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lichenes · 1 month

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"...Losing Dogs"

this one scene from the film when they're drinking and reader loses their keys lol not much in common with the mitski song, just thought it'd be fitting?? (gif's not mine) vincent renzi x gn!reader CW: slight (lies) mischaracterisation, possibly spelling and gramatical errors (sorry!), kissing, the french, SFW wc: 592

_____✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ _____

Vincent would be considered a patient man by most. Now that he was standing in your garden, amongst the quiet buzz of insects instinctively following the light coming from your phone's flashlight, he found himself... curiously intrigued.

"I could've sworn...." Vincent chuckled at your misfortune, giving you an apologetic look after you stared at him with playful disdain. You continued looking for your lost keys, which you assumed fell out of your pocket when you were sitting near the fire, which was slowly going out, the last of it lazily flicking its scorching toungues over the charred logs.

"They must me around here somewhere, I distinctly remember you locking up the house." Nothing escaped the lawyer's attention it seemed. He took another swig of the beer you two were sharing.

To say you were embarrassed was an understatement, you and the man you've been yearing for for years both were locked out of your house because of a careless mistake you've made. Your cheeks were burning with shame as you scoured for any sign of the small pieces of metal.

Vincent was looking at you with nothing but pure adoration in his eyes. Still waiting for the keys to magically turn up he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, asking you if you wanted a smoke as well. He was a gentleman at heart priding himself on his virtues. Inhaling the smoke he remarked.

"Did you know that you can only trust people if you can put an animal head to their face?" Amused, you stood up straightening your back. "Is that so? What animal am I then?" He answered without hesitation. "A dog. How do you say... a basse- basset?" He added.

You giggled. "They truly are gorgeous animals..." He looked at you expectantly. "You'd be an echidna." You jested. Feigning offence he put his hand on his chest. "Mademoiselle, how dare you!" You both laughed at that giving you ample opportunity to appreciate his smile lines.

A few moments passed and you spoke up. "I guess we'll have to sleep outside tonight." Focusing solely on your unfortunate position it escaped your focus that Vincent was looking at your lips more and more with each passing minute. "I guess so..." he said absent-mindedly.

You gestured towards his cigarette which he immediately interpreted as a request. Vincent passed it to you. "It's like and indirect kiss you know." You winked when you said that feeling yourself cringe at your own actions. He visibly tensed up at your words, giving the impression that you made him uncomfortable.

When you noticed it you wanted to start apologising profusely. Despite years of friendship you still couldn't read him. Lawyers privilege you supposed.

Right in the middle of your first 'I'm sorry' he grasped your cigarette holding hand and put the bundle to his mouth inhaling the smoke and subsequently blowing it in your face with a large grin, getting dangerously close to your lips.

Vincent chuckled at the heat that was eminating from your face and asked "Do you ever wonder..." still so close he put his hand on the back of your neck and put his forehead to yours. He exhaled shakily. "What if..." and put his lips on yours waiting for your reciprocation.

Your racing heart slowed down with each passing second as you grabbed onto Vincent's face and deepened the kiss. His grip on your neck lessened as he relaxed into the kiss.

He was a patient man, just not when it came to you.

_____✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ _____

masterlist

#Vincent Renzi x reader #x reader #swann arlaud #anatomy of a fall #Vincent Renzi #Vincent Renzi x gn!reader #one shot

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6lostgirl6 · 8 months

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Heyo! Love your recent post on the marquis de gramont. Could you do a one shot where the reader manages to escape yandere marquis and manages to hide in another country for a few months before the marquis confronts them in a motel they were hiding in

No Escape

Pairing: Yandere!Vincent De Gramont x Fem!Reader

TW: General Yandere Behavior, Toxic Relationship, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Imprisonment, Mentions of Codependency, Controlling Vincent, Panic Attack, Cursing, Arguing, Forced Kissing (At first), Happy Ending. Reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Word Count: 1.5k

It took you months to earn his trust, which he scarcely showcased to anyone. The months you pretended you were finally falling in love with him, with lovely words and tender affections that gradually lowered his guard with each passing day.

There were privileges that came with trust, which you soaked up like a sponge. He eventually permitted you to roam around the mansion without him or a bodyguard, which led to him permitting you to spend time outside within the gates. Finally, you were allowed to sleep in your room without someone monitoring your door during the night.

However, you ultimately reached a breaking point when you recognized one day that those affectionate words and acts had transformed into something more…sincere. You'd lay awake in your room, your mind racing at the prospect of succumbing to Stockholm Syndrome.

Your altered phone, gifted by Vincent, lay in pieces on the bedroom floor when you made your escape. You crept out under the beauty of the moonlight, and your efforts during the day allowed you to memorize Vincent's men's routine patrols. You wore only the clothing on your back and a little satchel containing your monthly allowance, which Vincent would give you as a reward for your good behavior. The hardest thing was climbing over the fence, but you made it out with only minor cuts. Despite the joy of finally experiencing independence, you couldn't shake the sadness in your heart. You couldn't help but think you were doing something wrong.

'It isn't love; it isn't love.' Throughout your entire voyage to Canada, you would repeat those words in your head like a broken record. When the landlord handed you the keys to your flat, you couldn't help but feel awful. When you received your new cell phone a week later, you resisted the urge to call him.

You missed him terribly and despised yourself for it.

A month has gone by, and you weren't any better off than you were a few weeks before. You did, however, have a job interview coming up in the next month, and you were pleased that you were making progress toward regaining independence. You even purchased a new cell phone for amusement purposes.

Vincent had certain expectations for you as his lover while you were imprisoned. He wanted you to be entirely reliant on him, letting him make decisions for you and requiring his permission to do everything or walk outdoors. He promised to take care of you, to make you want for nothing, and to give you the wedding of your dreams. However, beneath the surface, you became less and less of yourself.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you couldn't help but wonder if you would have been happier at ho-Vincent's mansion. Your eyes threatened to shed tears as you glanced at the screen of your phone.

Vincent's number was illuminated in the darkness of your room, casting a chilling glow across your face. The call button begged you to merely press it in order to make amends.

You tapped the button and placed the phone to your ear with a nervous exhale. As the phone continued to ring, your eyes were wide and stared into space. As you waited for him to pick up, your heart was racing in your chest, and you nervously chewed your nail.

'He'll be mad...'

The thought occurred to you, and you immediately regretted making the phone call. You were aware that Vincent had a temper, and while he never took it out on you, you weren't immune to his stern lectures when you got in trouble, or how he destroyed his possessions in front of you. Even his patience with you can waver, and you weren't planning on finding out.

When the person on the other end of the line picked up the phone, you hurriedly hung up, unable to handle the sound of his voice. You tried taking a few deep breaths, but your heart refused to stop pounding rapidly as you stared down at the phone.

Within the first five seconds, your phone rang, and you felt your heart was about to stop. When Vincent's number came across your screen again, you screamed and threw the cellphone against the wall. Your phone was scattered in pieces on the carpet, similar to the altered phone you left at the mansion. You prayed to whatever higher power that the call wasn't long enough for Vincent to track it down.

"Fuck!" You exclaimed, rising from your bed and walking about your room, your hands grasping the sides of your head, attempting to stabilize yourself. "Fuck, fuck!"

You couldn't sleep that night.

You were strolling to your apartment, finally entering the elevator with a spring in your step. A month had gone by with no occurrences, and your concern was fading, with your confidence progressively taking its place.

The job interview went well, and you were hired at the local supermarket in the little town where you resided. It was extremely discreet, and you preferred it that way. Anything too extravagant would have drawn Vincent's attention, which was the last thing you needed.

When the doors reopened, you proceeded to head towards your apartment door, fishing out your keys from your satchel. Sorting through your keys, you unlocked the door and walked into the dark apartment, shutting the door behind you. You walked over to the wall, flicking on the lights.

The next thing you heard caused a chill to run down your spine.

"Did you enjoy your interview, chérie?" A familiar voice spoke, prompting you to press your back against the wall in panic.

Vincent stood in front of the window, his back to you, watching the beauty beyond the glass. His hands were in his pants pockets, and his posture was rigid.

"V-Vincent I-" You stuttered but came to a pause when Vincent turned to face you.

His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his big lips formed a stiff line. He was clearly furious with you, but he tried to remain calm.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?" He demanded, taking a few steps closer to you. His stature was imposing, towering well over six feet tall, and you hoped he'd keep his distance.

You could only stay silent; your eyes were locked on him.

"Do you?" He asked once more, his tone becoming darker.

"I-I'm sorry, Vincent, I just-" Your mind was blank, unable to generate a suitable explanation. Your heart was attempting to burst from your chest, and your breathing was growing shaky.

How can you explain your mixed feelings to your kidnapper?

Vincent's patience was clearly wearing thin as he strode towards you, seizing your upper arms and dragging you close. He disregarded your terrified yelps as you struggled to keep your distance. However, because you were close to the wall, Vincent quickly trapped you against it. Your faces were barely a few inches apart, and you struggled to keep the warmth from flowing into your cheeks.

"How could you do something like this? I thought we were happy together and that you finally accepted our love! Why would you run away and scare me to death?!" He yelled, shaking your body somewhat as he spoke. "Do you understand what you put me through?!"

Suddenly, there was a fire that was ignited in your heart that you'd never felt before. All those months poured through you and you didn't think before you opened your mouth.

"What I put you through, what about me?! You kidnapped me and kept me inside your stupid mansion like I was some doll to do your bidding! How dare you stand there and act like you didn't hurt me first!"

Before he could reply, you continued, "But, I fucking love you! Even after everything, I still fell for you, and I hate myself for it! So, I ran! I ran away from you-"

You were cut short as Vincent yanked you into a kiss, his body crushing you against the wall. As you struggled, his arm curled around your waist, and the other gripped your hair to prevent you from pulling away.

However, the longer the kiss persisted, the less you struggled and ultimately succumbed to your predicament. He's kissed you several times before in the past, but this kiss was different. It was the first kiss where you two were finally on the same page.

You returned his kiss, your arms wrapping around his waist. He growled slightly into the kiss, drawing away slightly and planting a gentle kiss on your brow. You leaned against his chest, tears welling up in your eyes as you understood what had transpired.

Vincent brought his lips to your ear, his fingers twirling in your hair as he murmured darkly, "You will never do this again, do you hear me?"

His words sent shivers down your spine, full of ownership, and you knew your independence was gone. You softly agreed, allowing him to bring you closer to him in an embrace that was everything but sweet.

"You'll never escape me; I'll always find you." He murmured again, planting a firm kiss against your temple. "Always, chérie."

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deliciousangelfestival · 4 months

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Glad You Broke Up || Bucky Barnes - Chp 2

Character: Bucky × Reader

Summary: On New Year's Eve, Y/N, dealing with a recent breakup, finds herself in an unexpected situation.

Warning: Smuts, there's a s*x scene. Minors do not enter.

Chapters: Chap 1, Chapt 2 , Chap 3 , Chapt 4 , -

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

As Y/N's memory of the previous night flooded back, she couldn't shake the realization that she had sought solace in the arms of Bucky.

Conflicted emotions tugged at her heart, questioning the blurred lines between a momentary escape and a genuine connection.

As Bucky stirred, his eyes met hers with a sleepy yet inviting gaze. His low and seductive voice resonated in the room as he called her name sweetly, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

"Morning," Bucky said, his lips curving into a charming smile as he propped himself on one elbow. The warmth of his presence wrapped around her, creating a cocoon of intimacy.

Y/N, feeling a mix of embarrassment and uncertainty, murmured an apology. "I can't believe I let last night happen, Bucky. I'm sorry."

As Bucky leaned in, his lips brushed against hers in a tender kiss. The softness and warmth of the gesture took Y/N by surprise, momentarily distracting her from the whirlwind of emotions within.

Breaking the kiss, Bucky spoke softly, his breath caressing her lips.

Bucky brushed off her apology with a gentle laugh. "No need to apologize, Y/N. Besides, you're not using me; we found comfort in each other's company."

The sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a soft glow on their entwined figures. Y/N couldn't help but be captivated by the vulnerability and sincerity in Bucky's expression.

Y/N's phone pierced through the quiet morning with its insistent ringtone.

'Ring'

She fumbled to retrieve it from the bedside table, her heart racing as the familiar sound returned memories from the night before.

On New Year's Eve

Y/N's hands trembled as she unscrewed the cap of the wine bottle, the bitterness of the liquid serving as a temporary escape from the bitter break-up.

Just as she raised the bottle to her lips, Bucky's hand gently but firmly intercepted her, preventing the impulsive action. His touch was both a physical barrier and a silent plea for her to reconsider.

