuine smile from the Actor 

But Mark was frustrated with himself, why was he treating you like this? Surely he wasn’t opening up to you so easily

This internal conflict lead to him going back to treating you like shit then feeling guilty and going back to being strangely sweet was exhausting for you 

There was a party going on at the Actors house and for some reason you went carefully optimistic about how you would be treated 

But tonight was some hoe the worse he's ever been 

Not just some rude comments here and there, they were cruel 

But it was only when he started to mock your physical appearance that you had enough of his bs 

You slammed your drink to the ground looking the now stunned Actor in the eyes “You know what, Mark?? Fuck you.” you hissed, storming off towards the door . You could hear Damien calling after you as you opened the door slamming it You could hear the door slam behind you as someone called for you, you felt some grip your shoulder lightly turning you around 

“Damien, listen…” you said before being turned to face the Actor, his face held an uncharacteristic soft look of worry. Yet you glared, shrugging him off angrily “What the hell do you want from me?! Why do some days you have to be such an ass, and then be so kind the next?” The Actor avoided your gaze a guilty expression crossing his features “It’s..its complicated…” he murmured . “Fine! If you don’t want to tell me? I’ll just be on my way then, have a lovely day Mark!” you shout turning quickly 

Mark's eyes widen frantically and he calls to you “Because I love you!” you freeze turning to him “What?” he feels this suddenly sting of vulnerability in this moment something he's not use to “I..wasn’t ready to open up to someone again. I thought I would be able to push you away and the feeling would just…go away. But I never meant to hurt you.” his gaze was fixed on the ground, afraid to meet your disgusted expression. But that feeling of dread washed away when your soft lips met his . For once in his life, the Actor had nothing to say, stunned by the realization that you had just kissed him

“See you tomorrow Mark” you smiled softly walking into the night 

Once you start to date this man though he will show you how truly dramatic he is

Like this man is such a diva 

“Darling, please I beg you if you truly love me don't leave”

“Mark I have to get up for work”

He is so needy, he needs constant attention and affection 24/7 

You’ll wake up in the morning with his face buried in your stomach, or he’ll be clinging to your side 

Have fun trying to get him off you, because this man has a grip of steel, your not getting him off

He’s very hesitant when you say you need to leave the manor for something insisting he can just have one of the staff members get it for you

He has serious abandonment issues, afraid that every time you leave the house will be the last time he sees you

He needs reassurance from you, though he talks big all the time he’s a very insecure person, please tell him you love him, he needs it

Whenever he sees you he likes to pepper your face with kisses, his stubble tickling you in the process   

He cannot handle horror movies or games whatsoever, he talks shit, but just one jump scare and he's clinging to you in fear

He’ll get really defensive afterwards so I would not recommend trying to scare him unless you want to spend the whole day making it up to him

He’s not big on pet names but when he does use them they’re usually the more classic ones 

Like ‘Love, Darling, Beloved, etc’ but if he’s feeling soft which is very rare he’ll call you ‘Sweetheart, Honey’ 

Softest you’ll see him is either when he's had a long day and all he wants to do is come home to you and fall asleep on the couch or when he’s half asleep he’ll cuddle up to you and whisper how much he loves you

He’s prone to start petty arguments sometimes that get out of hand pretty quickly 

He’ll give you the silent treatment even if you try to apologize and even if it was his fault 

But eventually he’ll start to feel a tiny bit guilty after ignoring you for a week 

He’ll peeper your face and neck with kisses and whisper sweet nothings to you as an apology 

He’ll take you out to a very expensive restaurant just to emphasizes how sorry he is

He does love you after all he just has a very funny way of showing it

Murdock

You first saw him at a coffee shop you frequently visited, mostly just to work, it was nice to get up in the mornings starting your day with a latte and just working in that quiet little coffee shop. And since it was early in the morning not many people came in to sit down, just a couple of morning joggers here and there but nobody who was there to stay, that was until one day. The morning had started like normal you got your drink and you went to sit down, but then this man had walked in.

