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xyziiix · 11 months

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𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐑 - 𝐉.𝐏 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓

Captain John Price X Female!Reader

Warnings: SMUT! (P in V, fingering, spit kink - Price spitting in readers mouth 🫣, unprotected sex, hints of a breeding kink?) PRICE IS A NASTY MF - implied secret relationship, language, mention of violence, mentions of guns, description of bullet wound, hint at Ghost being a peeping Tom @ the end, reader is described as a woman!!!!

Small summary: after a mission not going as smooth as planned, yourself and the boys had no choice but to hunker down in a safe house while you stitch up Soap - him taking a nasty bullet wound to the thigh - the heat is overwhelming and anticipation bubbling as you weren’t sure if you were entirely safe, the only thing that could take your mind off of it was your Captain’s lingering eyes, promiscuous and completely unprofessional thoughts racing through his mind about you.

!not proof read!

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Sergeant Mactavish exclaims, his head thrown back as a pained groan rumbles from his chest - his accent thicker as he complains.

“Hold still, Soap.” You reply - your voice coming out stern as you focus on pulling the bullet out of his thigh, your breath wavering as you tried to concentrate - pushing away the panic and anxiety you were feeling at seeing your friend injured. Luckily, the bullet hadn’t gone deep - and as far as you could tell - it hadn’t hit an artery. “Almost out.” You added, trying to get him to calm down.

“Stay calm, Sergeant.” A low - gravelly voice filled the clouded room, your Captain stood behind the groaning Scot, a hand placed on his shoulder to ground him as well as keep him still in order for you to work easier.

The house you were holed up in - though you could barely call it a house - was in the butt-fuck middle of nowhere - not another sign of life in sight as all that surrounded you was sand and heat. The scorching sun blared through the single glass-pane window, lighting the room enough to your satisfaction - and if you looked over to the ray of sun, you could actually see the abundance of dust floating in the air. It was safe to say you were surprised when you learned this was a marked safe house and not some deserted shack in the middle of the urzikstan desert.

You were kneeled on the chalky ground, your knees aching from the concrete floor as Soap sat above you in the rickety chair, the furniture groaning in protest at the agitated soldiers weight. You hands worked fast - managing to remove the bullet from the surface of his flesh and immediately going to disinfect it.

“Shite!” He hissed, the wound burning as you pressed a antisept-soaked cotton pad to the open area, cutting him an apologetic look as his neck strained - teeth bared at the stinging pain shooting through his nerves.

After a few minutes of you working swiftly and silently - save for the few ‘sorry’s’ when you see the Sergeant wince when you push the needle through his flesh in order to close the wound - you managed to successfully stitch him up, sighing as you lean back slightly, the strain in your back and the cramp in your hands pushed aside as you observe your work - wanting to be extra sure your teammate was taken care of. After wrapping gauze around his thigh, Gaz and Ghost move over to Soap - wrapping his arms around their shoulders as they guide him to stand.

“You go and lie down, okay? You need to rest that leg so you don’t tear the stitches.” You order softly, rising to your feet - feeling your knees pop from the benumbed feeling of kneeling for so long.

“Aye.” Johnny grunts, exhaustion taking over his usually lively self as he looks to you, “I owe you big time, lass.” He says gratefully, casting you an appreciative and tired smile before he’s moving out of the room with the other two - Ghost mumbling something to about not being so reckless, his cold demeanour failing to mask his genuine worry for Soap.

You let out groan of relief as you take a seat at the rustic table, your whole body aching as you tried to relax as best as you could in the beaten down chair.

“You alright, love?” Price asks you - and for a moment, you’d forgotten he was still in the room with you - stood over by the window he’d pried open, a cigar in his hand as he looked over to you. He’d barely spoken a word since the mission had gone south, and as much as you wanted to ask if he was okay, you knew it was best not to pry for the moment - understanding that a lot of stress and emotions were weighed on his shoulders.

“Yeah.” You responded, a hand coming to rub and knead at the back of your neck - attempting to unwind the knot that has formed there. You felt uncomfortably warm, having removed your vest a while ago - leaving you in a simple tank top, though it did little to relieve your skin - the air almost impossibly humid.

Price surveyed you, bringing the thick cigar to his lips, relishing in the smoke burning his throat and lungs as he took you in. A light sheen of perspiration was layered on your skin - collecting between your breasts that gave the illusion that your skin was glowing, your once-neat updo having loosened, your hair falling more loosely and wild, and stray, defiant strands of hair stuck to your damp skin. Price had been silently replaying the events of before in his head - what he could’ve done to prevent it; to prevent Soap getting shot, and to prevent you being put in danger. But, seeing you now - looking as ravishing as you did, helped to take his mind away from his own self-doubt for a beat.

You reluctantly stood, having looked at the scattered medical supplies on the table and floor long enough - hoping that if you glared at it hard enough it would magically be cleaned up and put back to where it was supposed to be. You began slowly picking up pieces of gauze, rolls of surgical suture and various other supplies before placing them back into the first aid box, lost in your own thoughts as you stayed contently silent.

You felt his presence before he reached for you, he smells of ash, and a lingering acrid taste of a cigar burns your tongue. His aura is intrusive, but it’s never uncomfortable. Two calloused, large hands place themselves on the outside of your arms, pressing his hard body to yours - his chest to your back as his familiar, warm lips press onto the heated skin of your neck - the juncture of where your neck and shoulder meets.

“John…” you breathe, eyes flickering over to the open doorway - painfully reminded that you weren’t alone in the house, and if either of your teammates walked in, the first thing they would see is how your Captain is practically trapping your body to the dust-covered table with his own.

“Hm?” He hums back to you, the vibrations crawling from his chest and settling into the sensitive skin of your neck. He was doing it on purpose. Acting nonchalant about the compromising position that you could be caught red-handed in at any moment. “I love hearin’ y’say my name.” He murmurs against your skin, one of his sizeable hands placing itself on your midsection - effectively pushing you back and closer to him, also chipping away at your resolve as you fought back to not sink into the feeling of him. Your skin grew impossibly hotter, the weak feeling in your thighs becoming known as you were silently glad you were being held up between the table and John - certain your already exhausted legs would collapse - you had to stifle a gasp when you felt the light graze of teeth under your jaw, the wiry stubble of his goatee scratching across your delicate skin - your Captain continued his onslaught on your neck, nearly groaning at the taste of salt on your skin.

“They could catch us.” You remind him, breathlessly.

“They could.” He agrees, though he made no move to step away from you.

It was a dangerous game you were both playing. It’s not important how your dalliance with your Captain started - it being a long story of what started as lingering looks and intrusive thoughts as you distantly admired one another - knowing the consequences of what would happen if you were to act on your feelings. You could lose your job, and John would be punished greater than you - being kicked off the team and risking being stripped of his rank. Yet, it seemed he cared little for the consequences when one night - he’d shown up to your room in the barracks, telling you that you both needed to talk - a long overdue conversation - which actually led to him fucking you senseless on your single bed. You both agreed afterwards that you needed to keep whatever this was quiet - John promising you he’d find a way to make it not result in backlash when others learned about your relationship, and in the last few months - you were both in your own content little bubble outside of work, spending most of your time from deployment with him in his apartment in London.

Panic flashes across your face as you hear footsteps descending the stairs, each step groaning and creaking from heavy combat boots, Price then stepped away from you - going back to his place by the window to resume smoking his cigar, acting as if he hadn’t just left you a flustered mess. Gaz was who appeared, not taking any notice of the red dusting your cheeks and the nonplus stature you had while you remained stood by the table.

“He’s passed out.” Gaz interjected the atmosphere - unaware of the previous state you and the Captain were in, Price nodded briefly at Garrick, the end of his cigar burning orange embers for a second as he took a pull of the smoke. You also nodded at his words - shaking yourself out of it as your unsteady hands moved to close the first aid box. Gaz took a seat at the table - the seat previously occupied by Soap - as another set of heavier footsteps came down the staircase, the skull faced Lieutenant appearing, silent as he joined the table. You glanced over to Price, who casually watched out of the window. “It’s bloody boiling in here.” Garrick comments, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Ghost lets out a grumble of agreement, a gloved hand readjusting his mask slightly. You busy yourself, now having regained your composure as you silently took the box in your hands - walking out of the room to go and put it back with the other supplies. Price’s cerulean eyes flicking over to you, watching you leave the room.

It was a few hours later, daylight had burned and it grew darker. The air finally getting cooler and giving your body some relief. You had just finished checking up on Soap - him finally feeling more like himself, joking and putting on his charm as usual. It was a relief to see him act like himself, as well as that his wound hadn’t shown any signs of infection. The stairs creaked under your feet as you left Johnny to rest and descended to the ground floor. Glancing into the living room to see Gaz had made himself comfortable on the worn down sofa, and was already passed out. Simon was no where to be seen - and you guessed he was either outside on watch or he’d just found himself a private area for the night, understanding that he prefers his own company sometimes.

You snatched a pillow from the armchair in the living room - unfortunately, the only bed that was actually inhabitable; was occupied by an injured Soap. You would’ve slept in the living room, but Gaz’s snoring was already doing your head in. You moved to the more open room - where the flimsy dining table was. You went to the other end of the room, laying the pillow on the hard ground and lying down. The pillow gave your head some relief, but the hardwood floor dug unmercifully into your already aching back.

You sighed, staring up at the ceiling, observing the parts where the paint had chipped. You laid there for a moment, hands resting on your stomach as you enjoyed the peace and quiet - yet it also put you on edge; you could hear a pin drop it was that silent.

You decided to shut your eyes, disappointed to feel not even an ounce of sleep behind your eyes, you let out another frustrated sigh - scrunching your brows as you tried to will yourself to get some rest.

When you heard the quiet shuffling of boots moving towards you, your breath slowed - already knowing who it was as you felt him settle on the ground beside you, a strong arm slithering around your stomach and gently pulled you to him until your back met his hard chest.

“What are you doing?” You asked, your voice sounding stern - though, you could both hear the smile in it.

“Wha’s it look like i’m doin’?” Price asked rhetorically, his voice low and gravelly - his accent mixing his words to a perfect melody as it vibrated against your ear. You felt his stubble prickling the back of your neck as he placed a single, wet kiss there - a shiver rolling down your spine.

“Not here.” You sighed reluctantly, even having him lay next to you was risky - as well as that it was effectively arousing you like a bitch in heat. It’s been so long - too long - since you’d felt him, having been on this mission for weeks now and not having an ounce of privacy between you.

“Was only wantin’ a cuddle, love.” He responded with a raspy chuckle, his voice having a teasing edge to it as his arm flexed around your torso slightly - pulling you closer to him until there was practically no space between your bodies. “-unless…” he trailed off, his arm around your torso slowly moving south, his fingers dancing along the slit of exposed skin where your top ended and your pants begun.

“They’ll hear us.” You say, your voice growing breathless as you tried to remind him - as well as yourself - looking down to try and watch his fingers in the dark - only being able to make out darker shapes as you felt his finger tease under the waistband of your pants - trailing along the sensitive skin of you abdomen.

“We’ll be quiet.” He says, his liquid voice soothing you as he nestles his head in the crook of your neck - also looking down to watch his hands work as they slowly begin to pop the buttons of your pants open.

You don’t reply, breath bated as you feel your pants grow loose on your hips and leisurely pushed down to your thighs - feeling your skin being exposed to the air.

He lets out a hum against your neck, adjusting his head to softy suck at the thin skin of your jugular - feeling your breath hitch as his warm, large hand slides further down, slipping under the cotton fabric of your underwear and cupping your pussy, feeling how hot, puffy and slick you were under his palm.

“Oh, sweetheart..” He groaned, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans more over you to get a better look at your face, a smug smirk pulling his lips and goatee up as his hand wedges itself between your closed thighs - flexing his wrist to essentially grind his hand against your neglected cunt. “How long ya been like this? All wet for me?” He asked lowly - though he knew you were too focused on not crying out to answer him. His pride grew as he felt your hips begin to rock on their own accord, grinding into his palm as well as brushing your arse against his clothed cock. “Soaked… and I haven’t even put my fingers in you yet.” He practically growls against your neck - his voice reverberating through your entire body, his touch feeling electric.

“John…” you breathe a quiet whine, and he feels his chest swell as he could already hear the pleading edge in your voice, his cock throbbing in the confines of his pants.

“Tell me to stop.” He breathes, his hand pressing up against you - feeling your slick stick to his palm. He let out a low, gravelly breath as he felt how hot and wet you were. He doesn’t wait for you to respond - because he knows you won’t. He knows you won’t tell him to stop.