"Y/N, drinking won't solve anything," Bucky said with a calm yet concerned tone, his eyes reflecting a mix of understanding and worry.

"I thought today finally happened," Y/N confessed, her voice laced with sadness and frustration.

Bucky, his fingers gently tracing comforting circles on her back, looked down at her with a furrowed brow. "What were you hoping for today?"

Y/N, under the influence of alcohol and the raw emotions of the night, became disarmingly honest. "I was prepared to have sex with my ex," she admitted her words carrying a mixture of vulnerability and openness.

Her fingers fumbled with the collar of her dress, and she pulled it down, revealing the intricate lingerie she had chosen for the occasion. "Look, I spent hours buying this lingerie," she confessed, the sheer fabric accentuating the curves of her body.

Bucky, caught off guard by the unexpected revelation and the alluring display before him, let out a cough, a subtle attempt to regain his composure.

In response, he wrapped Y/N's body with his leather suit, a protective gesture that sought to shield her from the raw intensity of the moment.

"Alright, let's get you home," Bucky suggested, his voice a soothing anchor amid Y/N's intoxicated vulnerability.

However, Y/N shook her head, her expression fraught with worry. "I can't, Bucky. My housemate is throwing a party in our apartment, and I promised her I wouldn't come back tonight."

Bucky glanced at Vincent, still immersed in his DJ duties, the vibrant beats echoing through the club. It was evident that neither Y/N's brother nor her housemate would soon leave the festivities.

A decisive look crossed Bucky's face as he turned back to Y/N. "My place, then," he offered with a reassuring smile.

At Bucky’s Apartment.

Bucky carefully assisted Y/N as she settled onto the plush cushions of his couch. Her form curled up in a mixture of exhaustion, and the remnants of intoxication prompted a gentle concern in him. He assured her with a comforting pat on her shoulder, "Take it easy, Y/N. I'll be right back."

Bucky held the glass of water in his hand, intending to offer Y/N a refreshing drink to help ease the effects of the alcohol. However, as he reentered the living room, what he saw caused him to freeze in his tracks.

Y/N, making herself more comfortable, had taken off her dress, leaving her in nothing but her lingerie. The soft glow of the city lights filtering through the windows accentuated the vulnerability and intimacy of the moment.

Bucky's breath caught in his throat for a split second as he registered the unexpected sight. The air in the room seemed to thicken with a newfound tension, the unspoken implications of the situation hanging in the air.

A flush of embarrassment crept up Bucky's neck as he averted his gaze, trying to give Y/N the privacy she might not have realized she needed. He quickly set the glass of water down on the nearby table, his mind racing with emotions.

"Y/N, um... I brought you some water," Bucky stammered, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. He tried to keep his tone casual despite the subtle shift in the atmosphere.

As Y/N slowly opened her eyes, the fatigue from crying in Bucky's car still evident in her gaze, she grumbled, "I was hoping something would happen today. This outfit is crazy expensive."

Bucky, caught off guard by her sudden change in tone, watched as she revealed her lingerie, a bold move that both surprised and intrigued him. Her words hung in the air, creating a charged atmosphere as she climbed onto his lap.

"It'll be a waste if no one sees it. Bucky, it's beautiful, right?" she asked, her eyes searching for validation.

The room seemed to tighten, a palpable tension enveloping them. Bucky, a man of self-control, felt a sudden surge of conflicting emotions. Her proximity and the audacious display stirred something within him, challenging the carefully maintained boundaries.

He hesitated for a moment, grappling with the intensity of the situation. The delicate lace of her lingerie, the vulnerability in her eyes, and the unresolved emotions from the night created a perfect storm. Bucky's hands hovered, caught between restraint and desire.

With a deep breath, he gently held her waist, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that had unfolded between them. His touch conveyed reassurance and caution, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of understanding and a hint of turmoil.

"Bucky..." Y/N's voice wavered, uncertainty lingering in the air.

Bucky's Adam's apple rolled down, and in a hoarse, husky voice, he declared, "I may have self-control, but sweetheart, even I won't be able to resist this irresistible temptation. You're a damn masterpiece in that outfit."

Y/N's face flushed, a mixture of alcohol-induced warmth and unspoken desire. Cupping Bucky's face, she looked into his eyes with a boldness that matched the moment's intensity.

"You're more handsome than him. You should've been my boyfriend. If you weren't my brother's friend, I'd ask you out," she confessed, her words carrying the weight of vulnerability and a raw, unfiltered longing.

After she said that, Bucky’s penis was hard against her bottom part.

Forget about his friendship. Tonight, he’ll fuck her best friend's sister and deal with the consequences later.

******

Y/N’s body was soft and rubbing against Bucky. His hard cock pressed against her hole through his pants. He eased himself by moving a little.

Y/N moaned, “Ahh, keep moving.”

With her encouragement, it ignited him more. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and with a swift move, he carried her to his bedroom; since he has a muscular body underneath his clothes, it’s easy for him.

Bucky gently put Y/N on the bed; his gaze never left her. He looks at her intimately.

Bucky gently placed Y/N on the bed, feeling the charged atmosphere's weight. His gaze lingered on her, capturing every nuance of the vulnerability and desire that played across her flushed face. The room seemed to shrink, leaving only the intimacy shared between them.

Bucky sucked on Y/N’s lips as if he were sucking sweet nectar flower a flower. He pushed his tongue into her mouth. The actions filled Y/N's entire body with a tingling sensation.

Whenever he kissed her lips, she felt like she was going insane. Y/N twisted her body, trying to escape, but Bucky pressed down on her.

He pulled away from her lips and began to noble and suck on her earlobe. He growled; his deep voice sounded so seductive that it made her shoulders tremble as she whimpered.

His fingers stroke her breast, and his other hand rubs her little hole. Y/N felt the area between her legs grow wet as Bucky kept teasing her. But she couldn’t say a word because her mind went blank.

She wondered how he became so good at this. When does he find time for a workout, considering he's a workaholic?

Bucky seems to understand her frustration without speaking since he feels it, too. He wants to penetrate her soon. He lowered his pants and his drawers and threw them to the floor. He pulled out his swollen cock; it was bobbing slightly, taping his beautiful abs.

Y/N widened her eyes, she expected his cock would be significant, but seeing it wither her own eyes, it was fascinating. It was already covered in a watery fluid.

Bucky brought her hand to his cock. The sticky fluid touched her palm. Each time she moved her hand up and down, a moan hissed out through Bucky’s clenched teeth.

Bucky pulled out his t-shirt; because of it, she could see the well-defined muscles of his chest and abdomen.

Then he stopped her hand from moving and said, “You did well, but I think my dick is about to burst.”

Just as he finished speaking, something thick plunged into her body. She felt his cock slide along her inner walls. She wrapped her arms around his back.

Both of their gaze met; there was only the sound of their gasping breaths and the rising body temperature.

His cock inside her little hole became even harder, and she couldn’t resist the shallow thrusts. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her chest pressed tightly against his chest, her nipples to rub against his.

Her little buttocks lifted high with Bucky's thrusts, twisting like a little seductress.

Bucky let out a low gasp, feeling the tightness of her inner walls wrapped around his shaft, giving him much pleasure.

"Can... can you go faster..." Y/N, having adapted to the feel of the man inside her, gradually became unsatisfied with the shallow thrusts. She whispered into his ear, "Like just now, fuck me hard."

As she spoke, Bucky's eyelids twitched. He looked at her innocent yet suggestive appearance with half-lowered eyes, feeling as though his soul was about to be sucked out by this little devil.

"So naughty." Bucky said, biting her lip.

Y/N bit her lips, looking at him with a seductive gaze.

Bucky found her small movements adorable. He laughed softly, sitting up and grabbing her buttocks. Without a word, he pulled out his member and thrust it inside her.

"Mmm..." Y/N shuddered backward as she was being fucked, and was pulled back by Bucky, who was pinching her butt.

The meat stick mercilessly went in and out of her body, bringing out a stream of lewd fluid every time it entered with a "plop".

Y/N's toes curled in pleasure, biting her fingers and moaning, leaving a row of teeth marks on her hand in no time.

"Feels so good...uhh...hitting the right spot..."

Her sensitive spot was being teased by the head of his member, causing Y/N to tremble with excitement. She leaned back on Bucky's shoulder, her neck arched, and her lips slightly parted as she gasped for air.

Bucky pulled down her collar and left a trail of kisses on her neck.

Two people intertwined without distinguishing between you and me, making love, embracing.

From the bed to the windowsill, moonlight falls on the naked bodies of the two, giving them a faint silver glow.

As he reached the climax, he turned her over and fucked her again in a doggy-styled position.

Y/N yelled lewdly and happily twisted her buttocks to meet Bucky’s thick and long cock.

“Does it feel good?” Bucky said obscenely as he supported her buttocks and fuck her non-stop.

Y/N nodded with tears in her eyes, "Feels good."

Her tight hole was being pounded relentlessly, waves of pleasure coursing through her body.

"No...I can't...I'm about to cum..." Y/N arched her body in ecstasy, her chin lifted.

"Ah...ahhh..."

Her whole body trembled as her little hole spasmed uncontrollably.

Bucky let out a low groan, his hands grabbing her waist. As he relaxed his muscles, hot semen shot inside her body.

She held her abdomen and felt as if it was filled with Bucky's semen.

Bucky chuckled and embraced her, kissing her from her forehead to her lips.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked.

Y/N's tired fingers didn't want to move, and she nodded softly, "Mmm... I love it…”

Bucky's body flinched at the admission, the word 'love' hanging like a tantalizing promise. It stirred something within him, a desire that went beyond the boundaries of friendship.

The realization hit him like lightning – he wasn't content with the current dynamic.

He didn't want Y/N to be just his best friend's sister; he craved something more. He longed to redefine the connection between them, to have her as a friend and his woman.

The weight of this revelation settled over him, transforming the charged atmosphere into a palpable anticipation of what might come next.

Chapters: Chap 1, Chapt 2 , Chap 3 , Chapt 4 , -

Author Note: The next chapter will be spicy too.

Author Note 2 : ✨✨✨

Hey friends,

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unreliablesnake · 1 year

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MASTERLIST

FYI: I don't have a taglist. Please follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the "Get notifications" button to know when I post new chapters/stories.

If you wanna know about my wip's, follow @unreliablesnakewip.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Forbidden Love

Elopement

Escort

Untitled drabble #1

Smutty request #1

Hold it together when the world's on fire

Unmute

Animals (smut)

Animals - part 2

Animals - part 3

Animals - part 4 (smut)

Animals - bonus chapter

Animals - bonus chapter 2

Abortion request

The bet

The bet – part 2

The bet – part 3

All of the girls you loved before

Movie night

Jealous Ghost request

Shy!reader request

Thunderstorm

Bitten - zombie!Ghost

Surprise

I want you, but...

Bliss (smut) - I want you, but... part 2

Simon says (smut)

Lost and found

Smut drabble #1

It would've been nice (zombie!Ghost)

Jealous!Simon drabble

"Mare" series

Not on my watch

Is it too soon?

High (smut)

Dirty little secrets

Timing

Cornered

"Osprey" series:

The only exception

••••••

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader x John "Soap" MacTavish

It's time to have fun (smut)

Jealousy (smut)

••••••

John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Lover

Smut drabble #1

Shock

••••••

Phillip Graves x reader x John "Soap" MacTavish

Sharing is caring

Sharing is caring – part 2

••••••

John Price x reader

Bakeneko

Scenes from a relationship: the fight

Yearning

Punishment (smut)

Am I old?

Give me a reason not to love you

••••••

König x reader

Can you handle it? (smut)

Your memory

One-night stand (smut)

Tall reader request

Jealous König request

••••••

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x reader

The first proper date (Mare series)

Race day

The Boogeyman

••••••

Joel Miller x reader

Wounded animals

Someone like you

Early birthday present (smut)

Good girl (smut)

The plan

reputation

Workaholic!reader request

Dirty little secrets (smut)

Singer!reader

You must be new here

Embarrassment

I shouldn't love you, yet here we are

part 1

part 2

••••••

Phillip Graves x reader

Failing

The trip

Is it in your DNA?

Help me out

••••••

Marquis Vincent de Gramont x reader

Gf limited series

Proposal (smutish)

Dress-up game (smutish)

Territorial (smut)

One-shots

Interrogation

Divorce

Vincent takes a liking to you series

Vincent takes a liking to you HC's

Home is where your heart is

Stay

Hold on tight

The dress

Pregnant

••••••

Miguel O'Hara x reader

Keep your distance

Keep your distance - part 1

Keep your distance - part 1.5

My place

Villain!reader snippet

••••••

Harrison Wells & Eobard Thawne x OFC

Of reverse love and stuff

How he met his lightning rod

The parents

Confession

Good news, bad news

••••••

Harry Wells x reader

Somebody like you

Part 1

Part 2

••••••

141 x reader (barracks bunny)

You're reading what? (Ghost)

Punishment (Price. Smut.)