Something about him had caught your eye, maybe it was his stylish sense of dressing, maybe it was this sort of mysterious feeling that lurked around him wherever he went. But something about him was alluring to you, drawing you in and captivating you. He sat at one of the many empty tables next to you sipping his coffee quietly

You wanted to make conversation, to reach out and introduce yourself, but felt too intimidated by him to say anything. Instead you internally struggled on what to say for ten minutes until much to your dismay he had gotten up and left the shop. This continued for a couple days until finally one day he spoke to you 

“Hey, I see you here every morning, how long have you been here?” You were a little surprised that he was talking to you at first but none the less you were overcome with joy that he had actually started a conversion. “Oh! Um about two years, I think?” you replied turning away from your laptop to face him “Two years huh? That’s some dedication right there” he let out a low, gravelly, chuckle to which you smiled 

“Yeah I guess so” 

He turned his head looking down at his watch frowning slightly “Well it’s been wonderful talking to you, but I’m afraid I have to go now, see you later Y/n” he waved, making his way through the door

‘Wait, Y/n? I didn’t tell him my name’

You two met up at the shop every morning chatting and conversing on the many topics of life before one day Murdock had asked you on date 

Walking through the park on a cool starry night, you wished you could have stayed there forever but sadly Murdock and you had to part ways eventually 

“Alright, well I’ll see you again tomorrow” he said smiling yet the soft frown of disappointment didn’t go unnoticed by him “Yeah! I’ll see you” you said forcing a smile on your face not wanting to keep Murdock for any longer . As you turned, walking in the direction of your car you were spun around to Murdock once more “Ah-! Murdock what -” you were cut off with a soft kiss to the cheek as Murdock smirked “See you tomorrow, sweetheart” he whispered in your ear before slinking away leaving you behind, flustered and confused 

Dating this man is…an experience to say the least 

Not in a bad way at all! He’s just so quiet your never really sure what's going on inside his head

He doesn't plan on ever telling that he’s a *cough murder cough* simply because he wants to keep you from harm's way including himself

He loves flustering you beyond anything else 

And he uses any chance he gets to do it

He’s sitting down and you walk by? He’s pulling you into his lap

You're standing somewhere just minding your own business? He’s coming up behind and wrapping his arms around your waist while he lays kisses along your neck

And despite this he claims he's not one for touch, yeah right 

If you ever do the same to him though?? This man is putty in your hands 

He loves to compare hand sizes with you, it makes his heart flutter <3

Ok but this man drives so f a s t

Not even intentionally, he just speeds, you're convinced your going to hit someone, but somehow you never do

He absolutely hates lazy weekends so don’t ever expect to be laying in bed with him in the mornings, he feels the need to always be productive 

He has no chill, despite his calm composure which in a way is sort of ironic 

He loves rainy days though, so expect him to drag you out during a rainy day to have a walk, under a shared umbrella 

And also long talks in front of the fireplace, very specific but he enjoys the feeling of the warmth from the fire and the warmth that your presence provides him as well

Yancy 

Today was visitation day at the Happy trails prison. The visitation hours had started about two hours ago and were now almost over, you sighed as you watched the other families visit and talk for away before departing. They hadn’t shown up, they called you here yet they hadn’t shown up. Honestly this didn’t surprise you in the slightest this wasn’t out of character for them at all. You sat waiting in the room surrounded by inmates, families, couples and yet no sign of your friend. You glanced at the clock watching the minutes tick by with a heavy heart hoping at any minute they would walk in, explaining to you there delay yet fifteen minutes passed by and there was no such luck

“Youse waiting for someone too?” 

You turned around to be faced with a tall boston man looking down at you 

“Yeah, but I don’t think they’ll show” you respond tiredly, as the man sits next to you on the bench “Me neither” you turned to him, frowning “Who are you waiting for?” you asked curiously 

“It doesn't matter now” you frowned, reaching out to pat him on the back, he suddenly tensed at the action and you quickly retracted your hand “I’m so sorry! I should have asked first” you quickly apologized. And he…chuckled? “No no, youse fine. I’m just not used to being touched is all” he offered a small smiled to you, one which you happily returned . Though your friend didn’t show up during visiting hours you and Yancy talked, laughed, and joked with each other until the last hour. It was nice, you hadn’t felt that comfortable with someone in a very long time. Yancy was so kind, you wondered how he’d ever managed to end up in prison in the first place, but there was no doubt in your mind you be back for the next visitation