And you know it too.

You hear the metal of his zipper being pulled, the noise joining the soundtrack of your heavy breathing. The hand still buried inside of your underwear shifts, spreading your slick over your puffy clit, sending small jolts through your body. When you hear a quiet, strangled groan from behind you, you turn to look over your shoulder.

Price was still laying on his side behind you, his pants being pulled down enough so that his cock was free. You watched in awe as he slowly fisted his dick, pumping himself languidly as his other hand was still buried inside of your underwear - a calloused thumb circling your bud of nerves while you felt two of his thick fingers tease at your quivering, drooling entrance.

You thankfully didn’t need to whine and beg - mostly because John was growing just as desperate as you were. His thick fingers sank into you, stretching you more than your own fingers could, you let out a soft hiss as your hips squirmed a little.

“Be quiet.” Price orders, his tone authoritative yet dripping with lust, he began slowly dragging his fingers in an out of you - scissoring you open to get you ready for his cock. His chin rested on your shoulder again as he watched you squirm and bite your lip in an attempt to keep quiet, his voice a breath of air against your ear - “so fuckin’ tight.”

His other hand released its hold on his cock, lifting to cup your jaw and turn you to face him. He pried your bottom lip from under your teeth with his thumb before he planted his lips on yours - letting out a long exhale through his nose as he relished the taste of you. His fingers moving a little faster as your quiet noises fell onto his tongue.

He pulled back a moment later, his face hovering above yours. You could only just see his face in the dark, his lips parted as he took in your expression.

“Open.”

Like the good girl you were, you did as you were told, your lips parting and your tongue peeking out invitingly. He let out a small groan of approval before he spat into your mouth. You took what he gave you, whimpering a little as you swallowed. His fingers pulled out of you then, leaving you feeling empty. A protest was on the tip of your tongue before you felt him use his booted foot to push your pants the rest of the way down your legs, and you quickly kicked them off your ankles, the sound of fabric hitting the floor filling the room for a beat.

One of his thighs wriggled between your legs, pushing your legs open as he melded against you. Wasting no time in gathering your slick with the flushed tip of his cock before he pushed into you. Pressing your lips together again as you both groaned from the stretch of his cock slowly filling you.

“So fuckin’ tight…” he groaned again, his voice barely above a whisper as his head fell onto your shoulder - his cock throbbing between your hot, constricting walls. “Like you were made for me, love.” He added with a breathless chuckle, slowly rocking his hips until he was fully buried into you.

“John-“ you gasped as he bottomed out, your body already writhing beside him, your chest rising and falling with shallower breaths.

At the sound of your noises unintentionally upping in volume, his free hand came to clasp around your mouth - muffling the little whimpers threatening to escape. “I know…” he cooed against your ear in a whisper. “Got to be quiet for me sweetheart, don’t want to others to catch us — to catch me filling you up like this.” He breathed, his own breathing quickening as he began to rock his hips in hard, shallow thrusts.

The moan that escaped was trapped into his palm, your legs already quivering as his cock dragged against every spot inside of you it seemed only he could find. You weakly rocked back against him, hearing his hot breath fan against your ear as it seemed he was also trying to stay quiet.

“Not gonna last long, love.” He says honestly. You too were already feeling the beginnings of shock waves indicating an incoming orgasm. It’d been such a long few weeks since he’d been able to fuck you. “Need you to come around my cock before I can fill you up.” He growls, the hand not muffling your mouth reached down to fan across your clit - your body immediately tensing, your cunt practically strangling his cock.

His pelvis kept hitting your arse in slow but hard thrusts, rocking your body with him as his chest remained glued to your back. One of his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt while the other was down to where you were joined together - touching your clit in tight circles. His face pressed into your neck, his goatee burning your skin deliciously. Your teeth trapped your bottom lip between them - forcing yourself to muffle your noses - almost to the point you could taste copper in your mouth.

It felt like the knot in your stomach was tightening by the minute, your body shuddering and your thighs tensing as they were forced open by his own muscled thighs.

“M’gonna come-“ you moan quietly, spurring him on as he let a low groan into your neck. He picked up his pace a little, nearly rolling you onto the side with the force of his thrusts, his fingers began smacking tapping at your throbbing clit, his cock piercing you open as his thrust grow sloppy. His hot tongue laved over the think skin of your neck - the sensitive spot just under your neck that he knew would have you trembling.

About several seconds later it happened. Your abdomen coiling taught as you felt heat and desire crash through you, your lips parting in a silent moan as you stiffened for a moment - your pussy quivering around him as you came.

He continued to fuck you through it, his eyes glued to your face as he watched your expression contort with euphoria. He let out a low and breathy groan when he felt you tighten around him. “That’s right, love… make a mess on me-“ he encouraged, his gravelly voice whispering into your ear as he held you to him.

He wasn’t that far behind you, grunting curses and profanities into your ear about filling you up as his hips met yours with one final, hard thrust, before he was spilling his hot come into you. His body shuddering beside you as he panted into your neck again.

You let out a quiet, weak moan as you felt warmth of his spend bloom inside of you. You both stayed there for a few minutes, catching your breaths as you felt sweat dancing over your skin - your pussy still pulsing around his softening cock from the aftershocks of such an intense orgasm.

“Fuckin’ hell..” he breathed — his voice trailing to a soft chuckle as he slowly pulled his lax cock out of you, gently shushing you when you whined at the loss. “So good f’me, always such a good girl…” he praises, kissing around your ear as he whispers sweet nothings to you.

As your captain coddled you and cleaned you up, you were both blissfully unaware of the ogling eyes from the shadows, the moonlight shining through the window giving a glimmer of light to reflect against the cool surface of the skull mask…

A/N: hope everyone enjoyed! Sorry it took so long to get out been a lil busy. I couldn’t resist adding the little mention of Ghost in the end — I LOVE reading those fics and head cannons of Ghost x you x Price.

Ooo maybe I should write a Ghost x reader x Price??? Lmk!!

#cod price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price smut #captain price smut #price x reader #simon ghost riley #barry sloane #captain price #call of duty #modern warfare two #john soap mactavish

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moondirti · 11 months

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animalic (6)

← chapter five // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 4k summary: misery makes good company warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, angst, i mean it guys, miguel o'hara is really not nice in this one, fighting, death/extinction, morally questionable characters, weapons of mass destruction, implied drug withdrawal, reader is given a backstory notes: apologies for what's to come. it's okay if you hate me after

“Don’t move. You’ll make it worse.”

There’s a warm hand cupping the back of your head, callused fingers spread to steady the junction between it and your shoulder. It’s the first thing you notice when you wake; that, and the breath fanning across your face.

You think it odd. Signs of life pound beneath you like the febrile concoction of a dream, burning hot in emphasis that you’d survived. A heavy pulse behind your brow, the headache pinching at every sense until they all dim to conductive static. Your tongue, pasty on the roof of your mouth. The hind of your arm itches, the urge running bone-deep, humming from flesh gracelessly torn apart by a gutter. When you shift to examine it, a fire roars up your neck, the smouldering pain robbing you of any effort.

(The only other time you’d been this uncomfortable, you were bitten by a spider the third month of your internship with Alchemax. The puncture site didn’t burn so much as the delirium that followed.)

“What did I just say?”

And, there’s that voice. You find it difficult to discern its more unique attributes, words muffled from behind the wavering pane of your lucidity – yet, even still, it stands as the most tangible thing present. Deep, resonant. Smoked with a ruggedness you can feel in your teeth. It doesn’t occur to you why it seems so unfamiliar; perhaps it’s the fact that you catch it through its source, your ear pressed to a muscled chest. Or, that’s it’s whispering.

You’ve never heard him whisper. Not to you.

The need to retaliate swells once you realise who holds you. It’s nothing productive, not the string of questions you should be asking – what’s happening, where are we; but it’s the only natural instinct that overcomes you. When you attempt to make good on it, though, the clutter of jokes, gripes, and snubs tangle in your throat, emerging as little more than a groan.

And the act wears you more than it probably should, exhausted tremors wracking your frame. A tender ache ripples from a point on your ribcage – separate from the area you’d fractured at the quarry. The pressure here is more centralised, a focused bruise you locate the source of with a wriggle of your elbow, when a rock comes loose and clatters to settle underneath you. It joins a mound of similar rubble, a pseudo-cushion of chalky cement broken off the larger slabs surrounding you.

You assume they do, at least – based on what you can tell of the terrain behind your back. In reality, you have no means to confirm your circumstances. The space around you swims in ink-blot darkness, the type that is almost material, where sheer absence of light could be considered an element of its own. You squeeze your eyes shut, then widen them, and find that there’s no difference between the two.

So – dark, dusty and… cramped. You’re positioned across Miguel’s lap, his legs running under and perpendicular to yours. Neither of you can stretch them to their full extent, however, forced to cross and bend in unwieldy ways, tangling further in each other's limbs. Your clothes are worn out enough to allow you to detect when any surface of his body – tense abdomen and thick thighs – twitches, thrumming with a molasses-slow tension that starts to diffuse through you.

Not a scenario of his own choosing, then.

But the turn of events that might’ve converged to this are lost on you, white noise fluffing the space they’d evacuated. Last you recall, you were staring down a cop car, the lingering comfort of a child’s trust filling you with a remarkable sort of purpose, that which you cannot place. Had you acted against that convict? Or left it up to the man cradling you?

As if on cue, he speaks.

“You’re trapped under a collapsed building.”

He says you like he’s not a confounding variable in this equation. You know it’s meant to single your blame in this, stranding it somewhere where you can brood without cross-examining him or why he’s here too. It nests on a well of guilt you keep suppressed for good reason, irking you in a particularly special way.

“Figured that out for myself, thanks.” Despite the trouble you put into getting the retort out undisturbed, it ends up sounding more unconvincing than not. Miguel waits for the coughing fit you have afterwards to subside before pitching in his acknowledgment.

“Did you, now?”

Little shit isn’t even trying to hide his sarcasm.

You ignore him, continuing with your scepticism. “I’m just wondering why we’re still here.”

Because it’s a genuine conjecture. While you’re not a part of the educated camp in spider-hero abilities – being so clueless to the extent of your own – you’re far too familiar with that infamous super strength. You’d sensed the difference for yourself; your increasing aptness in carrying hefty weights, the fluidity with which you cruise through life, physically unperturbed. And you’ve been on the receiving end of the spectrum too, your skin littered with scars that point to the sheer power of your companion.

A few tonnes of demolished concrete should be a walk in the park for him.

He clicks his tongue like it’s obvious. “I pulled under a steel arc in time for the debris not to crush us. If I disturb this pocket, or try to rearrange a tunnel, then I run the risk again.”

The logic makes sense, as much as you hate to admit it. Of course, that doesn’t stop you from picking at the contrivances in his language. It was you when discussing what went wrong, and now it’s I when it comes to the out. You realise it’s probably unintentional. Somehow, that makes it worse. He must truly believe you’re nothing beyond a malevolent fuck-up; some villain willing to sacrifice herself for the greater demise.

(The latter might have its validity. It’s the former you hold issue with.)

Likewise, you also ascertain an easy fix to all this – on account of your spectral properties. And, if you were a better woman, it would’ve been feasible. Phase out, crawl through until you breach the open, get help.

It’s long since been established that you’re not that person, though – and you’ve come to accept your own incompetence. You don’t mean to die here; you’re not sure if you want him too either, for all your ire. But your immateriality is a fickle thing, recurring at the most inopportune times, in the smallest increments – a potential problem for the doubtlessly long crawl it’d take to escape. You don’t want to imagine what would happen should you solidify within the walls.

Resignation seems easier than tempting it.

Miguel must recognise the option as well. As it stands for him, he can’t afford to let you go, nor is he desperate enough to trust you yet despite it. You don’t bring it up then, maintaining the upper-hand by his misunderstanding of your capacity.

(Maybe you are evil.

Or, just tired.)

“That’s okay. I think it would be funny if we passed like this.” You pitch, nudging your cheek to urge the smile clearly lacking in your tone. There’s no humour behind your choice of phrase, and it’s a jarring step back from where he’d been, expounding himself. You suppose it might be a clumsy distraction from the exact gravity of your predicament, yet even that rolls over in your brain, not quite satisfactory to dissolve as truth. “It’ll make a nice story for the people who dig us up.”