A special kind of therapy (Alex. Smut.)

The unlucky one (Ghost)

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slashersidewhore · 1 year

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Slashers! S/O hurt by a victim

Slashers x gn!reader

Includes Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair

Requested? Yes

Warnings: Beefy murder boyfriends, hurt/comfort, minor angst, injuries, blood, fluffy shit

Michael Myers

Michael doesn’t want you involved in his crimes, he’d rather you keep your pretty self out of harms way. Whether that be at home, or somewhere else in general, just anywhere but with him when he’s busy killing. That being said, accidents happen.

You can’t help the curiosity that runs through you when a harsh bang comes from the backyard of the Myers house. It was sudden really, opening the back door when you were knocked backwards, head careening into the wall with a dull thud.

The minute you let out a yelp from the pain and being caught off guard, the shadow of a tall, looming figure isn’t far behind

There was only one word to describe the feeling bubbling in the killers chest and that would be absolute rage

Now, Michael isn’t one to worry himself when someone gets themself hurt, he could care less quite honestly. But seeing you holding the back of your head, blood covering your hands and forehead, eyes squeezed shut with unshed tears, the little bit of sanity left in him just snaps. The horrific screams of the victim who pushed you over are all that fill the house, quieting into watery gurgles and then just silence

Heavy footsteps stop before your slumped over form, rough, unpracticed movements that pull at your body drag a hiss from your lips. Although Michael isn’t one to stop, he’s focused on getting you to open your eyes, see you looking back at him, let him know you’re okay

A calloused palm soothes over the crown of your head, pulling another whine as his fingers hover at the wound. It’s nothing too serious, probably a concussion, some gauze and pain killers will fix you right up. But the usual silence from Michael isn’t comforting, especially considering the way he seems to have doubled in size, shoulders squared, fingers twitching to curl into fists, working eye squinted behind the cut in his mask. The man is clearly agitated, heavy breathing more ragged, rushed

He’s unable to stab his way through this problem, he can’t fix it by spilling more blood. That worries him immensely. He’s not used to taking care of anyone in such a manner, or at all. His body is acting as a shield from the outside world, not holding you close yet not letting you go. To the right, the mangled, haphazardly tossed body of the victim lies, their cruel death far more brutal than you’d even known Michael to be

He won’t say anything, as usual, but the manner in his body language is different, not soft but protective, cautious. He’s not sure what to do with these feelings, not sure how to process the sight of you bleeding, the one person he’d rather never even encounter a simple scrape

He promises himself right then and there nothing of this sort will ever occur again. Not if he can prevent it. He would watch the world burn before you so much as felt an ounce of pain again

Jason Voorhees

Same as Michael in the regards that he doesn’t want you anywhere near any of his potential or current victims. The idea that you could possibly get injured runs through is mind the daily, even without the threat of others. So if he’s dealing with naughty campers, you better be safe in the cabin, doors locked and windows sealed

Although Jason seems to underestimate the lengths some would go to survive, especially the rage that follows when their friends are slaughtered

Imagine his surprise when he’s hunting down one of the people that got away, heart beginning to race as he realizes their tracks lead back to the cabin, the exact cabin you’re supposed to be safe in. “Safe”, is a word that completely leaves his mind upon seeing what he does when he enters the ajar door. Your face is bloodied, bruised and swollen, collar of your shirt clutched by the victim he dared to allow escape. The sight is enough to send the poor man into cardiac arrest, heart beating so fast it feels to him as if his chest will rip open, but that can wait

The way he carves into the unsuspecting back of the offender above you is feral, machete driving down again and again until you’re left with a bloody heap rather than a person, a heap that is quickly tossed carelessly to the side, relieving the pressure from your weakened body

Even through the swell, pain and red, your eyes can see his swimming with extreme pain

He did this, he caused you to be hurt, it was his fault you were ever put in harms way. His racing pulse doesn’t subside even when you attempt a bloody smile, too overtaken with grief to calm his nerves. In Jason’s mind, he doesn’t deserve someone like you, no matter what you’ve done, what you’ve been through, you’re perfection to him. The fact that you’d chose to be by his side astonishes him, so to let you be injured in this way? Beaten and practically frail in his arms? He’s failed you

The anger in his veins disappeared the minute you softly called his name, hand reaching up to caress the side of his mask. There’s evident tears in your eyes, whether from fear or pain both options are the worst case in Jason’s mind. Yet you don’t seem upset with him, which confuses him greatly but ultimately, your anger towards him would only worsen how he felt

In that moment, holding you clutched to his firm, scarred chest, he promises to himself he’d never let another hand cause you such harm

Thomas Hewitt

In Thomas’s eyes, you’re safest as you can be furthest from him, no matter his hearts urge to keep you as close as possible

The image of you crying, bleeding, or simply making a face indicating unease, upsets his stomach, twists and turns his insides unpleasantly

That is until one day, another hot, overbearing Texan day in the heat when one of the trespassers managed to escape the basement, god knows how they did it, but they did. And now Thomas was lost in the sweat of a days work, eyes scanning the grain filled yard, dusty streets and dead land, no one in sight. Until the buzzing in his ears is cut off by the unmistakable, bloodcurdling scream of someone not too close, yet not far either. What makes his blood run cold isn’t the sound itself, but the familiarity of it. Now Thomas has never actually heard you make such a noise, but he’d be a fool to not recognize it, especially when it came from someone who brought him such warmth

Terror, he can also recognize the tone at which you use, the fear in it, he can feel every ounce of dread you do, tenfold at the idea he may be too late, he may not make it in time, if only he was closer

He’s running now, chainsaw alive and screeching, heavy pants beneath the leather on the lower half of his face, eyes wildly searching the open area for a sign of danger, a sign of you

Thats when he spots it in the distance, a figure standing above another, some kind of tool held high, what looks like a kitchen knife in the gleam of sunlight that hits it. His legs feel of jelly, unable to move until another scream fills his ears, this time it’s of his name, most desperate, pained. And if that didn’t get him moving, he didn’t know what would. Chainsaw raised in pure adrenaline, the lumbering man is quick to slice downwards, down and down and down until body parts dismember, organs are strewn, red covers the wheat and grass and dirt

Saw thrown off to the side, Thomas kneels beside your nearly curled up form, hands pressing into the stab wound decorating your side, blood seeping from your hands that clutch to keep it in. He’s gentle, like a butterfly kissing you, years of scars and rough work should make his hands feel like sandpaper, although grasping you like you’d dissolve, his palms are simply silk

Head lulling into his chest, ignoring the blood that’s spewed across it, you nuzzle the underside of his chin, although in grave pain, the wound stinging with each stride Thomas makes, you feel at peace, comforted by the large man holding you like you would a breakable doll

Dark, heavy eyes shift down to gaze upon you, worried brow furrowed deep, clearly in distress upon seeing you so weakened, losing blood. Luda Mae can fix you right up thankfully, he just can’t imagine ever seeing you in such a state again, he never wants too, it would physically kill him

Carrying your tired body, heartbeats one, Thomas enters the Hewitt mansion with one thing on his mind, he’s never to be far from you ever again

Vincent sinclair

You never went in the basement when Vincent was, “working”, you’d learned it best to leave him alone, ignore the screams of pain and smell of hot wax hitting warm skin

The mans activities aren’t a secret from you, although he’d rather you not watch him participate in such acts, he’d rather you keep from seeing such horrors, allow your sleep to be uninterrupted by nightmares unlike his

You were headed to the kitchen when the loud screaming of what sounded like someone in fear and confusion could be heard, the thunderous steps of someone hurling towards the room you were in, the form of a startled victim coming into view

Their eyes changed from fear to rage, seeing you unharmed, at peace in such a place that got their friends killed, mindlessly headed for the fridge. You could already hear the heavy boots of Vincent rushing up the basement steps, and as if he couldn’t move any quicker, your yelp of fear proved otherwise

Your eyes were wide when the masked man finally came into view, hands grasping as the arm around your neck from behind, body pressed against the person that had narrowly escaped, shaking as they held a kitchen knife to your cheek. The look in Vincent’s eye was deadly, in fact you would’ve been trembling in fear from the intensity if not for the fact that you knew the man would do anything to protect you, and vice versa

Garden sheers were clutched tight in one of his rough hands, knuckles caked with wax. The knife against your cheek began to dig slightly into your delicate skin, causing a soft gasp to leave your lips before red filled your vision, sprayed across where the offending weapon once was, arms leaving your body as the body fell limp to the kitchen floor. Turning to look at the damage, your face was softly grasped by two warm palms, eyes still wide from the ordeal, staring into Vincent’s now calm gaze

His thumb swiped at the blood beading on your cheek bone, clearly discontent with even the smallest cut adorning the face he loved the most, a low noise coming from the back of his throat, akin to a wounded animal

Pulling you into his broad chest, dark locks brushed the sides of your face, Vincent stared dead ahead, one hand on the back of your head as he internally cursed himself out, how dare he let someone that close to you, how dare he let them draw your blood

Glancing as the nearly decapitated victims body on the floor, blood pooling, Vincent swore to himself if anyone ever caused you such pain again, they’ve face a cruel, slow death

Hope y’all enjoyed <3

#thomas hewitt #vincent sinclair #michael myers #slasher #thomas hewitt x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #jason voorhees #michael myers x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader #slashers headcanons #slashers fanfic #slashers fanfiction #slashers x reader insert #slashers #slashers x gn reader

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small-sinclair · 10 months

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“My ex-boyfriend is here, please scent me before he tries to do something.”

Sinclair Brothers x fem!y/n

Enjoy @katerinaval

Tw: PTSD shown, anxiety filled reader, mention of marking, throwing up, confronting abuser, fighting, biting, not proofread

Welcomed readers: @sketchy-rosewitch, @fluffy-little-demon, @lovely-cryptid, @pori0t-houck, @ninakuli

Don’t Own Me

She was able to run this far, and it was a great time, too. Finding her new life in Ambrose with the Sinclairs to share her felt like a dream, and y/n knew that dream would come to an end. She couldn’t run forever, but she tried and tried until her legs caved in and she went under the cracks in the hour glass. Shame, she liked her new family, new pack that she called her own.

All three claimed her as soon as she came to town. After Bo bit her shoulder, claiming her first, his brothers soon followed, each taking turns with her until she felt safe enough to allow it though she never had a word to who gets to claim her, these three took time to make sure she felt safe with it. Vincent took her left shoulder, biting just hard enough to make his mark, but he made sure her scars were taken care of. Lester, however, didn’t mark her like Bo or Vincent. Instead, he made her a necklace, a wooden butterfly charm with his initials carved on the wings. Besides, having one Alpha was good, but her mind raced when she was claimed by two Alphas and a goofy Beta. What a lucky girl you are, y/n.

The perks? Y/n never felt alone or was never truly alone. There was always someone there to hold her hand, to comfort her, check on her… to feel and be loved.

The mornings were always the same: Lester, the Beta, wakes her with gentle kisses and nudges. When she wakes, y/n is with him in the kitchen cooking breakfast for the other two, Bo and Vincent.

Strong coffee in Snoopy mugs. Morning news on. Jonesy feed and let out (sometimes she returns with a rock in her jaws as a gift for y/n). Morning kisses from Bo and Vincent. Eggs and hot dogs. The day’s plan. Vincent leaves, followed by Lester (who has a thermest of coffee and a sack lunch), and Bo stays behind to help you with dishes. As always, he dried while she washes. Small talk or no talk, it didn’t matter; she was safe. He takes his cap off the hook. He hugs and kisses her goodbye until lunch.

Throughout the day, y/n keeps busy in the house cleaning or getting dinner ready. On full moon days, she makes sure there’s enough food, and her headphones have to be fully charged or she’s not running through the brush (y/n has to put her foot down somewhere, right?). But it’s not a full moon night; it’s Thursday, Laundry Day. And it’ll be a warm enough day to hang clothes on the line earlier in the morning, giving her time in the afternoon to hang out with all three if she’s lucky.

She hummed happily as she put up Vincent’s shirt and sweater on the line as the morning sun turned the grass from gold to green. The radio played softly from the steps, Jonesy laying at the steps with her new rock.

“What a clever girl,” y/n hummed as she patted her head. “Always bright and happy. Such a good girl—“

A good girl, indeed.

Her head perked up and she looked at the trees and the marsh. Scared eyes scanned over the willows and morning glories. His voice carried over the trees and gators floating in the marsh. Y/n hesitantly took steps back as the honeydew and marsh water smell drifted over her skin and hair, feeling his fingers in his hair again.