It was only until Yancy actually applied for Parole that you started dating he wanted to wait until you could be together outside of just visitation hours 

Yancy is so touched starved please give him lots of love please

He will not be able to sleep without out you after the first time you cuddled 

So if you stay up late to work, draw, write, etc 

Yancy will find a blanket and curl up next to you

So if you sleep at your desk you’ll wake up with Yancy curled up against you 

Yancy loves to bake for you, once he got out of prison he started to look for things to do during the day and cooking just so happened to catch his eye

He’ll make you anything from deserts, pastries, full meals, etc you name it and Yancy will make it for you 

He also loves to knit 

So he’ll make you scarfs, mittens, jackets, cardigans, and a lot more, he has a lot of time on his hands 

Yancy loves to nap with you, especially on cold days he’ll come up from behind you and wrap all his limbs around you so you can’t leave 

Yancy also loves you carry you places, don’t worry about being to heavy he’s very strong so weight is not a problem for him

Kisses <3 

All the time, he loves them so much

And he melts when you give him any sort of affection especially kisses he just loves you so much

He’s pretty easy to fluster considering he's never been in a relationship before

Very worried he's going to hurt you with his strength he gets so excited whenever he sees you he just wants to engulf you with a big warm hug but hes so worried he's going to crush you

This man is like a golden retriever I swear 

But you love him anyways <33 

A/n: This took me all day ahhhhhhh

#iswm x reader #murdock x reader #yancy x reader #yancy iswm #yancy ahwm #actor mark x reader #actor mark #who killed markiplier #yancyplier #yancy the prisoner #murder mark #markiplier egos x reader #iplier egos x reader

[bellaramseysgf]

Never Leave (E.M)

Warning(s); a very bad description of the upside down,Steve being a slight asshole,mentions of blood,little bit angsty.

Pairing(s); Vamp!Eddie Munson x (Afab) Fem! Reader.

Summary; after getting stuck in the upside down steve goes back down with you to save Eddie.

“You know when I said I’d come help you look I didn’t expect for you to walk so fucking fast” Steve said as you were a few feet ahead of him. You watched your step careful of the vines that were growing out of the ground. “I’m on a mission, Steven. I need to find eddie and get him back before something happens” you replied as the ground began to shake. You managed to keep yourself balanced through it and it gave Steve enough time to catch up.

The upside down reeked. It smelt like old man and rotting corpses,the air was thick it almost felt hard to breath. You just tried to ignore it and make it back to where el last saw eddie.

“I never realized how much he meant to you” Steve said walking next to you now “yeah well that’s what happens when you’re too obsessed with your ex to see shit” you snapped at him.

Out of everyone that could’ve come you would’ve even chose robins constant rambling over him. Steve Harrington broke your heart and didn’t think twice about it,you liked him for 2 years and finally he asked you out only to ditch you the second things got rocky with johnathan and Nancy. He bailed on you. Left you stranded in a shopping marts parking lot because Nancy needed him. To say you were pissed at him would be a understatement.

“Geez, so snappy” Steve huffed and you rolled your eyes staying quiet. You finally made it to the highschool or well some fucked up version of it. It had black vines growing all through it,broken glass and tile covered the floor.

“Eddie?” You called softly as to not let anything else know you were there. “Eddie!!” You kept calling him as you and Steve explored the highschool. “Hey it’s your locker” Steve said stopping when he saw the remaining pieces of your locker inside the upside down. “Focus” you huffed.

Steve still stopped long enough to peak inside and saw the Polaroid Mike had taken of the pair of you at one of the school dances. You were grinning fondly at him and he was staring off in the distance, more then likely at Nancy. He felt guilt pang his chest when he saw how you looked at him with such admiration. He really hurt you.

“You can’t stay mad forever you know” Steve said and you ignore him peaking into classrooms. “I didn’t mean to hurt you” he added but still got no response. “I could’ve just let you come down here by yourself” “that would’ve been fine by me” you finally replied and Steve scoffed. “I know he’s our friend in all but what’s with you and Eddie?” You looked back at him “here? Seriously. You’re gonna do this here?” Steve shrugged and crossed his arms.