His chest puffs, filling with an irritated inhale. In the same movement, his fingers constrict onto your cranial base; it has the adverse effect of bracing your neck for the sudden shift, minimising the soreness triggered by any activity. You decide to take it as the warning it’s meant to be instead.

“Eres patética.” He murmurs, sinking back down. You wince when his clutch weakens, pain flaring. “And whiplashed.”

You purse your lips, critical. “I’ve had worse.”

“Sure.”

“My arm–”

“Will be fine.” As if to punctuate, he reaches for the wound. A clink sounds when he taps it. “Used the nanotech off my suit as a bandage.”

You should have caught that it doesn’t sting like it would’ve if exposed. Similarly, his hands are gloveless. Bare – while the rest of him isn’t. You’d felt the dry surface of his palm, the fixed warmth it emanated, but for some oversight, you hadn’t considered that he was touching you. Skin-to-skin, the simple size of his fists dwarfing you in every measure.

A stone lodges in your throat.

“Did– How’d you know?” You pry, referencing the perpetual tenebrosity you’re suspended in.

What he replies with shouldn't shock you, not as much as it does. But the air’s shifted to a nuanced degree, a hesitation substituting loud anger. It's the awareness that he's just as tuned in to you as you are him, sympathetic to try and redirect you off the brink of death. Or, more likely, it’s the poignant impression of his fangs, wedged in your flesh, his tongue lapping up the very same path.

(And the wanton moan it’d triggered.)

“I could smell the blood.”

Oh.

Truthfully, you’ve no clue whether you respond aloud or keep your contemplation close to your psyche. He admits it almost… awkwardly, like it’s a condition he’s not so fond of himself. Yet it’s one that reverberates in the strained silence, plucking at taut strings that stretch with every passing second. You play it on repeat, stewing over the way in which he spoke; the diction, the stressors, the slight roll of his accent.

I could smell it. I could smell you. The blood.

Your life on the run hardly ever allows for moments like these. Over the past year, stress has anchored itself by the dock of your being, streamlining a flow of cortisol to every major organ. Continuity hinges on an alertness to the forces propelling you, and while the occasional wisecrack can alleviate some effects it has on your health, you don’t have the luxury of sinking into whatever fear bolsters it all.

It’s with him, though – hanging from a crane, or cornered in a pen of his own design. Only ever with him are you slapped with the resounding, festering distress of your own weakness. It consumes you, gnawing on your gut with its brutal teeth, tearing away the indifference you’d built around your systems. How dissimilar the two of you are; a girl unwilling to fight for even herself, and a man capable of wrapping a slash in the dark.

(He could smell it. And he can probably see, too.

By just how much does he outmatch you?)

“You’re welcome.” Miguel growls. You scold yourself for your elongated reticence, the pace of your heart overtaking the anxious torrent of thoughts that pump through you. It’s good practice to thank the man who’d saved your life four times over. Be that as it may, does it really count if he’s the reason it was necessary to begin with? He’d dropped you off that crane, he’d swung you a hundred feet high. Him, him, him.

You curl your tongue, desperate to quell the barrage of resentment that escalates at his prodding. Despite it pulling you from your rapid dissociation, your fight-or-flight peaks, forcing you to face a confrontation you don’t need. There’s nowhere to run – presently, you’re moored into place, his physicality and unique provocation blocking the possibility all together.

You scoff to placate the spiralling desire to argue.

It doesn’t work.

“For what?” You hiss.

All too quickly, his legs spread, creating a trough for you to slide down into. When your ass hits the unforgiving floor, you involuntarily cringe at the contrast it poses to his leg. A calculated effect, you’re sure – so too is the newfound freedom of his grip releasing your head, the crossing of his forearms pushing you away from the post his pecs provided.

It’s what you wanted, to distance yourself from his overbearing stature. And he manipulates it to his own favour; you’re made to bear your burden, the agony of your injured state tripling as if to exclaim: ‘see?’

Touché.

Nevertheless, it palliates your memory. The chill of the earth under you spikes your nerves, clearing the brume overcasting your day previous. You’d driven a car into that symbiote based on a groundless hypothesis; bold, any scientist would tell you. Yet, as far as your perception extends, it worked.

“Selfish.” He announces, far from discrete. It’s so unlike him that it smites the ego beginning to coagulate at your remembered success.

Your eyes snap to where you assume his face is, squinting like your glare makes any difference. “Excuse me?”

Undeterred by the threat inherent in your tone – that which is all talk – he persists. “Who do you think you are exactly, Wraith?”

The interrogation holds a dangerous quality; again, it feels out of place, a spirit tugging at the strings of his hollow self.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why? What would you prefer? Anomaly, banshee? You drag death behind you like it’s a curse, only you’ve opted into it. I told you it wasn’t our place to interfere, and you had to push it–”

He can be jaded, or subtle. Oftentimes, he’s dismissive and passively rude.

But Miguel O’Hara is never heedlessly hostile. Not like this.

“That wasn’t my fault, asshole. I fucking glitched!”

“¡Órale, estás bien pendeja! Nothing ever is, of course! Has it never occurred to you to take a good look in the mirror?”

The irregularity scares you. Your voice breaks with it.

“O’Hara–”

“Because I’ll tell you what I see; a girl who can’t face what she’s done.”

“You don’t know me.” You shake your head, tamping the stiffness in your shoulder. It does nothing to exercise the sharp unease that flays you alive.

“A self-serving criminal who refuses to listen.”

“I d– I tried.” Hiccupping, the edge worsens.

“You’d have gone back home–”

“There’s nothing left for me there!”

“Like there is anywhere else? You’ve devastated them!”

“Stop it–”

“Wrecked entire worlds! I’ve been the only one holding it all together,” He yells, pushing his knees closer to one another. You’re slowly crushed in the process, thighs drawing up to press against your torso. “You’re no victim. You’re no hero.”

“Stop it!”

“Tell me I’m wrong!”

Feverish tears slice down your cheeks, spouting to escape the pressure that balloons within you. Your lungs tighten alongside it, heart aching. It’s progressed past the point of prevention – no longer do you retain control of how this turns out. All you can do is drift; a feather, seized in this tempest, stirred by a disembodied man.

When you don’t respond, preferring to preserve your energy for the sobs that rip from you, he inches closer. You sense it when he repeats himself, his hot breath lining the shell of your ear.

“Well,” His claws sharpen, grazing the small of your back. “Am I?”

His lisp is more pronounced like this, fangs extended to affect the natural position of his mouth. It warps the undertone, like a pool does light, and sends it back more viscous than ever. He’s uninhibited – an addict missing his fix.

It’s almost impossible to choke the admission out against the hatred churning your stomach. When you unhinge your jaw, it’s a credible wager that you retch all over yourself instead.

“No.” You manage to warble, a mixture of snot and wet misery streaking down your chin. Your wrists stay plastered, allowing the mess to mask your countenance, tucking between your legs in a childlike attempt at comfort. Cruelty crackles – self-propagated now – assaulting your faux-confidence until it plummets to a fraction of what it was.

Cursed. A wraith – haunting the multiverse with her unfinished business.

There’s nothing left to declare as his impressions are confirmed. You both mark it, this changed, spoken into existence by your divulgence. By some miracle, if you were to slip his capture, it’d be no more of a victory than the gore crusting your fingernails. Proof for his belittlement; that you truly are so inconsiderate as to further endanger the lives of millions.

(Would you be able to live with yourself?)

You relapse, agonising over the past week. Not a victim – you’d taken advantage of him with a kiss for an unsure opportunity. Not a hero – you’d punched a robber and gotten a civilian killed in the process. You’d run over a murderer and buried several under an early grave.

(Can you live with yourself?)

And home–

Trapped, you boil in a pond of your transgressions. It’d been a long time coming – your fault, in fact. You should’ve noticed the water was gradually heating.

There’d been a dam of careful construction at this bank, stacked tirelessly over the several nights you’d been given to think on what you’ve done. To prevent your clear culpability from catching up to you, to blind others to it too. He’s right, but not about all things. You’ve memorised your reflection at this point. Put it in a line up, and you’ll point your place in hell with facile certainty.

So, there’s no need to admit anything else. Regardless, his sabotage compels you to. Here, loitering purgatory with the one person who’d never understand; what harm could confession do? His opinion of you skims rock bottom, and you’ve no hope at seeing a priest before you rot.

Forgive me, for I have sinned.

“I’m not innocent.” You start. “Never have been.”

Alpha Centauri, that was the goal.

Located only four light years away, it’s the closest star system to Earth; with suns Rigil Kentaurus, Toliman and Proxima Centauri forming a trinary network. All main sequence stars – like humanity’s very own Sol – orbited by suspected habitable exoplanets. With the average chemical rocket, it’d take upwards of six thousand years to get there.

There lay alternatives, of course. Nuclear fission, with an energy yield of almost zero from its original mass. Fusion, ten times as efficient – still, not nearly enough. Ion accelerators, sunlight capture. Interstellar arks were of no interest; no, you’d wanted to achieve extrasolar travel within your lifetime. Warp drives and hyperspace – all theoretical.

As an undergrad, you’d settled on matter-antimatter collision.

The latter, antimatter, exists as an inverted twin to ordinary subatomic particles, with flipped states on every front. Antiprotons – negative protons with oppositely directed magnetism, and positrons – positively charged electrons. When the two meet their counterparts, their entire mass is converted into energy. And, when such annihilation is modelled within engines, a ship can accelerate to ninety percent the speed of light.

Therein subsisted your only chance to touch the stars.

Of course, like all hypotheticals, it came with its own array of issues. No natural reservoir of the substance is known, and producing at least one tonne would take more power than mankind has used in all its history. Moreover, it’s near nonviable to store. Any container that has ever touched regular matter would only cause preemptive decimation.

You wrote papers and studied computer-generated prototypes. You argued with professors, and attended pro-conferences. Months worth of minimum wage were blown on trips to Argentina, where the neighbouring system can be spotted through a telescope, winking above the horizon. When it all started to appear fruitless, you caught wind of Alchemex’s exploits within the field.

It was a young company, hobbling on its feet after a rocky merger with Oscorp. But they were daring, and rich, endeavouring into categories that most deemed nonprofit. You’d applied for an internship, waited months to hear back. By some cosmic karma, it turned out to be good news when you eventually did.

They were already working on manufacturing the antimatter. It was your suggestion that encouraged them to use magnets to store it within a vacuum.

It looked auspicious. It had been.

Then, you were bit.

The spider was from another division – radiation, you suppose. By some breach on account of a more negligent temp, the critter had found its way into your improvised cubicle. And so the story goes; it’d champed down on the webbing between your thumb and forefinger, before promptly suffocating under the cup you’d snared it in. The area stung for a while, venom having directly found your veins. Yet, by the time you’d returned to your dorm, your immunity seemed to have diluted its effects.

Until, you’d gotten sick. The hysteria was slow to consolidate, starting as a sore throat. You’d used your one day off then, ignorant to just how bad it could get; because the fever only deepened, lesions on the lining of your oesophagus oozing ichor into bile. Your doctor waived the possibility of tuberculosis, mistrusting the notes your instructors sent with you, complaining of in-class fainting bouts.

You couldn’t miss work, though. Never. Not when you were so close.

So you stuffed sheets of pills in your pockets and braved each shift with trembling joints. You’d no friends to notice your suffering, and for such an ambitious company, overtime was expected. Sweating through multiple layers of clothing, you kept an eye on your poster of the galaxy and lagged on those long nights. At the rate you were going, you genuinely dreaded a life cut short before you could realise your objective.

If nothing else, it urged you to work harder.

Your first milestone came at the one kilogram mark. A party was hosted to celebrate, billionaires invited to gather around the vessel which held such a revolutionary feat. Despite your interloper status, you’d been summoned too, to play big girl scientist and present Alchemex’s future course of action. Your affliction was improving, and you were the inspiration behind the project’s advance. It felt like the biggest night of your career.

(‘Magnets! What a genius solution.’ From a nobel prize runner up.

‘That ambition will get you far, mark my words.’ The CEO’s cousin.)

In truth, it was the last.

Because the antimatter had taken centre stage, security slackening with its continued stability. So long as the magnetism wasn’t tampered with, so long as the vacuumed vessel remained airtight, things looked to be fine for your speech. You’d cycled through every known variable, staring down the container, a champagne flute tucked in your sweaty palms.

Your skin prickled.