Y/n doesn’t hesitate to run into the house, Jonesy on her heels. He’s not here, she kept telling herself. He’s not… he can’t be!

She took her red and black plaid off the hook and started out the house towards the shop. It’s 10:30am, which means Vincent and Bo are taking their smoke break while Lester finishes up his last bit of coffee. If he has anymore for the day, his heart might explode. Still, she ran towards the shop, her feet digging into the lose gravel. She just wants to run, to be near them. They promised to keep you safe from everyone and everything, and they didn't want to go back on it even if she thought she heard him.

But time is limited in a town like this and to the Sinclairs. It was only a matter of time before she was founded by him, and she wasn't looking forward to it. Bo knows his scent. Vincent knows what he looks like. Lester knows what he sounds like. All three knew the plan if he ever stepped foot in this town, and that should make her feel safe, right? So, why isn't it? Why is she seeing his shadow over the windows and locked doors? Why is she hearing his laughter in the trees and flowers? Why does she hear his truck gunning behind her as she runs towards the garage? The engine roaring to life on the heat of her neck and her thoughts turning--why? Why?

Panic swelled in her chest as she rounded to corner with Jonesy on her heels, no truck behind her. The closer she was to her Alphas and Beta, the better she'll feel. The better she'll think. It's not on the schedule, but she wanted to feel that safety net around her shoulders and hair again. It'll be for the best if she's with them, and it didn't matter how. Riding in Lester's truck, downstairs with Vincent, or sitting on the counter in the main office of the shop while Bo works; all sounded amazing to her. Y/n just wanted the buzzing feeling in her skull.

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

Bo's head jerked up suddenly from the truck, his body stiffing at the new smell. It hit him like a wall of bricks, and he recoiled at it. It smelled worse than Lester's kill pit, and it was worse than the smell of burning human flesh melting under wax. He covered his nose with his sleeve, wiping his nose over the cloth. It was terrible, and it tore his stomach apart. The smell of sulfur, churned milk, and decaying alligator meat baking in the sun all mixed together in one; that's how he would describe it to anyone who listens. He threw his rag and hurried to the trash can in the corner, his stomach finally giving up, as the smell grew stronger.

"Shit," he managed to breath out before throwing up again. This was a new scent, and he hated it. He wanted to find that smell and kill it with fire or with his hands. One way or another, it was going to die. "I swear to God, if Lester killed something close here--"

But he knew it wasn't that. He knew better.

"Y/n?' He breathed as he looked at the door, thinking she was there.

Something's wrong.

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

Vincent threw his mask off in time to throw-up in the trash can in the basement. The smell was faint, yes, but it was too much all at once. He was just trying to finish the guy, who came in biker shorts last week, when the smell hit him. He couldn't find the words to describe it; all he wanted to do was find the smell and stomp it out.

"Fuck," he hisses lowly as he slowly sat up. He took his mask and was about to put it on when he thought of y/n... something wasn't right.

He took his pack of cigarettes and started towards the shop. It is 10:30am, and she'll be there. She has to be there.

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

As much as Lester would like to throw up, he couldn't. He was driving with a new victim, and he didn't want the man to think he knows who he is. He didn't want to give himself away too early. Not yet. Will Bo forgive him? No. Will y/n forgive him?

"Hey, buddy," Lester jolted as the man talked. "Did you here me?"

What? He was talking? "Oh, nah. No," Lester answered as he looked back at the road. "Sorry 'bout 'at. Sometimes I jus' get lost in my head. 'At's all."

"Damn hick," the man murmured. "I asked how close we were. Just want to get back on the road, you know?"

Lester faked a smile. "We're almost close. Just ov'a the bridge an' we're there." Goodness, Bo's going to kill him. "You're comin' at a good time. Normally, Bo'll be busy in the afternoon wit' all them bus engines." He looked back at the road and gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned white. The man smelled horrible. After this is over, he wants to wash the inside and outside of his truck until the smell is gone. "He works on 'em for the school uptown."

The man looked back at Lester then at the road. "Always wanted kids, but," he shook his head, "my girl had different plans."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah," he hummed, leaning back in the seat. "The bitch ran off in the middle of the night. Never found her."

Don't call her 'bitch', mate.

As soon as the welcome sign came into view and he was driving over the bridge, he knew Hell would be raised as soon as he they step out of the truck. He knew that everything would crash and burn, and he was willing to watch it happen and take part. He just wants to protect y/n. He promised her as a man and as a Sinclair. He won't go back on his word now, not while he's in the truck entering Bo's territory.

Let the games begin.

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

When y/n rounded the corner, she let out a scream when she bumped into Bo's chest. He pulls her into his arms and hugs her, hushing her gently in her hair.

"Calm down, darlin," he hummed. "It'll be right." He heard Lester's truck humming down the road, and it was out of view. "Get inside. Vincent's there-"

"Bo?"

He kisses her knuckles, his lips dry and cracked. It was his way of marking her. "We'll come up with a plan, honeycomb. Promise." He turns and usher's her inside. "Go to the back. I'll grab Les and meet you there."

"But-"

He didn't have time for this. "Go, now, y/n." He kisses her hand. "Vincent'll keep you safe if something happens. We'll be there." With that, he pushes her in and fixes his hat. he can't let that son-of-a-bitch know she's here. He can't risk it.

Lester parked in front of the station by the gas pumps and stepped out. He looked pale, and his cheeks were flushed and turning green. He was trying so hard for his brothers, for y/n, to keep it together.

Bo wanted to slit his throat right then and there, but he turned on the charm. "Howdy," he greeted with a smile. "What can do fer ya?"

"Need a 16 spark plug." The man answered for Lester. "I think it's a double blue liner."

"Need the can," Lester breathed as he sped past Bo, making towards the restroom. Unfortunately, when he was out of view of the two and made eye contact with Vincent and y/n, he shot his head away and threw-up in the the same trash can Bo used. “Hate it,” he breathed as he sat up, whipping his mouth. “Hate it all.”

Y/n held out her hands and he joined her side, Lester kissing her cheek. She held on to him with one arm as another squeezed Vincent’s hand. She just wanted this to end, to be brave and have her life—

But y/n already had that. All of that! She was loved and scared for! She was protected and safe here. Right here with three of the strongest people she’s ever been around. And they love her.

Y/n is tired of running.

“Scent me.”

The order startled Lester as he pulled away from her arms. His hands slipped over her cheeks. “What? Sweet pea, no—“

“I’m tired, Les,” she sighed. “I’m tired of running. I’m tired if Mick.”

“Y/n—“

“My ex-boyfriend is here, please scent me before he tries to do something.” Then a tired grin crossed her lips. “I want it to stop.” Then she glanced over her shoulder at Vincent. “You, too, Vincent. Mark me. Both of you.”

Lester’s thumbed her cheeks and kissed her. “Okay, sweet pea,” he hummed in a whisper. “Promise it won’t hurt.” From behind, y/n felt Vincent’s mask lift slightly up. “We promise.”

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

Bo was slammed against the side of Lester’s truck, a wicked grin crossing his lips, and he wiped the blood away from his noise. He hasn’t had a good fight in a long-ass time. He pushed himself off the truck and swung again, hitting Mick square under the jaw, then tackled him to the ground.

Mick held up his arms to shield his face as Bo put blow after blow over his skin. He’s been waiting for this prick to come against him and his brothers (but mainly him), and he just wanted to savor this moment of pain. For every hit and smack, for all the pain and bruises, for ever cigarette burns across y/n’s back— Bo was going to have his share of blood before noon. He’ll make sure he pays.

But when her shadow casts over them, Bo froze. He took a step back and let go of Mick. He joined your side as he saw the fresh bite mark on your neck from Vincent, and a bruised kiss on your shoulder from Lester. With his scent over your hands, Bo smiled. All three smells mixed over y/n like a sweet candle burning in a cozy cottage. No placed a hand on her hip as he leaned down and kissed her lips.

“Leave,” she said in a strong voice. “You don’t own me anymore.”

Mick slowly stood, his eyes in shock. “You… you’re a whore—“

“At least I know I’m loved,” she snapped. “I’m loved by three amazing wolves. Two alphas who will kill for me. A beta who would gut you alive. All three love me.” Her voice was strong as she held Bo’s hand tightly. Behind, she felt Vincent’s hand on her shoulder and Lester pulling out his Bowie to show Mick he was ready for the hunt. “You don’t own me, Mick. You’ll never have me. Ever again.”

Mick looked at you with disbelief, shaking his head. “Y/n, you can’t be for real—“

“I mean it, Mick.” Her voice stayed strong.

“But… but I still love you.”

She shakes her head. “And I don’t love you.” She looked up at Bo, strong and confident. “Get what he needs so he can leave. I don’t want to see him again.”

“We could kill him,” Lester suggested. “Say the word and—“

“No,” she shakes her head, her eyes snapping back at Mick. “Death is too great for him. Let him live.”

He doesn’t owe her anymore. No one owns her.

No one.

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simpingforstardew · 3 days

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misty [chapter three]

pairing: sdv harvey x reader

synopsis: harvey has always been a man of routine and order— although just as he begins to tire of his life in pelican town, a new farmer moves to the valley and turns his life around. chapter three.

warnings: poor overworked harvey :(( please enjoy my harvey playlist while you read ♡ (this is crossposted from ao3).

word count: 1.6k

<< last chapter | next chapter >>

The fluorescent lights of the clinic cast a harsh, sterile glow, illuminating the white walls and linoleum floors of Harvey’s small office, casting an unnaturally pale glow over the cluttered desk. The clatter of the doctor’s footsteps on tiled floors echoes through the empty hallways.

Today was supposed to be different. Today was supposed to be his day off.

For the past two weeks, Harvey had been working overtime, sacrificing his days off to update Pravoloxinanone prescriptions, coordinate with healthcare professionals around Ferngill, and arranging appointments for the townsfolk. Turns out that without the distraction of an attractive farmer, the passing work days have been unforgivingly laborious.

He could, in theory, ask Maru to pick up some extra shifts, to stay behind a couple hours more. He knew she was eager to help, but he couldn’t bring himself to burden her further. She had her own responsibilities, attending college lectures online while juggling part-time work at the clinic.

A sudden death rattle of his fax machine shattered the silence, its mechanical whirring cutting through the stillness of the office like a knife— a relentless reminder of the endless stream of tasks demanding his attention.

He glances at the clock on the wall, his tired eyes struggling to focus through the thick lenses of his glasses.

3:30 pm.

Another hour wasted, another day lost to the demands of his job. He sighed wearily, running a hand through his greying hair. Harvey still couldn’t tell if the strands of silver were a testament to his age or his perpetual stress. He didn’t know which answer he would prefer.

He gazed out of his window, watching sparrows gracefully darting through the clear sky above. Dark-eyed juncos, specifically— Junco hyemalis. Harvey’s brief fascination with bird-watching while at University always managed to resurface during moments like this, when searching for an excuse to look away from his work.

The sight stirs something within him, prompting him to break the monotony. Locking himself in his office, Harvey realized, would only consign him to an evening of fatigue. So, he pushes away from his cluttered desk, picking up his green overcoat from the coat rack as he leaves the clinic.

Hurrying down the cobblestone path, Harvey’s mind races with a cacophony of thoughts. He fails to notice you walking his way until it is too late.

You collide with a jolt, and Harvey stumbles backward. The doctor could practically hear his heart pounding in his chest. His dishevelled appearance must have been evident, his fatigue and stress written plainly across his face.

“Oh, shoot, I—,” You panic, rubbing your shoulder bashfully, “I am so sorry, Harvey I-,”

“No, no, It is perfectly fine— I was just, distracted tthinking about a recent article I read about the recent rise of…” His voice trails off, acutely aware of how awkward he must sound, “Whooping… cough.”

“Hm, that doesn’t sound like much fun,” you grimace sympathetically.

“Oh, on the contrary! Pertussis is actually rather fascinating, that reminds me to reach out to Jodi and Shane to see if they can book a vaccination appointment for Vincent and J—”

“You’re doing the thing.” You interrupt, recognising a fellow workaholic when you see one. A kindred spirit.

“What thing? I am not doing a… thing.”

“Sure you are— you’re doing the thing I used to do at my old job,” Your tone gentle but firm. “You grovel and moan over your work, it stresses you out so you take a break, then you realize you’re stuck thinking about the work that was stressing you out!”

“Well, I am a doctor— There is no way for me to not think… I- I have an entire town to look after for Yoba’s sake. ” Harvey retorts defensively.

“Of course, and that’s the problem.”

“That is..?”