“Fine.” You huffed “Eddie…Eddie fixed what you broke steven. You ruined me, hurt me,damaged my heart,broke it even. You choose Nancy over me when you know how I felt about you. I loved you with everyone piece of my heart and it still wasn’t fucking good enough for you” you yelled out at him “Eddie, he made me feel better. Made me laugh,smile,made me feel good enough steven. I am good enough maybe not for you but for him I am.” Steve went to reply but you stopped him.

“I don’t wanna hear some lame excuse about how you loved Nancy and you had to do it. I don’t want you to fucking say you’re sorry or that you regret it because you don’t. You abandoned me and left me in your dust. I won’t forgive you for it because I know you aren’t really sorry about it okay?” You took a deep breath bringing your tone back to a calmer one. “So, I need to find Eddie because if I don’t my heart will be ruined again and I’m not sure I’ll survive it this time.” You turned on your heel and walked up some stairs.

“Eddi-” the name was ripped from your throat when the ground started to shake again. You didn’t have as good of a balance this time. Standing on a set of stairs the shaking urged you to trip backwards falling back into something hard. “Shit- Sorry Steve” you looked to your left to see Steve standing down the hall his eyes wide. You quickly looked back to see Eddie behind you his arms wrapped around you.

“Eddie!” You wrapped your arms around his neck and he let out a soft hiss holding you close. “I promised I’d get you, swore it” Eddie chuckled “yeah, you did.” Something felt off through something shifted,changed about his demeanor. “You alright?” You asked looking into his eyes “yeah, you’re hurt” just then you felt the warm sting of blood dripping from a cut on your leg. “Cmon I got ya” Steve finally made it over to the pair of you and lifted you off eddie wrapping your arm around his shoulder and picking you up bridal style.

“I can walk” you huffed “yeah, just say thank you” he replied and you looked over at Eddie. Eddie’s eyes were shifting from brown to a deep red. “Eds are you-” fangs poked out from his gums and Steve took a step back holding you away from him. “Calm down! I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re bleeding,it’s gonna happen” you and Steve looked at each other and then him. “It’s been a long 2 weeks alright? I’ll explain I just wanna go back home. Please.” Steve nodded and began to lead Eddie to the new gate they’d found.

“Last time you were like this you’d tripped jumping into my pool” Steve commented and you nodded “mhm.” Was your reply your eyes locked in on Eddie. “You know I-” “Steve please just be quiet. I don’t want to talk.” You said and he just nodded shutting up. Once they got you back to it you yelled out and Robin dropped a rope down. “Alright, you first” Steve and Eddie both helped you on the rope and you shimmed up, then Eddie, and lastly Steve.

You had never seen dustin run so fast to Eddie before, nearly tackling the man down. “You’re bleeding!” Nancy said and you laughed “uh yeah, I can feel it” Steve went to pick you back up but Eddie stopped him. “I’ve got her” he scooped you up as if you weighed nothing.

Eddie carried you most of the way back to his trailer you demanding to walk some of the way. “So stubborn” he complained “yeah, you taught me it” the two of you smiled at each other and he sat you on the couch. “I’ll go grab the first aid kit” you nodded and sighed leaning your head back.

Soon the rest of the crew walked in dispersing around the trailer and you as Eddie came back with the small white box. He handed it to Steve and Steve looked at him “I can’t do it” he stated plainly and Steve just eyed the box. Steve looked at you and you shrugged you didn’t care who did it you just wanted it done.

Steve knelt down and began to clean and bandage up the cut while eddie explained what had gone on in the two weeks he’d been stuck in the upside down. “So now I have fangs and crave blood, it’s weird.” You smiled at him all the same. “You’re a vampire” Dustin said and Eddie nodded “more or less” it took a few minutes for them to wrap around what he really just said.

Steve stood back up and you sighed leaning over on Eddie “I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so scared you died” Eddie smiled and kissed your forehead “not this time sweetheart.” You smiled and he lifted his arm around you allowing you to lay into his chest. “So now that you’re a vampire what’re you gonna do?” Robin asked and he shrugged “well, try to finish high school and move like I want.” You felt the vibration of his chest as he talked.

“Drag this one along with me probably” he glanced down at you and you smiled fondly. “Would miss you too much if you didn’t” you commented. “Whoa, you’re gonna move out of Hawkins?” Steve asked and you nodded “yeah, probably. I mean it’ll still take some time we’d have to save up money and plan it out” Steve grew quiet and then turned to leave.