The glass smashed to the floor. In your embarrassment, you’d brushed it off as clumsiness prompted by the perspiration – notwithstanding your recount, having seen the drink fall through your mass. Did it matter, though? You couldn’t put it past your illness to cause such hallucinations. It was impossible, a trick of sight.

The festivities progressed, yet the tingle of your nerves didn’t subside. Anxiety – you chalked it up to common apprehension. So, when your boss announced your name for all to hear, and the agitation flared, it wasn’t alarming. You could think of nothing else anyway, honed in to the address you’d practised all morning.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

Your gut flipped. Your vision blackened.

The steps lost depth; you stumbled up them with all the grace of a hunted fawn.

Today–

Your skin prickled once more, and you collapsed. Through the antimatter’s vessel, through the floor.

There’s nothing to recall after that. Not for a long while.

“I don’t become intangible.” Your brow bone rests on the curve of your knee, body curled in a foetal position. “My particles merely… find the best way through something.”

Miguel has remained eerily quiet throughout your chronicle. You try not to let it dissuade you.

“So–”

“Some came in contact with the antimatter.”

“Yeah.” You murmur, moved by an unnamed emotion. “It detonated, naturally, with a force roughly equivalent to a nuclear bomb. Wiped out everyone in the city upon discharge, then everyone in the state with its impact. Or– maybe, I don’t know. I was discarnate for weeks – the explosion had no effect on my immaterial self, and the radiation couldn’t hurt me when that spider damn well sought and failed at it already.”

You hug yourself tighter.

“I only witnessed the winter that followed. The blast was large-scale enough to trigger firestorms and a global climate cooling – similar to the one they scare you with when talking about nuclear warfare. Crop failure, famine. Millions died and my home devolved into cataclysm. It was mass extinction,” You school yourself, waving the snivel crawling up your nose. “Because of me.”

An end by starvation or infection, confined to this tomb, seems a perfectly fitting penance.

“Explain this to me, O’Hara – what just providence made me spider-woman to a barren land?”

chapter seven →

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sanguineterrain · 3 months

Text

about a house | eddie munson

i am back with another installment of my about a boy series! you don't have to read them to understand this fic, so check them out only if you feel like it :)

Summary: You and Eddie have your first time together.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings/tags: insecure reader, unspecified trauma and poor self image, NSFW but it's not descriptive. reader's biology is unspecified. first time having sex, established relationship, hurt comfort.

if you enjoy this, please let me know through reblogs (and a comment, if you feel like!)

divider by firefly-graphics | i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

Eddie tastes like rain.

You'd gotten caught in a thunderstorm on your way back from The Hideout tonight. Baby curls are slicked against his neck. His rings are warm from his body and the July heat. They're a comfortable weight against your arm.

He smells like a million things. Cheap beer. Bar peanuts. Smoke. Leather. The chalky Dial soap that's quickly become your favorite scent.

But Eddie tastes like rain.

Your arms are stiff beneath him. You want to move them. You like when Eddie kisses you. You like that he tastes differently each time.

But you're stuck.

"Baby?"

And now he's noticed.

Eddie lifts his head. He tucks a wet curl behind his ear. You reach to twirl it around your finger. He smiles at you. You feel monstrous. Like you've just crawled out from under his bed, in view when you shouldn't be.

You belong to the void. But Eddie's never been afraid of the dark.

"Hey, honey," he whispers, thumb sliding over your cheek. "What's up? Y'wanna stop?"

You asked him this morning. Eddie had made waffles, and he'd just finished inhaling three and was on his fourth when you asked.

"Can we have sex?"

He’d put his fork down, wiped a drop of syrup from the corner of his lip with his thumb and sucked it clean. Then he’d looked at you very seriously.

"Do you want to have sex?"

And, well. Yes. Obviously. That's why you asked, isn't it?

You're on his bed. There are too many things in his room that remind you of how none of this is yours and that you ought to let Eddie go soon so he actually has a shot at a real relationship. Those are definitely mood killers. You are definitely a mood killer.

"No," you say. "No, I don't want to stop."

You feel his eyes on you, feel him parse whether you're lying or not. Not even lying—just if you're unaware. Sometimes Eddie has to remind you that you can tell him no.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You stare at his wall of metal posters. At things that make him Eddie. You clutch his t-shirt tighter. His thumb rubs circles on your hip.

"What if it's weird?" you ask.

"What is?"

"This. Me. My body."

You look at yourself, at your rucked up shirt, your sockless feet.

"All bodies are weird," Eddie says.

"No, they're not."

"Yeah-huh. You think my body isn't weird? My body's just as freaky as the ol' noodle."

He taps his temple with one finger.

"You're not weird, though," you say.

"No?"

You turn your head and stare at the single window in Eddie's room. It's pitch black outside. You kind of want the light to be off in here too.

"Maybe this won't be good," you say. "Maybe I won't like it. Maybe I'll be bad."

He eases your head back so you face him once again.

"Sweet thing, you could bite my lip off and I'd still love ya. And if you don't like it at any point, we'll stop. No questions."

"It has to be good," you say.

Eddie tilts his head. There's no trace of humor in his eyes now.

"Why does it have to be good?" he asks quietly.

"Because it's me."

"What?"

You sigh.

"You know what I mean," you say. "You know, Eddie."

"I'm not sure that I do, sweet thing."

You look at him, wishing he'd read your mind. But he can't, and it's not fair to expect him to. Eddie may not be afraid of the dark, but that doesn't mean he should stumble through your brain.

"You live in your body," you say, like it explains everything. It should.

"And you… don't?"

“I live…” You look down at your body. Sometimes you forget it's yours. “I live outside. It's like… like I'm a house. And I've lost the keys. So I watch through a window and wait to be let in.”

“Maybe you're already inside,” he says.

“How can I be inside if I don't know how to get to the kitchen or the bedroom?” You squeeze your eyes shut. “It's like I'm a ghost.”

It has to be another house because your house isn't inviting to someone like Eddie. You'll let him in and the decoration will put him off and you've never learned how to say the right things at the right time, and when you invite someone inside, there's an expectation—

“Baby. Hey. Hey, honey.” Eddie taps your cheek gently. “Can y’look at me, please? You're worrying me.”

“You won't like my house,” you say, and open your eyes. Your vision blurs at the edges. “I don't even like my house.”

Eddie's wearing that pinched expression that resurfaces whenever you say something sad.

Outside, the rain keeps on. You're too sad for him.

“I think you've got a very beautiful house,” he says. “I've seen the outside and gotten peeks of the inside and everything I've seen has only made me want to see more.”

He leans in and kisses you like your paint isn't peeling, like the roof hasn't caved in, like you aren't beyond fixing.

“I like your windows and their shutters,” he says, kissing your eyelids. “And I like your door. I like the music and laughter that comes out of it.” He kisses your mouth, petting your hips.

“I like your door,” you whisper into his mouth.

Eddie smiles against your skin and kisses down your neck.

“Mm, what else? I like how strong your house is. How it's been rained on so many times and it's still here. I like the light that shines from inside, how warm and inviting it is. I like that you let me through the front gate even though it's scary to let someone in.”

“Eddie.” You’re begging. “Don’t have to like it. I’ll let you in anyway.”

Eddie reels back, dark eyes molten. “Don’t ever think you have to let me inside to keep me. Alright? This is your house, baby. Not mine. I come when invited. And I love you. I love every part.”

“I want you in,” you say. You do. You never thought you would but you’re sure that you want Eddie inside.

He cups the back of your head and your hip. It makes your bricks wobble. You never knew that living in your body could be a home and not a break-in.

Eddie’s house is beautiful, but you knew that. His skin is smooth, dotted with freckles and moles. Silver scars criss-cross over his stomach. He catches you staring.

“One day, I’ll tell you about ‘em,” he murmurs, tracing your cheek with his thumb. “But tonight‘s about you.”

“I like your house,” you say.

Eddie smiles. His cheeks tinge red.

“You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world,” he says.

He helps you take off your clothes. You take longer than him, but Eddie doesn’t rush. Just kisses your exposed skin.

“We can stop here if you want,” he says when you’re both bare.

“It might not be good,” you say again. “Remember?”

“Sweet thing, have you ever considered that maybe it’ll be good because it’s you?”

You pull him in by his neck, so you can whisper in his ear. You can’t look at Eddie’s windows right now.

“Inside might be scary,” you say.

Eddie makes a warm sound. “Everybody’s got an attic, baby. Nothing scary ‘bout ‘em.”

You search for his hand blindly. He links your fingers and kisses the shell of your ear.

“Come in,” you say.

So Eddie does.

It isn’t long before you’re both panting. Eddie’s pet you for a long while, sweet strokes that make you squeal and sigh. Your sounds make him grin every time.

“Do you—do you like my house?” Your ankles cross behind Eddie's back. The wind whistles against the window. This is not a break-in.

“Sweet thing, I'd love your house even if you never let me inside,” Eddie says, a moan stuck in his throat as he bottoms out. “You okay? Y’wanna keep going?”

You nod and tuck your face into his shoulder. Eddie’s curls are frizzy and they stick to his forehead. Words climb dangerously up your throat, words about houses and moving in and vows and picking furniture. Your eyes burn.

“Baby, are y—hey.” Eddie starts to pull out. You shake your head furiously and keep his hips lined with yours.

“No, ‘m fine,” you say, lightning in your belly growing. “Really, Ed, fine. Just feel safe. You’re safe. I love your house.”

Eddie’s answering hum is tender. He kisses you hard, salt on your door.

You find yourself in the window’s reflection again. The rain keeps on.

This time, you don’t feel locked out.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson imagine #gender neutral reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things #Eddie munson #about a boy

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crevicedwelling · 7 months

Text

today is Stella day!

I got this little amblypygid 2 years ago, still a baby with chalky pedipalps and white blazes on her elbows. she wouldn’t eat for months, but eventually she molted, regained her appetite, and has since thrived in my care!

she is now a big gal (though definitely still growing) and has grown into her speckled adult coloration. she is a great eater, lightning fast, surprisingly good at jumping, and the owner of the biggest legspan in town.

I love you Stella and hope to see you do well for many more years!

(Phrynus longipes Puerto Rico)

#bugs #amblypygi #arachnid #Stella!

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misc-obeyme · 3 months

Text

XOXO

Happy Valentine's Day!

I wanted to do a cute and quick little headcanon, so this is the brothers reacting to MC giving them a box of conversation hearts. If you'd like me to do the other characters as well, feel free to send me a request for it. 💕 ETA: Part two is here!

GN!MC x the demon brothers

Warnings: none!

Lucifer

He does understand that there is limited space on these tiny chalk hearts, but is that really an excuse for the terrible spelling? LUV U and U R CUTE really make him frown.

Despite this, Lucifer does think it's very cute of you to give them to him. He will keep them on his desk, safe in their box, and woe betide anyone who even dares to touch them. He won't even touch them himself and no, it has nothing to do with getting chalky candy dust on his spotless black gloves.

He may not fully understand your human customs, MC, but he truly does appreciate your thoughtfulness. When you're spending time with him while he does paperwork, he will actually pick one out to give to you. It's the one that says ALL MINE.

He waits to see if you blush. If you do, he's out of his seat in an instant, pulling you to your feet so he can kiss you. He'll whisper in your ear about how you are, in fact, all his.

Mammon

At first he's too busy being flustered by the fact that you gave him something so cute to consider anything else. But once he's calmed down, he starts scheming. Hey, MC! Don't ya think Devildom variants of these'd sell like hotcakes? You'd both be rich!

You get to decide if you indulge this idea or not. Though admittedly, it'd be pretty interesting to see what kinds of phrases you might come up with for a Devildom variant. They might say things like LUV POTION or SPELL ON U or maybe even HEART HEX. The two of you have a fun time coming up with these, whether or not you actually make them.

Mammon might think that you're only giving these to him because it's what humans do on Valentine's Day. He thinks it's cute, but he doesn't know if it means anything special. You can remove his doubts by choosing a specific message out of the box, though.

Put one that says KISS ME in his hand and it's all over for you. If you're around other people, you can be sure he's dragging you into the nearest empty room.

Leviathan

Ahh! MC! Did you know they actually made a promotional version of these for the anime I Made A Cake For My Crush Decorated With Candy Hearts But They Turned Out To Be Cursed And Now She's A Dragon? They had some in the box that were actually cursed and would turn anyone who ate them into a dragon for a day! They were pulled from the shelves, but he still has three boxes of them that have never been opened.

You listen to this in amusement, but you're quick to let him know that these are just regular human world candy hearts. As far as you know, there are no curses on them. Levi finds he's actually quite excited to try the real thing.