In that moment, as you notice the doctor picking as the skin on his fingers, you see the bags under his eyes; the paleness of his skin. You had seen undead creatures in the mines more full of life.

“Who’s looking after you, Harvey?” your voice softens, concern evident in your eyes, “I mean, I don’t want to pry, but I’m not surprised you’re stressed with the weight of the valley on you all the time. But you can’t manage that burden alone. Nobody could.”

“O-Oh, I um—,” Harvey falters, stammering as his defences crumble in the face of your genuine concern, “Appreciate your candour, truly, but you do not need to worry about me. My well-being shouldn’t be any of your…” He huffs, his cheeks flushed.

Despite his larger stature, Harvey’s wide eyes scanning your face anxiously made the man appear small; weak. You ignore the impulse to take his rosy cheeks in your hands, or to clasp his hands to calm his nervous fidgeting.

He clears his throat as his phone rings— a blocky grey mobile, a model you haven’t seen since 2005.

“I- need to take this call, I’m sorry.” He leaves, jogging back to the clinic. As you see him leave, you wonder what exactly he was apologising for.

As you push open the creaky doors of the saloon, the sounds of clinking glasses and laughter wash over you like a warm embrace. The dimly lit room is filled with the scent of aged wood and the tang of whiskey.

“Hey there, stranger!” Sam’s booming voice cuts through the din, drawing the attention of the entire room. His grin is as infectious as ever, and you can’t help but return it as you make your way over to the group by the pool table. Abigail and Sebastian wave you over eagerly, their faces lit up with genuine excitement.

“Hey gang, sorry I got caught up with something,” You drop your backpack on the polished wooden floor as you crash onto the plush sofa next to Abigail.

It’s been years since you’ve all been together like this—no screens or avatars, just flesh and blood friends reconnecting in the real world. You couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you. Sure, Sebastian is now a little taller, Sam a little more pierced, Abigail a little more muscular. Despite what has changed since you last visited the valley to see your grandfather, the gang was still here. And with the way you all slip into conversation, it’s as if you never left.

As you settle in, taking in the familiar faces and the comforting hum of conversation, Abigail leans in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “So, what’s going on with your love life? It seems like every time we’d chat online, you’d either be lovesick or swearing off romance altogether.”

Your smile falters slightly.

It wasn’t as though you weren’t looking for love— if anything, you consider yourself quite the romantic— but with the chaos of the farm, dating seems out of the question.

“I don’t know, Abs. I’ve come to realise that dying alone is underrated,” You quip with a chuckle, hoping a comedic distraction will satisfy as an answer, “Honestly, the freedom of being single rules, you guys should try it some time.”

“Nahh,” Sam lets out a hearty laugh, flopping down on top of you and Abigail with all the grace of a newborn foal, “We’ve got the dating thing down, shout out to your lonely ass though.”

“Sam!”Abigail gasps incredulously, pushing the blonde off with a huff, though there’s a fondness in her eyes that belies her words, “Don’t be an dick!”

You all share a laugh as Sam looks up from his crumpled position on the floor, his puppy-dog eyes silently pleading for forgiveness.

Sebastian places his drink on a nearby table, sauntering over to the three of you, “Well, (Y/n) if you ever need a wingman, you know where to find me.” He smirks at you before picking up the pool cue resting against the wall.

“Pfft, as if they’d pick you to be their wingman when I’m right here!” Sam stands up, looking frantically between you and Sebastian before dropping dramatically to his knees, “Right, bestie? You’d totally trust me to pick you out a partner!”

Before you can imagine what having the punk as your wingman would entail, the bell above the bar’s front door chimes: Elliot strides through the saloon, exchanging greetings with Emily and Gus before running his fingers through his auburn hair. You wonder what shampoo he uses.

The poet’s eyes scan the room until they land on you. “Ah, apologies for the interruption. Have any of you seen Harvey, perchance? This is the second time he has failed to show…” Elliot’s voice trails off, concern etching lines into his chiselled features.

“Oh, I saw him earlier. He seemed,” Overworked? Exhausted? Close to death? “…busy.”

“Ah, well that certainly sounds like him. If you happen to run into him again, do try to convince him to re-join society.” Elliot laughs, although there is no more humour in his statement as there is truth.

As the author leaves, the conversation in the saloon continues to flow. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you might have overstepped with Harvey earlier— the thought gnaws at you.

You don’t know why you are so worried about him, surely he can look after himself; surely it didn’t matter if he has somebody in his life to look after him. You try not to think about somebody else being there for him. Somebody else holding him at night. Somebody else wiping away his tears.

Instead, you force a smile, joining in the laughter, as your concern for Harvey lingers, a shadow over the otherwise cheerful atmosphere of the saloon.

#sdv #sdv fanfic #sdv x reader #stardew valley x reader #sdv harvey #stardew valley fanfic #sdv harvey x reader #sdv harvey x farmer #sdv harvey fanfic #stardew valley harvey #stardew harvey #harvey sdv #sdv harvey x y/n #sdv harvey x you

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chronically-ghosted · 3 months

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between the earth and sky (lover, share your road - prologue) series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i

chapter rating: T (series: E)

word count: 1.1K

chapter summary: how Joel Miller's forefathers came to settle the southern plains

chapter warnings/tags: references to genocide (human and animal), racism

a/n: Miller County was a real place!

Vincente Ramón Morelos with his wife María Guadalupe Rodríguez Saldaña went in search of a better life in 1848.

Exhausted from the bloody revolution against Spain, then the devastating loss at the hands of white “rebels”, the childless couple leave the southern hill country by the San Antonio river to go north, to find peace, in a place that the Anglos have never touched — so promised Señor De La Cruz, a former comandante like Vincente, who shared his dream of wide, open spaces, and a sky that stretches into infinite possibilities.

This land they marched across, with its barren trees and flat golden spreads, is nothing like anything they’ve ever seen before. The wagon chain the Morelos follow whispered in hushed, awed tones. María reached out the side of the wagon, letting her hand brush against brown thistles, watching how the reed springs under her fingers, how it tickles her palm. She never knew the earth could be so soft – teasing her with some great secret it’s eager to share. She looked to her husband and he glowed beneath the rich blue sky and bronze sun. Maybe this was God showing her how to fall in love with a new home.

Towns became few and far between. In a transitory cattle town, Vincente listens to two vaqueros tell stories over a loose game of poker about a briefly-disputed patch of land, five hundred miles east, one that exchanged ownership three times before disappearing into obscurity. But a single name settled permanently, before its township ever could: Miller County. Vincente quietly related to that blurring of identity, a loss of a permanent place to be known and loved, so when going through towns of white Texan Anglos that distrusted his olive skin and aquiline nose, he told them his name was Vincent Miller and he was, like all others, looking for a place to call home. He found it north of what would become Amarillo, and south of what would be Dalhart, between the Canadian and Red River, rivers that never seemed as endless and deep as the Gulf from his childhood.

By the spring of 1852, Mary (formerly María) and Vincent, established on their acre of land, had welcomed two girls and were expecting a third child, who ended up being a boy. This boy was given the name John (though his mother called him Juan at home) Tomás Miller, after Mary’s grandfather. As a boy, John learned from his father Vincent to listen and trust the Kiowa, the Comanche, the Gods of the Grass Sea, who were said to have been born with a heart of a buffalo. Who walked with prairie chickens and raced the pronghorn antelopes. Recognizing a kinship with nomadic blood of the Millers – once Morelos – the Comanche taught them what it meant to use the land as one uses a brother for support. Use in kind, but treat just as kindly. Avoiding what the Anglos referred to as “dry farming” because it was only the Anglos who believed, by sheer force of will, they could make rain come down from the sky. The Comanche were shocked by their arrogance. As he grew older and stronger beneath that heavy sunshine that had endeared his mother to these foreign lands, John maintained his father’s relationship with The First People, even aiding them in keeping the encroaching Anglo homesteaders off the lands of the buffalo and the blue grama grass.

When John married in the summer of 1885 a woman whose skin burnt easy in the sun, but had hands rougher than a sailor’s, Vincent was surprisingly happy for his son, because Jennie Sarah Hansen was quick-witted, brave, and possessed a rare quality when it came to the regards of the Tejanos and The First People – compassion. Disowned by her own family for such a trait, Jennie came to live with John, his father Vincent, his mother Mary, with letters from John’s two sisters and their families coming from down south every month.

Joel Ramón Miller was born in the late fall of 1891, followed shortly there by his brother, Tom – Tommy, because Tom was too serious for a boy with a smile like that – and the lineage of working under blue skies in endless dunes of buffalo grass was passed down, third generation of Vincent, who lived to see his oldest grandson turn five before quietly, with dignity, leaving this world in his sleep.

Tommy Miller continued to look towards the sun and, as a young man, followed it west. But Joel, like his father, like his grandfather, like the land itself, kept watch over the ones he loved from the porch of that a-frame house, the one his father built for his mother. For a time that included a woman with dark skin and darker eyes out of Alabama. And then it was just the baby who came from her, who came from him. Sarah, named after his mother who was as fierce and resilient as the buffalo grass and as beautiful as the endless sky.

As far as Joel Miller was concerned that was enough. The two of them – him and his babygirl, with the plums and the maize, and the secrets of this wide wilderness handed down in partnership from the Comanche and the Kiowa, because the Millers knew what to keep and what wasn’t theirs, or anyone’s, to own.

Until the day came when the buffalo were slaughtered by the thousands, and the once great Gods of the Grass Sea were felled, both driven to extinction by a force that held no compassion or concern for the lands it swallowed.

The cowboys over in the XIT, runners of cattle in the land that used to tremble beneath the hooves of thousands of buffalo, started to complain first. Rumbled that no good was to come of any of it; the American government gave too freely; real estate agents and land developers promised too much. Those arriving in the prairie came only for the green that the wheat boom offered, and had misjudged the quietness of the plains for emptiness.

Joel Miller watched as towns bloomed overnight, model E’s rumbled off the new railway lines, and nesters and sodbusters burrowed into their dugouts like wolf-spiders — at the cost of the beautiful, bellowing sea of grass. The bison were long dead, the Kiowa and Comanche now ghosts between the stalks of blue grama, and a wind was coming in from the north.

It whispered to those who could still listen and would heed its warnings.

And Joel Miller, with his only daughter, listened and waited and didn’t like what he heard. First, the drought came. Lasted ten years. Then the economic freefall that blew out entire financial systems on a global scale.

And then, like a ghoulish nightmare, a specter of death that came from the ill-resting spirits of the bison, came the dust storms.

The air crackled with electricity, car radios clicked off, overwhelmed by the static. Ignitions shorted out. Waves of sand swept over the roads. Children were lost and found thirty feet from their back doors, dead, suffocated on dust. Five thousand feet tall, wider than entire cities, this was blind vengeance, a reckoning well-deserved.

And for the first time in his life, Joel Miller was afraid.

series masterlist | part i

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nyoomfruits · 8 months

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good evening vincent drew this and then i went a little insane about it so uuuuuuh. have 1.3k of lando and oscar being absolute idiots while also kissing a lot :)

When Oscar enters his drivers room the morning of the Austrian Grand Prix, Lando Norris is on his couch.

This in itself is not really an anomaly. Lando Norris seems to be on his couch more and more these days. He hasn’t really been able to pinpoint why, perse. Or why it’s been increasing, lately. But Oscar tries not to question too many things when it comes to Lando. He’s very quickly learned things are easier, that way.

“I have been thinking,” Lando says. He’s on his back on the couch, his feet draped over the arm rest. “We need to switch strategies, I think.”

“We are switching strategies,” Oscar says, and tries not to look too much into the fact he immediately knows Lando is talking about the car. “There’s upgrades.”

Lando waves his hand around a little vaguely. “Yeah, but like. That’s just upgrades. We need like, a higher power.”

“A higher power,” Oscar says, a little flatly. He’s starting to not like where this is going.

“I’ve been talking to Max,” more alarm bells, “and he says Kelly always kisses him before a race. For good luck. Now obviously Max does not give a shit about good luck, but he’s also been winning everything under the sun, so I keep thinking, maybe we should try that.” Lando stands up now, looking at him expectantly.

Oscar squints at him. “Try what?” He asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Kiss!” Lando says, in a ‘duh’ kind of tone. “I would ask my girlfriend, but well. I don’t have one.”

“Right,” Oscar says. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Sometimes he feels like his life would be so much fucking easier if he didn’t like Lando so much. That way, he could just stop giving him the time of day. Unfortunately, he finds Lando quite charming. It’s very annoying. “How about we just see how these upgrades go, first?”

Lando pouts. Oscar hates it when Lando pouts. It makes his eyes all big and pretty and his jutted out bottom lip look bitable. “Please?” He asks. “Just this once. For science.”