“Is he alright?” Nancy asked and you sighed nodding. “As much as I love to see you guys I’m really tied and need a shower.” You sat up and Eddie pulled you back “not you, you stay” you nodded and said your goodbyes.

You curled up on the couch while Eddie showered and washed 2 weeks worth of funk off his body. You mindlessly flipped through channels on the tv when the door opened “hey!” Wayne walked in “did you guys find him?” He asked and you nodded “he’s in the shower” Wayne looked relieved “good. Uhm are you gonna stay over tonight?” You nodded “probably sleep with Ed’s like normal” Wayne nodded and you moved your feet so he could sit.

Once Eddie was done he came out in his sweats and a tank top his damp curls tied back into a bun. It was quiet for a moment when Wayne and Eddie saw each other. The two eventually hugged and talked for awhile, Eddie came up with some story about getting stuck some towns over during the earthquake. It was believable enough.

Later that night when you and Eddie finally got settled into to bed; “so I fixed you?” He asked and you felt your cheeks flush “you heard that?” Eddie smiled “I hear pretty much everything now” you nodded. “Yeah, you fixed me okay? Don’t let it go to your head pretty boy” you flicked his forehead and Eddie chuckled. “Thank you for saving me” “thank you for living” Eddie leaned down and nuzzled your nose before gently placing his lips to yours.

When he finally pulls away you snuggle into his chest. “Never leave eddie.” Eddie sighs sleepily “promise if I do I’ll bring you with.” You hummed in response and your felt his body go lax soft snores filling his room. Fuck, you were glad to have Eddie Munson back in your arms.

#eddie munson #fem reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst

[lover-of-mine]

Fuck it Friday!

I was tagged by @alyxmastershipper @giddyupbuck @wikiangela thank you 🩷 !!!!!!

Okay the fuck it today will be me saying fuck it and sharing one of the many emotional monologues I'm giving Buck in the breakdown fic. I already posted the beginning of this, but it needs context so it's easier if I just put it all here. Prev snippet.

The rhythmic noises of the heart monitor sound unreasonably loud as he looks down at Eddie’s hand. He can take it, it’s the expected thing to do, right? To take someone’s hand when you’re at their bedside. He can do it. So he does. Eddie’s hand is not as warm as it usually is. He’s always making fun of Buck over how cold his hands are, but he also always laughs while rubbing his hands over Buck’s to warm them up. It always has Buck laughing at him about how he's just such a dad. And for some reason, that’s the thing that makes him start crying. It doesn’t rip from his chest. It’s not shaking sobs, the type of crying that leaves one unable to catch a breath. It’s quieter, but right now so much more painful. Because he can’t control it, all he can do is sit there with the tears silently rolling down his face in what feels like a constant stream. “You know, I don’t think any of us should be allowed to go out in a storm anymore. The next storm I’m gonna lock us both in the house,” Buck tries to joke after a few minutes, looking down at their hands while silent tears keep running down his face, “but with our luck, something would still happen, maybe I should get us out of the city,” he lets out a wet laugh that turns into a sob halfway through, “you know, I was going to make some speech about how Chris needs you, I didn’t want to sound selfish, because he does, he already lost one parent, he can’t lose another one,” he pauses, wiping his cheek with the back of his free hand, “but I need to be selfish right now,” he says, turning so he could look at Eddie’s face, “You have to wake up because I don’t think I can do this without you. I need you. You can’t leave me, you’re the only person I’ve ever loved who never abandoned me and you can’t do it now, you can’t leave me. You have to wake up because I think a part of me is gonna go with you if you don’t and I will keep it together for Chris, I will, it’s what you wanted me to do and I will do it, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move on from it. I’m already broken but that will leave me beyond repair, so you can’t do this to me. You’re my partner and you cannot leave me behind like this, so please, just, wake up.”

Imma no pressure tag @bucks118 @housewifebuck @wildlife4life @honestlydarkprincess 🫶

#writing #buck breakdown fic #911 wip #buddie wip #fuck it friday #i need everyone to know that the scene before this‚ this full scene‚ and the scene after had me /crying/ #like i was legit questioning if i could actually keep writing this idea #anyway this fic is so gonna get rated M