That is, until he starts to read the messages. Each heart he reads makes his blush get worse until he eventually asks you if you realize what these candies say. That blush goes deep red when you indicate that you are fully aware.

He'll get it together and actually try one, though. He's trying not to think too much about the messages. They taste kinda funny and they're a little chalky, but he loves them because they're from you. Give him one that says HUG ME to watch him blush all over again before he reluctantly puts his arms around you. Wait a moment and he'll melt in your embrace.

Satan

He's heard of these, though he's never had the occasion to try them for himself. He's skeptical of their texture, but he finds the little messages charming. He will eat some if you insist. He's grateful you thought of him, MC. He truly appreciates your gift.

Then again, these little conversation hearts are like a puzzling challenge. How can he make them say what he wants to say to you? They're so brief and they don't make much sense even when strung together. He spends half a day staring at them and thinking about it.

You eventually find a set of them lined up neatly on the table in your room. They say U & ME, FOREVER, SAY YES, MY LOVE. You look around for him, but Satan isn't there. He left these here for you to find on your own. You'll have to go looking for him in another part of the house.

He's in his room, blushing behind his book, acting like he doesn't know exactly what you're there for. All you have to do is take the book out of his hands and say yes. That single word is all he needs. You won't be leaving his room until morning.

Asmodeus

Oh, wow, these are absolutely adorable! Not as adorable as him… or you… but still so cute! Help him set them up so he can take a picture for Devilgram. He knows it'll do numbers because everybody is so into human world trends right now. Plus, he's going to throw in a selfie of the two of you eating them.

Okay, wouldn't it be cute if he painted your nails to look like little conversation hearts? He does it immediately and gives himself a set to match. You're amazed at the skill it takes to write the words so small and perfect, but Asmo is more than up to the task.

Ask him which one is his favorite and he'll say all of the ones that remind him of you. He'll start putting them into your hand - CUTIE, SWEETIE PIE, and XOXO. He makes kissy faces at you as he puts that last one on your palm.

When you laugh, he joins you. You're radiant and that's all he can see for a moment. And then the candies are forgotten because he can't resist your sweet lips. He doesn't need candy, MC. He has you.

Beelzebub

Surprises you by not inhaling them immediately. You have several boxes for him because you anticipated this reaction. Don't worry, though, he'll still eat everything you've brought him.

But he stops because he's curious. They say stuff on them, right? That's really cute, MC. He picks out one that says only LOVE. He doesn't need a lot of words, candied or otherwise, to let you know how he feels about you.

Turns out you're the one who's flustered now. You cover it up by telling him to try some. He does as you ask and he's happy enough to eat them all. You tell him about the different ways they can be used to decorate other desserts as well. Eventually he realizes he's really hungry. He wants to take you out to get something a little more substantial soon.

He tells you that he's full of sweet candy words now, but he would rather just hold you than say them. You're okay with that, of course, and it's not long before you find yourself covered in kisses.

Belphegor

What are these? Are they for Beel? You'll have to explain that you wanted to give them to him. Tell him about how popular they are in the human world and he'll start to understand. He might even be aware of what they are, but he certainly wasn't expecting you to give him any.

What a nice gift, MC. He's happy that you thought of him. He tries them out of curiosity and finds he's not too fond of their thick texture. But he likes the words. He arranges them into a little sentence for you. SWEET, DREAM, YOU & ME.

You see him blushing slightly when you read them together out loud. Well, that could mean a lot of things, right? There aren't enough words to make a real sentence. But he's just coming up with excuses to cover the fact that he's nervous about hearing you say the words.

It's easy enough to distract him with some kisses. He forgets his embarrassment pretty quickly when he's suddenly far more focused on how you feel in his arms.

xoxo part two with the side characters

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

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mxlti-fand0m-imaginess · 11 months

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In My Room // Ethan Landry

request: none

prompts: none

summary: you’ve been dead for a few weeks. yet somehow, you showed up at ethan’s window in the middle of the night. things almost seem too good to be true. that is until you tell ethan that he has to keep killing if he wants to see you again.

warnings: very gory, graphic depictions murder, a lot of blood, a lot of main character deaths, very off plot, mentions of suicide, suicide but not very graphic, getting stabbed in the eye, descriptions of your rotting body, allusions to smut but nothing graphic, possible psychotic break

word count: 10.2k

a/n: gn reader, does not follow plot of scream 6 at all, i thought this song fit ethan perfectly and well this happened lol, not my gif

Are you gonna let me in?

Hello?

Ethan shot straight up from his bed, his heart pounding. For the past hour there has been an incessant tapping coming from his window. He had tried to brush it off as simply a tree branch, or maybe a bird. But then he heard a voice. No. He heard your voice. It was exactly the same as he had remembered. But that was impossible. It had to be. You were dead. Right?

He looked over to his window and almost fell backwards in a mixture of pure shock and terror. Sure enough, there you were. Sitting outside of his bedroom window, tapping on the glass. Except you looked different. Just like you had the last time he saw you. Your skin was pale, and there was a bullet hole in the side of your head, blood seeping down the side of your face.

You saw Ethan looking at you and you smiled. A sick and twisted sight. You no longer had the same calming presence about you. There was something else there. Something sinister. Your smile was wicked and your eyes were dark. Blood dripped out of your mouth, staining your teeth and leaving red streaks down your chin.

Ethan still sat on his bed, looking at you. He couldn’t comprehend the sight in front of him. You were dead. You died a few weeks ago. Ethan had seen it, you died right in front of him. By his own hand. And yet, here you were, still tapping at his window and smiling eerily. But even though you were moving, and even speaking to him, you still looked dead. And the sight of it terrified him.

“Please let me in, Ethan. You don’t want me to freeze to death, do you?” You laughed softly at your words, knowing full well you were already dead.

Ethan hesitantly nodded and stood up, walking over to his window. He pulled it open and you crawled inside. His fear began to grow the longer he was around you. You smelled of blood and rotting flesh. You looked like a zombie. That was the closest thing he could compare you to. But even a zombie wouldn’t induce this much fear in him. So you must’ve been something else entirely.

“Thanks for letting me in, baby. We have so much to talk about.” You smiled sweetly, but your eyes still held the darkness you possessed.

2:45 and the bell went off

Thank God, many people think I'm odd

But I talk with no one and I walk alone

And I avoid sunlight with a chalky tone

Ethan pulled his hood over his head tighter and walked out of the classroom. He went to all his classes like normal, but he couldn’t even bring himself to focus on anything. His mind was focused on one thing, and one thing only. You.

More specifically, everything that had happened with you last night. You had crawled in through his window, and sat yourself upon his bed, some of your blood dripping onto the sheets, staining them red. Ethan walked over, but still stayed at a distance. He had seen enough horror movies to know that the ghost of someone you killed usually wasn’t very friendly.

“Why so tense, baby?” you had asked, tilting your head questioningly.

Ethan fumbled over his words, stuttering as he tried to reply. “I- uhm, well. I- uhh,” he couldn’t even figure out what he was trying to say, let alone how to make the words leave his mouth.

You simply smiled again and waved him over. He hesitantly came closer, sitting down beside you. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss your presence, but there was something off about you. However, you didn’t seem particularly angry with him, or even upset for that matter. You just continued smiling at him, and you reached forward to place your hand on top of his. He had flinched at your touch, but he soon relaxed under it. You always had a way of comforting him, even when you looked like you were dead.

“How? How are you here?” Ethan asked, looking confused and intrigued at the same time.

You laughed softly. “Don’t you remember, baby? You killed me. Shot me. Right here.” You brought your other hand up and touched the gunshot wound on the side of your head. Your fingers were covered in your blood when you pulled them away.

Ethan felt his eyes well up with tears as he looked at you. He had never really experienced guilt before, but now the weight of it was almost crushing. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I didn’t want to kill you, believe me. I- I didn’t have a choice.”

You smiled once more, and brought your hand up to rest against his cheek, your blood staining his skin. He leaned into your touch. “I know, baby. I know you would never want to hurt me.”

He let out a sigh of relief and smiled at you. Gone was the fear he had felt moments before. All he could feel was his love for you. A love that extended beyond the bounds of life and death.

“But if you want to keep seeing me, I need you to do something for me.”

Ethan looked at you and nodded eagerly. “Anything. I’ll do anything for you. Just tell me what it is, and I’ll do it.”

You smiled wickedly. “Perfect.”

I get home and don't say hi, it ain't no one there

I don't care I walk in and go right up the stairs

To my room, get in bed and just wait for dark

Because that's when the real show start (Tap, tap)

Ethan sat on his bed, still wearing his Ghostface costume and holding his knife, both of which were covered in blood. He stared at his window expectantly, waiting for you to appear again. It had only been a day since he saw you last, but he couldn’t wait any longer.

He turned away to pull his mask off, setting it down on his bed beside him. As soon as his eyes were off of his window, he heard a gentle tapping coming from the other side of the glass. There you sat, perched outside of his window, looking exactly as you did the night before. Ethan shot up from his bed and practically scrambled to get over to the window and open it.

“Hi baby.” You smiled sweetly, your eyes still looking demonic. You crawled through his window again and sat down on his bed, waiting for him to come sit beside you.

As he walked back over, you noticed the bloody mask on the bed, as well as the bloody knife in his hand. You smiled gleefully, moving closer to him when he sat down.

“So? Did you do it? Exactly like I told you?” you asked, looking at Ethan, eagerly awaiting his answer.

He shrugged, before he nodded at you. “Almost exactly. I managed to slaughter Quinn and her boy toy. Anika almost got away, but I managed to kill her as well. Pushed her off a ladder as she was crawling into another apartment. I managed to stab Mindy too.” Ethan smiled wickedly, the rush of his recent kills still flowing through his veins.

You smiled again, leaning over to kiss Ethan gently. He sighed into the kiss, melting into your touch. You pulled away and looked into his eyes, a proud look on your face.

“Good job baby. You did so well. Now, before we talk about your next victims, I think you earned a little reward, hmm?”

Ethan smiled excitedly. You crawled onto his lap, smiling down at him. Then you reached down and began to take your shirt off.

"Tap tap" on the glass go the piece of ass

So young and pretty, it's too bad she passed

But she comes to my room and we talk at night

She's demonic and bloody, but she holds me tight

“What the hell were you thinking?! You know you weren’t supposed to kill Quinn! You’re such a fucking idiot Ethan! And to think I even thought you would ever compare to Richie. You’re just a useless piece of shit! I wish you had died instead of him!” Wayne yelled at his son, anger in his eyes and hatred in his voice.

Ethan practically cowered under his fathers gaze, feeling as though he was shrinking under the harsh glare. He tried to say something, anything to defend himself. But he just couldn’t. There was nothing he could say to help calm his father down. The plan was to make it look like Quinn had died. But you had told Ethan to really kill her. So he did. Because he swore to do whatever you wanted him to. And the next thing you wanted him to do was kill his father.

Wayne scoffed at Ethan’s silence. “Oh I get it. This is about y/n, isn’t it? You’re still mad that I made you kill her, is that it? Get over yourself. She found out about our plan. She was going to ruin everything! We had no choice!”

Ethan’s fingers wrapped around the knife in his hoodie pocket, feeling himself grow angry. Ethan felt your hand on his shoulder. He turned to look, but you weren’t there. And yet, he still heard your voice.

“You know what you have to do. Just kill him, and then you can see me again. Don’t you want to see me again? We had so much fun last time. Didn’t we?”

Ethan nodded and steadied himself. He walked closer to his father, his gaze hardening. He clutched the knife handle tightly, not yet revealing the weapon.

“No she wasn’t! She swore to me that she wasn’t going to tell anyone! I loved her! I fucking loved her! And you took her away from me!”

Ethan was only a few steps away from his father now, and Wayne could practically feel the anger radiating off of his son. He tried to back up, but he was already leaning against the wall. Ethan pulled his knife out, holding it against his father’s throat.

“Whoa, careful now Ethan! What do you think you’re doing? Just put the knife down. We can talk about this. Okay?”

Ethan’s hand shook. Then he heard your voice again.

“Do it. All you have to do to see me again is kill him. Do it.”

Ethan’s gaze hardened and he felt himself grow more steady. Wayne opened his mouth to speak again, but Ethan already dragged the knife against his throat before the words could come out. He felt the blood splatter his face, the crimson liquid staining his pale skin. He watched with a smile as his father grasped his neck and fell to the ground, drawing in his final breaths.