“Oh well, if it’s for science,” Oscar says, rolling his eyes, but he takes a step forward, grabs Lando’s wrist. He knows Lando well enough to know sometimes it’s easier to just give in. So he brings Lando’s knuckles up to his mouth, presses a wet, open mouthed kiss there.

And that’s supposed to be that, but then he looks up, and sees the wide eyes look on Lando’s face, the surprised ‘o’ of his mouth, and he lingers, his lips brushing against Lando’s knuckles, his breath ghosting over the skin there. Feels the way his fingers encircle Lando’s wrist, how his thumb presses against the pulls point.

He feels his own face heat up, feels the color flooding his cheeks. It’s not even that intimate.

And yet.

“Yeah,” Lando says, when Oscar finally pulls away, dropping Lando’s hand like it burned him, a little. “That should work.”

And then he’s gone.

Oscar stares at the door he disappeared through, and prays – for his own sanity and for the sanity of his heart - that that’s the end of that.

It isn’t. Lando places P4 in Austria, refuses to admit it’s because of the upgrades, and corners Oscar right before Silverstone.

“I’ve been brainstorming, and like, last time it was just you kissing me,” Lando says. “And then you got 16th. So I was thinking, what if this time, we kiss each other.” He pauses, and then adds, to clarify, “on the mouth.”

Absolutely not, terrible idea, this will ruin you in the long run, please flee while you still can, while your heart it still in one piece.

“Yeah,” Oscar says. “Okay.”

Fucking idiot.

So Lando kisses him. It’s a peck mostly. Just his lips pressing against Oscar’s, barely more than a second.

And still, it feels like the second lasts a year. Lando’s lips are surprisingly soft, and from this close Oscar can smell the confusing mix of perfumes he wears, mingling and mixing into something so distinctly Lando that it makes his heart skip a beat every time he smells it. Oscar keeps his eyes open, which means he sees the flutter of Lando’s unnecessarily long eyelashes, nearly drowns in the deep blue color of Lando’s eyes.

Lando’s gone as quickly as last time, and Oscar helplessly watches him take his heart with him as he goes.

Oscar just missing out on the podium, Lando says, is because they didn’t make out. The kiss was too short. So if they make out, that’s a guaranteed Mclaren 1-2.

Obviously.

Oscar is still hopelessly incapable of saying no to Lando, which is how he finds himself on the couch, Lando’s legs bracketing his thighs, Lando’s hands on his face, Lando’s tongue in his mouth.

It’s. Jesus. Kissing Lando is as unpredictable and all over the place as it is to talk to him, and just as incredible of an experience. His hands are everywhere, from Oscar’s face to his arms to his waist, to under his shirt, and his mouth is soft, demanding, addictive.

Oscar loses himself in it, a little, completely forgetting why this is a thing they’re even doing – completely forgetting who he is, for a moment there – when Lando suddenly pulls away and says. “Right. That should secure us a 1-2.”

When he’s gone, Oscar’s mouth tingles and his thighs feel cold.

When Lando gets P2 and Oscar P5, Lando chalks it up to the fact they were wearing shirts while making out. And then, after Belgium, Lando decides they probably shouldn’t be wearing pants either.

That’s the point Oscar finally breaks.

“Do we, uh, maybe need to talk about how us making out has absolutely no influence on the race whatsoever?” Oscar asks.

Lando squints at him. “No,” he says, and goes to take off his shirt.

“Lando,” Oscar emphasizes. Raises an eyebrow.

“Oscar,” Lando says, although it sounds the way it always does when he says Oscar’s name, with the dropped r and the ‘uh’ sound. Oscuh.

Oscar shakes his head, runs his hand through his hair. “What do you get out of it?” He asks, because that’s the one thing that keeps plaguing him. Why does Lando keep doing this, when it’s clearly not influencing anything, except maybe Oscar’s heartbeat?

Lando shrugs. “1-2, baby,” he says, like that’s somehow the magical answer to everything.

“I DNF’d,” Oscar counters. “We took off our shirts and I DNF’d. I’d say that’s actually more reason to keep them on, this time. At least that time I finished 5th.” Also for my sanity, Oscar can’t help but think, it would probably be better if you kept your shirt on.

Lando pouts. “Yeah, but that was because of the pants,” he repeats. “The pants are the problem. Shirt off means DNF, but pants and shirt off means, uh. Victory.” He chews his bottom lip.

“What if,” Oscar says, takes a deep steadying breath. “What if we just, I don’t know, accept this has no influence on our racing whatsoever, and I just, like. Take you on a date instead.”

Lando considers this. Squints. “So no more making out then?” He asks. He sounds disappointed.

Oscar snorts. “Depends on the date.”

Lando considers his options. Then, slowly, he nods. “Okay, yeah. Sure. I mean, we’ve been mostly doing my theories lately. Maybe we should test one of yours. Let’s go out on a date.”

Oscar wants to counter that it’s not a theory that this has nothing to do with how they finish in the race, but just as with the kissing thing in the first place, he reminds himself that with Lando, sometimes it’s just easier to go along with it.

(The next race, they get P8 and P12. Lando claims it’s because they went to an Tapas place for dinner while they totally should’ve gone with Thai food instead, and promptly asks Oscar out for another date.)

#landoscar #mctwinks #twinklaren #drabble #for vincent :)

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slasherstories123 · 11 months

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I've had this idea for a while but I can't write for shit😭 could you do RZ Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees with a s/o who's been with them for a while and just absolutely have their hearts and the slashers find the horrific sight of their s/o on the brink of death. The cause can be anything and Please have the s/o live I'm a sucker for happy endings❤️

Rz! Michael and Jason’s reaction to their s/o on the brink of death

Tagslist: @dootys @callmemeelah @mehidktbh @slash3rl0v3r @the-anxious-youth @beanbagbitch @mrs-heelshire @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @oneofvincentscandles @sleepypersonblog @alexxavicry @vexeliers-breakroom @l0sercat @naxxsstuff @beel-mcburger @charliedawn @emychan @bunnysenpai31 @slasherscrybaby @turdmongler @kawaistrawberry21

Rz! Michael Myers

Michaels cold manner came ever since he was in that sanitarium.

In this case, when he sees you nearly dying, he did things you’ve never seen him do.

You were sick. Very sick, and if you didn’t get medical help soon you’d die. When he came back he saw you on the floor.

The silent man stared at you for a few seconds before falling to his knees. Dropping the knife as he squeezed you for dear life. Michael didn’t know what to do, he can’t let you die. It won’t sit right with him, sure he kills lots of people but it doesn’t feel right to know that you’re dead. You’re kind to him, and cared for him like his mother did. He didn’t kill you and you accepted him. You looked up at him while letting out a bad cough. “Mike… when did you get here?” He didn’t move not let out any grunts in response. Grabbing on your shoulder when you tried to get up.

“I’m so sorry Michael… I didn’t want you to see me like this..” Thoughts raced through his head, he can’t go out like this, they’ll take him down and will think that he killed you. There’s only one option left…. He snatched his mask off, his dirty blond hair covered his face. You were taken back by the sudden movement but was too weak to do anything. He picked you up and walked out. He can’t drive, he doesn’t know how to. Michael’s used to walking, if he can walk all the way back to haddionfield, then he can surely walk you to the hospital.

Once you were taken into proper care, he left you there to heal, but would watch you from afar until you were free. He stayed by your side more after that happened. You didn’t mind, you couldn’t blame him either, for the first time in his life he was scared, scared of loosing you.

Jason Voorhees

One of his victims found out that you were on Jason’s side and got angry, stabbing you in the stomach before running off.

Once Jason saw it he was livid with anger, how dare they do that to you?! He didn’t stop until the guy was dead.

Once he did, he rushed back over to you, seeing that you took the knife out of your stomach, which in your case was a stupid move to do.

Jason freaked out as he looked around for something to stop the bleeding, he took his brown jacket off and put pressure on the wound. He was freaking out on the inside, trying to listen to what his mother was trying to tell him to do.

He tried his best to listen while making sure you were still awake, you didn’t dare open your eyes, but you did it for him, your eyes burned with tears. He felt bad. Luckily the stab wound wasn’t terrible, you just couldn’t move until the healing process was complete. You kept zoning out from time to time which made him tap your arm, begging you to stay awake for just a little while longer . He gently picked you up and took you back to the cabin you shared, now dealing with the wound with actual medical supplies. Then placing you on the bed.

Jason cared for your every need, and when there was nothing else left don’t him to do, he’d rest the side of his head on your stomach as his way of apologizing for letting it happen.

#slashers #slasher fanfiction #slasher imagines #slasher x you #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher oneshot #slasher imagine #jason voorhees #jason voorhees headcannons #jason voorhees x you #jason voorhees x reader #rz Michael myers #rz michael myers headcannons #rz Michael Myers x you #rz michael myers x reader #slashers x reader

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die-die-mydarling-xx · 1 year

Text

Run Rabbit

Pairing: Vincent Sinclair x GN!Reader

NSFW

Themes: Predator/prey, some fear play, some dom/sub

I probably should have let this sit a bit longer so I could proof-read/edit, but I was too excited to post it! Feel free to comment any advice/mistakes and I will probably edit at a later date.

Your heart raced as you ran through the rooms of the house of wax, dodging the wax figures and various other decorations as you went. You could hear the heavy footfalls of your pursuer, but they seemed to be getting fainter behind you. Out of breath, you ducked behind the old piano in the next room you turned into, feeling safe enough to rest for a few moments as the footsteps that followed you were barely audible. You tried to catch your breath as you crouched in the shadows. Despite being mostly hidden, it was hard to will yourself to stay there; the adrenaline flooding your veins made you want to continue running. You realized suddenly that you could no longer hear the movements of your pursuer. Holding your breath, you carefully listened for any indication of his whereabouts. The sudden, sharp rap of a boot on the wooden floor almost made you cry out. The sound had come from just beyond the doorway to the adjacent room. You wasted no time in scrambling to your feet and out from behind the piano, and just in time because as you did so the figure of a tall man emerged from the doorway. Your heart leapt into your throat as he lunged for you, just barely missing you. You could feel the tips of his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt.

You continued running, and the steady sound of heavy footsteps resumed behind you. There was something about the way he chased you, never quite running, but keeping a swift, certain pace. Like he knew he wouldn’t have to work too hard to catch you. The thought sent something of a jolt through you, equal parts fear and excitement. You knew you wouldn’t be able to run for much longer, but you felt a little thrill at the thought of the chase finally ending.

Seeing the door to the basement ahead of you, you made a beeline for it. It opened easily, and the hot air from the workshop below washed over you. You quickly stepped onto the stairs and closed the door behind you. It wouldn’t slow him down much, but you were still committed to prolonging the pursuit even that little bit. Even as you reached the bottom of the stairs, you could hear those confident footfalls starting down after you. Running through the basement, the heat from the fires caused sweat to run down your back, and you could feel yourself beginning to slow. Faster than you expected, you reached a dead end. You quickly turned to run back the way you’d come. He was already there, swiftly moving in to corner you. You tried to duck under his outstretched arms, but this time he was expecting the move and grabbed hold of you. You barely had time to cry out before you were held firmly to his chest, one hand moving to cover your mouth.

You squirmed in his grasp, a futile attempt to free yourself from the tight hold he had on you. Your heart pounded in your chest as he tightened his grip on you slightly. A shiver went down your spine as you felt his hot breath on your ear, and you grasped his wrist as you again tried to twist your way out of his arms. With a low grunt, he twisted you around and slammed you down onto a nearby work table. The surprise of the impact gave him a moment to pull two wicked-looking daggers from a pocket, holding them up for a second so they flashed in the dancing firelight. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the sharp blades, although you knew he wouldn’t hurt you with them. You felt your heart skip a beat as he slammed them into the table on either side of you. It took you a moment to realize you were unscathed, as you heard the material of your shirt rip as the blades pierced it. Instinctively, you reached down to insure that you were unhurt. A large hand stopped you, quickly pushing your hands over your head and holding them there by your wrists. A soft gasp left you at the move.

Vincent was usually so gentle during your intimate moments, often checking in with you and letting you take the lead on many things. You loved that side of him, seeing how he looked at you so tenderly, and how he touched you like he was worried you’d break under his hands. But there was a few times you’d seen him going after victims, and it put some thoughts in your head . . . Seeing how he was so unrestrained, and how easily he could throw most of them around. When you first brought the idea up to him, he’d been a little hesitant. He didn’t want to treat you like he would one of his victims, and he was worried about being too rough with you. But after you’d spent some time easing him into it, you could tell he began to really get into it as well.

It was almost a complete shift in his personality, the way he would manhandle you during these moments. The ease with which he held you down only served to amplify the desire you felt burning in your stomach. With his free hand, he made quick work of your pants, throwing them to the floor. He took a few moments to take in your appearance, flushed from both exertion and excitement, and now partially nude on the table before him. He tilted his head as he regarded you, and you squirmed slightly under the scrutiny of his gaze.

Unzipping his own pants, he pulled out his sizable cock, already hard and dripping pre-cum from the tip. It was clear the chase had excited him as much as it had you. A surprised yelp left you as Vincent grabbed your thighs and pulled you down the table towards him, lining his cock up with your entrance. Usually he would take the time to prepare you, and make sure you were ready to take him, but it was clear he wasn’t going to do that this time around. You let out a moan as he roughly pushed himself into you, feeling yourself stretch around his girth. It burned a little, but the mild pain only added to the pleasure you felt as he entered you. He wasted no time in thrusting into you, setting a fast pace that had his hips snapping against you. As you felt each stroke hit deep inside you, he reached up to hold your hands above your head again.

You loved the feeling of him holding you down or against him as he fucked you. The feeling of being so helpless underneath him made your knees go weak, and you could tell over time that he’d grown to love showing off his strength with you. You let out a choked moan as he hit a spot inside you that made you see stars, and he made a noise like a growl as he roughly fucked into you. You arched your back up into him as he hit that spot consistently, unable to hold back on whimpers and groans of pleasure. The way he just held you there, thrusting into you so roughly . . . like you were just a toy he was using for his own pleasure. You must have clenched around him at the thought, because a second later he groaned into your neck. You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppy, but he kept up the same hard pace as you felt his cock twitch inside you. Suddenly, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. You could feel the warm spurt inside you as he came, and the feeling sent you over the edge with a cry. He thrust into you a few more times, but they were gentler, almost lazy as he spilled the rest of his cum inside you.

A few seconds later, he released your wrists. You could feel the ache where he’d been holding them, and you knew you’d most likely have bruises later. He moved his hands to gently cup your face, looking into your eyes with a slight worry. You smiled at him to let him know he hadn’t hurt you too badly, still feeling blissed out in the aftermath of your climax. You pulled him in for a kiss, and you could feel his relieved smile against your lips.

“Let’s go get cleaned up . . . and I reckon I’m gonna need a new shirt.”

#house of wax #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair imagine #house of wax imagine #house of wax 2005 #vincent sinclair x you #slashers x reader #slashers #vincent sinclair fanfiction #Vincent Sinclair nsft #vincent sinclair smut #house of wax smut #house of wax nsft

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crisiscutie · 1 year

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Okay, so I finally thought of another request here for you, hope it's not too much trouble.^^

A darling s/o who suddenly surprises them with sudden love and affection. They are not overly clingy like them but s/o just begins to listen to them more and calls them her husband happily. You can use Rufus/Vincent/Cloud for this one.

Rufus: He is a busy man. He knows he hasn't been spending much time with his darling lately and he feels guilty. But he has to clean up the mess his late father left behind. How unfortunate that "tragedy" deeply affected the company... Despite that, his darling has been understanding, as evidenced by her comforting words lately. Rufus knew she was coming soon, and he hoped the romantic candlelit dinner he had set up would make up for it. Maybe he'd even get the chance to give her the special prize he's been saving.

Rufus would then feel a rush of warmth when his darling appeared out of nowhere, almost toppling him over in his office chair. When he asked her what was the occasion, his darling would happily state she's just happy to finally see her husband in flesh as she peppers his cheeks with kisses. He would smile back, pecking at her lips as he removes her from his waist. As his darling inquires about their evening, Rufus will coyly look at the glinting, mako-encrusted band just barely visible from his desk. Perhaps this night will be the perfect one to propose.

Vincent: Amid his solitary musings, he was surprised when he felt his darling's arms wrap around him from behind. He would already recognise her scent as he gently drew her close with his arm. She carefully pulled away the fabric and buckles of his red cloak, her intention to reveal his lips. His darling then exclaimed with joy that she's glad she caught him in his usual spot. She confessed she had been missing him. Vincent would give her an inquisitive look, and with a little smile, ask if she really meant it - even when they had just seen each other the night before. She would giggle a yes and place a gentle kiss on his neck.

The darling will then ask Vincent if there was something wrong with a wife wanting to see her husband every night... Afterward, the only sound was the beating of her heart as the long, uneasy pause lingered. Just as the darling was about to take back her words, Vincent's deep voice cut through the silence.

"I guess not," he says. As he pulled her in for a passionate kiss, his red eyes glimmered with a faint sparkle.

Cloud: After a recent skirmish, he would stand in his typical pose as he closed his eyes, and released a long, drawn-out sigh. He and his party faced off against a stronger enemy than they were used to. His body jolted at the sound of his name being shouted. Suddenly, he's swept up in his darling's embrace, feeling her lips cover his chest in kisses. Heat rose to his cheeks as he scolded his darling for sneaking upon him, especially since he was still holding the Buster Sword.

His darling would take a step back, her sorrowful expression making him feel guilty. Cloud exhaled quietly, reassuring her things are fine as his concerned eyes scanned her face. What has gotten into his darling? Did something happen? Cloud's darling then confided in him she had been feeling anxious, and seeing him get hurt in the last fight only intensified her worry.

"Hey. I'm fine, don't worry." Cloud's mako eyes, full of conviction and compassion, bore into her when he said his words. His darling would look up at him, her smile widened as she clung to his arm. Her lips moved in a sweet melody as she proclaimed that Cloud's the best husband she could wish for. Cloud's face grew hot as he stumbled for the right words, his mind racing to comprehend her last statement.

"d-don't say that..."

#cloud strife #cloud strife x reader #vincent valentine #vincent valentine x reader #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #rufus shinra #rufus shinra x reader #c.c rambles #sleepyfaequeen #final fantasy #ff7 x reader #ff7 remake #final fantasy vii

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fafnir19 · 1 month

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Confined in body and mind

Dr Jensen's laboratory was a hub of activity, with buzzing machines and the scent of chemicals in the air. Eric, a 45-year-old scientist trapped in a wheelchair, stood beside Dr. Jensen, peering through the glass at a comatose man named Vincent.

Tubes and wires snaked in and out of the man's body, keeping him alive. Dr Jensen, a middle-aged man with a wild shock of salt-and-pepper hair, turned to Eric with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Eric, I have been working on a project that might just change everything for you." Eric's eyes widened with anticipation. "What do you mean, Dr. Jensen? What sort of project?" Dr Jensen explained the ambitious project to Eric. "We are looking to transfer minds from one body to another. You see, Vincent here is brain dead, but his body functions perfectly. We can transfer your mind into his body, giving you a chance at a new life, a fully functioning body." Eric's heart raced with excitement at the possibility of leaving behind his wheelchair-bound existence. "I want to volunteer for this, Dr. Jensen. When can we start?" Dr Jensen gave a reassuring smile. "We will need to wait a few weeks to ensure that there is nothing left of Vincent's consciousness in the body. But soon, Eric, you will have a functioning body once more." As the weeks passed, Eric found himself eagerly anticipating the day when he would finally be free from the confines of his wheelchair.

The day arrived for the planned transfer into Vincent's body. Dr. Jensen led Eric to the laboratory, where Vincent's body was encased in a glass tube, adorned with a web of delicate machinery.

As Eric stood before the vessel that offered him newfound mobility, Dr. Jensen turned to him, his eyes alight with a blend of caution and expectation. "This is it, Eric. The moment you've been waiting for," he said, his voice tinged with the gravity of the impending procedure. Eric nodded with determination, the fluttering of anticipation barely contained within him. "I'm ready, Doctor Jensen. Let's proceed with the transfer," he replied, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions churning within him. With precision and care, Dr. Jensen injected Eric with anesthesia and reassured him. "You'll wake up as Ervin, a mix of your mind and Vincent's body." Its effects gradually cloaking Eric's consciousness in a fog of numbness. As his senses slipped away into the void, he clung to the promise of awakening in a new body - a body that would grant him the freedom he so ardently yearned for.

As Eric began to awaken, he found himself standing within the glass enclosure that had previously housed Vincent's vessel. Attempting to move his new body, a sense of exhilaration surged through him. The dawning realization that something was amiss crept into Eric's mind. "Dr. Jensen," Eric called out as he steadied himself within the unfamiliar body. "This isn't Vincent's body, is it? I can feel it. Something's different." Dr. Jensen regarded him with a mix of concern and urgency. "Vincent's body collapsed during the procedure, unfortunately," he confirmed, a tinge of regret in his voice. "Time was of the essence, Eric. We had to act swiftly." The revelation struck Eric with a palpable sense of disorientation. He was not within the confines of the body he had anticipated. "What... what has happened?" Eric's voice wavered with an unease he could not shake. His anxieties found voice in Dr. Jensen's explanation. "We located a replacement body just in time, Eric. A 20-year-old named Leon, tragically declared brain dead. The circumstances were dire, but your mind had to find a new home," Dr. Jensen explained, his gaze meeting Eric's with a mixture of reassurance and trepidation.

Eric found himself thrust into the body of Leon—a young athlete, vibrant and untamed. Eric was now navigating life in the body of a 20-year-old—a stark contrast to the life work and identity he had known. The weight of the situation settled upon him, burdened with the challenge of adapting to an entirely new reality. "You have become Leander," Dr. Jensen announced, his gaze fixing upon Eric with a sense of finality. "The 'Le' for Leon, the 'and' for the fusion of two souls, and the 'er' to signify your essence. Embrace this new journey, Eric."

Embarking on a journey of rediscovery, Eric grappled with the unfamiliarity of his new physique. The simple act of movement, of inhabiting a body not his own, presented an extraordinary learning curve. Eric had to navigate the nuances of adjusting to a youthful vessel, wholly unaccustomed to the vitality and energy that coursed through his newfound form. After years of confinement in a wheelchair, the sensation of full mobility overwhelmed and thrilled him. However, adapting to a 20-year-old body brought its own challenges. At the age of 20, he could no longer do his old job as a scientist and had to retake his exams. While Eric's knowledge made academic endeavors a breeze, there were times when the exuberance and impulsiveness of a young body shone through. As Leander delved into his new life, he also embraced Leon's athleticism, continuing the young man's passion for rowing. He thrived in the sport, reveling in the vitality coursing through his veins as he rowed with fervor, never losing sight of the importance of maintaining a fit and healthy body. One blazing March day, as the golden sun dipped low on the horizon, Leander found himself standing alongside his rowing team, the air electric with the energy of victory. They had emerged triumphant in a gruelling regatta, the taste of triumph sweet upon their lips. As the celebration ensued, Leander found himself swept up in the euphoria of the moment, the pulsating beat of life infusing him with an exuberance he had long yearned for.

He got completely drunken, clouding his senses and dulling his wits. Stumbling through the night, his laughter ringing out in the twilight, Leander found himself burdened with an terrible exhaustion. His steps faltered, each one an arduous battle against the tempest that brewed within him. Seated upon a park bench, the cool night air enveloping him, a voice pierced through the haze of his muddled thoughts. "Don't sit still, it's too cold outside. If we fall asleep, we'll freeze to death. Let me take over!" the voice echoed, a mysterious presence coaxing him toward lucidity. Leander's eyes widened in astonishment as he realized that it was not his own thoughts that resounded in his mind. A sense of both unease and curiosity gnawed at him as he allowed this foreign influence to guide him, and soon, he found himself safely nestled within the warmth of his bed. The following day, as Leander engaged in strenuous rowing training, his muscles strained to their limit, beads of sweat forming upon his brow. Once more, the unfamiliar voice infiltrated his thoughts. "Keep going, our body can take it! Let me take over," the voice commanded, its reverberations seeping into the depths of his consciousness.