“Good job baby,” you whispered in his ear.

He turned to see you, and you still weren’t there. But you would be.

In my bedroom, with her I'm never alone

And I kiss her cold lips until the morning come

Then she gone, I can still hear her voice loom

But she only exist in the dark of my room

Ethan walked into his bedroom and jumped in fright when he saw someone sitting on his bed. He felt himself calm when he realized it was just you. It was odd though. You had never been waiting for him on his bed before, you had always been outside his window, tapping on the glass and waiting to be let in. He pushed away his confusion, too overtaken by his excitement from seeing you.

You smiled, a sickeningly sweet one at that, and gazed upon Ethan, taking in his blood covered form. He felt chills run down his spine as you stared at him. His face was still covered in his father’s blood, and there was a blood stain coming from his pocket which held the knife. You reached out, beckoning Ethan closer. He did as you wanted, and sat beside you on his bed.

“You did such a good job baby. Killed your father, just like I asked. I’m so proud of you, my love.” The sweet look on your face did not match the darkness of your words. But somehow, the way you put them all together just made sense. And it drew Ethan in even more.

“Why do you keep asking me to kill people? Not that I mind, I’m just curious. You weren’t like this… before,” Ethan said, growing nervous as your smile faltered slightly.

“Nevermind that baby. All you need to know is that if you want to keep seeing me, you’ll do whatever I say. And that includes killing whoever I tell you to. Alright?”

Ethan nodded. You smiled once more, and brought your hands up to hold his face. You leaned in closer to him, kissing him hungrily. Ethan shivered under your touch. You were so cold, it almost felt as if he was kissing a frozen corpse. But it was you, and dead or not, he still wanted you. And clearly you still wanted him. So he decided that it didn’t matter. You were the only thing that mattered to him. And he wasn’t going to let anything or anyone take you away ever again.

Love (I can't ignore you)

In my room (Do anything for you, baby) (Tap, tap)

Love (I do adore you)

In my room, you and I (Tap, tap go the piece of ass)

Ethan laid down on his bed, out of breath and filled with ecstasy. No matter how many times he had been with you, you never failed to take his breath away. You sat beside him, looking down at him and running your cold fingers through his hair. You had pulled his shirt on, and Ethan was lying underneath the covers. He felt his eyes slowly begin to close, your touch and your presence relaxing him.

“You can’t fall asleep just yet baby. I need to give you your next target. Or you’ll never see me again.” You frowned at your words.

Ethan’s eyes opened and he sat up, eagerly awaiting your instructions. He really didn’t have anything to lose anymore, since you had already instructed him to kill his sister and father, the last two members of his family. You were all he had now. His friends didn’t trust him. Which was technically well deserved since Ethan truly was the one behind all of the recent murders. Or more accurately, you were the one behind the murders, and Ethan was nothing except your puppet.

Still, he didn’t mind doing your bidding. Killing whoever you told him to. He found it thrilling. Not only did he get a rush out of killing, but he knew that every time he did it, you would show up that night, ready to reward him for his efforts. It was getting riskier and riskier for him, but he found himself not caring about the consequences anymore. As long as he got to be with you, he could care less about what would happen to him.

You smiled at his excitement, and ran your fingers through his hair one last time, before pulling your hands away. His shoulders fell slightly, but he tried to not let his disappointment show. He didn’t want to risk doing anything to upset you, because he didn’t want you to stop showing up. So he sat there, waiting for you to speak.

“Gale is next. While Kirby is running surveillance and everyone else is distracted, get into Gale’s apartment and gut her. And her little boyfriend too. Don’t go easy on them. Make it long, and painful. I want you to make a mess. I want you to destroy them. Do that, and I’ll come back tomorrow night.”

Ethan nodded eagerly, letting your instructions imprint in his mind. He had to do it exactly as you said. The last time he got a few details wrong, you didn’t go easy on him that night. He still had some of the bruises on his skin from it. This time, he wasn’t going to disappoint you.

Love (I can't ignore you)

In my room (Do anything for you, baby) (Tap, tap)

Love (I do adore you)

In my room, you and I (Tap, tap go the piece of ass)

Ethan had done what you said, and he was currently hiding in Gale’s apartment. Her boyfriend walked by and Ethan grabbed him, placing his hand over his mouth tightly and pressing his knife deep into his stomach. The man groaned in pain, and Ethan only clamped his hand over his mouth harder. He twisted the knife and dragged it up, tearing his torso open. His organs began to spill out, along with excessive amounts of blood.

Ethan smiled. He had done exactly what you wanted. He picked up Gale’s boyfriend’s corpse and threw it into the wooden shelving structure in her living room, the corpse falling through to the other side, causing Gale to scream in terror. Ethan wiped his knife clean and jumped through the hole he had created.

Gale tried to run, but Ethan was faster, easily catching up and pushing her onto the ground. She tried to fight back, but he managed to keep her down. It was as if Gale realized she wasn’t going to get out of this. The fight in her eyes disappeared, and even though she still tried to fight, her efforts were significantly diminished.

Ethan plunged the knife into her side, not wanting to waste any time scaring her and risk her getting away. He had seen enough Stab movies to know that he had to move fast if he wanted her dead. He pulled the knife down, splitting her side open. Gale let out a guttural scream, choking on her own blood a few seconds later. Ethan pulled the knife out and moved back, stabbing her in the torso over and over again. She was a bloody mess, her flesh surrounding her in shredded chunks, and a pool of her blood forming beneath her.

He stood up and smiled at the work he had done. You were going to be so proud of him. Then he heard the door open. Ethan whipped his head around to see Sam and Tara standing there, looking terrified and heartbroken. He ran towards them, desperately wanting to get out of the apartment. He pushed through them and dashed towards the stairs, making it out of the building before either of them had time to react.

I try to smile a lot, but I'm always frontin'

But I do love a ghost and at least that's somethin'

She don't talk much, when she do it gets cold

Usually we just lay there and we hold each other

Just like the night before, you had been sitting on Ethan’s bed, waiting for him to return from his activities. He wasn’t wearing the costume this time, but he held it in his bag, the mask and the knife almost completely covered in blood. But you didn’t even need to see the proof to know he had done what you asked. You just knew. And you simply smiled.

Ethan smiled in return, dropping his backpack onto the floor. He walked towards you in silence, knowing what was going to happen now. The two of you had formed a fucked up routine. He killed someone for you, you would show up in his room and fuck him, and then you would give him instructions for the next day’s victims. Excitement built up in him as he walked closer. You were underneath his covers, and he hadn’t noticed it when he first walked in, but you weren’t wearing anything. His blanket being the only thing covering you.

You sat up, letting the blanket fall down and exposing your bare chest to Ethan. He felt his breath hitch as he looked at you, and he quickly sat down beside you. He pulled his own shirt off, and looked at you expectantly, waiting to see what you wanted to do.

“I saw what you did for me today baby. And it was fucking perfect. You were just as brutal as I had hoped you would be. It was glorious.”

Ethan felt his heart race as you praised his work. He wasn’t used to people being proud of him, and the fact that it was you made it even better. He smiled widely, and he reached a hand forward, resting it on yours.

“It was all for you, my love.”

You smiled at his words, and wrapped your fingers around his hand, pulling him closer. This was going to be fun.

We're lovers, we don't need others

One of my mother's cats jumped up on the covers

And it scared my baby, guess she don't like pets

So I twisted its fuckin' head off at the neck

You were laying on Ethan’s chest, just enjoying each other's company, when a loud bang sounded from outside. You jumped up, clearly startled by the noise, and before Ethan could even react, you had vanished from sight.

“No! Shit! Uhm, fuck. Where did you go? I- I need you to come back. You need to tell me what I’m supposed to do! How will I be able to see you again?” Ethan pleaded, but there was no response.

The noise sounded again, and Ethan got up and walked over to his window. He saw a guy down there, setting off firecrackers, as the other two guys with him watched in delight. Ethan’s jaw clenched as he stared down at them. They were the reason you had left so abruptly. And they weren’t going to get away with it.

Ethan walked over to his backpack and pulled on his Ghostface robe, sliding the mask over his head, and holding the knife in his hand. Chad wasn’t home that night, and it was close enough to Halloween that no one would pay any mind to the bloody costume. Ethan walked out of his dorm and began heading for the ground floor.

He hadn’t been able to get instructions from you for the next kills, so he didn’t know how to get you back. But if killing is what brought you back to him, maybe he would be able to bring you back this way.

Ethan approached the three guys, all wearing letterman jackets. They were all very clearly wasted, most likely drunk off their asses and high on who knows what. But it meant they wouldn’t be able to fight back very well, which was great for Ethan. He probably would never be able to take down three frat boys all on his own. But three wasted frat boys? Now that he could do.

“Yo! Sick costume my man!” one of the guys called out as Ethan walked closer.

Ethan walked over to the closest frat boy, the one who had complimented his outfit, and stabbed him over and over again in the chest and stomach, before slitting his throat. He fell to the ground, blood seeping out of him.

The next frat boy, the one who had been lighting the firecrackers, looked up at Ethan terrified. He tried to back away, but his back hit a wall. He trembled in fear as Ethan grew closer. Ethan smirked to himself as he took in the guy’s fear, and had to hold back a laugh when he realized the boy had pissed himself.

However, the third frat boy had a very different reaction. Ethan turned in confusion as the third guy burst out laughing, tears falling from his eyes.

“Yo, Scotty is that you? Sick prank my man! It looks so fucking real! You almost got me dude.”

Ethan rolled his eyes and turned back to the second guy, stabbing him over and over again wherever he could, before finally plunging his knife into the guy’s head, right through his eye. He removed the knife, and a majority of the guy’s eye came out with it. The third guy’s eyes widened as he began to realize that this wasn’t a prank, and that Ethan wasn’t whoever the hell Scotty was.

“Oh shit!” he screamed, turning to run before tripping on his own feet and face planting onto the ground.

Ethan loomed over him, and raised his knife menacingly. The guy held up his hands, but Ethan ignored them. He raised his knife, and readied himself for his next attack.

Look baby, it's bloody, it's gone, it's doomed

Please come back to the room

I'll do anything for thee, don't ignore me

This is more than a sick love story

Ethan paced back and forth in his bedroom, waiting for you to show up. You hadn’t been waiting for him on his bed like you had been the past two nights. He was beginning to think you might not even show up at all. But then he heard a gentle tap tap tapping on his window, and turned to see you sitting there, just as you had been a few nights ago.

Ethan practically ran over to the window and threw it open, moving back so you could crawl inside. Your face was expressionless as you entered his room, and you looked around, almost as if you were searching for something. Ethan closed his window and then stood beside you, gently intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I got rid of them. The guys who were making noise last night. I slaughtered all three of them and left them in the alley. It was the only way I could think of bringing you back to me.”

You smiled at Ethan’s words, and then grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you. You kissed him, this time it felt more desperate than it had the previous nights. Ethan thought he might’ve lost you for good, and he couldn’t believe that his idea had worked. He had gotten you back. Maybe it didn’t matter who he killed, as long as he killed someone, you always showed up.

But he didn’t dare mention that to you. He was still going to kill whoever you told him to, and he didn’t want you to think he would ever even think about disobeying you. So he went along with what you were doing, letting you have your way with him. Before he knew it, you had taken his shirt off and pushed him back onto his bed. You were moving closer to him, staring at him hungrily. Ethan felt a shiver run down his spine as you got closer, smiling as you looked down at him.

“You did so good for me baby. So proud,” you smiled, and it was a bit condescending, but Ethan didn’t mind.

He smiled and nodded, feeling his heartbeat speed up from your words and from how close you were. This was going to be a night he would never forget.

Without you I'd bring a shotgun to school

And I will if you want me to, for any reason

I hate that you leave when the lights come on

And if I had it my way the fuckin' sun'd be gone

Ethan rested his head on your chest, looking up at you. There was nothing but love and devotion in his eyes. You had him completely wrapped around your finger. He would do anything to feel you again. To even just see you again. And both of you knew it.

“Who do you want me to kill next, my love? I’ll do anything you say, no matter what. Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”

You laughed fondly and smiled down at him. “You’re so eager. Aren’t you? It’s not just about seeing me, is it? You love killing, don’t you?”

Ethan’s face went red and he looked away from you. It was almost as if he was embarrassed. But you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why. There was nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, his passion for killing helped you out even more. It didn’t take nearly as much convincing as you thought it would to get him to do your bidding.

You placed a finger under his chin and forced him to look up at you. His face was still red, and you simply smiled at him, the sight comforting him slightly.

“Don’t go all shy on me now, baby. I’m right, aren’t I?” you smile turned into a smirk. His face blushed darker as he realized you were teasing him.

He slowly nodded. “Y-yeah. You’re right. I love killing. I’d do it with or without you. N-not to say I want to do it without you! I never want to do anything without you. Ever!”

You smiled fondly. “I know baby, I know. You’re just as fucked up in the head as I am. And I love it. So fucking much.”

He smiled up at you, relaxing into your embrace. You brought your hand up to his head and started absentmindedly playing with his hair. He sighed softly at the feeling, relaxing even more.

“So, how is it going with everyone? Are they getting close to figuring out it’s you?”

Ethan shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. Mindy’s convinced it’s me, but she’s the only one. Everyone else is clueless.”

“She is, huh? Sounds like she’s going to become a problem. Don’t you think?”

Ethan nodded, waiting for you to continue.

“I want her gone next. Find a way to get the two of you separated from the rest of the group. Kill her. Make it look like you tried to protect her. Gain everyone’s trust. Can you do that?”

Ethan nodded, smiling widely at you. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Love (I can't ignore you)

In my room (Do anything for you, baby) (Tap, tap)

Love (I do adore you)

In my room, you and I (Tap, tap go the piece of ass)

The group was currently headed to the Ghostface shrine, where they were hoping to lure in the killer in order to execute him. Too bad he wouldn’t be showing up.

Sam, Tara, Danny, and Chad had gotten onto the subway, the doors closing seconds before Mindy could get on. She had been left behind. With Ethan. Mindy glanced over at him uneasily, but Ethan simply smiled. He was trying to get her to trust him, but Mindy couldn’t shake the feeling that Ethan wasn’t being truthful. Of course, she was right. But no one else had to know that.

Mindy and Ethan got onto the next train, and Mindy walked away from Ethan, not wanting to be sat close to him. Despite that, Ethan walked over and stood beside her anyways. Mindy looked at him confused, and tried shifting away, but Ethan just moved closer again.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mindy asked, glaring at Ethan suspiciously.

“I’m trying to keep both of us safe. Safety in numbers, right? If we stay on our own, it’s more likely for one of us to be attacked. But by all means, if you’re willing to take that chance I’ll go stand somewhere else.”

Mindy sighed and shook her head, relenting. “No, it’s fine. I- I guess you do have a point. And if it is you, there’s no way you would try anything right now. So no harm done, I guess.”

Ethan smiled and nodded. “Exactly. I’ll protect you and you’ll protect me!”

The two of them stood in silence, resting against the door at the end of the train. The lights kept flickering, and Mindy glanced around uneasily. She had been trying to text Chad for the past few minutes, but there wasn’t any service. She grumbled and put her phone away, slightly shifting away from Ethan.

Then the train went dark. Ethan smiled to himself wickedly. Now was his chance. He turned, pushing Mindy against the door and holding his hand against her mouth. To anyone looking, it appeared to be two teenagers making out. The perfect cover. Mindy’s eyes went wide as she stared up at Ethan in fear. He pulled his knife out and sliced her torso open, from bottom to top. Her organs began to fall out, blood pouring out of the newly present opening. Ethan quickly wiped his knife off and concealed it again. Moving away to stand near the seats. Mindy fell to the floor.

When the lights finally came back on, Ethan looked over to see Mindy lying on the floor, and immediately pretended to freak out. He had to put on a good show, this needed to look realistic.

“Oh shit, Mindy!”

He rushed over to her side, crouching beside her, trying to help keep her blood in. An obviously futile task.

“Shit, that’s a lot of blood. Help! Somebody help!”

Ethan managed to get Mindy off of the subway and placed her on the ground, resting her against a column. She was clearly dead by now, but he didn’t stop trying to get help. Two security guards from the station rushed over to assist, and Ethan backed up, maintaining a panicked look on his face. Despite how upset he looked, he was overjoyed on the inside. Another victim down. And it was all for you. He would get to see you again soon, and he couldn’t wait.

Love (I can't ignore you)

In my room (Do anything for you, baby) (Tap, tap)

Love (I do adore you)

In my room, you and I (Tap, tap go the piece of ass)

Ethan walked into his room and shut the door behind him. Just like you had before, you sat on his bed waiting for him. Ethan could barely contain his excitement at just the mere sight of you. You were beautiful. Even if you were dead, and you very clearly looked like it, Ethan still thought you were beautiful. It didn’t matter that you were covered in your own blood or that you were slowly rotting from the inside out. He would always think you were beautiful. No matter what.

“I did it. Just like you told me to,” he said, smiling widely as he walked over to you.

You smiled sweetly, your eyes still dark and soulless. “Good job baby. I’m so proud of you.”

You wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tightly. Ethan relaxed into your embrace, leaning up against you. You kissed the top of his head and then pulled away, smiling again. But this time, it was more sinister.

“Only a few more left, baby. And then we can be together. Forever,” your sweet voice starkly contrasted the cruelness of your words.

Ethan nodded eagerly, turning to face you completely.

“Tell me what to do next. Tell me, and I’ll do it. I’d do anything to be with you forever.”

“I know you would, my love. That’s why I love you. More than anything else.”

Ethan smiled again. “I love you too.”

“So tell me about it. I want to hear everything,” you smiled wickedly, leaning forward slightly.

Ethan nodded. He went to answer, but you had moved so close to him that he just couldn’t help himself. Ethan leaned in and kissed you, feeling his head begin to spin from your touch.

Sometimes I kiss her, I start shakin'

She slips me the tongue, and it tastes like bacon

Uh oh, something's wrong, baby's upset

She told me she was spotted by the neighbor's kid

You giggled as you pulled away from the kiss. Ethan’s eyes were wide and his face was flushed. His heart was racing and his mind was moving so fast he couldn’t form any words. He looked over at you, smiling like a lovesick idiot.

“Come on darling. Tell me all about it.” You smiled again, growing excited from just thinking about the latest murder your boyfriend committed in your name.

“I did everything you asked. I got Mindy separated from the rest of the group. We were on a different train together. And when the lights on the train went out, I gutted her. Everything went perfectly.”

Before you could respond, Ethan’s door burst open. Chad stood there, glaring at Ethan. He felt a shiver run down his spine, Chad had never looked so angry before. So terrifying. Ethan turned to look over at you, but you were gone. Ethan’s eyes narrowed as he turned back to Chad. It was his fault you were gone. How dare Chad take you away from him?

“Are you fucking kidding me?! It was you?! This whole time I trusted you. I defended you. And you were the killer this whole fucking time?!” Chad stormed over to Ethan, enraged.

He grabbed Ethan by the collar of his shirt and pushed him up against the wall. Ethan didn’t feel scared of Chad anymore. He was just angry. Chad had made you leave. And he wasn’t going to get away with it.

“How could you? You were my best friend! How could you do that? Why? Why did you kill Mindy?!” Chad yelled, keeping Ethan pushed up against the wall.

“I didn’t have a choice! It was y/n! They made me do it!” Ethan said, trying to keep Chad distracted. He subtly reached his arm out towards his nightstand, trying to grab his knife.

“Bullshit man! Y/n is dead! You probably killed her too! Tell me the truth! Why did you do this?” Chad only grew angrier, pulling Ethan away from the wall and shoving him against it again.

“I told you why! Y/n made me do it!” Ethan grasped the knife and pulled it over.

She can't come back now 'cause they know our secret

Unless I can make them keep it

If I do she may come to life

Now I'm in their yard with a shotgun and knife

Ethan drove his knife into Chad’s side, blood instantly staining the fabric of his shirt. He immediately let go of Ethan as he screamed in pain. Ethan pushed Chad back, causing him to fall over onto Ethan’s bed. He walked over and stabbed Chad, again and again. Everywhere he could. Chad was long dead by now, nothing more than a bloody mess, but Ethan couldn’t stop. He was just so angry. He had been wanting to see you all day, and now because of Chad, you were gone.

Ethan finally got off of Chad, leaving him unrecognizably mutilated. His room was completely covered in blood, making it look like something right out of a Stab movie. Ethan wiped his knife off on his bed sheets and shoved it in a pocket inside his jacket. He walked out of his room and left his dorm without a second thought. He was still covered in blood, but it was Halloween, so it didn’t matter. He could walk around like this and nobody would question anything.

Before he could even realize where he was going, he found himself heading towards Sam and Tara’s apartment complex. He was still in a blind rage, and he didn’t want to have to wait any longer to be with y/n forever. They were going to have him kill Sam and Tara anyways, so why wait any longer? He wanted to be with you now.

Ethan walked up the stairs, his eyes dark and his head numb. He wasn’t even entirely aware of his actions right now. He was angry, and the only thing he could think about was you. All he had to do was kill two more people, and then you could stay with him forever. So what if he had to kill all his friends and the only family he had left? It was all worth it for you. Anything would be worth it for you.

Cut the screen, went in and found the kid

Blew a bowl of spaghetti in the side of his head

And the daddy was next runnin' down the hall

I shredded his throat and he was quick to fall

Ethan knocked on the apartment door and waited. A few moments later he heard the locks clicking open. The door swung open, and Tara stood behind it. She gasped when she looked up at Ethan, who was still very much covered in blood. She moved aside to let Ethan in, and when she turned to lock the door, Ethan smiled to himself.

“Ethan, what happened?! Are you hurt?” Tara walked over to him and tried to check for any major injuries.

“No, I’m alright. But it- it’s just…,” Ethan trailed off, pretending to be holding back tears.

“What is it? What happened?” Tara’s eyes grew worried, and her breathing began to quicken.

“It’s Chad. He- He’s gone. The killer. They were in our dorm when we got back. They killed Chad. I- I managed to get away. I just feel horrible for leaving him behind,” Ethan choked on his words. He began forcing tears to fall.

Tara pulled him into a hug, feeling herself begin to cry as well.

“I- I can’t believe this. I’m so sorry.”

She sobbed against Ethan, burying her face against his shoulder. Ethan let her, and slipped his hand into his jacket, pulling out his knife. While Tara was distracted, he plunged it into her back, causing Tara to let out a bloodcurdling scream. He brought his other hand up to the back of her head, keeping her face pressed against him to muffle her screams.

He pulled the knife up, cutting through her flesh and leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He yanked it out and then stabbed her, over and over again. A pool of blood began to form beneath the two of them. Soon she stopped struggling, and her body went limp in his arms. Ethan let go of her and pushed her forward, Tara’s body falling to the floor.

“Tara? Are you alright?” Sam called from her bedroom.

Apparently the sound of a body hitting the floor was louder than Ethan thought. But at least he knew where Sam was. He wiped the blood off of his knife and slid it back into his jacket, walking towards where he heard Sam’s voice.

Tossed the Mossberg and gripped the knife

Started stabbin' the shit outta his wife

Went home a bloody mess with a job well done (Tap, tap)

Wash up and wait for my baby to come (Tap, tap)

He pushed the door open and cursed to himself when he saw Danny in Sam’s room with her. Taking the two of them down was going to be difficult. But he knew he would be able to do it. He would be able to do anything, as long as it was for you. So, Ethan stepped into the room.

He tried to make himself look sad, hoping he could make the two of them believe he was innocent. If he burst in here trying to kill them immediately, there was no way he was going to make it out of here. He glanced over to Danny, who sat up and looked at Ethan with concern once he saw how much blood was all over him.

Ethan would need to get rid of Danny first. He was going to be the biggest problem. Sam was probably going to be easier. Especially since she was unarmed and not expecting to be attacked.

“Oh my god. What happened to you?” Danny asked, a mixture of shock and confusion in his voice.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t as caring. She narrowed her eyes and she looked at Ethan. “How did you get in here?”

“Tara let me in. I- I came over to tell her about Chad. And then, the killer showed up. I- I tried to stop him,” Ethan’s voice broke as he began to fake cry again.

“What about Chad?” Sam asked, not believing Ethan’s story.

“He’s dead. The killer- he was waiting for us when we got back to our dorm. I couldn’t stop him. Chad told me to run. I- I-,” he cut himself off, crying even harder.

Sam stood up, walking over to Ethan.

“Where’s Tara?”

Ethan sniffled. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Sam nodded, then turned to look at her boyfriend. “Danny, stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Love (I can't ignore you)

In my room (Do anything for you, baby) (Tap, tap)

Love (I do adore you)

In my room, you and I (Tap, tap go the piece of ass)

Sam gasped when she saw Tara’s body lying on the floor. She fell to her knees and started sobbing, shaking her sister in an attempt to get her to wake up. But she wasn’t responding.