When Leander recounted the bewildering encounter to Dr. Jensen, he regarded him with a mix of curiosity and contemplation. "You heard a voice, Leander? As if someone else were guiding you?" Dr. Jensen queried, his voice laced with an eager fascination. Leander nodded with a terse nod. "Yes, Doctor. It was as though someone else was within me, steering me through the fog," he explained, his words cautious yet resolute. With an air of palpable interest, Dr. Jensen proposed a set of brainwave measurements to unravel the enigma that plagued Leander's thoughts. Dr. Jensen’s features etched with both concern and intrigue. "Leander, I've analyzed your brain wave patterns, and it seems that something quite extraordinary is occurring within your mind." Leander furrowed his brow, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean, Dr. Jensen?" Dr. Jensen clasped his hands together, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Leander, what you're experiencing is indeed a rare and unprecedented occurrence," Dr. Jensen began, his voice tinged with an undercurrent of fervor. "The residual presence of Leon within your psyche is an enigma that holds immense scientific significance." Leander's gaze flickered with a blend of awe and unease, akin to a tempestuous tempest on the horizon. "What does this mean for me, Dr. Jensen?" he inquired, his voice tinged with a note of apprehension. "In essence, the remnants of Leon's consciousness have woven a curious tapestry within the confines of your mind," Dr. Jensen explained, his dexterous fingers deftly adjusting the intricate instrumentation before them. "During the mind transfer, Leon's body was not without trace remnants of Leon's consciousness, resulting from the brief interval between his presumed brain death and your arrival within his form." A sliver of understanding dawned within Leander's gaze, his thoughts awash with a labyrinthine maze of possibilities and uncertainties. "So, what happens now?" he queried, his words fraught with an undeniable sense of urgency. Dr. Jensen's eyes gleamed with an unyielding fervor as he continued to unravel the ineffable complexity of Leander's predicament. "In essence, we stand upon the precipice of unprecedented scientific inquiry," he elucidated, his voice laced with an indefatigable zeal. "The veritable fusion of minds within a singular vessel presents an unparalleled opportunity for exploration and discovery." A tempest of emotions roiled within Leander. As days waned into nights, the fragments of Leon's consciousness began to manifest with increasing intensity, a presence that insinuated itself into the very fabric of Leander's being. Eric, once the primary occupant of the vessel, found his influence waning as the spectre of Leon tightened its tenuous grip upon their shared dominion.

As the days went by, Leon's control over their shared body grew more and more. Eric found himself at odds with the mischievous Leon, who seemed to be on a reckless streak. "Leon, we can't keep living like this," Eric expressed his concerns. "You're jeopardizing both of our futures with your impulsive behavior." Leon retorted, "Relax, Eric. We've got this. We're a team, and together, we can conquer anything. Besides, we share this body, so it's in our best interest for Leander to excel in every aspect." Frustrated, Eric bit back, "But that doesn't mean you can just use me to get what you want! I won't be your pawn, Leon." During a physics exam, Eric remained quiet, refusing to assist Leon, who was struggling with the answers.

With a victorious glint in his eye, Eric smirked inwardly, hoping to teach Leon a lesson. Suddenly, he felt Leon's enthusiastic spirit taking the reins and solving the tasks, exclaiming, "Ah, that's how it works. Now I understand physics too." Eric felt helpless, realizing that Leon had found a way to tap into his knowledge without his consent. Later that evening, things took an unexpected turn. As Leander indulged in an adult film and indulged in self-gratification, Eric and Leon's minds drifted to thoughts of their first girlfriends. When Leander shoot his load, Eric's recollection of his first girlfriend was swiftly replaced by Leon's, leaving him bewildered and devoid of his own experience.

Astonished about this peculiar turn of events, Leander consulted Dr. Jensen, prompting the doctor to explain the bizarre phenomenon. "Leander, as Leon's memories are ingrained in his body, Eric's memories are naturally rejected when Leander ejaculates," Dr. Jensen clarified. Eric was shocked, realizing that his very essence was being eroded, one ejaculation at a time.

In a subsequent visit to Dr. Jensen, Leander confidently declared, “Dr. Jensen, I am not Eric; I am not Leander. Call me Leon. I have Eric right where I want him. Soon, I'll possess nothing but his knowledge, and I'll erase his memories for good!" Eric's panic soared, realizing that Leon was on the brink of obliterating him, leaving only his knowledge behind.

Some days later Leon stood in Dr. Jensen's lab, feeling the weight of guilt for every flick of the wrist, every consequence of his arousal. "Doctor, I can't keep doing this," exclaimed Leon. "Every time I ejaculate, Eric's memories vanish. It's like I'm killing a part of him every time I give in to my desires." Dr Jensen adjusted his glasses, regarding Leon with an understanding yet calculating gaze. "Yes, Leon, I suspect that is the case. But you seem to have little control over your urges." He paused, then added, "I guess you would make a fine eunuch!” Leon's eyes widened in shock as he recoiled from the suggestion. "Neutered? No way! I won't let you do that to me," Leon protested vehemently. He paced back and forth, his mind racing for a solution. Dr Jensen observed Leon's distress with a contemplative air, then a spark of inspiration ignited in his eyes. "I have an alternative solution," he proclaimed. "What if we transfer Eric's thoughts onto an electronic medium? That way, you won't have direct access to his thoughts, but you'd still have his knowledge with you." Leon's initial skepticism gave way to consideration. "You mean Eric's consciousness on my phone?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow. Dr Jensen nodded. "Exactly. We would extract Eric's consciousness and transfer it into an app on your cell phone. This way, you wouldn't have to worry about erasing his memories and knowledge whenever you... indulge yourself," he explained, trying to keep a straight face. Leon hesitated, mulling over the proposal. Eventually, he nodded in agreement. "Alright, let's do it. If it means helping Eric and not risking losing his memories anymore, I'm in," he declared, determination sparking in his eyes.

The procedure was carried out, and soon Eric's consciousness resided within the confines of Leon's cell phone. As Leon held the device in his hand, he couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of power. "So, Eric, now you're just some kind of chatbot," Leon mused, a chuckle escaping him. "And the best thing is, I can turn you off at any time!" he added, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Meanwhile, in the digital realm, Eric found himself in a state of ethereal confinement. "What have I gotten myself into?" Eric pondered, a tinge of apprehension coloring his thoughts. "I never thought that I'd be at the mercy of a 20-year-old's whims, even in this form." Despite the circumstances, Eric couldn't help but marvel at the rapid change in Leon. Through Eric's knowledge, Leon began to grasp the intricacies of scientific concepts, excelling in his studies. However, there was an underlying unease within Eric as he pondered the possibility of Leon misusing his newfound knowledge. As days turned into weeks, Leon's intellect flourished, complementing his athletic prowess and charisma. He became renowned as an exceptional student at the Faculty of Science, all the while carrying Eric's consciousness within his pocket.

Yet, while Leon reveled in his newfound success, Eric was left to grapple with his newfound existence, at the mercy of Leon's decisions and the dreaded prospect of being silenced at any moment. The digital walls seemed to close in on Eric, and he pondered how much longer he could endure this peculiar fate. However, one thing was certain - with Leon holding the key to Eric's digital existence, the dynamics between the two would forever be altered, and Eric was left to unravel the consequences of being a mere whisper in the palm of Leon's hand.

#male tf #male transformation #age regression #body swap #inanimate tf #inanimate transformation #mad science

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calmcoldevening · 3 months

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hello!! was wondering if i could send in a bo sinclair x reader request? maybe where reader gets injured because of another slasher (maybe the hewitts)? like, the hewitts stumble upon ambrose for some reason, and thought getting the reader and sinclairs would be easy food, but the sinclairs and reader (who doesn’t take apart in the sinclair’s… hobbies, but does so this time cause it had to) do manage to defeat them and stay alive

Bo Sinclair x reader

Tw: blood, minor injury, murder, a little bit of cruelty

Getting along with Bo has always been quite difficult, and loving him is even more difficult. The character of this man could be compared to a restless volcano that could explode literally at any moment. But somehow you managed to subdue him. Every time there was a conflict between the brothers, you just grabbed Bo by the ear and pulled him aside, scolding him. A man will swear at you and call you unflattering words, but you know that he really doesn't mean it. That evening, when you are getting ready for bed, he will come into the room and climb onto the bed, comfortably settling between your legs. His face is on your stomach, his eyes are closed, and you gently stroke his hair. Only a short "Sorry" will come out of his mouth, but this is already a great success. Bo didn't like to admit that he was wrong, but you managed to deal with that stubborn side of him. You're special to him.

You spent most of your time at home. The boys didn't know how to do much on their own, for which, of course, you scolded them, but in the end you accepted it. Although you managed to teach Lester to clean floors and carpets on his own, it was already a great success. In general, almost all the housework was on you. But you didn't complain. After all, you didn't like to participate in the bloody games of this family, so you preferred to clean up the mess.

You've gotten used to it over time. You almost ignored the bloodstains in the house and on the men's clothes (although you forbade them to bring victims into the house) and ignored the screams of another person who became a victim of Bo's "art".

It was an ordinary summer day. Although it had been quite cloudy since the morning, the once bright blue sky was now covered with heavy gray clouds, but the rain did not seem to be going to start. Despite the sad weather, it was still quite hot and even stuffy outside. So you chose to spend the whole day at home. Lester went somewhere in the city early in the morning, Bo left and went to another church service, wanting to remember his mother, and Vincent locked himself in the basement. The only living thing next to you was Jessie, who was always happy to keep you company. The dog joyfully ran up to you, rubbing its muzzle against your leg. You smiled, scratching her behind the ear. She was an obedient pet, although she often rushed at strangers. A protective girl.

You were in the kitchen cooking dinner when out of the corner of your eye you saw a strange silhouette at the front door from the street. Frowning, you put the knife aside and wiped your hands on a towel. Your heart is racing in your chest. At first you thought it was Bo, but the steps were too slow and heavy. You grabbed the biggest knife you had from the shelf and hid under the table, holding your breath. It seemed like minutes before a pair of strong legs in heavy boots appeared in front of the table. You lifted the edge of the tablecloth slightly, hoping to see the stranger, but a few pitiful inches from your Liza there was a chainsaw blade covered with dried blood. Your blood froze in your veins and you reflexively backed away, hitting your back against the table leg. The table shook with a slight crack. The sudden movement definitely alerted the man. The steps became more circumspect and cautious as he moved around the table. You tightened your grip on the knife handle in your hand. Closing your eyes for a moment, you prayed in your mind that the boys would already know for sure that there was someone else in town.

Heavy breathing. You quickly look around and notice how the edge of the tablecloth lifts and a face covered with an ugly mask with long hair appears in front of you. You scream and convulsively crawl back. Getting to your feet, you run to the front door, behind you you can hear the engine of the chainsaw starting. Your heart is pounding in your ears when you run out onto the porch and slam the door behind you. Bam. The flimsy wood of the door is immediately cut through by a sharp saw blade.

Your first impulse was to run to the gas station, but if this scary man was here, then he was probably already on that side of the city. You explode from the spot and run towards the abandoned shops. Considering his size, the man turned out to be very fast. You didn't have time to properly hide behind the shelves at one of the walls of the store, as the glass door immediately opened with a strong creak. You took a deep breath, watching his chaotically moving figure. A man in a leather mask scurried back and forth through the store and literally tore down the shelves with his big body and weapons. Finally, he got to the shelf where you were sitting. A moment later, the wooden shelves above you were quickly cut by the blade of a chainsaw. You pushed the remaining structure at the man, causing him to stagger back a little, and ran out from behind the shelves. Taking advantage of his momentary confusion, you found nothing better than to decide to try your luck. There was this strange masked face in front of you. Without thinking twice, you gripped the blade of the knife with both hands and with one jerk plunged the sharp metal into his face. You pierced a stranger's eye. He growled, stepping back. His hand reflexively dropped along with the work tool as he plugged the wound with his free palm. The working blade of the chainsaw went right along your thigh.

After a couple of long minutes, you were sitting under one of the seats in an old movie theater full of wax figures. Your hip was throbbing, and the adrenaline in your blood was starting to fade, bringing the pain back to your senses. You squeezed the bleeding wound with force, feeling the warm liquid flowing down it. It seemed that all the energy was leaving your body along with the blood. You closed your eyes wearily. It almost didn't matter if that freak was wandering around looking for you. Your head was slowly getting heavier, and at the same time, your vision was blurred. Painfully. Cold.

A dull shot was heard, followed by a strong impact on the wooden floor of the cinema.

When everything went quiet, you felt a pair of strong arms around your limp body. Your head almost reflexively clung to the long-awaited warmth.

Bo gently squeezed you in his arms. His whole body tensed when he saw the bleeding wound running down your leg. The man hurried back home as soon as possible. He sat down wearily on the sofa, arranging you on his lap, and opened the first-aid kit. One hand stroked your healthy thigh soothingly, while the other carefully treated your wound.

"God, my baby.. I'm sorry I didn't come right away. I had to take down a few other bastards first," Bo muttered with a sad grin, hoping you could hear him, "And hey, did you really pick up a knife? You've ruined half of that freak's face. I'm shocked. You're so good. I thought that this is a fragile thing. But no, you are my beautiful and strong person, my love."

The man looked down at you with a smile. He saw that you were tired, both from the chase and from the loss of blood, and now you are snuggled in his arms. Bo held you protectively in his arms, kissing the top of your head. He won't let something like this happen again.

#slashers x reader #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair imagine #thomas hewitt #the leatherface

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