“She’s not going to wake up,” Ethan said.

Sam turned around to look at Ethan. “What?”

Ethan sighed, then he pulled his knife out. “I said, she’s not going to wake up.”

Sam’s eyes widened as she realized what was happening. She stood up, her eyes turning dark.

“Mindy was right. It was you. Is that why you killed her? Because she was getting too close to figuring it out?”

Ethan shrugged. “More or less.”

“Why are you doing this? We haven’t done anything to you. There isn’t any reason behind this.”

Ethan smiled. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Richie was my brother. You remember Richie, right? The guy you brutally murdered last year.”

Sam’s eyes widened in shock. She had always thought Ethan looked familiar, but she had never realized why. Not until right now. She stepped closer to Ethan, and Ethan stepped back.

“So that’s why you’re doing this, huh? I’m the one who killed him! You didn’t need to hurt anyone else if you were after me!”

“Actually, that’s not why I’m doing this. That’s why this all started. It was me, Quinn, and our dad. He wanted to get revenge, and he easily talked Quinn into it. I didn’t want to. I didn’t think killing was for me. My mom was against it too. Or, at least she was until my dad made me kill her.”

“Quinn’s your sister? What, you guys did this as a family?”

“You ruined our family, so we wanted to destroy yours. But let’s just say that plans changed.”

“Why would you kill them then, huh? Why kill Quinn? Why kill your dad? I thought you guys were working together.”

“Oh we were. That was until my dad forced me to kill y/n. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret putting the bullet in his head instead. But he’s gone now. All I have left to do is to kill you and your little boyfriend. Then y/n will finally come back to me forever. They won’t have to leave again.”

“What are you talking about? Y/n is dead! You’re not making any sense!”

“I don’t care if it makes sense to you or not, I know the truth.”

Love (I can't ignore you)

In my room (Do anything for you, baby) (Tap, tap)

Love (I do adore you)

In my room, you and I (Tap, tap go the piece of ass)

Ethan didn’t waste anymore time. He lunged for Sam, trying to kill her. She dodged, causing Ethan to slice the side of her arm. Sam screamed in pain, her hand reaching up to press against the steadily bleeding wound. Ethan ran over to her, and was about to stab her again, when he heard Danny appear behind them. Ethan groaned and turned around.

“Yo! What the hell?” Danny said, in shock from the sight before him.

Ethan grumbled. “I don't have time for this shit.”

He stepped towards Danny and lifted his knife, slashing him across the throat. Danny fell to the ground, gripping his throat in an attempt to stop the blood from pouring out. It didn’t do much at all, and he soon laid there on the ground, lifeless, in a puddle of his own blood.

Sam gasped as she watched Danny fall to the ground. Ethan turned around and ran back over to her, stepping on her leg to prevent her from getting away. He leaned down and grabbed Sam’s arm, pulling her up. She fought against his grip, but she wasn’t getting anywhere.

Ethan smiled, a mixture between joy and pure evil, as he plunged his knife into Sam. She screamed out in pain as she continued to try and escape. Ethan stabbed her again and again, adding to the continuously growing puddle of blood on the floor. Sam elbowed Ethan in the side, causing him to loosen his grip on her.

Sam freed her arm and immediately collapsed to the ground. She was losing a lot of blood, and was fighting to remain conscious. She tried to crawl over to the door, but moving was incredibly difficult, especially since she kept slipping in the blood on the floor. Ethan easily walked over to her, and pinned her down on the ground. He stabbed her again, this time in the neck. He twisted the knife, and Sam’s screams slowly died down as he tore through her throat.

Her body soon fell limp and he pulled the knife back out. He placed it back inside his jacket, not bothering to wipe it off this time. Now he had nothing left to do except go back to his dorm and wait.

I waited two or three days, four days

Waitin' for the "tap tap" like always

I waited and hated this (Tap, tap)

I created a bloody mess (Tap, tap)

Ethan sat on his bed, staring out the window. When he had gotten home last night, he cleaned himself off and then went to work on cleaning up his room. He moved Chad’s body into his bedroom, and locked the door before he closed it. Returning to his own room, he cleaned up the blood as best as he could, and he threw away the sheets that had been on his bed, not wanting to bother trying to remove those stains.

Now it was a day later, and everything had been cleaned up. He was sitting on his bed and waiting for you to show up, just like you had for the past few nights. Except this time, you were nowhere to be found. All night Ethan had sat and stared at his window, waiting for you to show up. But you never did.

Soon, the sun had come up. He stayed up all night waiting for you, and you never showed. He was upset, and he was confused. What had he done wrong? He had done everything you wanted and then some. He killed his best friend for you. He killed his family. He even killed the rest of the people you wanted all at once, so neither of you would have to wait anymore.

What had he done wrong? You always showed up. Everytime he killed someone, you showed up. But last night you hadn’t. Ethan felt himself spiraling, desperately trying to think of a reason as to why you didn’t show up. But he couldn’t find a single one.

I waited two or three months, four months

Waitin' for the "tap tap," just for once

I waited and hated this (Tap, tap)

I created a bloody mess (Tap, tap)

Every night like clockwork, Ethan sat there and waited for you. He didn’t go to class anymore. He barely ate, barely slept. Seeing you again was the only thing that mattered. Days went by. Then weeks. Then months. And you were still nowhere to be found. It was beginning to drive Ethan crazy.

But he realized he couldn’t just go on like this. If he wanted to see you again, he would have to do something about it. He had been going over what he had done the last night he saw you, and then he realized something. He had missed someone. One of the victims that you had wanted dead was still alive. Kirby was still out there.

After the murders, Kirby had transferred to the FBI in NYC. She was still in the city. It wouldn’t be that difficult for Ethan to find her. Or for Ethan to get rid of her. Maybe if he killed her, you would come back to him. And maybe this time, you would never leave.

Kirby had given Ethan her number after everything that had happened. He was the only survivor. He had managed to pin all of the murders on Danny, and all of the cops seemed to believe him. Kirby didn’t want Ethan to be alone after all of this, so she gave him a way to contact her if he ever needed anything. He never planned on using it, not wanting to involve himself with the authorities anymore than he had to.

But now, he didn’t really have much of a choice. So he pulled his phone out and found her contact, pressing the call button.

“Kirby? It’s Ethan.”

I waited two or three days, four days ("Where is she?")

Waitin' for the "tap tap" like always

I waited and hated this (Tap, tap) ("Why isn't she comin' back?")

I created a bloody mess (Tap, tap) ("I fuckin' killed those people!")

Ethan knocked on the door of Kirby’s apartment, anxiously playing with his hands. He just wanted to get this over with. He couldn’t wait any longer to see you, and the thought that all he had to do was kill one more person to see you again made him more excited than he could ever remember being. All of this waiting would soon be over. And he could finally be yours. Forever.

Kirby opened the door and let Ethan inside. As soon as the door was locked and Kirby was facing the other way, Ethan pulled out his knife and tackled Kirby to the ground. He stabbed her in her scar, twisting the knife. She screamed in pain as blood poured out of her, trying to push Ethan off of her. But it was no use, Ethan was over a foot taller than her.

He pulled the knife out and then stabbed her again, over and over, creating a bloody mess. He was so angry, mostly at himself, for messing this up. For being kept from you for so long. So many feelings were stuck bottled up inside of him, and he was finally able to let them all out.

He pulled the knife out for the final time, and smiled as he stood up. Kirby was definitely dead by now, the majority of her blood now laying in a puddle beneath her. Ethan shoved his knife back inside his jacket pocket and turned around, walking out of the apartment and leaving the door open behind him.

When he got home, you would finally be there. Waiting for him.

I waited two or three months, four months

Waitin' for the "tap tap," just for once ("Where the fuck is she?!")

I waited and hated this (Tap, tap)

I created a bloody mess (Tap, tap) ("Why isn't she coming back?!")

Ethan practically ran into his room, excitement building up inside him. But you weren’t there. His room was still empty. He sighed, feeling deflated. He slammed his door shut behind him and walked over to his bed, sitting down on it.

Maybe he would just have to wait. The last time you were scared away, you showed up later than normal. So all he would have to do was wait. He knew you were going to be coming back, he was sure of it. He had done everything you had asked, and everything that you were going to tell him to do. There’s no way you weren’t going to show up now.

He stared at his window like always, waiting for you to show up. Minutes went by. Then it was hours. And before he knew it, the sun was up again. You still hadn’t shown up. Why hadn’t you shown up? What else did he have to do?

Ethan screamed in frustration as he laid back on his bed. Maybe you were never coming back. Had you ever even really been there in the first place? All this time, everything Ethan had been doing for you, had you just been a hallucination all this time?

He shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. There was no way you were just a hallucination. He had seen you. He had talked to you. He had felt you. You had to have been there. You had to have been real. Because if you weren’t, then Ethan did all of this for nothing. He killed his family for you. But if you weren’t real, then he lost his only family for nothing.

I waited two or three days, four days (Love)

Waitin' for the "tap tap" like always ("I can't believe I did it") (In my room)

I waited and hated this (Love)

I created a bloody mess ("I killed them!")(In my room, you and I)

Ethan had been spiraling hard since the day he killed Kirby. It had been a few days, and you still hadn’t shown up. He couldn’t tell what was real anymore. He didn’t know if you had really been there, or if you were just a hallucination. And the thought of that was driving him crazy.

He almost never left his room anymore. He couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t want to miss you if you showed up. He was losing weight, and he was struggling to stay awake. But he couldn’t let himself miss you. Even if it destroyed him, Ethan would wait until you finally showed up again.

He didn’t want to admit it, but Ethan was losing it. He felt his mind begin to crack and reality slowly slipped away. He couldn’t tell what was real or fake anymore. He was hearing your voice all the time, but he still couldn’t see you. He was going insane, waiting for you to show up. The longer he waited, the less hope he had. He couldn’t bring himself to come to terms with the fact that you were probably never coming back. If you had ever even been there at all.

Ethan paced back and forth in his room, muttering to himself. He didn’t know what he was saying, he barely even knew what he was thinking. All he could bring himself to do was to stay in his room and wait. Sometimes he found himself forgetting what he was even waiting for. But he kept doing it, knowing deep down just how important it was. He just couldn’t bring himself to give up hope. He was going to see you again. He was sure of it.

I waited two or three months, four months (Love)

Waitin' for the "tap tap," just for once ("Where is she?!") (In my room)

I waited and hated this (Love)

I created a bloody mess (In my room, you and I)

Ethan’s hands shook as he sat on his bed, holding a gun inside his mouth. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was tired of waiting for you to show up, because he was beginning to doubt that you ever would. He had gotten so lost inside his head, waiting for you, that he let everything else in his life fall apart. He didn’t have any friends or family anymore, he had killed them all for you. He had missed so many classes that it would be pointless to try and catch up now.

His life had begun to revolve around you. You took up his every thought, filling his entire being. The longer he went without you, the more of himself he felt slip away. And now, there was nothing left. He was nothing anymore. He was just an empty shell. And it was all because of you.

His hands shook even more as he tried to get himself to pull the trigger. He pulled the gun out, sobbing as he began to shake even harder. He didn’t know if he would be able to do this. He looked down at the gun in his hand, the image becoming blurry from the tears in his eyes.

“Come on darling. I know you can do it.”

Ethan’s head shot up, as he desperately looked around for you. He couldn’t see you, but he had just heard you, he was sure of it. He heard your voice. Somehow, someway, he had heard you speaking to him.

“Just this one last thing. And then we can be together forever. Don’t you want that?”

Ethan slowly nodded his head. “Y-yes.”

“Good. So just put the gun in your mouth. And you can figure out the rest from there.”

Ethan did as you asked, his hands steadying. He brought the gun back up and placed it in his mouth again. He wasn’t afraid anymore. You wanted this. You wanted him to do this. And that was all the motivation he needed to finish this. The way he had intended.

“Come on baby. You can do it. I know you can.”

Ethan brought his finger to the trigger, readying himself to pull it. He slowed his breathing to calm himself down, and prepared himself for what he was about to do. Just a few more moments, and this would all be over. Ethan would finally be with you again. Forever.

“I’ll see you soon, my love.”

Ethan pulled the trigger.

Hey, man, let me get some of that

Yeah, uh, listen, I'm not a crackhead

When are y'all plannin' on buying me a cigarette

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